Snowfall in February isn't unusual in the Washington D.C. area, but this monster had already dumped six inches of pristine white powder on top of the ten inches of existing snow left in the wake of a little surprise storm two days ago. Today's storm had held off just long enough for everyone to make the slow arduous commute to work. Before lunchtime, with the storm intensifying by the minute, it had become obvious the weatherman had been right for a change. The last thing I heard on the Weather Channel before I walked out my front door was that today would be a great day to stay home and snuggle up in front of the TV with a good movie. If you must go out he recommended that you leave your car in the garage and drive your dogsled instead. This wasn't going to be one of those Alberta Clippers like we normally get, it was the dreaded Nor-Easter. He was calling for somewhere around two feet of the white stuff from hell. The news media had already dubbed the storm The Saint Valentines Day Fiasco. Snowplows in the District of Columbia, Maryland, Virginia, and West Virginia were fighting a losing battle with little hope of ever catching up to the intense snowfall. We're not use to a lot of snow around here; three inches is usually enough to paralyze the city and its surrounding communities. There are times when living close to work can have its drawbacks, but on a day like today it is heaven sent. It's only a two-block walk to my apartment.

#

The office falls silent the moment the CEO, Marsha O'Connor, glides in the door like a Roman goddess. Every male in the place sits mesmerized by her beauty, their eyes glued to her exquisite figure, their mouths agape, drooling down trembling chins. Even the women stare at her in awe. I'm no exception. There is simply no way to pry ones eyes from this gorgeous creature.

She pauses momentarily in front of my desk, scanning the room to see who has not shown up for work in the face of the onslaught occurring outside. I'm glad to see so many smiling faces this morning." Her sultry voice drifts across the room like a Siren's song, causing pains of desire to run through me.

The soft whisper of her silk-veiled thighs rubbing against one another steals my breath as she strolls up in front of my desk. The faint scent of her elegant perfume makes my heart pound when she leans over the front of my desk and softly speaks. "Let's get these people out of here ASAP." My panties quickly become moist when the top of her satin blouse falls away from her body, revealing two golden-tan globes seductively cradled in fragile red lace.

I nod in agreement with her suggestion. Trying to speak at the moment is useless; my mouth is far too dry to even attempt it. I try to avert my gaze, but it just isn't happening. I pray she won't notice me staring down her blouse, but she can't help but to notice. Hell, I'm staring so hard she can probably feel the pressure of my eyeballs against her breasts. She seems to linger a bit longer then necessary, like she's enjoying my predicament. She knows I'm gay, I mean, I haven't tried to keep the fact a secret since I came to work as her office manager six months ago. My mind whirls watching the sensual undulations of her curvaceous behind and shapely hips as she slinks across the room to enter her office around the corner from my desk.

I hate the hurt you experience inside when you love someone so desperately, and for whatever reason, can never let that person know how you feel. I've been in love with Marsha since day one. The first moment I laid eyes on her, my heart sank to the soles of my feet. She's a woman way above my standards and well beyond my reach. I can't figure out why she isn't a movie star or a super model instead of the CEO of a small computer software company. She's the most sensuous-looking woman I have ever seen. Don't get me wrong, sure, Marsha's the type of woman most men dream about as far as her looks go, straight out of the pages of Playboy Magazine. But her mind is just as bright as her glowing, waist-length flaming-red hair. Her ability to run the company is not overshadowed by the alluring deep-red smile always so impeccably painted across her goddess-like face. To say she stands head and shoulders above the average small-company CEO would be an understatement and it has nothing to do with the fact that she's a little over six-feet tall in her stocking feet. There is no doubt in anyone's mind that Marsha O'Connor is a force to be reckoned with in the business world.

I don't know much about her personal life, she doesn't talk too much about it. But I do know she's not married. I found that out through the personnel records which, because of my position, I have access to. Hell, she seems to be married to the company. As far as a significant other, I have no idea. I doubt seriously that she's even interested in other women. How can a woman go so far in the business world when she's only thirty-one, only two years older than me. Her age I found in the personnel records too.

Why did I let myself get into this kind of mess? Why couldn't I fall for someone more my own speed, within my reach? I'm so crazy about Marsha I'd crawl through a mile of broken glass on my hands and knees just to kiss one of her feet. If I could figure out a way to make her feel half this much love toward me, I'd be one happy little lesbo.

#

Within minutes of announcing the closing of the office, the place is vacant. Go figure. I step into Marsha's office. "Everybody's gone except us."

"And why are you still here?" she asks.

"I had a few last-minute loose ends to tie up. I told them all to stay home tomorrow, but I better be able to find everyone at home, on their computers, and on line, taking care of business by 9:00 AM," I report.

"Good girl," she replies. "They'll enjoy being able to work in their pajamas tomorrow."

"Kinda looking forward to that myself." I smile.

"I know what you mean," she agrees. "By the way, you live in this area, what's the closest hotel?"

I thought for a moment. "I guess the closest one would be the Holiday Inn. It's about a half-mile from here."

"Great. If I can get a taxi to take me there I won't have to drive home in this mess. I hate driving in snow," she says.

"You'll be lucky if the hotel isn't already booked solid. A lot of people stay in town when we have snowstorms," I say.

"Damn, I should have reserved a room early this morning," Marsha mumbles with the cutest little I-just-screwed-up look on her pretty face.

"You're certainly welcome to stay at my place. I live only two blocks from here," I offer.

"Thank you, but I wouldn't want to put you out like that," she says. "If the hotels are all full I'll try to make it home."

