TITLE: Philanthropy (1/2) AUTHOR: Jess Mabe EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@mindspring.com DISCLAIMER: I was just borrowing them, honestly, officer. DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just let me know. SPOILER WARNING: None RATING: NC-17 CONTENT WARNING: Sex, spooning? CLASSIFICATION: MSR, M/O Pre-XF SUMMARY: Scully asks Mulder to tell her about his first time. He does. Visit my site for all my fiction, lovingly archived by Galia: http://galias.arjika.com/Jess/jess.htm Then visit Galia's site for more great fiction! http://galias.arjika.com/visions.html AUTHOR'S NOTES: This came from rereading that damn 1998 Playboy interview where DD talks about his "Mrs. Robinson". This isn't exactly like that, but hey, can I help it if images of a young Mulder and an, um, older woman were stuck in an endless grove in my head? I don't really do M/O, so this is very pre-XF and Scully's there the whole time. It doesn't count, I swear. I'm still shippy as hell. Email me. Tell me about your first time. Ok, don't, I don't want to know, but I would like feedback. PHILANTHROPY It was afterward that she wanted to know. In the intimate darkness of his bedroom, with the lamp glowing a very pale yellow, casting a circle of light like a flower against the ceiling. She'd never even wondered before, never thought about it. But now, with his sweat cooling on her chest, his hand on her hip, she wanted to know everything. "Tell me about your first time," Scully said, curled tight around Mulder's left side. He shifted beside her and she raised her head. "Don't tell me this was it." He snorted and gave her a squeeze. "No." His breathing was still ragged, still sharp in the hot, still air of his apartment. "Then what? Was it bad? Was it Phoebe?" Smiling, he scooted up a bit and propped his head up with a couple stray pillows. They were in for the long haul. "Why do you say 'bad' and 'Phoebe' that way, Scully? Did you have issues with her?" "So it was Phoebe," she said, feeling a little sick and smug at the same time. "No," he said slowly, "it wasn't Phoebe." "Tell me," she urged. "I want to know something about you I didn't know before tonight. I want proof, a blood-red badge of honor, Mulder, that something remarkable has happened here." "What, the sex wasn't enough?" "Stop stalling," she insisted. "You've never told anyone about this, have you?" Brushing his fingers down her arm, he shrugged. "No one else has ever asked. But since you insist... this is long, all right?" She nodded and settled more firmly against him. "That's how I want to hear it. The unabridged version. How it felt. Everything." His voice was quiet, lazy as he began. Outside, it was raining one of those heavy spring rains. Scully could hear it tap against the window, a rhythm for his words. "The winter after I turned seventeen, the year before I went to England, my mother asked me if I could do her a favor. She was involved in a philanthropic women's group at the time. That sort of thing was big with the wives in the Vineyard. We hadn't celebrated a Christmas since Sam was taken, and even before, my family weren't much for the holidays. I think it had to do with Dad being Jewish and Mom being Methodist; they just couldn't decide which one to go with, which God to offend the least. "Over the holidays, my mother worked with some of the other wives on a canned food drive. One of those things where they gather up soups and tins of fancy asparagus that are past the expiration date, plop them in a basket with a turkey and drive them around to more needy families in other areas of the county. She asked if I could come down on Christmas Eve and help load the baskets into the women's cars. With the turkeys, they were too heavy for the delicate wives of the Vineyard to lift on their own, you see. Anyway, there was a local boy for each wife. We were assigned to help her load the car up, then go with her to each house and deliver the baskets." "I think I see where this is going," Scully murmured against his chest. He chuckled. "You wanted to hear about it, so you will. I was one of the final shift, assigned to a woman named Mrs. Ayers. That was all I knew about her, since she wasn't one of my mother's circle of friends. I think the assignments were random. I'm sure they were. Anyway, I was putting turkeys into my allotment of baskets, when I heard this woman call out my name. I turned and there she was, just a nice mother of two little kids, dark hair and I remember she had green eyes. She wasn't beautiful, but she was pretty in the way that you expect a young wife to be, curvy and she had a wonderful, full-wattage smile. I wasn't particularly smitten or anything, but I was delighted to realize I wouldn't be accompanying any of the older, stiffer women, the kind who had to condescend to talk to a teenage boy. Looking back on it, she was probably younger than you are now, Scully, but she seemed very grown-up to me then. "'All set?' she asked and I nodded. She pointed to this giant station wagon out in the parking lot and then picked up a basket. I was surprised that she helped me, carrying out one basket for every two I was able to pick up. I remember she wore a heavy wool pea coat and by the time