Story 2, Tammy on a Business Trip

by Must Be Barking Mad

Chapters:

Chapter 1 - Atrium
Chapter 2 - Hotel room cleanup
Chapter 3 - Bath and more
Chapter 4 - Cuddles and talk in the afterglow
Chapter 5 - Epilogue

Copyright (c) 2003, Must Be Barking Mad. All Rights Reserved.

"Author's Notes" and "Qualifiers and Disclaimers" at end of story. Read them first!

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Chapter 1 - Atrium
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This is a story about a relationship that I recently experienced, as best I can recall the details (I've had to take a bit of poetic license where I don't recall all the details, but for the most part I've tried to stay true to my memory).

As you may recall, my name is Tammy, and I'm 31 (on the verge of 32) years old. If you don't recall, and want to know more about me, please read my first story 'Adult Tammy meets sweet young Laura' (which is a recount of an ongoing relationship that I am in).

During the late spring of the year after Laura and I became an 'item' (albeit secretly), I had to make a business trip to a large city in the mid-west USA (*Authors note: I'm not going to say which city, since I don't want to risk giving away anything that might be used to identity either the girl whom this story is about or myself - as unlikely as this may be*). Unfortunately, it was an extended two week trip - I needed to be there for all ten of the business days, and it just wasn't worth-while spending a lot of my time stuffed into a cramped airplane just to go home (on the eastern-seaboard USA) for the intervening weekend. I didn't like it. And my sweet love, Laura, didn't like it either. But sometimes common sense just has to take precedence over deeply-felt emotions.

So that weekend I remained in the hotel in that unfamiliar, far away city.

Fortunately, the hotel in which I was staying was located right downtown. During the week this location was great for easily getting to the local office of the firm that I am with, and to the office of the major client that I had been brought in to assist. And during the weekend, this location gave me access to things to do to keep myself occupied (beyond continuing to go through my client's files, which is a good way to burn-out and go stark raving mad).

So on Saturday, after allowing myself to sleep in awhile (you may recall that I am fond of lingering in bed on weekend mornings), I decided to go exploring. The hotel's helpful concierge gave me a decent map of the downtown, and made several suggestions of what to see. I started with a small State museum that happened to be nearby - but as much as I normally like museums, this one bored me (although I did have a very pleasant chat with one of the curators). So I went looking for art galleries instead, and was fortunate enough to find one public gallery and several retail galleries in the downtown core. They made for a pleasant morning, especially the second retail gallery that I visited

The only bad ... no, not bad, just not very pleasant ... part of the morning was having to set a brisk walking pace between galleries, in order to stay warm in the cold, crisp, biting spring air.

By the time early afternoon rolled around I was feeling hungry. And by now also feeling a bit chilled despite the exercise of walking all over downtown. On the map he had given me, the concierge had circled a complex of office towers that had a large multistory mall at their base, not too far from my hotel. He also noted that at top of one of the office towers was a large atrium, filled with an abundance of plants and even some fish ponds. I figured that the mall would be a good place to pick up something delicious to eat, and the atrium sounded like it would be a great place to be mellow as I enjoyed my lunch. And then, after a relaxed lunch, I could go shopping! So I went wandering off in that direction, and reached the mall just as dark, ominous clouds closed in and it began to rain and sleet (talk about good timing! I'd like to say it was planned that way, but it was just dumb luck :-) ).

Sure enough, I was able to find a decent cream cheese bagel at a deli in the mall. And the way to the atrium was very well marked with brightly illustrated overhead signs, so it was easy for me to find the elevator up to the atrium. Within a few minutes I was walking through the atrium.

The atrium was everything the concierge had led me to believe it was. Large (it covered the whole top of the office tower, and the ceilings were very lofted). Airy (the entire atrium was glass walled and roofed, against which the rain and sleet outside now pelted and cascaded off in energetic rivulets). Incredibly beautiful (the atrium was stuffed full of all sorts of leafy and flowering tropical plants and tall, lush trees, interspersed with several narrow walking paths). Serene (the sound of a symphony of bird songs and trickling water from the many tiny waterfalls filled the air). Fragrant (the rich bouquet of tropical flowers wafted through the air, mixed with the heady but still pleasant aroma of earth and fallen leaves). And warm (my chill was soon chased away by the warm, humid air - thank goodness)! I would even go so far as to say that the setting was romantic - which made me wish that my sweet Laura was there to enjoy it with me, rather than being several thousand miles away.

I walked around through this 'forest' until I found the fish ponds, tucked away in one of the corners. There were several wooden benches overlooking the fish ponds, and I took over one of them. I removed my coat, and within a few minutes my shawl as well. Then I sat down to enjoy my lunch, and to enjoy the pleasant and relaxing setting.

Several people and families wandered past as I was sitting there enjoying my lunch, and then later as I was just relaxing. It wasn't until probably about twenty minutes later that I first noticed a young girl, about 14 or 15, alternately feeding fish and sitting on another nearby bench.

At first I assumed this young girl was part of one of the family groups that were milling around. But those groups then moved on. Next I assumed that she was waiting for someone. But no one ever showed up, and she showed no signs of paying any attention to her watch or being concerned about a 'missed' deadline. Nor did she seem to be searching for the approach of anyone. If anything, she seemed to cast occasional curious glances at me. I eventually realized that she must have been here by herself, and was enjoying the serenity of the atrium just like I was. I thought no more about it, and went back to my own meditations.

Well ... actually ... I admit that I didn't completely go back to my own meditations. I did occasionally (OK, OK, OK, I admit 'often') steal my own curious glances at the young girl, and once even exchanged a casual but friendly smile when we happened to glance at each other at the same time. Nothing naughty-intentioned, mind you. As much as I missed my sweet Laura and was feeling lonely, I honestly had absolutely NO intention of looking for a 'replacement' - precisely because it was LAURA that I was missing. Instead, my glances were just innocent, curious glances of a very pretty girl, and the smile was equally innocent. And as gregarious as I am (by now you've probably noticed how much I enjoy being around other people), I made no move to establish contact with the girl. Mainly, I really did just sit there in the beautiful atrium, happily ensconced in my own mediations.

