About a half hour after Meg arrived in the office at Pacific Fleet Intelligence
on Monday, she checked her e-mail. As the waiting mail list scrolled down the
screen, she noticed a message from Carl. She went directly to the message. He
would be arriving at Hickam Air Force Base shortly before noon on Thursday; he
had managed to snag three days of leave, on route to a Temporary Duty assignment
in Australia. She felt like jumping up and shouting 'hallelujah!' But that
would be inappropriate behavior for the office. Even though she was a
'short-timer'--she expected orders to a new duty station within a month, there
was a dignity to uphold.
Then Meg read the rest of the message. Carl had arranged for them to stay in the
new vacation cottages near Nohili Point at the Barking Sands Military
Reservation
on Kauai. He had included a telephone number and asked Meg to contact Matilda
Kalikimaka at Barking Sands to confirm these reservations; apparently, there was
a local requirement that they be confirmed by someone on active duty in the
islands.
She was baffled. What was he thinking of? Damn it! It had been thirteen months
since he had been transferred back to the mainland. For thirteen months, she
hadn't seen him. For thirteen long months, she'd had to practice the art of
unisex.
They could easily have gotten a cottage at Barber's Point here on Oahu.
Beautiful beach there. The sand didn't 'bark,' but it was less than 30 minutes
from Hickam; they could drive to Barber's Point and back to Hickam in her car on
their own schedule. Going to Barking Sands required scheduled inter- island air
transport, a half hour's flight, a rental car, and perhaps an hour's worth of
driving on Kauai. What a waste of time that could be otherwise used!
Carl had done it again. That man was infuriating, at times. Obviously he had a
reason, but he hadn't let her in on it. He really took 'need-to-know' to an
extreme. He liked to keep secrets, he liked to surprise her. Meg fumed
silently; if she were neutered, would she still love him this much? Damn it.
Why couldn't she be like Heinlein's Friday? Able to treat sex as a natural act,
like eating? able to go to bed with whoever was available? regardless of gender?
It would be so much more convenient than to be hung up on one man.
Well, she had to admit that Carl had pulled a nearly impossible deal, getting
leave on his Temporary Duty orders. And, even though they were engaged, there
was
no law that he had to take his leave with her. She whipped out a leave request,
filled in the blanks, and headed for the division officer's office.
Lieutenant Commander Berriol looked at the request and then at Meg, "Rather
short
fuze on this request, Sloan, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir!" came the prompt reply. "I just got word on my friend's orders a few
minutes ago."
Berriol had long been wondering why Sloan had taken no leave since a year ago
September; young officers, on their first tour of duty in Hawaii often ended up
running out of earned leave. But not Sloan. Now he understood: the 'Ice Queen'
actually did have a boy friend; her rumored engagement was a fact. She had been
saving leave for a 'special occasion.' He smiled inwardly. Let the bachelors in
the office eat their hearts out.
Sloan was going to get her leave. She was one of his best analysts: she liked to
work, she worked hard, she did excellent analyses, she would be gone in a few
months. But he wanted to appear reluctant; other officers in the division might
get the idea that leave would be routinely approved on short notice. He spoke
loudly enough that those eavesdropping from the outer office could hear, "What's
the status on your reports?"
"I'll be staying late tonight and have the summary on the new Russian overhead
surveillance satellite on your desk by close of business tomorrow. I can come in
on Sunday to finish up the analysis on the new Russian Pacific Fleet anti-
submarine organization for Monday's brief."
Berriol was running out of questions. Several seconds of grumpy silence should
do. Finally, he groused, "This office has a tight schedule for producing
reports. I like to have plenty of warning on leave requests so that I can adjust
assignments. If you were in my position, how would you handle a case like this?"
Meg answered promptly, "I'd reward good work, sir. It helps to keep up morale."
He scowled, but agreed with the logic. He checked 'approved' and deliberately
signed the request as slowly as possible while still making a legible signature.
He pushed the form back across the desk toward Meg. Silently, he wished her a
good leave, but maintained a slightly put-upon look. There were too many flakes
in the office who might be encouraged by this precedent.