"It won't be putting me out at all. In fact, I'd enjoy the company. This will be the third Valentines Day in a row I'll be spending alone. I could really use someone to talk to for a change," I reply. "I even have a spare bedroom."

She thinks for a moment. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," I answer, my hopes running high.

"I really hate driving in this much snow," she says. "If you're sure you don't mind."

"I'd be delighted," I reply, my hopes now soaring.

"Okay, let's get out of here," she says with a grin as she grabs her briefcase and coat. "It'll give us a chance to get to know each other a little better."

"Cool, let's go," I reply, rushing out of her office to get my coat. My hopes have just shot straight into orbit. I am going to get to spend the entire evening with the woman of my dreams, perhaps even the entire night. Slow down girl, I think to myself, don't go getting yourself all worked up, that's probably the furthest thing from her mind.

#

It's fun watching Marsha attempt to walk in the snow wearing three-inch heels. I usually wear flat-walking shoes to work and change into more fashionable shoes after arriving. I was smart enough this morning to remember to wear my hiking boots to work. The real fun though is getting to hold on to Marsha's arm as we walk, in case she slips. And she does plenty of that. Even though she's seven or eight inches taller than I am, I somehow manage to keep the towering woman from falling on several occasions during the short walk. She slips, ending up with both arms around me, her luscious mouth only inches from my mouth, and her body presses tight against mine. I love it!

We manage to make the two-block trip with neither of us actually falling in the snow. We're giggling like a couple of schoolgirls by the time we get to my apartment building.

Standing on the large, two-step high stoop in front of my building, I turn away from Marsha to open the entrance door to the lobby. Something hits me with a soggy thud. I can't believe it; it's so out of character for her! While my back was turned, she had grabbed up a big hand full of snow and clobbered me right in the middle of my back with a snowball!

I spin toward her. She looks so fantastic standing there with her hands over her mouth, with the cutest I'm-so-damn-innocent expression on her gorgeous face.

"If my hands weren't so damn cold, you'd pay for that!" I try to say without laughing. Actually, I'm trying not to moan out loud at the pure beauty of her I-don't-know-what you're-talking-about pose. I had never seen her in a playful mood before. I like what I'm seeing. It adds a touch of little girl to the classy woman.

She suddenly scoops up another handful of loose snow that's resting atop a potted fake bush at the edge of the stoop, and flings it at me.

"You're gonna pay for that, lady! You're gonna be making snow angels!" I bark rushing toward her as if I'm going to tackle her. I plan on stopping just as I get to her, but my foot slips on the snow, I run right into her, knocking her backward off the stoop. She lands on her back in the snow, with me on top of her.

We lay there in the snow, our noses nearly touching. "Oh my God, Marsha, I'm so sorry!" I beg her forgiveness. "I didn't mean to actually run into you."

She lay there a second, looking up into my eyes. Suddenly she breaks out in laughter. "It's okay, it was fun, but this snow is getting terribly cold against my behind!" Her warm breath smells so delicious.

My mind whirls as I get up. Was I imagining things? Or had I actually felt her soft lips quickly brush ever so lightly against mine? Had I actually felt the tip of her tongue dart across my lips?

I catch my breath; quickly glance around in hopes that nobody has witnessed my stupid maneuver. I'm lucky, no witnesses to my crime against the stately style of this regal beauty. But she'd started it! I was just defending myself! Any court in the land could see that, I am sure. I help Marsha from her rather embarrassing position as best as I can. She's so much larger than I am it is difficult. I'm so embarrassed. I can't believe I have just made a flying tackle on my boss and knocked her down in the snow. Nor can I believe that I'm thinking she has just kissed me.

After helping brush the snow from her back, which was an exciting event in itself, we rush into the lobby, onto the elevator, and up to my little apartment.

#

Upon entering my apartment, I unlace my boots and kick them into the corner. Marsha's high-dollar heels get kicked into the corner atop my boots. Maybe I'll be as lucky as my boots, I think to myself, maybe I'll end up snuggled up with Marsha for the night just like my boots are with her shoes. Why am I thinking like this? Why do I do this? I yell in my mind.

"My feet are freezing," Marsha says, rushing to the sofa, she plops down and begins rubbing her feet.

I hurry over to her, kneel on the floor before her, place her lovely feet in my lap, and begin massaging them vigorously.

"Oh, that feels so wonderful," she moans, dropping back against the back of the sofa. "I'll give you just three days to stop that."

Little does she realize, I would be absolutely delighted to sit here like this, rubbing her feet for the next three days, or three years for that matter. Her feet squirm a little, snuggling tighter into my lap. I let my thighs part a little, allowing her feet to slip between them.

"Oh, that's so warm," she groans.

"Your stockings are soaking wet," I say. "You should take 'em off. Your feet will never get warm as wet as they are."

"Fine, if you want 'em off, you take 'em off, as long as you don't have to move my feet too much. I like them right where they are. I'm not moving from this spot," she mumbles, slipping her skirt up enough to expose the catches of her garters and a bit of her slender thighs.

My breath freezes in my lungs. My eyes lock on her gorgeous thighs. "You want me to take them off for you?" I ask with a trembling voice, thinking that perhaps I'd misunderstood what she'd said. It might well have been just my imagination again. I don't want to take a chance on ruining the wonderful position I'm in at the moment.

"If you wouldn't mind. I really don't want to move right now, I'm so comfortable. But my feet are still really cold," she says with a coy grin I've never seen her use before.