(*Author's note: Looking back in retrospect (which I did a LOT of after that day, trying to figure out why the day turned out so nicely), I've concluded that the big turning point that day occurred when I casually smiled at the girl for the first time from my bench in the atrium - unintentionally, this changed the atmosphere from being complete strangers to being two people with at least a tiny bit of connection, as tenuous as that connection was. Without that quick smile from across the deck, I'm sure that we would have remained strangers. So I'm now convinced that this was the moment I went from being fortunate to have already met one sweet young lady, Laura, to being extremely fortunate to being in a situation where I would soon get to know a second sweet young lady, this girl on the platform beside the fish ponds. This is the only explanation I can think of for such an unlikely but fortuitous outcome. That smile, that simple smile.*)

Awhile later I got up off of my bench, and went on onto one of the small platforms next to the fish pond. I put my quarter into a fish food dispenser, and collected the tiny, pungent pellets into the palm of my hand. As I was kneeling down tossing these pellets into the water a few at a time, I sensed someone come up beside me, also to watch the plump fish coming to the surface to greedily gobble my offerings. Glancing up, I realized that it was the same girl.

As I said above, I wasn't looking for a 'replacement' companion in this far away city. ... But I certainly wasn't averse to being sociable with other people either. In fact, I was happy to have someone to chat with as I enjoyed the immense beauty and tranquility of the atrium. So for purely friendly reasons, I struck up a light conversation with the young girl (At the risk of sounding like a broken record I'm going to again say 'Honestly, my intentions were innocent!')

At first our conversation was just about the "Greedy little fish, aren't they?", and full of small laughs. This was soon followed by several (actually, many!) complimentary comments about how wonderful the entire atrium was, and a few not so nice comments about the deplorable and further deteriorating weather outside that we could see through the vast expanses of glass around us. At some point during this casual chat I asked her if she came to the atrium often. Her response was "Ya, especially in the wintertime. I love it in here. Especially with all of the singing birds." Smiling, she emphatically swung her arms up towards the birds above us as she said this. I smiled and nodded my head in agreement. Then she asked me in return, "How about you? Do you come here often?"

"No," I answered, "This is the first time I've ever been here. I'm just in town for a few days on business."

"Oh," she replied, her bright eyes perking up in curiosity, "... Where ya' from?"

I told her my home town and state (*Author's note: for the obvious purpose of helping to hide my identify, I'm not going to say the actual city or state names*), which seemed to intrigue her even more, especially because she apparently had a distant cousin who now lived there (talk about a small world!). She was also apparently intrigued by my very brief description of what sort of business I was in town for.

By now I had given my entire handful of sticky, pungent fish food to the glistening gold and red colored fishes that were roiling in the water, and was standing up again and now facing towards the girl. This was my first real opportunity to actually see what this young girl looked like from close up. Although I was still predominantly absorbed in our pleasant conversation at this point, what I did casually observe confirmed that this young girl was pretty, very pretty. She was elegantly lissome, with willowy legs and arms evident through her well fitted pants and shirt, and almost as tall as me (although this doesn't say much, because I'm not particularly tall). Her attractive face looked mildly and pleasantly Elfin-like, with pleasing angular features, high and well defined cheekbones, a beautiful nose that was slightly upturned at the tip, an almost impish smile, her warm blue eyes lying elegantly below her thin, pale, arched eyebrows, and all of this accentuated by how she had her light-brown hair pulled back from her ears into a fashionable braid. After making these casual observations, my mind went fully back to our conversation, which we continued by the water's edge for several minutes.

Eventually I suggested, with an inviting sweep of my hand, that we sit down on the bench as we talked. The girl smiled, and gladly joined me, sitting down on the far side of my draped coat and shawl. We both sat slightly sideways on the bench, facing each other, as we carried on our pleasant chat. At some point (I actually don't recall when) during our conversation on the bench we finally got around to introducing ourselves - this was when I discovered that this friendly young lady was named 'Miranda' (sometime later during our conversation - and I forget how we got on the topic - she also made it clear that she did not go by abbreviations or nicknames like 'Mira' or "Andy'; it was strictly 'Miranda').

During the next 30 minutes we had a very pleasant chat. I've always enjoyed discovering more about the places I've visited. And I enjoy even more the opportunity to find out more about the people that I meet. On both accounts it was enjoyable to chat with Miranda. She told me much about the city and its origins (initially by gold-seekers who either didn't make it to the gold fields or returned empty handed and instead attempted to make a living at ranching, followed by settlers, and latter supported by several railway lines that intersected at this city).

Miranda also told me a great deal about herself. She was 14 years old nearing the end of her junior year in high-school. She enjoyed drama class, as well as English. She was also apparently very good at math, which would partially explain her interest in my accounting career. Her music interests were similar to Laura's, and I recognized the names of several of the singers and groups that she enjoyed listening to. She had done some traveling with her parents - but had only once made it to the Eastern Seaboard, so she found what I had to say about my home region to be very informative.

In addition to my encouraging Miranda to talk by asking her a multitude of questions, during our chat she reciprocated by asking me several questions as well. One of them was: "Do you ever go to New York?" (which is relatively nearby to my home city - at least compared to this city in the mid-west). I do go there several times a year, and was happy to tell her about the 'Big Apple', and its vast arts and shopping scene.

A while later she asked a more personal but still reasonable question: "Do you have a boyfriend back in xxxx? (*Author's note: again, for security reasons I'm not going to say the actual city name*).

"I used to. But I don't anymore. How about you? Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Ya. His name is Todd. But he's kind of a jerk and an idiot, and I think I'm gonna break up with him. ... Especially because he keeps trying to, um, touch me, and I don't like that. ... Why did you break up with your boyfriend?"

"Oh, because I met someone whom I love far, far more." I immediately realized that I had just stupidly painted myself into a corner, and hoped that Miranda wouldn't pick up on it.

But judging by the confused look that came across her face, she did pick up on it. This was confirmed when she asked me: "Huh? But that means that you do have a boyfriend. Just a new one."

"Um ... well, not exactly," I said with a cringe. With some hesitation, I decided that a limited amount of honesty was called for - I felt secure that such information would never get from this stranger back to the people in my life where it could do damage. "I've, uh, got a girlfriend now. The special person that I met is a g... woman."

Miranda gasped, and her eyes flew open. "Oh. ... you mean that you're, um, a ... a ... um ..."

She never did finish the sentence. So I finished it for her. "A lesbian. Yes, that's true. I do have a girlfriend, whom I love dearly with both my heart and my body."

I expected this revelation to rapidly kill our conversation with social-discomfort, and for this young teen girl to soon make her departure.

But to my immense surprise she did quite the opposite. Her first response, mere moments later, was "Cool. I've never met a lesbian before. At least not one that I knew was one. ... What's your girlfriend's name?"

It took me a moment to wrap my brain around the fact that this young girl was still talking with me, and was honestly interested in my lesbian relationship.