Meg thanked Berriol and returned to the outer office. She immediately went to
the
desk of Lieutenant Julie Perez, the senior analyst in the office. Perez had
overheard enough from Berriol's office to know what was up. But she continued to
check the duty lists.
"Lieutenant Perez, ma'am?"
Perez looked up with a feigned look of slight surprise. "Oh, . . . Yes, Sloan.
What can I do for you?"
"A personal emergency has come up. I just got leave approved for Thursday
through Saturday. But I have duty on Thursday. I know this is very short
notice, but could you take my Thursday duty day?"
They had talked about this before. Perez knew what 'personal emergency' she was
talking about; it had been over a year since Meg had seen Carl Munsee. But Perez
decided to take this opportunity to reiterate to the office her estimation of
Sloan; a Lieutenant was willing to take the duty day of a JG. She repeated the
details of their deal, "Okay, you'll take my duty on Sunday and on one other
weekend of my choice, too. Right?"
"Right!" Meg beamed. She was home free. She thanked Perez, returned to her
desk, and dashed off a e-mail reply to Carl. She paused, should she make the
call to Kauai from her desk? or should she use a public phone? She decided to
save time; she was a master at making short phone calls. She dialed the number
Carl had provided and asked for Matilda Kalikimaka.
Ensign Donna Elwood, who had the desk across from Meg's, could not help but note
the conversation. Elwood was a brand new officer and looked up to Sloan, who,
with more than 20 months at Pacific Fleet, had been assigned as her mentor.
Elwood admired Sloan's telephone manner and often listened to pick up pointers.
The male voice which answered at Barking Sands said that Matilda was not in the
office today. Yes, a cottage had been reserved by Captain Carl Munsee, but it
had not yet been confirmed by someone serving in the islands. Meg cheerfully
said that she was calling to make that confirmation, gave her name and duty
station. The voice asked whether the reservations she was confirming had been
made by her husband. Meg lowered her voice; she didn't want to spell out for the
intelligence office what she would be doing on leave, "No, the reservations were
made by Captain Carl Munsee, United States Air Force. Last name, Mike, Uniform,
November, Sierra, Echo, Echo."
The voice asked, "So, you are Mrs. Munsee. Who is this M.A. Sloan?"
"I'm M.A. Sloan, Lieutenant JG, U.S. Navy, Pacific Fleet."
After a pause, "Would you spell that last name?"
"Sloan, Sierra, Lima, Oscar, Alpha, November." Meg was becoming frustrated; with
anyone else on the other end of the line, she would already be off the phone.
Perez was looking in her direction; there was a policy that the telephones
should
not be tied up with lengthy personal calls.
The male voice now said that a cottage was available; in fact, no one else would
be at Nohili Point until the weekend. But the voice continued, listing all sorts
of inconveniences. To begin with, it pointed out that the Officer's Club at
Barking Sands was closed in mid-week. Meg had learned this when she had checked
out all military recreational facilities in the islands shortly after her
arrival. She patiently responded, "My friend is traveling half way around the
world. If we wanted to eat and drink, we could stay on Oahu. We just want a
place to get away and be by ourselves."
The voice responded, saying that all food services would be closed, including
the
Burger King restaurant. The Base Exchange was closed; no food would be available
anywhere at Barking Sands. Meg answered testily, "We plan to buy our food on the
way in from the airport. We'll cook it ourselves in the cottage. We don't need
any food service."
The voice pointed out that during the off-season, no recreational facilities
would be available, no movies, no bowling alley, no video arcade, no swimming
pool; no lifeguards would be available on the beach. Meg realized that she was
just not getting through to the voice. She tried a new tack, "Besides fixing and
eating food, all we'll be doing is what newlyweds do on a honeymoon."