My heart races. She really had granted me permission to undress her, I mean, remove her stockings. With trembling fingers, I carefully unhook the catches on the tops of her thighs and gently wiggle the same trembling fingers under her luscious thighs to unhook the ones in back. She raises her legs slightly to accommodate my hands. My desires rise with her skirt as it climbs higher up her thighs. Easing the fragile silk stockings down her long satiny-smooth legs, my fingers are on fire, but not half as much as my heart is.

Marsha bolts up from the sofa. "Oh damn, I'm sorry! I've gotten your couch all wet! I didn't realize how wet I am. I'm soaked all the way up to my back."

"Don't worry about the sofa, it's been wet before," I assure her. "Let me find something dry for you to put on."

"God, even my butt is soaked," she mumbles.

"Marsha, I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to push you down in the snow like that," I apologize.

"Don't worry about it, I enjoyed it," she says. "I haven't played in the snow in years. Besides, I started it."

"Yeah, but I didn't have to tackle you."

"Maybe next time I'll tackle you instead," she purrs.

My mind takes off on another of its fantastic-fantasy voyages. Could she possibly be suggesting that there might actually be a next time? I'm trying hard to keep control of my desires, to keep my sweltering passion in check, but she isn't making it very easy for me.

"Come on, let's see what I have that you can wear," I suggest, heading for my bedroom, Marsha close on my heels.

I open my closet and begin digging around for something she might be able to fit into. "What's that?" she asks pointing to a large white-lace shirt hanging on a hook in the corner.

"Oh, that's a shirt a friend of my dad's brought him from the Philippines. It's what the locals wear instead of a coat and tie to dress up. It's much cooler. Dad was only too glad to give it to me; you'd never catch him dressed in anything like that. I steal a lot of his shirts to wear as nighties. He's a big man; most of his shirts hang like bathrobes on me."

"Doesn't he get mad when you take his shirts?" she asks.

"Nawh, he loves me. I'm a daddy's-girl. He'll give me anything I want," I reply.

"Would you mind if I wear that shirt? I think it's gorgeous," she says. "It might even fit me."

"Please do," I answer, handing her the shirt. I can picture her in it. I can't wait to see if the picture in my mind is anywhere close to what the real thing will look like.

I start from the room. "You can dig through the drawers over there," I say, pointing toward my dresser. "You might find some under things in there you can get into."

"Thanks," she says walking toward the dresser. "Hey, what's this?" She picks something up from the top of my dresser. She holds up a pair men's white boxer shorts covered with great big red-kissy lips.

I laugh. "That's a present from my dad. He said it was a prescription I needed to get filled before Valentines Day. He's always trying to get me to find a man."

She stands there smiling at the large boxer shorts as I walk from the bedroom. "I'll make a pot of coffee while you get changed. Spare hangers are in the closet. You can hang your clothes in the bathroom to dry. There's towels in there too," I say, pulling the door shut behind me.

#

After setting up and turning on the coffeemaker, I turn to get two cups from the cabinet over the breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the dining room. Marsha is standing on the opposite side of the bar wearing the see-through white-lace shirt, with no bra.

"Does this look okay?" she asks, looking almost shy.

"I um I ah Damn! You look fantastic! I mean, that looks great on you," I finally manage to get from the voice that had deserted me so suddenly. I can't take my eyes off the perfect breasts shining through the thin lacy fabric.

"I'm glad you like it on me," she says softly, gradually backing away from the counter. "I hope you don't mind, but I filled your father's prescription too."

I nearly collapse laughing at her. "That's so adorable. I can't believe you put them on." She was wearing the men's white, kissy-lip boxers.

"Do they look that funny on me?" She giggles.

"No, no, I just wasn't expecting to see them on you."

"Well, there's no way I can get into any of your panties," she replies, still laughing.

"You can get never mind. They look wonderful on you."

Marsha walks around the counter and slips her arms around my neck. "You father didn't say what you had to fill the prescription with did he?"

"Ah, no, he never mentioned that," I reply.

"Then are you pleased with how I filled it for you?" she asks, stepping closer. Her breasts are an inch from my face.

I slide my arms around her slim waist. "I'm delighted. It's much better than what my dad would've had it filled with."

Her arms tighten around my neck, pulling my face between her wonderful breasts. "I was hoping you'd say something like that," she whispers.

I snuggle in a bit deeper. "I honestly can't say what I was hoping for, but I think you figured it out pretty damn well," I mumble from between those two large soft mounds.

One of her hands slip from around my neck and slides under my chin, gently forcing my head upward from its wonderful cozy position. I look up to find her face descending toward mine. Our lips meet; gently at first, but rapidly the passion grows between us. Lips part, tongues dance, and hearts race.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do that?" she whispers against my lips.

"I had no idea at all," I reply, pressing my lips back to hers. This kiss possesses much more fire and passion than the first one. I'm nearly gasping for breath by the time our lips finally part. I'm trembling all over. My legs are weak. "God, I wish I'd known. I've been in love with you since the first time I met you, but was scared to death to let you know about it. I didn't know you were gay."

"Let's just say I've had my moments with women in the past, but nothing serious. And none since I took over the company four years ago," she whispers. "It's been tough working in that office with you sitting there for the last six months."

"I had no idea," I repeat. "But it was everything I could do to maintain my composure whenever you were around me."

"You were having trouble?" she replies. "I've had a thing for cute little freckle-faced blondes all my life, and you're the cutest little thing I've ever met. The second you walked into my office to apply for the job you turned my world upside down. I didn't want to hire you because I knew you being there would make it difficult for me to keep my mind on what I was supposed to be doing. But your job qualifications were so damn high I had no choice. I figured I could work my way through my personal feelings and get on with the job at hand. But it hasn't been easy. Well, now that I've spilled my guts all over you, how about that cup of coffee you promised?"