"Um, Laura," I finally answered. I had been contemplating using another name, but concluded again that such a relatively 'detailed' answer to this stranger would never make it's way back east.

"Is she pretty?

"Yes, she is."

And the questions kept coming "What color is her hair?" ... "Is it long?" ... "What color are her eyes?" ... "What is she like?" Then came the question that I was dreading ... "How old is she?"

I'm sure that Miranda asked this last question innocently enough ... but I wasn't about to tell her that my 'girlfriend' was very much a 'girl', and was even younger than her. So instead I answered "I'd rather not say. ... She, um, wouldn't want me to tell a stranger."

She accepted this answer, and moved on to ask many other questions, like "How did you meet her?" and "When did you first know you loved her?"

Then, with the frankness of youth, Miranda asked me "When did you, um, you know, first make it?"

I gasped at the question. "Miranda," I said, "that's a very naughty question to ask."

She looked chastised. "Oops. Sorry."

"That's OK. I know you were just curious. But it is kind of personal, and not one that I'm comfortable answering."

Apparently my gasp at her question and them my response made Miranda nervous and embarrassed at her own behavior and prying question. Because as she apologized she began fidgeting and squirming, and about thirty seconds later her jittery fingers lost their grip on her large cup (one of those grossly over-sized types that teens seem to like having even if there isn't a hope that they will ever finish them) of orange pop. It tipped over towards her, the flimsy plastic lid popped off, and the cup emptied its vibrant-orange contents into her lap. She squealed as she tried to stop the cup and to jump out of the way of the flowing pop. But it was too late. The front and whole crotch of her jeans were soaked, as was the very lower fringe of her light-colored shirt.

"Ooooh, noooo!" she groaned, for very good reason.

I passed her the few small napkins that had come with my deli-bagel. But they were of little use against such a huge volume of pop.

Assessing the damage, she added "Gawd, what a mess! I'm gonna be sticky the whole bus ride home. ... And everybody is gonna think that I peed my pants. Ah, damn! ... Er, I mean 'Darn!'"

I flippantly tried to make a joke, to lighten the mood and cheer her up. "But on the bright side, there's so much sugar in Orange Crush that everybody will also be thinking that you're the sweetest girl around."

This made her laugh, at least for a moment.

"Maybe I can hide it," she said. She picked up her jacket from the back of the bench, and draped it around in front of her crotch. By tying the sleeves of her jacket behind her back, she was able to have the body of the jacket hang in place over her crotch. "Hmm ... looks kind of goofy doesn't it?" she asked me rhetorically.

"Yes," I responded. "And in case you've forgotten, it's so miserable outside that it feels like it's winter time. It may be nice and warm here in the atrium, but outside it's cold and wet," I pointed up at the glass ceiling of the atrium against which the rain and sleet were still pelting down in torrents. "So you're going to need your jacket to stay warm until you get home."

"Ya. Drats."

I pondered Miranda's dilemma. With a little (actually, great) bit of reservation, I offered: "Miranda, if you want, we can go use the hair dryer in my hotel room to dry off your jeans. My hotel is only a few blocks away next to the street 'Jackson Drive'. ... And the concierge at the hotel told me that there's some kind of underground tunnel the whole way there - if we can find it, we can stay indoors. That way you can keep your jacket wrapped around you like that until we reach my hotel, and nobody will be able to see what happened."

With out missing a beat, I added "They'll still think you look goofy. But at least they won't think you peed your pants." I flashed Miranda a humored smile. She laughed at my joke.

Then I got very serious as I continued to think matters (and possible reservations by Miranda) through. "But if you don't want to because you would rather not be in a room with a lesbian, that's OK. I won't be offended." I didn't want her to feel uncomfortable with my offer.

"Um, that's OK, I don't mind being with you." The tone of her voice suggested that she indeed didn't mind at all, which surprised me a bit, coming from a young teen. Then she added: "And I know where the tunnel is - actually it's not really a 'tunnel', just a covered walkway with an underpass under Jackson Drive. I can show you the way"

With her jacket tightly tied around her waist and hiding her very wet pants, we left the beautiful atrium, and headed off towards my hotel.

As we walked through a maze of hallways and outside walkways (which made me glad to have Miranda along as a guide), we continued chatting. Interestingly, at one point she asked me if I didn't like men anymore, '... now that you're, you know, a lesbian'. I replied that I did still like men - just not as much as my girlfriend. She was intrigued by this. "I like boys too," she responded. When she said this I just assumed it meant she liked boys just like most girls her age do; it wasn't until I recalled the comment much later that I recognized how peculiar a statement it really was.

Chapter 2 - Hotel room cleanup
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Miranda's pants were apparently already feeling sticky by the time we reached my hotel room. I had planned on just having her dry off using to hair dryer - but it was becoming clear that more was needed. "Miranda, I think it would probably be best if we rinse the stain out. Here, take this robe into the bathroom, and take off your jeans. We'll wash them in the sink, and then dry them out."

Miranda took the plush terry-clothe robe from my outstretched hand, and went into the bathroom to remove her pants behind a closed door. Twenty seconds later she opened the door again, and I joined her in the bathroom where we both worked to scrub her pants in the sink

As we scrubbed and rinsed the sticky pop away, Miranda made a couple of little squirming motions, and then noted that her panties had gotten very wet too, and now they were also beginning to feel sticky. I suggested that she pull them off, and we'd wash and dry them too. I left the bathroom to allow her some privacy. When she let me in again a minute later, I was surprised to see that she also had her shirt in her hands, which, she pointed out, did need a small amount of cleaning along the bottom, too.

Try as I might to remain totally objective (which I had been until that point), the recognition that Miranda was now almost totally naked under the hotel bathrobe made a naughty part in the back of my brain become intrigued, and this in turn caused a mild tingly sensation to pass through my body. With some difficulty, I managed to push these thoughts totally from my mind, and returned to being objective about what we were trying to do: wash and then dry Miranda's clothes so she could quickly be on her way home.

The small stain on her shirt was small and easy to rinse out. But I could tell from the orange stain just how soaked her panties had become. I let her wash them herself, and then I took them from her and tightly wrapped them up in a hotel towel to soak up as much moisture as possible. Without intentionally thinking about it, I noticed how pretty her underwear was; modest cut cotton with elegant white and blue vertical stripes.

As I dried her panties, I asked, "I don't mean to pry, Miranda, but is your, um, are your legs (I had been about to say crotch, but thought better of it) sticky? You did get very soaked with Orange Crush." I managed to keep my thoughts objective as I asked this question (really, I did!).

"Um, ya, a little bit."