Ensign Elwood made it obvious that she had been eavesdropping on the
conversation; she choked on her donut and coughed moist scraps of it across the
papers on her desk. Meg realized that with her reputation as the 'Ice Queen'--a
good-looking (excuse the pride), healthy, and eligible young woman who refused
to
date, as far as anyone could tell--there was intense curiosity elsewhere in the
office about a telephone conversation that obviously had nothing to do with
intelligence. She wished that she had been more patient and had placed this call
from a public phone where she would have had some privacy.
Nevertheless, the voice continued and told Meg that there would be no maid
service. That was the last straw; she was about to explode, but instead spoke
quietly, with exaggerated diction. She didn't want the office to hear, "Captain
Munsee and I won't be out of bed long enough for any maid to have time to make
it
up."
From over the phone she heard a now comprehending "Oh." She also noticed the
absolute quiet in the office. She looked around to see all the other analysts
hurriedly turn back to their work, or whatever it was on the desk in front of
them. She was mortified and began to blush.
Now that the voice on the telephone understood that Meg wanted the cottage for
immoral purposes, it was helpful. In less than a minute, she was able to hang
up, having finally confirmed the reservation and obtained directions to the
office which would have the necessary keys. She decided that she should have
said right up front, "We need a place to get laid."
Meg looked around the office again; all heads were down, busy at work. She could
feel the blush rising from her neck and burning her cheeks. She had to get out
of there. She tried to be inconspicuous as she stood up and walked out of the
room. She refused to look around.
Berriol looked up from his desk in the inner office; the outer office was just
too quiet. He noticed the studied busy- ness of most of his subordinates and the
crimson blush on Meg's face as she walked out of the office. It contrasted so
starkly with her blonde hair. When the door closed behind her, he asked, "Would
someone please tell me what that was all about?"
For several seconds, the office was silent. Finally, Lieutenant (Junior Grade)
William T. O'Bannon, a handsome, self-assured Academy graduate, spoke up
irreverently, "The 'Ice Queen' is going to get laid on Thursday."
One of the women in the office tossed a printer manual at O'Bannon's head.
Ensign Elwood spoke up, "You're just jealous, Mr. O'Bannon, sir. You hit on her
for a date just about every time she turns around. How many times has she turned
you down? Sir!"
A female voice rose above the hubbub, "God's gift to womankind is an expert on
Sloan."
Lieutenant Perez eventually spoke up, "O'Bannon, you know what that tells us?"
She continued without waiting for the ring-knocker to answer, "Sloan shows good
taste in choosing who she goes to bed with."
Berriol looked disgusted. He finally bellowed, "Okay, okay. Back to work,
people. We have work to do."
He muttered, as he went back to his desk, "Women! God dammed hormones!"
Perez noticed Berriol muttering as he went back to his desk. She guessed what he
was thinking and, as she turned back to her keyboard, mimicked him, talking to
no
one in particular, "Why can't a woman be more like a man."
- - - - -
When dawn came Thursday morning, so did Meg. She had been awake since half past
five--0530 hours she reminded herself. Unable to sleep, she had let her fingers
do the walking, hoping that it would reduce the tension that had built up in
anticipation of her fiancé's arrival.
It hadn't discernibly helped, she realized, as she stood near the arrival gate
at
Hickam Air Force Base in the late morning sun and watched Carl's plane swing
around on the nearby apron to debark its passengers. She felt more moisture than
just her own perspiration. Suddenly, she laughed to herself: she had called
that jet out there 'Carl's plane'; but he wasn't the only passenger on board.
Wincing and involuntarily ducking against the scream of turbojet engines, Meg
realized that her morning had passed in a blurry haze; she couldn't even
remember
the drive into the base from her apartment. She reached up and touched the
hibiscus blossom in her hair. Yes, it was there. Then glanced down at her right
hand. Yes, again. She had the six plumeria leis for Carl's arrival.
The whine of the turbines died and soon passengers were debarking. Meg felt
herself trembling as she saw the first arrivals pass through the nearby gate.
She had to force herself to keep her right hand from clenching in anticipation.