We spend the next hour or so sitting at the breakfast bar sipping on coffee laced with Cognac. We sit talking and touching. Nothing sexual, just holding hands, brushing finger tips over each other's arms and faces; that sort of thing. Kind of getting to know each other a bit better. We manage to slip in a small kiss every now and then. I now understand why I love this woman so much. It isn't just her exquisite appearance; she's a beautiful person inside too. Suddenly, the bounds of social and financial differences no longer matter to me, this is the woman for me; the woman I have to have for the rest of my life. I wonder if she is thinking the same thing.

We both laugh when Marsha's stomach growls like an angry bear. "Excuse me," she giggles. "I'm starving; I didn't have time to eat breakfast this morning and we seem to have missed lunch too."

"Why didn't you say something? I'll fix us something right now," I reply. "I'm sorry, I don't eat a lot and sometimes I don't even think about it."

"Well, you better get used to eating if you're going to be around me very much. I'm a big girl. My mom says I eat like a horse," Marsha says; a sheepish grin crosses her face.

"Hang tight for a few minutes and I'll slap the old feedbag on you," I tease.

"A sandwich would be great," she replies.

"How about if we walk across the street. There's a great Italian place over there," I suggest. "It would be faster."

"I'd rather stay here, alone with you," she says in the sexiest voice I've ever heard.

"You've got my vote," I reply, digging into the fridge to see what I can quickly toss together to feed my goddess. "How about spaghetti?"

"Don't cook anything," she says. "A sandwich is fine."

"It only takes about twenty minutes to make," I reply. "I open a really mean jar of sauce."

"Okay, that sounds great," she agrees.

I place a couple of chunks of cheese and some crackers on a plate for her to nibble on while I get supper ready and sit the plate on the bar in front of her. "Here ya go, Sea Biscuit, this should hold ya until the spaghetti is ready," I tease.

"Sea Biscuit?" she snaps.

"Hey, you're the one who said you eat like a horse, not me." I smile; praying my little joke didn't offended her. That's one of my bad habits; sometimes I speak before I think about what's going to come out of my mouth.

"Oh yes, Sea Biscuit was a famous racehorse," she laughs, tosses her red mane back over her shoulders and digs into the cheese and crackers.

My heart gradually settles back into its proper place in my chest at the wonderful, sweet sound of her laughter. Thank God, I say to myself, I thought I'd blown it there for a minute.

She looks so delicious sitting there in that white-lace shirt and the big Valentine boxer shorts with the lips all over them. I stand there staring at her the whole time the spaghetti cooks. She just keeps packing the cheese and crackers away. I think to myself, what a wonderful Valentines Day this is turning out to be. God, I hope she thinks so too.

#

We sit in relative quiet while we eat, enjoying the spaghetti and a nice blush wine. What conversation does occur is mostly about our families and a bit about our backgrounds. Marsha was right, the lady could put some food away. If I ate half as much as her I'd be as big as a house, but it doesn't seem to grow on her anywhere. I hate that. I love food, especially sweets, but it sure doesn't like me. People who can eat like that and not gain any weight make me angry.

Throughout the meal, it's extremely hard for me to keep my mind on eating, well, eating food anyway. Marsha looks so delicious. Her gorgeous breasts showing through the thin lace fabric are just begging for my attention. Yep, I know exactly what I want for dessert, and it's sitting right beside me.

When supper is over, I waste little time with the dishes. They hit the sink, and that's where they'll remain, waiting for a more convenient time. Right now I only have time for Marsha.

"Aren't you going to change into something a little more comfortable?" Marsha asks as I clear the counter.

"Sure, if that's what you want," I reply.

"You don't look nearly as comfortable as I am." She smiles, inching her hands down the lace shirt and over her breasts.

"Why don't you go search through the bottom drawer of my dresser and pick out a nightie for me to wear tonight. I'll be there in a few minutes; I'm almost done in here," I suggest.

"Okay, I'll be waiting for you," she purrs, gives me a quick kiss, and rushes from the room. Her beautiful behind and hips move just as sexily in the boxer shorts as they do in a skirt at work, a wonderful vision of perpetual motion in action.

#

Entering my bedroom, I find Marsha sitting on the edge of my bed. "What'd you find that you like?" I ask, stepping up in front of her.

"I'll show you, but turn around first," she says.

I turn my back toward her and feel her gentle fingers working at the zipper on the back of my dress. I feel the zipper glide down my back, nearly in slow motion. The dress slips over my shoulders and falls to the floor around my feet when she gives it a little tug. Her long fingers slip under the waistband of my half-slip, sending it slinking to the floor too.

I moan quietly at the sensation her fingertips are creating as they slide up and down my back and over my nylon-covered behind and thighs. Those wonderful fingers wiggle under the waistband of my pantyhose, peeling them down my legs like a snake shedding its old skin. Almost without notice, the clasp at the back of my bra separates; the garment falls down my arms to join the rest of my clothing on the floor.

I feel Marsha's gentle but persistent hands on my hips, turning me to face her. Her fingertips roam over my tummy, slide around my hips and over my behind again. It feels like electricity is dancing all over my body. Every spot her fingers touch seems to sizzle like bacon in a frying pan.

I gasp for breath when her hands close around my breasts for the first time. My nipples instantly become so hard I'm afraid they might explode. I had thought her fingertips were electrically charged until the tip of her tongue glides around one of my swollen nipples. My God, what a sensation! But when she tenderly sucks that same nipple between her lips, I suck up every ounce of available oxygen in the room.