"If you want, I'll leave and you can use the shower to wash yourself." I purposefully stated the word 'leave' before my offer of a 'shower', so that Miranda would take the offer at face value (which is honestly how I intended it), and not because a lesbian might want to see her body."

"Thanks. I think I will." She accepted.

She looked over at the shower, which in fact was a combination of shower and jetted tub. "Wow!" she said, "Look at the size of the tub. It's huge!" The tub was indeed very large. One of the benefits of traveling on business with my company is that they always put me up in nice rooms in nice hotels. And this particular room came with this large jetted tub - which was fine with me, because otherwise I would miss my own apartment and its comfy tub.

"Ya," I responded, "I like soaking in warm water, so I always ask for rooms with big tubs. This one even has jets."

I left the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind me. From the main part of my hotel room, I could hear Miranda start up the shower. As she showered I could hear her sing. She reminded me of my sweet Laura back home.

At first I stood at the large window of my hotel room, looking out into the sleet and fog that enveloped the surrounding buildings. The strong and turbulent winds blew the fog around in ethereal streams of white and gray, and lofted the sleet so that it buffeted my window. Even from inside, I could tell that it was cold and miserable out there, and I was glad that I was not out in that horribly worsening weather. It was certainly nice to be inside - and it helped that my hotel room was already very warm, as I had negligently but fortuitously left the thermostat turned up when I had left for my exploring earlier that day.

Unfortunately, my mind was now wandering around far too wildly for my comfort, and after only a couple of minutes I left the window with the intent of preoccupying myself with some work. As I was standing beside the credenza, pulling some auditing manuals out of my brief case, Miranda opened the bathroom door, and came out into the hallway. My mind had been so preoccupied and working overtime to get back in control that I hadn't heard her turn off the shower. She now stood at the entrance to the bathroom, wearing only a medium sized towel wrapped snuggly around her torso. It covered her chest and genitals - but only just barely.

Moments earlier I had been uncomfortable with my own thoughts - but that was trivial compared to how extremely nervous I was now rapidly becoming. Nervous, both because I had an under-aged girl standing nearly naked in front of me in my hotel room, and because I was tempted by what I saw.

"May I have a bath?" she asked me hopefully. "I've never seen such a large tub before, and I've never been in a tub with jets."

I stuttered, "Yes, by all means, go ahead."

"Thanks," she said, smiling happily as she turned around. My eyes followed her as she went back into the bathroom, and I tried desperately to control my emotions and thoughts.

As Miranda entered the bathroom she swung the door partially closed, but didn't close it all the way. I didn't know what to think of this. Had she meant but forgotten to close the door? Was this her normal procedure back at home (I doubted it, because she had mentioned something about having a couple of bratty brothers)? Or had she meant to leave it open? But why would she? And didn't she care that I was a lesbian? Surely not! I pondered this as I went to sit down on the sofa. I quickly decided to take the conservative stance, and assumed that the door still being open was merely accidental. I lifted up my manual, and tried to comprehend what words the jumble of letters were making, and then reading the same words again and again as I tried to absorb what they said. In the background I could hear Miranda continue to sing some pop song over the sound of the tub being filled.

At one point Miranda stuck her head out of the bathroom door, and asked "Tammy, may I use some of your bubble bath soap?"

"Sure, go ahead," I answered without looking up from my manual, purposefully. Shortly after, though, I happened to look up, and I noticed from the light shining into the hallway that she had again left the bathroom door open. Forcefully I tried to again comprehend the jumble of letters in my manual.

A few minutes later I heard her turn off the taps. Evidently the large tub was finally filled.

Then she called out to me from the bathroom door again. "Tammy, I can't figure out how to get the jets working."

Without thinking (the 'always-helpful' streak in me automatically took control, before I could stop it), I got up to show her how to get them started. It was only as I was already approaching the partially ajar bathroom door that I suddenly came to my senses. I stopped in my tracks. There was no way I could go in there, absolutely, positively no way!

But it was too late, because Miranda was looking out the crack, and could see me standing in front of the door. To my surprise and immense discomfort, she pulled the door open with one of her hands. Her other hand was occupied, holding up the towel that had earlier been wrapped around her torso but that was now only draped in front of her body.

"I can't find a switch. Can you show me where it is?" she asked me.

My fingers were trembling in nervousness as I entered the bathroom and walked past her to the far side of the tub. I reached behind the shower curtain to turn on the jets.

"Oh. There it is." she said.

I turned to leave. I had to get out of the bathroom! Fast! It wasn't appropriate for me to be in there with Miranda, especially with her dressed (or rather, undressed) like this. As I began to walk past her I caught a glimpse in the mirror of her exposed backside. It was beautiful. I forced my eyes to look out the doorway that I was heading towards - this was especially hard given that I actually had to walk behind Miranda, since she had moved to the side of the tub when I was showing her the location of the switch. Reflections of bum to the left, and the real bum to the right - the viewing options were extremely hard to resist, but somehow I managed to keep my eyes facing forward as I rushed out.

As I reached the doorway, Miranda said "Thanks, Tammy." For some reason, Miranda's voice sounded a tad disappointed, but I was to preoccupied with controlling myself to ponder this.

"No problem," I responded. I purposefully pulled the door shut behind me.

From the sofa I could hear Miranda getting into the tub. But there was no pleasant singing this time. For my part, I actually managed to force myself to understand what the first few paragraphs in my manual were saying.

A few minutes later, I could hear Miranda getting out of the tub. "That was quick," I said out-loud to myself, thinking that Miranda was finished enjoying the large tub with its jetted warm, bubbly water.

A few moments later Miranda opened the bathroom door, and came out into the hallway. She was again covered only with the towel draped in front of her now wet body. I wondered what was going on; I really didn't have a clue what to expect.

Miranda looked at the floor in front of her, and bashfully and hesitantly asked me "Tammy, um, I know we only just met, and we hardly know each other. But, um, I was wondering if, um, you'd stay with me. You know, have a bath with me. ... I've, uh, been kind of wondering for months and months and months what it would be like to be a lesbian. You know ... to kiss and touch another girl. ... Um ... Please? Would you show me?"

I was shocked, incredibly shocked, at what Miranda had just said. This was a monumental step for any woman, let alone a young lady (especially, as I found out later that afternoon, given her strict religious upbringing). But I quickly gathered myself as affection, compassion, and lust took over, and I consciously and knowingly let them take over. Affection, because I had already grown fond of this pleasant young lady. Compassion, deep compassion, because Miranda was so extremely nervous with fear of rejection that her hands and lower lip were shaking and her sweet face clearly looked like she was about to imminently break down and cry - and this was heart-breaking to me. And lust, because I frantically wanted to cuddle and touch her lithe body, and I now desperately wanted her to touch me.