She had decided that her fiancé should receive the traditional greeting; she
glanced again at her sweaty . . . 'Sweaty' was the right word, she decided;
perspiration was not descriptive enough of what her body was doing to her right
now. She glanced at her sweaty right hand and hoped the plumeria blossoms would
not be too damaged.
Suddenly, she saw him and then there was only one other person anywhere in the
world around her. Yes, there were colors and blurs here and there and an
occasional muffled sound that made absolutely no sense. How could it? The only
thing that mattered was that smiling brown-haired, blue-eyed man in the light
blue short sleeve shirt and khaki cotton slacks, carrying the gray flight bag.
Meg had started to take the leis in both hands, in order to place them over his
neck, when she realized that neither he nor she wanted to delay their first
embrace long enough for that silly ceremony. She swung her right hand and the
leis free, just as Carl reached her, grabbed her, and crushed her to his chest.
In a flash, the thirteen months apart disappeared.
Meg had no idea what it was that brought her back to the present. But suddenly
it seemed to her that it was incongruous for them to be French kissing in such a
public place. Shortly, they broke the kiss and the embrace, and she remembered
to drape the leis around his neck. She marveled that she had had the presence of
mind or something and had not crushed the fragile blooms during their welcoming
mutual grope.
"What did you say?"
Meg realized that Carl was almost shouting to make himself heard above the noise
at the gate. She stood on tiptoes, leaned close to his ear and answered, "I
said, 'Aloha.' Remember? It means both 'welcome' and 'I love you.'"
He grinned and, as he leaned down to pick up the flight bag he had dropped at
some time or another, said, "Isn't that redundant? I mean, what more could you
have to say, after the kiss you gave me?"
Though she blushed, Meg seized the opportunity and grabbed his arm. "Carl, why
don't you just get your luggage and let me show you what else I could have to
say. I want to. It's only fifteen minutes to my apartment. We don't need to go
to Kauai."
The grin disappeared from his face as he recognized how serious she was. He
seemed to pause a moment, then said, "Oh, Meg, I'd love to. But my bags are
already on their way over to the International Airport."
"We can call and have them send them back. Or we can go over and pick them up."
Then very hesitantly, she added, "You won't . . . need . . . to wear . . . much,
. . . if you don't want to, . . . 'til Saturday, . . . when you leave for
Australia."
"My bags are checked through to Lihue, Meg. And I put some government equipment
that I've signed for in them. . . . Besides, haven't you seen enough of Oahu?
You haven't been to Kauai yet, have you? You can't leave the islands, go back to
the mainland without seeing Barking Sands."
She realized that he was correct about Oahu. She had seen all there was to see
on this island. And, before he had been detached a year ago last September, they
had gone to the Big Island twice, to Maui, even to Molokai. They had planned to
go to Kauai, but that trip had been scrubbed by a hectic weekend she had been
required to spend working on Pac Fleet's input to PacCom for the latter's input
to
the JIEP.
However, their canceled trip would have taken them to Wailua, just a stone's
throw up the road from the airport at Lihue. She wondered why he wanted to go to
Barking Sands this time. What was the big deal about sand that 'barked'?
Meg was about to renew her invitation that he spend his leave in an extremely
private, thoroughly intimate, though quite unspectacular locale, when she
recognized the look in his eyes. No matter what she might say, no matter how
long it might take, he would work her around to going to Kauai. She surrendered:
it would be better to save her breath and energy and spend the time instead
enjoying his company.
She was smiling again when they arrived on the opposite side of the airfield at
the main terminal for Honolulu International Airport. He remarked on the dark
red hibiscus bloom in her hair as they sat down to eat. She learned that he had
been awake for nearly fourteen hours as they consumed what was dinner for him
and
lunch for her; he had not been able to get any good sleep on the flight to Oahu.
Although the flight to Kauai was smooth as glass, he stayed awake. She didn't
blame him; after thirteen months apart, she couldn't keep her eyes off him
either. Besides, there wasn't much else to do: neither of them had a fantasy
about using an aircraft's bathroom that way. And the plane was far too crowded
to let him feel her up under her muumuu.