I feel my panties sliding down over my hips and continue down my thighs. The tormenting pleasure Marsha is creating in my nipple never lets up until she switches to the other breast and it starts all over again.

My heart is about to pound its way out of my chest. My lungs are apparently supplying enough air to moan and groan, because I can't stop the sounds from escaping my throat. My mind races. This isn't exactly what I'd expected. It's so very much more. It's happening backwards. I'd thought I'd be the one doing the seducing, not the one being seduced. Everything I'm discovering about sweet Marsha is surprising the hell outta me. She's even more wonderful than I could've possibly dreamt.

Finally she leans back from me and looks up into my eyes. I take her gorgeous face between my hands, hold her head upward, lean over to her, and kiss her like I have never kissed anyone before. By the time the kiss ends, she's lying back on the bed, with me lying on top of her.

"I take it, that means you enjoyed what I was doing," she whispers, her lips pressing tenderly against my ear.

"Enjoyed, is much too small a word," I mumble between the moans her lips are causing as she kisses my ear.

Her hands roam over my back and behind while her lips taste my ear and neck. I battle with the buttons on the lace shirt one by one until I finally manage to pull the shirt open all the way. The fight with the big boxer shorts require a little assistance from her, but in short order, they slide down her legs and land on the floor beside my clothes.

"Where's the nightie I'm supposed to put on?" I ask.

"You're wearing it," she whispers, with a sexy grin.

The moment my quivering naked flesh presses against her hot nude body her tongue darts deep inside my ear. My breath seizes up in my lungs again. My legs open, winding around her hips. My womanhood presses hard against her tummy. My juices immediately begin flowing. My body shakes. My legs tighten around her hips. My moans and groans become a low squeal. I press harder against her.

Her tongue slips from my ear long enough for her to whisper, "Come on, Sweetness, let it go, give it up for Marsha."

Giving it up or letting it go, isn't a problem. The moment her searing tongue glides into my ear, my body decides it's time to come unglued. Indescribable pleasure courses through me. She hasn't even touched between my thighs yet, but my womanhood is showering her tummy with my juices.

"That's it, Baby, let it happen," Marsha whispers. Slipping her tongue from my ear, she turns my head the opposite direction and that wonderful tongue darts deep into my other ear. It started all over again.

The aroma of my own sex mingled with the soft fragrance of her perfume puts my head in a cloud of delightful ecstasy. I have no control over anything. Her tongue in my ear keeps requesting more and my body is only too pleased to oblige. It just keeps giving and giving. My God, I wonder to myself, what's it going to be like if I ever get that exquisite tongue between my thighs? She'll drive me nuts!

It doesn't take long to find out. Marsha rolls over, dumping me on the bed on my back. Her fantastic tongue wiggles between the wet folds of my womanhood, and continues without hesitation, deep into the center of my being. The pleasure I'd experienced moments earlier had been a mere warm-up exercise compared to the orgasmic explosion that, without warning, detonates deep in my core.

I grab for a pillow. Ripping one from the bed, I slam it over my face. The scream I sense building in my heart will shake the very foundation of time if I can't stop it or at least, muffle it somehow. I know I can't stop it; it will not be denied. The pillow is my only hope.

Three years of pent-up desire and six months of unexpressed love suddenly find their way to the surface. Wave after wave of the most incredible pleasure I've ever experienced crashes through me. Like tidal waves, they slam against the banks of my soul. They crash into each other and ricochet back to shore as smaller repetitive waves between the thunderous-monsoon-type monsters raging within me. The screams running rampant under the pillow echo through my head, but I can't stop them any more than I can stop the cloudburst greeting Marsha's hungry mouth pressed so tightly against my flooding womanhood.

All at once, the scream fades from my ears, the eruption from my core ceases, and I don't realize anything else until I awaken sometime later to the delightful gentle flicking of Marsha's tongue dancing over my thighs.

I hear her sultry voice. "Well, welcome back."

"What?" I mumble.

"I said, 'Welcome back'," she repeats. "You checked out for a few minutes."

"I'm sorry," I reply. "I didn't mean to."

"Oh, that's okay, I had plenty to do to keep me busy while you rested a bit," she teases.

"I don't know what you did, but it was fantastic," I say.

"You definitely seemed to enjoy it," she says, smiling up over my tummy at me. "I'd sure like to experience an orgasm like that someday."

"I promise you, I will do everything possible to see that you do," I say. "I've never passed out like that before."

"You were experiencing total ecstasy. Your body had to shut down long enough to recover a little. You were drained," Marsha says. "I was so thrilled when I saw how excited you were becoming. The more excited you got the more I wanted to excite you even more. I was downright proud when I knew you had passed out." A huge smile covers her shiny-wet face.

"Why don't you come up here so I can kiss you?" I ask.

Marsha eases her way up the bed to lay down beside me, half on the bed, half on me. Our lips meet. They mingle in what has to be the softest, most loving kiss of all time. No rush, no hot desire, just a slow, gentle tasting of each other's mouths. I can smell and taste my own juices on her lips and tongue. I gently kiss her face clean of my moisture. I could lie in this loving embrace enjoying her wonderful kiss for days. It is a kiss that communicates pure love. It has nothing to do with passion or desire, just warm, sweet love.

Marsha slips from my arms and gets out of bed. She pulls the covers down on one side, rolls me onto the sheet, and pulls the rest of the blanket down. She walks to the closet, takes off the white-lace shirt, hangs it on the hook in my closet, turns off the light, slips back into the bed beside me, and pulls the covers up over both of us. She snuggles back into my arms and holds me like she never wants to let go of me, I pray hard that she never will.