I got up from the sofa and walked up to Miranda. I gently lifted her small, angular chin, looked deeply into her glistening, moist eyes, and said "Miranda, I would be honored to be your lover." I leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.

She began to cry in torrents of sobs and tears - but it was evident that this crying was in relief. I wrapped my arms around Miranda's back, and sympathetically pulled her slender body close to me. I tenderly caressed her quaking back and quietly said reassuring words to her as I let her pour out her pent-up emotions. When she was finally finished crying she said to me "Thanks, Tammy." I could tell that she meant the 'thanks' just as much for holding her and understanding her emotions, as for saying 'yes'.

I pulled my head back so that I could look into her sweet, tear-streaked face, and said "My pleasure, Miranda. ... And 'thank you' for asking me." I kissed her on the forehead, again.

Standing back, I took her hand in mine. "Let's go have that bath, shall we?"

"Ya," Miranda smiled up at me with rosy, tear-streaked cheeks.

* * * *

Chapter 3 - Bath and more
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In the bathroom, I began to undress myself. As I did so, Miranda watched wide-eyed, fascinated. I smiled to myself in humor at how she watched intently as I took of each piece of clothing.

Part way though my own undressing, Miranda self-consciously let the towel she was holding in front of her body drop to the ground, leaving her young body totally exposed in front of me. This allowed me to let my own eyes wander over her willowy body. Her long, slender arms draped elegantly from her sharply curved shoulders, and while they were slender they were also distinctly muscled. She had also had slender hips, and her faintly visible pelvic bones reached up to frame the smooth little rise of her belly. In the center of her belly was an appealing thin vertical slit of a navel. My eyes wandered downward, and I noticed that her fine light-brown pubic hair reached down to cover much of her upper pudendum, albeit just a light covering. Through this wispy covering of fine hair her pudendum lips were still visible. Trying to not be too noticeable in my own stares, I lifted my eyes back to her face, and in the process of lifting my eyes I noticed that her breasts were small but well developed and proportioned, and were topped by large but very, very pale areolas that matched her light complexion. She was still watching my undressing actions when my eyes made it back to her face.

Before long I was pulling down my cotton panties, and then as nude as young Miranda. I took her hand and led her to the side of the beckoning tub, which I climbed into first. Then I held up my hand again, and helped her step in and slide under the frothy bubbles to join me. The bubbles smelt faintly of lavender, a scent that I love.

Our time in the over-sized tub was sensual, but not sexual. We gently washed each other's body, me taking the initiative and doing her body first, and then inviting her to do the same to me. We didn't avoid each other's erogenous areas - but we didn't focus on them either. And then we cuddled affectionately for a long time as we luxuriated in the warm water as it gently jetted against our bodies.

Being in the tub was wonderful because of the soothing water, and wonderful because of the affectionate companionship. We spent a long time in the bath, talking and relaxing. And we could have very contently stayed in the water even longer. But after awhile I think we both began to feel the craving to move on to more intimate activities.

I asked her, "Shall we get out now, and move to the bedroom?"

"Ya," she replied eagerly with a smile and bright eyes.

Miranda was leaning back against my tummy at this point, so she was the first to get out of the tub, with water and bubbles dripping delicately from her slender body onto the thick, soft mat covering the cold tile floor. She pulled one of the over-sized fluffy towels from the rack, but rather than using it on herself she courteously handed it to me as I came out of the water. I thanked her. But then, as she turned to retrieve a towel for herself, I surprised her by taking her elbow to stop her, and saying "No, I want to dry you". She smiled in intrigue and happiness as I dried her entire, beautiful body, in slow, languid motions. Then with no hesitation or prompting, she pulled out another dry towel, and did the same to me. I've experienced such mutual drying with Laura many times, and I must say that it is always very pleasant.

Once we were both dry, I stood back, and complimented Miranda on her beautiful body. Her face was already slightly flushed from the warm water, but I could still tell that she blushed in modesty when I went on to make some specific comments about her gently protruding breasts and the soft curves of her 'special area' - her blush was particularly noticeable when I added the licentious comment of: "I can't wait to put my lips around your beautiful nipples." I handed her the bathrobe that she had been wearing earlier, which she put on, including doing up the belt, and then I reached behind the door and pulled down for myself the other bathrobe that came with the room, but I didn't bother doing up the belt.

I took Miranda's hand tenderly in my own, and led her back into the main part of the hotel room. I brought her over to the side of the bed, but then I let go of her slender hand and moved over to the large window next to the seating area. The weather was still miserable and now looking even worse as the afternoon light began to fade. I remember how I could see virtually nothing of the other nearby buildings through the rivulets of half-melted sleet that ran down the window or through the thick fog outside - but I wasn't inclined to allow any chance for some voyeur to see us, so I pulled the drapes shut. I rejoined Miranda by the bed.

I threw back the blankets on the King sized bed; the underlying clean, crisp, white sheets looked elegant and inviting.

Turning to Miranda, I asked, "Are you sure you want to do this? It's not too late to turn back."

"No, I want to."

"I'm glad ... because so do I," I responded. I hugged her, yet again, and then removed my bathrobe.

I climbed onto the bed, the soft cotton sheets feeling pleasant against my still slightly damp skin, and said "Come, lie beside me." I held out my hand invitingly. Miranda removed her own bathrobe, and took my hand as she moved onto the bed and lay on her side beside me.

We had been long and sensual in our bath. But now was it was time to be physically intimate. So after only a few short moments of affectionately caressing the soft skin on Miranda's thigh as I enjoyed her close presence, I began to explore her body with my hands. While quick to begin, my explorations were still, however, deliberately slow, sensuous, and affectionate - there was no reason to rush, and I was fully intent on making Miranda's first lesbian experience (and I highly suspect first sexual experience, period) enjoyable and pleasurable.

And explore I did. I don't think that there was a single square inch of her marvelous body that I didn't lovingly caress at least once. Before long I had Miranda lying on her back (and for awhile on her tummy, too - her slender bum looked beautiful ... slightly round yet firm, with small dimples on the sides of the muscles of her bum cheeks), and I was sitting beside her so that I could reach almost all of her beautiful body.