Meg was somewhat amazed at the discussion Carl initiated as she drove them away
from the Rice Shopping Center in Lihue. He asked about the Russian overhead
surveillance satellite that she had studied before going on leave. At first she
was reluctant; but they were both cleared for this level of intelligence and, in
fact, he had provided her some of the information that she had used in finishing
the briefing summary. Soon she was absorbed in their 'shop talk.' It seemed
that he wanted to ensure that she knew the capabilities of the new Russian
infrared sensor. Much higher discrimination due to a major advance in optics and
greatly improved sensitivity to temperature differences.
Meg agreed that, under the right conditions, against the right background, it
might be possible to detect small groups of humans, perhaps even individuals.
But she would want to make her own calculation of the proportion of a single
pixel a human body would occupy and verify the expected skin temperatures and
background temperature that Carl suggested. Suddenly, she had a list of doubts.
Clothing would probably act as shielding and reduce the IR emissions available
to
the sensor. Besides, human beings would be very small targets from overhead.
Even a jogging bald man would probably not generate enough heat within the space
of a pixel to create the needed temperature gradient to be detectable.
Carl let the topic drop with Meg's doubts and changed the subject, commenting
once again that the dark red hibiscus bloom was stunning in her hair. She
glanced over at him and smiled from ear to ear before turning back to look at
the
road. That was the impact she had wanted; she always appreciated his
compliments.
Carl had been quite alert, even enthusiastic, while they talked on the way to
Nohili Point. And yet, by the time they finally reached the cottage and unloaded
their groceries, he had been awake for over twenty hours. He barely got through
dinner, bravely changed into his sleeper shorts, told her that he wanted to go
swimming early in the morning, but fell asleep--despite her new sheer negligee,
his head in her lap, the clock showing not quite 1930 hours.
Meg ran her hand through his hair, there was no response. He was dead to the
world. This was not fair! She had kept her hands off of him since before noon,
for more than seven and a half hours. And this was her reward for that
restraint? She pulled the dark red bloom out of her hair and threw it toward the
open window. Perez would be disappointed in her. Elwood would never believe it.
If O'Bannon ever got wind of it, he would make some stupid remark like "that's
what you get for dating Air Force." She should have pulled the car off into that
cane field right outside the airport in Lihue and torn his clothes off when she
had had the chance.
Carl had sprawled diagonally, taking up parts of both sides of the bed; she took
a pillow and finally found a position in which she could share the bed with him.
It would have been more comfortable to sleep on the couch; but she wanted to be
close. She didn't think she was tired, but fell asleep quickly.
Some time later, Carl woke up, scooted over to one side of the bed and gently
moved Meg into a more comfortable position before he went back to sleep. She was
barely aware of this; it seemed like a dream. But when the alarm clock went off,
she was jolted awake.
Meg was sitting up before she recognized that it was still before dawn. She
looked at the clock; in glowing red numerals, it said 0500 hours. No wonder it
was dark outside; it wasn't even morning twilight. She flopped back down on the
bed. She was going to kill that man. She had not set the alarm; there was only
one guilty party. Then she realized that Carl was up and moving around the room.
Light from the full moon streamed in the west-facing windows. She saw the moon
low in the western sky not far above the horizon. Carl was putting a beach
blanket and various other things into a beach bag. Obviously, he was going to go
swimming. Shortly, he came back to the bed, "Come on, sleepy head, time to hit
the beach."
"Carl, you've got to be kidding. Swimming at this hour?"
He sat on the bed beside her and gave her a caress guaranteed to ensure she was
awake. That was more like it; she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him
down to the bed on top of her.
Carl spoke softly in her ear, "Meg, we're going down to the beach."
She petulantly replied, "Only if you carry me."
As if it were preplanned, he scooped her up and somehow worked the handles of
the
beach bag over his right wrist. When he got to the door of the cottage, he asked
for her cooperation. She opened the door and then put her arms around his neck.
Surely, once they got outside, he would stop and they would go back to bed. They
were dressed only in sleepwear.