we were finished, there was a fine line of sweat around her hairline. She just smiled and wiped it away with her hand. I can still remember setting two of the baskets into the children's seats in the back seat of her car. "We chatted as we drove from house to house. She was recently divorced, but had grown up in the Vineyard. I think she came from money herself, because she was still socially active without her husband. It was bitterly cold and after each house we would run back to the car and get in as quickly as we could, laughing about how we couldn't turn the heat up or the turkeys would defrost. I remember she wore a pair of mittens with roses on them and a hat that matched. I asked her if she made them. She told me they were a gift from her mother, who was Norwegian, and that they were reversible. She took the hat off and handed it to me to turn inside out and sure enough, there was the exact same pattern on the inside, but the negative. I tried it on and she let me leave it on at the next house, which made the woman getting the basket laugh. "On the way back to the car that time, she told me she didn't like my mother. She said she could imagine how hard losing Sam had been, but she didn't understand how my mother could speak so coldly about me. 'If I lost one of my children,' she said, 'I'd love the other one twice as much.' I didn't know what to say to her. "The last house was on the way back into town, right at the edge of all the richer houses. I remember how small and fragile it looked, back in the trees, and everything, including the roof, was covered in a thin white layer of frost. The night was so clear that the air seemed like water around us, the icy water of a midnight lake. The woman in the last house looked so tired. She took the basket with her three year-old hanging onto her leg, crying miserably. I had never really spoken to anyone that poor before, living right there on the edge of town. Mrs. Ayers... her first name was Cindy, but I didn't know that then, Cindy gave the little boy a candy cane and the woman burst into tears. She grabbed Cindy and wouldn't let her go, just stood there crying. And Cindy cried right back, hugging the woman so fiercely. I was astonished at her empathy for this woman, at her compassion. No one I knew was like that. "On the way back to the car, she was still emotional, I think. I remember she slipped, slightly, on the icy pavement and I grabbed her arm to hold her up. She held my hand the rest of the way back to the car and I was tingling at the contact, suddenly aware of her, suddenly aware of everything. In the car, we turned the heat up full blast and she shook her hair out from where it had been tucked into the collar of her coat. It was so thick and dark and curly and I remember wanting to touch it because it looked so beautiful, streaked blue by the moonlight. We were very quiet on the drive back into town. I think she was probably embarrassed for having taken my hand. I asked at one point where her kids were and she said they were staying with their father over the holiday. "The road curved slightly and I remember she was driving very slowly, nervously. Suddenly the car started to slide and we turned a full three-hundred sixty degrees, not fast, but gracefully, like we were ice skaters on a pond. We came to rest in a ditch, backwards and I offered to get out and push. It was so cold outside, she gave me her mittens to wear. The fabric stuck to the metal of the car when I touched it. I couldn't budge it an inch, and the smell of the exhaust was making me sick. Finally she gave up and got out, laughing. 'Come on, Fox,' she said. 'I live about a mile that way, across the field. We can call a tow-truck and your father from there.' I gave her the mittens back and she insisted I keep one. That seemed illogical until she reached out and took my bare hand in hers, tucking them both into my jacket pocket. Her hand was small and hot and my stomach was shivering as if I'd been dipped in freezing water. The grass under our feet was frosted gray and it crackled as we walked. The night was absolutely silent. I wished the walk was longer than it turned out to be, despite the fact that my extremities were frozen. "She lived in this massive old Victorian house. I could see the Christmas tree in the window and she had hung lights all around the eaves. I asked if she had done it herself and she said she had. I remember wondering how, since she wasn't very tall. I kept imagining her up on a ladder, straining to reach the edge of the roof with a staple gun. Once we were inside, she took off her coat and her mitten and pulled the other mitten off my hand herself. The whole house smelled like those oranges stuck with cloves my mother used to have in a bowl by the door this time of year. I looked around, but couldn't see any. The house was beautiful, everything done up for a Christmas I gathered she wasn't going to have. 'Do you want anything to drink?' she asked and I said sure, thinking she meant coffee or hot chocolate. She brought out a bottle of red wine. "We sat on the edge of her couch and she poured us each a glass. 