Lying between the cool satin sheets and feeling Marsha's warm slender body literally wrapped around me is the most comforting feeling I have ever known. I lay for several minutes just letting her hold me, letting the feeling of peace and security surround me. For the first time in my life I understand what people are speaking of when they talk about the feeling of actually being loved. Marsha hasn't said it, but I can just tell that this wonderful woman really loves me almost as much as I love her. I can feel it in the way she holds me, the way she is constantly kissing my forehead. And by the way her soft hands continuously stroke my arm, my neck, my shoulder, my side, my hip. Anything she can touch is generously treated to the sweet strokes of her marvelous fingers.

I know this all sounds like the ranting of a love-struck lunatic, but I know Marsha is in my bed right now because she loves me, and wants to hold me, and be held by me. At the moment it isn't a matter of sex; that can wait. Right now, it's love, like we're passing it back and forth between us as if by osmosis. I am content to lay here and enjoy her presence and the way she seems to be enjoying mine.

Like I said earlier, this was turning out to be the best Valentines Day of my life.

#

The next thing I realize, the setting sun is weakly peeking between the window curtains trying to pry my eyes open. We still lay in each other's arms, in the same position. We must have dozed off together for a couple hours.

Marsha's gentle breath brushes over my forehead as she sleeps. There's barely enough sunlight in the room to allow me to see her face when I look upward. She is so beautiful in her sleep and looks to be at complete peace with the world.

The important thing is that she's still here. The whole thing hadn't been some far-fetched dream. She really has been in my bed all evening. She really had created all of those fantastic sensations in my body earlier this afternoon.

Tears begin to slip down my face and over my nose. I try to control it, but I cannot. My shoulders shudder as I sob.

I hear Marsha's soft voice. "What's wrong, Pet?"

"Nothing," I reply "I'm just so happy I can hardly stand it. I've never been so happy."

Her arms tighten around me; my forehead is again showered with gentle kisses. "It makes me happy to hear that," she says.

She's awake. Now it's payback time. As she cuddles me closer, I slip down a little. Now my lips are less than an inch from one of her lovely nipples. The distance is closed in a flash. A gasp rushes into Marsha's lungs. A soft moan departs her slender throat. I suck her nipple deep into my eager mouth. A deeper moan is issued as my tongue dances around the hard swollen morsel in my mouth. A little nibble with my teeth is rewarded with another gasp from her. Her arms snake tighter around my neck and head.

I slide my hand down her slim waist and over her curvy hip. Her leg is wrapped up high over my hip. My hand roams over her soft smooth behind. How many times have I watched these gorgeous buns wiggle their way across the hall, and dreamed of touching them? Now, here they are in my bed, under my hand, and they feel even more fabulous than they've always looked.

While my hand glides over her wonderful buns, my fingers slip between her thighs from behind, my fingertips briefly brush over the delicate petals of the flower of her womanhood. Marsha gasps deeply. Her leg slides higher up my side, giving my hand better access to her center. My fingers gently probe their way between the moist folds of her womanhood.

A loud groan comes from her beautiful throat when my fingers find their way to the bud of her sexuality. After a few teasing trips around her swelling clitoris, I tenderly squeeze it between my thumb and finger. Her body trembles. Her moans grow louder. Her hips began to slowly gyrate back and forth. Her eyes close. Her head rolls back.

I ease from her encircling arms, twisting my body around so my upper body is lying over her. My breasts press firmly against the curve of her hip. My tongue slides over the silky-smooth skin of her behind. Each delicious cheek is given equal attention. My fingers move between her thighs. They gently circle her open womanhood. I briefly tease the sensitive, nerve-laden area around her tunnel. My middle finger suddenly forges its way deep inside of her. Her gasp and her body curling even tighter around mine are my rewards; a second finger deep inside of her is her reward. The slippery velvet softness of her insides clings tight around my fingers as I slide them slowly, teasingly in and out. My fingers and her thighs get wetter. Her moans grow louder, her hips move faster, my fingers probe deeper.

My heart shoots to the very upper limits of my chest! "What the hell?" I scream springing from the bed.

Sitting up in the bed, Marsha's eyes are still glassy, trying to focus. Her mind seems to be trying to shift from the intense pleasure it had just been experiencing to the startling, loud, heart-wrenching clamor of the building's fire alarm. "Does this happen often?" she mumbles, her eyes finally in focus.

"Never," I reply. "We'd better get dressed so we can get outta here if we need to."

She springs from the bed and hastily begins dressing. I quickly forget about the possible danger being so undeniably announced by the insistent wailing of fire alarms while I watch Marsha seductively slip the kissy-lip boxer shorts back on. The period of forgetfulness is only momentary. Someone is pounding on my apartment door, yelling for everyone to evacuate the building immediately.

Marsha glances up at me; a look of near terror fills her gorgeous eyes. "We don't have time to get dressed!" she cries out rushing from the bedroom.

Damn, am I ever going to get to make love to this gorgeous creature? I wonder to myself as I grab my trusty old sweat suit, hanging on a hook on the back of my bedroom door as always. I quickly slip it on and rush out behind Marsha. She's standing by the apartment door trying to get her still-wet high heels back on, wearing only the kissy-lip boxers and her big fur coat.

I rush back into my bedroom to get a pair of slippers for her. "Here, try these," I say tossing the slippers to her, in hopes the open back of the slippers will allow her to wear them.