But Carl did not stop. Surprisingly for late October, there was a warm,
friendly, gentle breeze blowing in from the sea. If he had not pinned a wee bit
of the bottom hem of her negligee between her hip and his chest, the garment
would have blown up over her head. Rather than try to keep herself covered, she
simply closed her eyes and buried her head against his neck. Anytime now he
would stop and they would laugh and go back to the cottage.
Meg felt the movement of his walk change and heard a slight crunch. She opened
her eyes, they were in the midst of white coral sand dunes. She was astounded,
"I hope you have my swim suit in that bag, sir."
"Don't worry, Meg. It's there. So is mine."
She told him to put her down. They silently walked hand in hand through the
dunes, listening to the barely audible "bark" of the sand beneath their feet,
and
onto a beautiful, wide beach. A band of golden light from the full moon flowed
across the ocean from the horizon to the beach. She looked up at her companion.
He had surprised her; for a remote sensors engineer, Carl had become
unexpectedly
romantic.
As they started down the gently sloping beach, she noticed that there were
hardly
any waves lapping at the water's edge. Beyond the high water mark, the sand felt
cool under her feet. The ebbing tide had taken the previous day's heat out to
sea with it. She looked at the distance to the softly lapping waves. It was
probably near low tide.
Carl stopped and started to spread the beach blanket well below the high water
mark. Meg was perplexed. Although the sand was practically dry there, she
questioned the wisdom of his choice. The Air Force captain listened to the
advice of the Navy JG, but continued to spread the blanket in this inter tidal
zone. She tossed the towels further up the beach toward the high water mark,
fished her bikini out of the beach bag, and then pulled her negligee over her
head.
Carl surprised her, enfolding her in his arms from behind. His left arm crossed
her chest. She felt the coolness of his metal watchband against her left breast;
he cupped her right breast in his hand. His right arm went lower and he caressed
her abdomen. With a shriek of half-surprised laughter, she indicated her consent
to what would happen, dropped her bikini, let her negligee blow up the beach in
the breeze, and, opening her thighs to his hand, leaned back into him. Carl knew
the loci of all the erotic buttons which were arrayed throughout her body; he
also knew the codes to press.
Meg mused that they were being very reckless. If some one were on the beach, . .
. Because of the full moon, no one who viewed the beach could fail to see them;
no one could doubt what they were doing. Under other circumstances, she would
have been beside herself in embarrassment. Perhaps it was the sea breeze, but
tonight this openness acted as an aphrodisiac. They slowly went down to their
knees. Given the attention she was receiving, she had no idea how long it was
before he laid her down on the blanket. Nor did she care.
When they were done, they held each other closely, still coupled, unwilling to
break the physical bond. As her breathing finally slowed and her head began to
clear, she opened her eyes and looked up into the sky beyond his shoulder. She
dreamily noted the beautiful stars overhead. Procyon was almost directly
overhead. Almost due south, but easily visible over Carl's shoulder was Sirius,
the brightest star anywhere in the sky.
Slightly to the west stood the constellation Orion, with Betelgeuse, Belatrix,
and his three-star belt. During their thirteen months apart, she had often
imagined that the mighty hunter was her Carl. And had taken comfort in seeing
those stars. She smiled: she had fantasized about, but had not anticipated
making love beneath the giant's watchfulness.
After a few moments, as she noticed a slight lightening in the east, the
weirdest
question entered her mind: why had Carl worn his watch to go swimming? Several
soft kisses, however, distracted her, until he asked, "Do you remember what we
talked about regarding the capabilities of the Russian satellite?"
Meg thought that he had asked a highly inappropriate question, given the
circumstances, but answered, "Yes."
She could see a big grin on his face as he spoke, "I hope you smiled. We were on
candid camera."
She stared at him, not understanding what he was talking about. He glanced at
his watch and continued, "There's a special project, highly classified, being
prepared only about two miles south of here, a couple hundred yards back from
the
beach. The Russian satellite passed overhead about five minutes ago. In two
weeks, my office gets their images; we're doing a cooperative project that I
can't tell you about. But I decided to conduct an experiment, an informal test
of the sensitivity of their system."