'Make a toast, Fox,' she said and I couldn't think of anything for a moment, it was all so unreal and dreamlike to me. Finally I said: 'To philanthropy,' and she laughed and clinked her glass against mine. We each took a sip and I noticed she was watching me while I swallowed. There were wrapped presents under the tree. 'When do they get those?' I asked and she shrugged. 'After the New Year.' "'Aren't you lonely without your kids?' I asked and she sat there for a moment before she answered me, looking out the window. 'No,' she said finally. 'That's the funny thing. I don't miss them at all, sometimes.' It was astonishingly quiet in that house. I could hear a clock ticking in another room. 'Maybe I'll build a fire,' she said. 'Don't you need to call the tow truck?' I asked and she turned and looked over her shoulder at me. 'Do you think I should, just yet?' And I remember feeling the weight of my head as I shook it, no. She just nodded and bent to make the fire. "'Let me do that,' I said and she scooted over, squatting there beside me in corduroy jeans and a wool sweater with snowflakes on it. There was a small hole in the shoulder of her sweater, just at the seam, and I could see her skin through it. I shoved newspaper in and loaded on the kindling and she set a log on top. When she lit it, the smoke swirled into the room for a moment, then up the chimney in a long, thin stream of gray. 'Do you want to make love to me?' she asked suddenly and I dropped the unlit match I was holding. "Of course there was only one answer to that. I nodded furiously and she just took my hand and walked over to window, shutting the curtains. I thought I ought to kiss her, so I bent down and pressed my lips onto hers. I remember being so astonished when she opened her mouth and really kissed me. I couldn't breathe and the room felt like it was in the tropics. We were standing beside the Christmas tree. 'Come lie down,' she said, 'you're shaking,' and pulled me over in front of the fire. I just sat there, hyperventilating, unable to make another move. Finally she smiled and said: 'Is this your first time, Fox?' I thought about lying, but it didn't make any sense to do so. She wasn't going to reject me, or look down on me, that much was obvious, so I nodded. 'Close your eyes,' she said. 'You have to trust me.' Of course I immediately shut my eyes and lay back on the rug. I'd have trusted her with a red-hot branding iron at that moment. "I could hear her moving, but she wasn't touching me. Finally I couldn't stand it any longer, so I opened my eyes. She had turned the overhead lights off and the room was lit only by the Christmas tree and the yellow moving light of the fire. She had taken off her sweater and was sitting beside me in white cotton bra that looked nothing like the giant constructions my mother wore, and her dark green corduroy jeans. I remember thinking: my God, this is real. This woman is going to let me touch her. You have to understand, I had barely even kissed a girl before, and that had been because someone at a party dared her to 'go kiss Fox, the loser'. She had very white skin and with the dark hair she seemed unbearably beautiful to me. I sat up and kissed her shoulder. She sighed. So I kissed her clavicle. When she didn't stop me, I couldn't stop myself. I worked my way down her breast, kissing everything, right through the cotton. I was frantic and she kept slowing me down, holding my head still against one spot or another until I calmed down. Then she pushed me back onto the floor and we just lay there for a moment as she stroked the hair back from my face. "She told me I was beautiful. No one had ever said anything even remotely like that to me before. At home I was 'stupid', or 'annoying'. 'Fox, you're annoying me today. Can't you do anything right?' This was so different, I didn't know how to react. When she sat up and undid the clasp on her bra, I thought I might cry. Gratitude kept welling up inside me, and I didn't know how to handle it. I distracted myself with her nipples, which were soft and the color of the coral beads on one of my mother's bracelets. I tried to hear what she liked, to concentrate, but I had never realized that a woman's breasts have that wonderful, spicy, hormonal taste before. I knew, without being told, that this was how she would taste between her legs and it made me crazy. I stopped thinking and just concentrated on that taste, on that smell. Finally, she pulled me away and kissed me again, helping me come back to earth. She let me touch her, then she slipped her hands down my body to my waist and lifted up my shirt. "I was so young then, and I was skinny. I felt ridiculously underdeveloped, though I don't think I was. Now that I'm a grown man, I know what adults see when they look at a young person. The lean muscles, the supple skin. But God, I felt so inadequate. I think I thought all men should look like Skinner. I lay there waiting for her to laugh, to ask me to go. She didn't. Instead she began to kiss me, starting at my navel and working her way back up to my mouth. I'd never felt anything like it. Even when I was young, my mother didn't touch me very much. No one in my family understood the value of a caress, of tender touches. I couldn't keep my eyes open, it was so overwhelmingly good. Everything was sensitive: my nipples, my sides, every inch of my skin. I was so hard I couldn't sit up, couldn't do anything but lie there and feel her mouth on my chest. end 1 of 2 --------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------- The X-Files Creative Mailing List Archived at http://www.xemplary.com To subscribe, go to http://www.onelist.com/subscribe/xfc-atxc To unsubscribe, write xfc-atxc-unsubscribe@onelist.com Check out the XFC Feedback list http://www.onelist.com/subscribe/xfc-fdbk ---------------------------------- Imported to ATXC courtesy of NewsGuy news service http://newsguy.com TITLE: Philanthropy (2/2) AUTHOR: Jess Mabe EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@mindspring.com "'Does that feel good?' she asked and I couldn't even speak. I just groaned. 