Unlike in the bath, as I explored Miranda's body I didn't hesitate to focus on her erogenous areas. Certainly I was very gentle with these areas, especially at first - but I did purposefully touch them with the intent of being sexually arousing. The first erogenous area that I focused on was the firm flesh of her small but pleasantly developed breasts, which I first caressed with feather-light brushes and then massaged with circular, gentle kneading motions. Soon I was also running fleeting fingertip traces directly over her pale nipples, and then gently tugging on them. They responded well to my ministrations.

I've already mentioned several times how exquisitely lithe and willowy Miranda's body is. So I think you'll understand when I say that I was surprised and intrigued to discover that when Miranda became aroused her nipples became noticeably puffy. I had expected, instead, that they would be distinctly vertical sided when erect, much like my own and much like Laura's slender nipples. I hadn't noticed this puffiness in the tub - probably because of all the bubbles. But now I could see quite clearly, and they were puffy as they jutted out. And as she became more and more aroused, little bumps began to form around the edges of her areolas, adding to the impression of puffiness. This puffiness was a pleasing contrast to the rest of her long, slender body.

As I was running one of my hands over Miranda's firm breasts, I ran the other hand up the side of her graceful neck until I reached her ear. Yes, I think that the ear is an erogenous zone, and judging by Miranda's soft cooing as I massaged her earlobe at the same time as her nipple, she thought so too. She even kept cooing as I massaged her earlobe while my other hand left her nipple to caress her flat tummy. But she giggled when I inadvertently tickled her as I ran my fingertips over the outline of her slightly protruding pelvic bone.

My upper hand left Miranda's small earlobes, and moved back down her pleasing neck and through the small chest hollow over her throat, towards her now abandoned breasts. She sighed softly and happily as I once again gave her pleasurable sensations on her pert breasts and on her puffy nipples.

I was highly intrigued and happy that Miranda was so relaxed and able to enjoy these sensations - I have to admit that I had expected it to take awhile for her to relax and be psychologically-comfortable with having sex with a woman, especially given how she had been so incredibly nervous and close to emotional-collapse when she had come out of the bathroom to ask me to please make love to her. Instead, Miranda was now relaxed and apparently completely open to our love making, and had been practically from the very moment we lay down on the bed. I suppose the soothing and sensual time we had spent in the bath helped immensely in this process.

Sensing Miranda's level of comfort, I allowed my lower hand to move towards her pudendum, which I cupped gently, and then the soft skin of her inner thighs immediately below her genitals, and then back to her pudendum and its wispy covering of soft pubic hair. She pushed back ever so gently against my hand. Taking this as good sign, I allowed one of my fingers to ever-so-gently slip into her slightly spread slit - I felt dampness, and I'm pretty sure that this dampness was not just residual bath water. Looking up at Miranda's elegant face, I saw that her eyes were closed and that she was wearing a small open-mouthed smile of pleasure, further evidence of her psychological-comfort with our love making. It made me smile, too.

Staying with my slow, sensuous pace, I continued touching Miranda's body, her entire body, but spending more and more time on her erogenous areas, including her now very damp cunny.

I also began to use my mouth in our love making. I got onto my knees beside Miranda's sprawled body, and leant forward with my torso as my hands continued their ministrations, and put my lips on Miranda's beautiful body.

My first kiss was directly on the nipple of the breast that one of my hands was massaging. No slow lead up, just straight to the nipple - under the circumstances, it was called for. After kissing the nipple, I gently inhaled its puffy areola past my lips and into my mouth, where I fondled the tip of the nipple with my tongue, sending a shiver of pleasure down Miranda's body that even I could feel.

It was only after I had done the same thing to Miranda's other nipple that I began to kiss the rest of her body. I kissed the warm, soft skin between her breasts, and then moved up to kiss and run my tongue through the small dimples on the front of her shoulder nearest to me. I continued, kissing my way up the sweeping arch of her slender neck, stopping at her earlobe, which I kissed and then gently nibbled upon.

I remember how at this point I pulled my head back, stopped all of my sexual touching, and took Miranda's elegant face into one of my hands, combed her now loose long hair with the fingers of my other hand, and looked deeply into Miranda's eyes past her beautifully long eyelashes. I also clearly remember how I desperately wanted to kiss Miranda on the lips; but I felt that this would be too familiar, because we hardly knew each other. (*Author's note: Odd, isn't it, to feel this way, given what I was doing with the rest of her body? I'm kicking myself now for not lovingly kissing Miranda on the lips ... because everything else about our time together in the hotel room was tender and affectionate. And also because when I think back on our day together I clearly remember Miranda saying 'kiss' as well as 'touch' when she nervously asked me to be her lover. Alas.*)

Instead, I said "You're a beautiful, wonderful young lady, Miranda. I'm so happy that you asked me to make love with you." I leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, then kissed my way down the side of her head to return to her small earlobes. And my hands returned to loving caresses of her nude, beckoning body.

At some point in our love making, and I don't recall exactly when (but I think it was shortly after I had returned to kissing her body), I had Miranda begin touching me as well. I purposefully did this, since mutual touching is part of love making, and it was such a mutual lesbian experience that she had asked me to show her what it was like. So I had taken her hand, and placed it on my breast, which she willing began to fondle, and fondle in a way that was very pleasant to me.

After a long time of me doing most of the slow, sensuous touching and body-kissing, I decided to let Miranda further and better experience the wondrous joy of touching another woman's body. So I exchanged positions with Miranda, and lay there as she curiously explored and touched my body.

For the most part, Miranda simply followed my earlier lead, happily doing to my body what I had done to her, albeit in an inexperienced fashion. Her hands, and then later lips, covered much of my body, spending much time on my erogenous zones. She did touch my tingling pudendum a few times, but spent most of her time on my modest breasts, apparently fascinated with them. I remember once looking down as Miranda gently sucked on my nipples (which was an amazing and beautiful sight in itself), and I couldn't help but notice how much her pale-pink lips contrasted sweetly with the brilliant-red nail polish on the fingers that were simultaneously massaging both of my breasts to great effect. Her touches, kisses, and sucking were tentative at first, but soon she became more confident and the sensations I was experiencing became even more pleasurable. She was happy to do this for a long, long time. She, too, took great pleasure from nibbling on my earlobes through my ruffled hair. I gave her much encouragement as she touched me, and let her know that she was making me feel incredibly good.

As Miranda was touching me, I kept touching her, too, from where I was lying down next to her kneeling body. Mainly I was affectionately and sensuously caressing the soft skin on her legs, her arms, her back, and her face (including once running my hand up into her soft hair, and pulling her warm mouth firmly down onto my breast). But I also fondled her small breasts, and reached around and squeezed her delectably firm, small bum. Eventually, one of my hands slipped between her legs again, and still in her kneeling position she opened them slightly to let me in. A few minutes later her touches of my body slowed, then slowed even more to a snail's pace, and then stopped altogether, as she enjoyed the intense feeling between her legs as my finger's tenderly slipped around and over her clitoris and occasionally into her damp vaginal opening.