Meg began to comprehend as he touched her nose, grinned again, and said, "You
were my lab partner."
She abruptly pushed him off of her and sat up. "Carl, you didn't!"
"Think of it. Two human bodies, in the horizontal position--not vertical, no
clothes--to use your words, 'no shielding.' I don't know what the average skin
temperature would be during sexual intercourse, but it should be rather
elevated.
The sand here is cool. Nice background."
Meg burst out laughing. "So that's why that damned alarm went off at 0500. God,
what an exhibitionist you are! This must be the most imaginative flash ever
staged on earth."
Carl sat up and dragged the beach bag to his side, "If we even show up, all
we'll
be is a pixel on the beach. But before we go, I have to get a GPS fix so I'll
know where to look for us on the image."
Meg demanded, "If we do show up, I want a copy to remember this morning."
He temporized, "We'll see. Shouldn't be any trouble."
As she watched him open the receiver and begin to operate it, a question formed.
"Carl, what would you have done, if it had been rainy this morning. Or even
cloudy."
He looked up, grinned at her, then reached over and ran a hand up the inside of
her leg as he said, "We would have slept in and I would have gotten you up quite
properly."
She pulled her leg away and scowled, "No, I'm serious. It doesn't sound like you
to take a chance on a one-time thing. I mean, we're spending all your leave here
on Kauai, taking a chance on one overhead pass?"
Without looking in her direction, he pulled a slip of paper out of the receiver
case and handed it to her. "That's from the ephemeris on the satellite. We
would have had another chance tonight when it passes overhead again."
In the dim twilight, Meg strained to read what was written on the paper. "So we
would have had more than one chance to do this?"
"Yep."
She began to smile. The smile turned into a grin. For the first time in her
life, she knew when she was going to get laid. Down to the minute. It was there
on the paper.
She tried not to sound gleeful when she spoke again. "Carl, you're the scientist
here. Why didn't you talk this experiment over with your 'lab partner'? Isn't
that proper procedure?"
He paused and turned once more to look at her. "Yes. But what does that have to
do with--"
She interrupted him triumphantly, "We're just going to have to do it again.
Tonight. Your experiment wasn't conducted under optimum conditions."
Even if she hadn't been able to see his puzzled expression, his response
indicated incomprehension, "Huh?"
"Have you ever seen infrared photography of a man and a woman, ah, . . . doing
what we just did?"
"Don't tell me the Navy takes those sort of photos."
Meg frowned, then guessed that he was jerking her chain. So she pulled her punch
and only slapped at his shoulder as she replied, "No, silly. Open sources. In
fact, cable TV. The Learning Channel. TLC has some of the best stuff this side
of the Playboy Channel. . . . Anyway, if you'd seen the video you'd know that a
woman emits more heat when thoroughly aroused than does a man."
She paused for a moment to let the information sink in. With a big grin, she
continued, "For best results, I should have been on top. Besides, if you do me
right--and you can, I can last longer. All the way through the pass."
Carl grinned from ear to ear. "Meg, I'm surprised at you."
"I'm easily corrupted. By the right man."
"Okay, okay, you're on for tonight," he said, turning once again to the GPS
receiver. "But for now, woman, let me get our position recorded."
Meg patiently waited as Carl fiddled with the receiver and jotted down some
figures. When he had finished recording their location, she struck him over the
head with her bikini bottom. "Now, sir. Before we go back to the cottage, we're
going swimming. That's what you got me up for at this ungodly hour."
Carl held up his swim trunks and shook them, "We weren't very careful, Meg.
They're full of sand. Itchy."
"Why the sudden modesty, Carl? You think the dolphins care?" Meg jumped up and
started for the water's edge, "Last- one-in's a . . . ."
She didn't finish the sentence. Carl was getting to his feet; she bolted for the
water, heading straight toward the setting moon. If he had gotten her to pose
for a Russian satellite, then he owed her something special before they came
back
ashore, even if it was already morning twilight.
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