'Yes,' she said, 'it felt that way to me too.' This astonished me. My kisses made her feel this same longing, this same aching? Suddenly all I wanted to do was kiss her. I rolled her over onto her back and started kissing her arms, her fingers, her waist. She laughed and I paused, thinking she was amused by me, but then I looked at her face and saw that she was joyous, that she was laughing precisely because it felt good. "'Keep going,' she gasped and so I did. I suckled her breasts and lavished attention on her neck, on her cheeks. She raised my face to hers and kissed me. "The strange thing is, I've spoken to other people about their first times and it's never like this. It's always rushed, or frightening, or just awkward. This wasn't any of those things. It was what I dreamed it would be from the moment I started to picture it. She ran her hands down my back and said: 'I can't believe no one's wanted to do this with you before,' which made me blush and bury my face in the space between her breasts. I didn't think of myself as handsome. Maybe I'm aware of my looks now, I know what I look like to other people in the abstract sense, but I can still remember how ugly I felt most of the time, how worthless. I wondered what I looked like to her, but couldn't see it. She kissed the tip of my nose. 'Take off your jeans,' she said and I collapsed for a moment on top of her, overwhelmed with need. "'Come on, now,' she said, laughing. 'You can do this. I promise.' "I sat up and started unbuttoning my jeans. My hands were shaking. She put her own hand over mine and did it for me, dragging her fingers over me. I groaned and felt incredibly stupid until she answered me with her own soft moan. I'd never thought I could feel this sort of pleasure with another person. I had heard my parents having sex a thousand times. Hell, I'd even scooted my bed over to the wall to get better sound quality. My early experience with porn, I suppose. It didn't sound like this. My father would grunt and my mother... well, I never heard a sound from her. I always pictured her just laying there, watching some spot on the ceiling, thinking about tomorrow's dinner or next week's charity meeting. Cindy pushed my jeans down my thighs and before I could rise up and slip out of them and my shoes, she simply took me in her hand and rose up on her knees to kiss me. I ejaculated almost immediately. "I was horribly embarrassed, nearly in tears. 'I'm so sorry, oh God, I'm so sorry.' I remember saying it over and over, frantically trying to clean myself and her hand with something. I think I did start to cry, more from frustration than anything. The orgasm hadn't even been that enjoyable because I was so horrified as it was happening. She shushed me, kissed me and whispered: 'It's all right, Fox. I wanted you to come. Now you'll be able to last longer inside me.' "I thought the bottom had dropped out of my world. After all this, after making such a monumental fool of myself, I was going to get to be inside her? How was this possible? I kissed her so passionately I probably nearly choked her with my tongue. She responded by pushing me back onto my back again and pulling off each of my shoes, then my jeans and underwear. I stared down at her and caught sight of my penis, lying flaccid against my stomach. It looked greasy and spent. I glared at it, filled with contempt. I wasn't sure I would ever really trust it again. She caught me and laughed, lifting it with her hand and examining me. I thought she would tell me I wasn't adequate. Of course I'd compared myself to the boys in the locker room at school, and I knew I was neither big nor small, but somewhere in the middle. But those were boys. How did I compare to men? Was she looking at me and thinking: 'this is it?' I closed my eyes, feeling more than just completely naked. Then I felt her tongue on my balls and my eyes opened again, starting as if she'd shot me. "I think I said 'oh God!' or maybe 'oh shit!'