Marsha's fur coat wrapped around her, wearing only my fuzzy bedroom slippers and the funny boxer shorts underneath; me in a sweat suit, we step out into the main hallway. At one end of the hall, a firefighter in full fire-fighting gear stands in front of the stairway leading down to the front door of the apartment building. He is directing residents toward the back stairway at the opposite end of the hall. Another firefighter stands in front of the elevator guarding against its use during the emergency. He directs us to the back stairway.

"What's going on?" I ask rushing passed him.

"There may be a bomb in front of the building," he replies.

"Oh my God, a bomb!" Marsha repeats over and over, holding her coat closed around her naked body as we rush down the four flights of stairs to the back exit of the building.

There are firefighters stationed on each of the landing between the flights of stairs to insure a safe and speedy evacuation. Rushing out the back door of the apartment building amongst the crowd of other residents, I realize what cattle must feel like being herded along. The firefighters direct us down the little alley behind my build and into the basement garage of another building almost a block away. I guess they are trying to get us in out of the cold and away from my building in case the bomb goes off.

"Why would anyone bomb an apartment building?" I ask.

"Why would anyone bomb any building?" Marsha replies.

A firefighter standing at the entrance to the basement garage overhears our conversation. "They're not sure it's a bomb yet. Someone spotted a briefcase laying beside the steps at the front door. We can't take a chance that it might be a bomb."

Suddenly Marsha's pretty face turns ash-white. Her mouth drops open. "Oh my God! It's my briefcase! I sat it down this afternoon to throw that snowball at you! I forgot about it."

"What!" the firefighter snaps.

"That's not a bomb, it's my briefcase," she answers.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"I'm sure I left my briefcase out front. Whether that's the one they think is a bomb or not; I don't know."

He gets on his radio and talks with someone for a few moments before he asks Marsha to come with him. He tells me to stay put. I object, but it's a waste of breath; he refuses to let me go with them. All I can think about watching them walk away from me toward the front of the building is that I may never see her again. Marsha keeps looking back over her shoulder at me, like she's scared. My mind fills with strange thoughts about her being dragged off to prison for causing such a huge false alarm; about a bomb going off and killing her; about her gorgeous nakedness under that fur coat.

Several minutes go by, my mind is working overtime. I'm terrified! What are they doing to my Marsha? A firefighter finally comes into the garage and announces the all clear. Like a thief on the run, I race to the front of the building. I try to stop as I round the front corner of my building, but I slip on the slick snow and slide right into three firefighters standing there, their eyes wide as I crash into them. They try to catch me, but I go through them like a bowling ball. They all remain somewhat on their feet. I end up sprawled on the ground, nearly buried in the snow.

A sudden pain is shooting through my right arm, which is twisted up underneath me. "Oh damn, I think I broke my arm! That really hurts," I cry out trying to get up.

As soon as I try to stand I discover a whole new meaning for the word pain. My left leg collapses out from under me. I scream and crash back into the snow.

The three bullies who knocked me down try to help me up, but I can't move. It hurts far too much to move. "Where does it hurt?" one of them asks.

"My ankle is killing me," I mumble through clinched teeth. "I think I broke that too. Oh shit, does that ever hurt!"

Marsha kneels beside me. "You just lay still for a minute." Her soft voice sounds so good and reassuring to me. "Are you sure it's broken?"

"If it ain't broken, it sure missed a damn-good chance," I try to joke.

"You just relax, Honey, the Paramedics are right here. They'll help you," Marsha says.

"Don't leave," I mumble. "I'm scared."

"I'm not going anywhere except to the hospital with you," she says with a sweet smile.

"You can't, you don't have on any clothes," I whisper.

"Oh damn!" she snaps, making sure her coat is still concealing her nakedness. "Give me your keys. I'll get dressed and get a cab to the hospital. I'll be there as soon as I can."

I try to get my keys out of my pocket, but of course, my right arm seems to be in serious disrepair at the moment and won't function. I love the feel of Marsha's slender hand gently sliding into my pant pocket. "Don't leave yet, please," I beg.

"I'm not, Honey." She smiles down at me.

"Are you okay? I mean, are they gonna put you in jail or charge you with anything?" I ask.

"I'm fine. A bit embarrassed, to say the least, but fine otherwise," she replies. "You wouldn't be laying here like this if I hadn't left that damn briefcase out here."

"It's not your fault. I'm the one who came charging around the corner like a mad woman," I reply. "They aren't gonna put you in jail are they?"

"Stop worrying about me. The Captain told me what a screw-up I am, but he shut up after I mentioned a nice donation to the Firefighter's Relief Fund. You're the one with the problem right now. Let's worry about you."

"I'm okay; it just hurts a little," I assure her.

"A little?" she repeats.

"Well, maybe more than a little; maybe a lot, but I'll live I think," I try to say with a smile.

"You better, little lady, you owe me. You got me all hot and bothered, and I'm still hornier than a three-peckered billy goat right now. You've really stood my world on end in the last couple hours," she whispers down to me.

"Good," I reply, with no trouble smiling this time. "But you better be saving all that horniness for me."

"You never have to worry about that, Sweetness," is the last thing I hear from her as an EMT pulls her out of the way so he could start working on me.

They are trying to be careful moving me onto a backboard and carrying me, but every little movement is met with intense pain. I can see tears rolling down Marsha's beautiful face as the EMTs load me into the ambulance. I hold my left hand out toward her.

I hear her yell, "I'll be there just as soon as I can."

The ambulance doors close, shutting me off from the one thing I need and want more than anything else on planet Earth, my wonderful Marsha.