She was now breathing deeply, with slow, purposeful inhaling, and soft sighs as she exhaled. As much as I wanted Miranda go back to touching me, I realized that this was a very good time for me to focus on taking Miranda up to a higher level, to bring her right up to the stimulatory-brink she was not far from, and then (with perhaps a tiny bit of teasing delay) to push her over that brink.

I eased my way out from under Miranda's kneeling body, sat up, and had Miranda lie down again. This time I moved down to her feet, spread her long, sinewy legs to the sides, and moved between them. This gave me full access to Miranda's delectable cunny.

And, oh, what a delectable cunny it was. Even before I had spread her long legs, I could see from this angle that Miranda's puckered inner labia and parts of her engorged clitoral hood were slightly protruding. This is when I noticed with intrigue that her slit was already partially open, hardly a slit at all - I'm sure this was partially because of Miranda's heightened state of arousal and the outward pressure exerted by her engorged hood, but I'm equally sure it was partially because she was naturally open. I couldn't help but momentary make the pleasurable mental-comparison of Miranda's cleft to my sweetheart Laura's slit, which is naturally more snugly closed - both are beautiful, just in their own ways. And when I did spread Miranda's legs, her smooth clitoral hood and now frilly-edged inner labia lips were much more evident, in fact fully exposed, again unlike Laura's at a similar degree of leg spread. Above this beautiful sight was the narrow, wispy triangle of pale-brown pubic hair that only just barely covered the puffy portion of her upper pudendum and the lower part of her belly.

Kneeling, I leaned forward and placed the length of one of my fingers (the first finger in from my thumb) into the moistness of Miranda's beckoning slit. The other hand reached forward, and rubbed its way up Miranda's tummy to her firm breasts, where it stayed to fondle her nipples. This position was a bit hard on my back, but I could handle the discomfort and didn't mind; it was well worth it. It also allowed Miranda to continue looking at my breasts, as they swayed and jiggled gently above her as I fingered her; yes, she was very fascinated with my breasts.

After several minutes of slowly and gently fingering Miranda's clitoris and upper slit, I bent my unoccupied fingers into a fist, and allowed the knuckle of one of my other fingers (my middle finger) to begin pushing into her vaginal opening. Judging by the soft sighs and slightly raised hips as she pushed back, Miranda was enjoying this. I continued for many minutes.

As I was fingering Miranda, I was thinking to myself how desperately I wanted to use my mouth, tongue, and lips on Miranda's alluring cunny. However, just like with the idea of kisses on her lips, I concluded that performing cunnilingus would be far too 'familiar' and discomforting for Miranda. But unlike my decision on kissing Miranda on the lips, in this case I'm still glad I made the decision to not perform cunnilingus - it was the right one.

A cautionary thought crept through my mind as I gave Miranda pleasure, and I gave her a little warning, "I'm going to bring you to an orgasm now, beautiful. It'll probably feel pretty intense. Is that OK?" I was worried about causing unfamiliar intense sensations in Miranda's body, which I feared would potentially be scary in their unfamiliarity - I still remember how I had scared Laura the first time I caused her to climax, and I was determined to not spoil Miranda's enjoyment of the afternoon by doing something similar to her. But it turns out that I needn't have worried - Miranda was relaxed, and was prepared and waiting eagerly in anticipation (later, during our cuddle, she told me that she was familiar with orgasms, having masturbated at home many times - apparently often to the wishful thought of a woman touching her genitals or just merely cuddling her intimately).

My touches on Miranda's cunny became continuous, and firmer yet still tender, and with a slight twist of my hand my middle finger was replaced by my thumb, which I slipped further into her vagina than the finger knuckle had been going, purposefully arching up to stimulate the underside of her clitoral region through her vaginal wall. I even brought my other hand away from her pretty breasts and smooth tummy, and used both hands to gently create enjoyable sensations on her genitals.

Very soon I had Miranda at the brink and going over. Her mouth opened and closed as she moaned and gasped for air. She arched her back and jutted out her chest in ecstasy as she swung her bent arms out to the side in an 'I surrender' position. I could see two small moles on her side just below her left arm pit - with the exception of one similar mole on her far hip, they were the only blemishes that I had seen on her entire body, and they were all actually very beautiful in their own way. Her body quivered as I slowed but didn't stop my touching of her beautiful cunny, bringing on small aftershocks without over-doing the sensations. Then I removed my fingers altogether, fully aware how unpleasant over-stimulation can be after climaxing, and lovingly caressed Miranda's body everywhere I could reach except for her erogenous areas. As her breathing slowed I lay down beside her, and just cuddled as she continued to recover and relax. We both enjoyed this cuddle.

I didn't need to ask Miranda to return the pleasure, or need to encourage her to do so by taking her hand and placing it back on my body. No, instead, after lying contently in my arms, unhurried, for several minutes, Miranda took the initiative. She rolled onto her side, facing me, and then while still in my arms she reached down between my legs, which I opened wider for her.

I had let my own pubic hair grow back in, after having kept it shaved off most of the prior fall for my sweet lover Laura. But it was still a relatively sparse covering compared to my normal level of 'bushiness'. It was, never-the-less, long enough for Miranda to run and comb her slender fingers through, and this she did for a few seconds before she began to caress my pudendum in earnest, soon followed by slender fingers entering my yearning cleft.

Miranda may have been a novice at touching another woman, but she certainly knew what felt good (presumably mainly from having often touched herself, and perhaps also from taking a few cues from how I had touched her), because she soon had me damp again. In fact, I was amazed with how remarkably fast she was able to wind me up ... literally mere minutes! I could feel a powerful pressure building within the depths of my aching loins as she caressed me, probed me, grasped me, penetrated me, put pressure on me. And it was very shortly after I had barely managed to softly ask Miranda through deep breathes to "Please, suck on my nipples" (which she was already fondling with her other hand), that I approached that divine edge of 'oblivion to the world' and went shuddering and gasping over it into the immense beauty of glittering stars dancing inside the dark vastness of my wide-open eyes.

Chapter 4 - Cuddles and talk in the afterglow
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Miranda and I affectionately snuggled together in each other's arms on the hotel bed for a long time, chatting lightly. Eventually, I sat up and had Miranda sit up in front of me, facing away, so that I could rebraid her long, flowing hair (which I had released earlier during our lovemaking), as we continued chatting. This period was an emotionally-wonderful part of our short time together.