. She smiled and licked me, top to bottom, and I do mean bottom. I thought I would die with pleasure, with surprise. I didn't even know women did things like that. She smiled at me and sat up, undoing her pants and stripping out of them, her underwear and her shoes and socks so quickly I had trouble following it. Perhaps I was a bit out of it. Today I might have wanted her to strip, slowly. To savor those last few minutes before you've seen it all, but then... I just wanted to see it all. I remember how dark the hair between her legs seemed, and how thick. The only naked women I had seen were in skin magazines and they were nearly always shaved. Cindy didn't look like that. She looked lush, and verdant, and tempting. She spread her legs a bit, straddling my leg, and said: 'You can touch me, you know.' "I nodded and still I couldn't move. I could no more have put my hand between her thighs than I could have flown up the chimney like Santa. She smiled and reaching down, pulled my limp hand to her body. I couldn't believe how hot she felt, and how wet. I don't know how your own wetness feels to you, Scully, but this... to me it felt like heaven. It was slick and hot and my fingers slipped through her and it was like mud pies when you were a kid, or finger-paints, or anything tactile and therefore delicious. She moaned, loudly and let go of my hand. I had no idea what to do, so for a few moments, I just explored. It was like a topographical map down there, with hollows and mountains and foothills. I wanted to know the lay of the land, so to speak. Then she took my hand again and guided my finger inside of her. "I will never forget that moment. There was some sort of immediate sensory identification between my prick and my hand. I knew, in that moment, that was where my penis belonged. Right there. I was hard again, instantly, and fascinated. Maybe too fascinated. I couldn't think about anything else but putting my fingers into her body. First one, then two, then finally three. She was gasping and I was plunging them in and out and she was saying: 'oh, oh, oh,' and this little grunt thing and it was marvelous. I could have done just that, all night. But I think it wore thin for her after a few moments because she said: 'Fox, stop,' which I did, instantly. "'Did I hurt you?' I think it was the first thing I'd said since 'oh shit'. She shook her head. 'That's wonderful, but that's not all there is, you know.' "No, I didn't know. There was more? I was enthralled. Like what? She crawled up my body until she was right over my face. I had heard, of course, about oral sex. I knew, technically, what it was. But she wasn't expecting me to actually do it, was she? Because I didn't know her ass from Adam, so to speak. I think I gulped and she laughed. She touched herself, pulling her lips apart and I could see everything. It was amazing, familiar and yet totally strange. She ran a finger up to her clitoris. 'This is it,' she said, and I knew what she meant. 'This is where I want your tongue to be, most of the time. Flick it like it's candy,' she said. 'Or suck on it, or press your tongue against it. That's why you're going to use your tongue, because you can't hurt me accidentally.' I just nodded. Whatever. All I wanted was to taste her. She lowered herself down to me and I reached up and grabbed her ass, instinctively. "Nothing on earth tastes quite like a woman. Within reason, most women taste about the same, but there are subtle variations with each. I didn't know that yet, and I couldn't believe, at first, how strong and musky she was. I didn't love it like I do now. But it was tolerable, and hearing her moan and feeling her grind herself down on me was enough stimulation to keep me happy for quite some time. Then suddenly, she was still and I thought I had screwed up. 'Keep going,' she said, and her voice was deeper, throatier. My tongue was a bit sore by now, but I complied, running it up to her clit and circling it, then thrusting against it. And then I was watching her come, right above me, calling out and pulsing and I was rubbing myself in her liquid, covering my lips in her. I wanted to drink her, to lap at her until she was dry. I'd never felt anything so wonderful. I was completely addicted and my confidence surged. I'd made a woman come! Me, the loser. The bad kid. The crazy one. Who would believe it? There was no one to tell. I just lay there beaming at her crotch. "Later I would figure out that it was mostly her doing. There is no magic skill that makes all women come. I hadn't learned the secret of the universe. She came easily and freely because she wanted to, because I suppose it was sexy to deflower me, to teach me what to do. But I felt grand. Slowly she slid down my body until we were eye to eye. "'That was great,' she said. 'You did good.' I grinned at her and she grinned back. 'You don't smile enough, Fox. I've watched you when you drive your mother to the club, or when I come into the hardware store and you're working behind the counter and you barely smile at the customers. You have a wonderful smile.' It was glued onto my face by the time she'd finished. No one else ever seemed to care if I smiled or not, until I met you. "We lay there for a moment and I wondered briefly if that was it. Then it occurred to me that maybe she needed to recover. I ran my hand up and down her back, stroking her skin. She sighed and rose up a bit. Before I quite realized what was happening, she was sliding down onto me. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. "It was indescribable. She was soaking and I was so hard I felt like I would burst at any time. She controlled the pace, riding me slowly, gently, letting me get used to the sensation, she said. I could have told her then, you never get used to it. I couldn't keep my eyes open, I couldn't pry my hands off her hips. The pleasure was so intense I was actually emitting one long, endless groan. She sped up then, faster and faster. I was thrashing beneath her, holding on, trying to stay there for as long as possible, right on the edge, forever if that would work. I could hear her breathing speeding up. 'God Fox,' she said, 'you're so damn hard.' That did it. I came and came and came. It wouldn't stop, I couldn't. The orgasm seemed to last forever and then it was over, and I was rolling to a stop. She lay on top of me, watching me through slitted eyes. I moaned and she laughed. "'Good?' she said and I could only nod, slightly. My toes were still twitching. I wanted to do it again, right then, though I knew I couldn't. I wanted to do it again all the damn time, for the rest of my life. Hell, I still do. "We did do it again, about half an hour later. I was so young then, I had no idea how miraculous that was. I fucked her that time, on top, pounding into her. It was amazing to be in complete command of her body, to touch her at the same time and feel her shiver around me. She was a good lover, eager and easy to please. I could probably have fucked her all night long, but she was also intelligent enough to understand how talk starts. "At ten we called the tow truck. She helped me dress, smoothing my shirt over my chest, kissing me. 'I had a great time,' she said as I was lacing up my shoes. 'We won't do this again, you understand.' I remember how sharp the disappointment was, and not just because I couldn't have sex with her. I liked her. She was funny and warm. I thought that's how all my future lovers would be. It wasn't until I met you that I found that again. "The tow truck driver took me home. She patted my back as I left, like I was just some neighborhood kid, helping her out. Maybe that's all I was, I don't know. The tow truck driver talked about baseball on the way home and I didn't even listen. He was following the citrus league, I remember and he kept talking about Nolan Ryan. I just sat there, pressing my face up against the icy window of the truck because it still burned, thinking about how her skin felt, how she tasted, how damned lucky I was. It took me months to get over that feeling of joy, of astonishment, of delight. I went to England with it and it colored everything at first, making the entire country seem magical. It ended after Phoebe, when I realized that it wouldn't always be that good, that fresh and sweet." He paused. Was she even listening? Was she asleep? Maybe he had told her too much. He waited, breathless, until he heard her voice. "Did you ever see her again, Mulder?" "I did," he admitted. "When I was home the next summer, I worked in the hardware store again. She came in with her kids. It was so hot and she looked harried and exhausted. The kids were whining and she was dragging them over to the vending machine to get a Coke. I remember just standing there, transfixed, waiting for her to see me. She turned around, finally, and our eyes met. She smiled and then her attention was back on the youngest girl, helping her to open her drink. I realized then that she was prettier than I'd remembered, and smaller. She pulled the children toward me and I could hear one of them asking to go home. 'Just a minute,' she said. 'How are you, Fox?' She seemed to genuinely want to know. 'I'm ok,' I said. 'I'm great.' One of the guys who worked with me looked at the two of us. I wanted, for a moment, to say something to her so that he would be able to tell, so that he would know I had been with this woman. She caught my eye and shook her head, almost imperceptibly and I knew I wouldn't say anything. 'I'll see you around,' she said and left with her kids. She met someone, a lawyer I think, and moved away the following year. I never saw her again after that." He listened to Scully's even breathing, felt her small hand curled into a fist against his chest. "That's a nice story," she said at last. "I didn't think it would be, but it was. I'm glad someone took the time to love you a little bit before me." Smiling, he pulled her in closer, tighter. "She didn't love me even a little bit, Scully. I know that now. She was just lonely, maybe, and I was young and I think... maybe sexy, if you can believe it." "I can believe it," she said and kissed his shoulder. "A little bit." Then she slid up to his mouth and leaned over him. "Think you can do it again?" she whispered, sliding one hand down his body. "Scully," he answered, filled with affection, "you're only as young as you feel." Which begged the answer he received, her hand tight around him. "Mulder, you feel pretty young to me." End 2 of 2 Email me, and tell me I'm a pervert. --------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------- The X-Files Creative Mailing List Archived at http://www.xemplary.com To subscribe, go to http://www.onelist.com/subscribe/xfc-atxc To unsubscribe, write xfc-atxc-unsubscribe@onelist.com Check out the XFC Feedback list http://www.onelist.com/subscribe/xfc-fdbk ---------------------------------- Imported to ATXC courtesy of NewsGuy news service http://newsguy.com