#

Within two hours Marsha is standing over me. I'm laying on a gurney in the hospital emergency room. They have already taken a series of x-rays of my arm and ankle. We're waiting now for the verdict on just how bad the breaks are. Marsha is holding my left hand and continuously brushing my hair back out of my face.

"I guess I really screwed things up, didn't I," I say.

"It wasn't you, it was that damn fire alarm that interrupted things," she says, smiling down at me and moving my hair again.

"I was really enjoying what we were doing. I think it was downright rude of the fire department to set the alarms off at that particular moment," I joke.

"You were enjoying it? How do you think I felt? You had me about to climb outta my skin, and when that damn alarm went off, I almost did," she says with the cutest little giggle.

"When we get back home maybe I'll finish up that little project. But I'm not so sure I'm gonna like seeing you without your skin," I say.

"Well, we're probably going to have to postpone it for a while. I would imagine they're going to want to keep you here for a couple days," she says, fussing with my hair again.

I don't know what it is about being sick or hurt that makes people want to fiddle with your hair. I guess it's just a way of showing that they care about you and are concerned about your condition. Maybe it's just because they figure your hair is something they can touch without causing you more pain. But whatever it is, I love it when Marsha is doing it.

"I don't wanna stay in the hospital. I hate these places. Please don't let them keep me," I nearly beg.

"I'm sorry, Sweetness, there's nothing I can do about it. It's up to the doctor," she replies.

"No it isn't. This is America. They can't make me stay if I don't want to," I reply.

"If they want to keep you here it's only in your best interest," she says.

"My only interest, best or otherwise, is getting back home and into my own bed, with you," I say.

"Well, I'm pretty damn interested in that too, but like I said, 'we're probably going to have to postpone it for a while'," she replies. "Right now, let's just worry about getting you all better."

"I will be better, as soon as we're back home," I say.

"Well, if that's the case, you should be better in just a couple of days," the doctor announces walking into the room. "The ankle is just sprained. Pretty severely, but just sprained nonetheless. The arm has what we call a green-tree fracture. Which means, it isn't broken all the way through. It's like a green tree branch that's been bent far enough to crack and splinter, but not far enough to break off. It'll heal quickly."

"Then why do I have to wait a couple days? I don't need to stay here, do I?" I ask.

"If you didn't live alone, I'd send you home. But you're going to need a little help getting around for the next week or two and I can't allow you to go home by yourself," he explains.

"But I don't wanna stay here," I object.

"You won't be able to walk at all for a day or two. You can't use crutches or a walker because of the broken arm. You won't even be able to hop to the bathroom by yourself," he says.

"She won't be alone," Marsha says, "I'll be with her."

My heart soars. I squeeze her hand tight. Just the thought of her staying with me for a couple of days sends chills racing up and down my spine, and in a few other places I won't even mention right now.

"Oh, I thought she lived alone," the doctor replies, his eyes squinting a little.

"She does, or at least, she did, but she's moving in with me as soon as she's well enough. I mean, if she will," Marsha says smiling at me. "In the meantime, I'm staying at her place."

"I can see by that huge grin on her face that this case is closed," the doctor says with a grin almost as large as the one on my face. "That's only the second proposal I've ever witnessed. The other one was mine. We'll get a cast on that arm and have you outta here within an hour.

"Great," is all I can manage to say at the moment.

"The nurse will be in here in a few minutes and we'll get everything taken care of," the doctor says walking out the door.

I look up into Marsha's big bright eyes and squeeze her hand tighter. "Did you really mean all of that?"

"I meant it more than anything I've ever said," she replies. "I guess the only question now is; will you have me?" A look of sincerity adorns her beautiful face like none I have ever seen before. This isn't the same self-confident woman I see at work every day. She's suddenly not so sure of herself.

"I think that's about the stupidest question I've ever heard," I reply. "You know damn good and well I will."

"No I don't," she mumbles. "It's not every day I ask someone to live with me. I mean, I think you love me too. I honestly don't feel like today is a one-night-stand."

"I'm praying it won't be," I say. "I can't think of anything that would make me happier than us living together as a couple. But I do have one very important rule in my life that you need to be aware of. I am totally monogamous."

"Ditto, Sweetness," she replies with a sexy grin. "I'll let you know right up front; if I ever catch you or even suspect that you're seeing someone else, male or female, you'll learn what's meant by the fury of a red-head."

"Cool, but this little blonde can get pretty scrappy when I need to," I tease.

"Yeah, I know. I just saw you tackle those three huge, well-armed, well-armored, firefighters, remember?" she jokes.

"I was out numbered, and they took me by surprise," I say.

"What's your dad going to say?" she asks, that serious look creeps back across her gorgeous face.

"What can he say? I got my prescription filled, didn't I."

"Yes you did, and just so you'll know, I'm wearing the prescription right now," she says. Turning around, she quickly lifts her skirt to flash her behind at me to prove she has them on. "The medicine is in here."

We're both laughing when the nurse strolls in pushing a cart with all the makings for a cast, and nearly catches Marsha with the back of her skirt pulled up.

"What'd I miss that's so funny?" the nurse asks.

"Nothing, just a little inside joke," Marsha replies before breaking out in near-hysterical laughter.

"I need to get you two outta here; you're having way too much fun to be in a hospital emergency room. Maybe I should send you up to surgery, you ladies would keep them in stitches up there," the nurse teases as she starts getting things ready to get me plastered, I mean, to get my arm plastered.

This Valentines Day had turned into a real fiasco, races through my mind. The weatherman had been right when he called this storm the Valentines Day Fiasco. But sometimes a fiasco just has a way of working out for the better. Going home has never looked so wonderful to me.