As I recall, it was just as I was finishing rebraiding Miranda's hair and slipping on the fabric hair-band that she asked me "What does Laura do for work? Is she an accountant, too?"

"No. She's still a student." Instantly I realized that I had again painted myself into another corner. How can a supposedly smart person be so stupid, and make such a bad slip, and not for the first time that day? Very good question. If I had had lots of time to think out my answers I'm sure that I would have responded more carefully and more discretely to Miranda's questions. But on the spur of the moment during a 'real-time' conversation, and with my defenses down because of the gentle mood we were in, I managed to respond poorly, stupidly, yet again. Miranda was no slouch. She turned her head back, gave me a quizzical look, and said "Student? What do you mean? What grade is she in?" To Miranda, the word student clearly meant high school, which would normally be an erroneously-restricted preconception, but in this particular instance it was far too close to the truth for my comfort and did not assist me in hiding the truth about Laura.

I scrambled to cover my tracks. "She's, um, a college student. ... Taking performing arts." There, I was covered.

Wrong!

Releasing her arms from around her bent knees, Miranda turned around to now face me, and said, "Performing arts! My cousin is taking performing arts in xxxx." (*Author's note: again, city name deleted to hide my identity*) "Maybe they know each other. What college is she at? What classes is she in?"

My lie was backfiring, and very badly at that. I didn't know the first thing about performing arts, beyond how very much I enjoyed watching them in the theater. I certainly didn't know what college back home offered a performing arts program. And when it came to 'classes' I was totally clueless. I cursed the 'small-world' phenomena that had resulted in Miranda's older cousin having moved to my home city. God, what are the chances of that?! Damn!

I tried to improvise. But Miranda started to get mildly suspicious. "I don't remember my cousin ever talking about that college." ... Fortunately, she did let this discrepancy in my story slide. But her other questions started to come on even faster, too fast, and they weren't any easier to answer. ... Soon I was facing: "What do you mean you don't know what classes? She's your girlfriend, silly. You gotta know! Jeepers, are you ever going to be in trouble when she finds out how little you know about her classes."

Then her suspicion got very pointed, albeit still friendly and curious. "You're making this up, aren't you? She's not a student. Come on, tell me. What does she do?"

"Um, I told you a student," was all that I could muster this time. At a loss for what else to say, and against my better judgement, I broke down and admitted a little bit about my illicit long-term relationship with Laura to my 'one-night-stand' equally (well, almost) illicit young lover. "She's just, um, not out of high school yet."

Miranda sat up, even more curious now than she had been earlier. With excited eyes and a vibrant voice, she stated "I knew it! You were making it up about college." Then she went on to push me. "What grade is she in? How old is she?"

I hesitated for a long moment.

But Miranda's friendly curiosity was not letting up. "Come on, you can tell me. It's not like I'm going to tell anyone. Heck, we just 'did it' to each other, and I'm only 14! Come on, tell me." By now she was shaking my arm in encouragement.

"OK, OK, OK," I said. "... But I'm only going to answer 'hypothetically'."

I paused for a moment, before I slowly continued "For the sake of giving you, my overly-curious little rascal, ..." as I said the word 'rascal', I gently tweaked Miranda's nearest nipple, which was still protruding slightly, thus sending her into a momentary fit of giggles, "... an answer to your nosy questions, lets just say that she, like you, is ... perhaps ... also underage."

Miranda gasped in intrigue at what I had just suggested. No doubt her mind had been thinking that Laura was 17 or 18, and just about to get out of high school. "Ooh, far out! ... Is she 14, too?"

"No. She's not. But what I will tell you is that she is very mature for her age. Which is why she's been my lover for almost a year now."

Miranda kept pushing, her curiosity still driving her. "But you said she's under 16?"

"Well, that's not what I said ... but yes, I guess that was the inference. ... But remember, only hypothetically." Lord knows why I was clinging to this 'hypothetically' so strongly, but I was. "And that's all I'm going to tell you! I've already said too much."

Miranda started to say "Is sh...", but I cut her off by saying "Hush, beautiful lady, hush," which I enforced by leaning forward and planting my lips across her own petite lips and kissing her affectionately. It was our first and only lip to lip kiss, and we both savored it. And fortunately, it also stopped the awkward questions.

Later (after we came close to burning-out the hair dryer trying to get her jeans dry), just as Miranda was getting ready to leave she said "I wish I could meet your girlfriend. She sounds real nice. And it would be kind'a cool to meet another girl my age who likes what we did today." I forget what, if any, my response was to this statement.

And as she was leaving, she gave me a quick hug, and added, "Thanks, Tammy. For everything. ... I'm glad I met you." And then she was gone.

Chapter 5 - Epilogue
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Interestingly, Miranda was able to track me down that week. Not that I was trying to hide from her, and (sort of surprisingly, given my normal level of paranoia about security) not that I was the least bit concerned about Miranda telling anyone about our relationship or what I had told her about Laura. It was just that given the circumstances, we hadn't given any thought to keeping in contact - a poor and negligent over-sight, especially by me, the supposed adult. Miranda had apparently tried the hotel, but couldn't recall what room number I was in, and couldn't recall my last name (which she wouldn't have, because I never told her - again, not out of paranoia, just out of irrelevance and forgetfulness). So she had phoned around to many of the large accounting firms in town, until she found one that had a "visiting accountant from xxxx, whose first name is Tammy." She left me a message with the receptionist, which I returned that evening. ... During our chat on the phone that evening she mentioned that she was a tiny bit nervous (which she later admitted was because of the taboo 'naughty things, you know, lezzy stuff' that we had done) - but generally she was 'OK' with it, and actually very happy. We did meet briefly one evening for a light dinner, but she wasn't able to spend anymore time with me in my hotel room before I returned home on Friday evening. We did, however, exchange email addresses, and I promised her that I would let her know if I ever returned to her city. And I know that I would follow through on that promise.

Did I suffer guilt from 'cheating' on Laura? Yes, most definitely. But I eventually did confide ('confess') to Laura what had happened, and explained the circumstances. She took it better than I did. To use her words, "I'm glad you didn't turn her down; she would have been devastated. It was beautiful when we first made love, and I'm sure you made it beautiful for Miranda." And such is why I love Laura even more now than before (if that's even possible) - she is compassionate, in addition to her many other wonderful charms and traits.

The End

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Author's post-script note:

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"Author's Notes"

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