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Manhattan manhunt



Toni Lindroth, once Toni La Rocca and now Toni Lindroth
again, passed the last of the newly signed documents
back across the desk.

"Is that it?"

Anita Ruger, her counsellor in law, nodded. "All
signed, sealed and delivered. Your divorce is final and
you're a free woman again. Welcome to all the joys of
being a single NBCR female in Manhattan."

"NBCR?"

"No birthday candles required."

Toni smiled ruefully

"Over the hill or not, I'll take a break before I start
picking up the threads. I've been promising myself a
good long holiday in Europe when the chance came. But
before I start packing I'd like to thank you for
everything you've done, Anita. You've been a great
lawyer and a true friend."

Anita tapped the papers together in a neat pile with
her long fingernails. "I hope you feel the same way
when you get my bill. Divorce is always an expensive
option."

"Is that why you've never married yourself? It seems
odd that a gal as good looking as you has never gotten
herself hitched."

Anita had a set answer for such questions - one
delivered with just the same sort of painful smile as
Toni's. "Earlier on I guess I was too busy building a
career. And now - well, now is now."

"But you like men?"

"I like them fine - for one thing they're all so
predictable. They make a pass at me, they find out I'm
a female lawyer specialising in divorce settlements and
they all respond the same way: one hand over their
wallet, the other one over their balls and then backing
off towards the nearest exit as fast as they can. It
doesn't help either that my legal associates keep on
referring to me as the Wicked Witch of the East Side."

"Well that's your own fault for boasting about your
apartment's history. But there's something I'd like to
talk about with you before I go. I guess I'm finding it
hard to open the subject up - I feel kind of shy about
it."

The lawyer raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise. Toni
was tall and darkly beautiful with a very strong
personality and a track record of running her own
highly successful public relations business. She'd also
gone after her ex-husband's assets with an
aggressiveness which would have made a starving shark
look shy. All in all, it was difficult to believe that
Toni Lindroth could be diffident about discussing any
kind of subject.

"You see, Anita, I'm going to ask you to do something
for me which sounds as if I'm asking a favor from you,
but it's not quite what it sounds like on the surface.
I can't tell you anymore though - I'd just like you to
trust me the same way I've trusted you all through the
divorce."

Anita held her hands out to show her willingness to go
along with whatever Toni wanted. After all, it was true
that she'd become a friend as well as a client.

"No problem. What can I do for you?"

"I'd like you to look after Beech for me while I'm
away, please."

Anita tried to hide her true feelings. As dogs went
Beech was about as good as they came, a placid natured
basset hound with the permanently mournful expression
of all his breed. But as far as the lawyer was
concerned dogs, cats and anything else in the way of
domestic animals could pass straight through without
stopping anywhere near her. And especially not in her
beautiful apartment.

"I'm not really a pet person, Toni. Not in the city,
anyway. My horse upstate is good enough for me."

"Believe me, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.
Beech is totally house trained and you wouldn't have to
walk him. My dog person would stop by every night about
seven p.m. to do that. And it's only for a week or
two."

Anita gritted her teeth, decided to add an appreciable
amount to Toni's settlement bill and eventually
conceded defeat: "OK, but just remember that I didn't
push myself forward for this job. Is your dog walker
usually on time?"

"To the second. Tristan's always on time. I've got to
dash now but the pair of them will be around to the
park tonight to drop off Beech. OK?"

"OK." Privately, Anita was wondering how she'd managed
to become a lawyer at all if she could be sweet talked
into such a stupid deal. Conned by a client! It was a
disgrace.

Even the passage of several hours and the solace of a
martini did little to sooth Anita's irritation with
herself. A fine thing if she couldn't get away at the
weekend to practice her dressage because of some lousy
mongrel. She stood at the window in her apartment which
gave the best view over Gramercy Park, a view which
usually cheered her up but which was doing nothing for
her mood tonight. The brunette with the sharp eyes and
tight lipped mouth reflected in the darkening glass was
doing really well - a solid legal career, a rapidly
expiring use by date and the only meaningful
relationship she had was giving an occasional sugar
lump to a horse. Oh yes, and now she could look forward
to sharing her gossip with a sad assed basset hound.

Which reminded her of another thing. Tristan, for God's
sake! Was she going to have to try to make sense of
some Hispanic girl's explainations in Spanish about
Beech's likes and dislikes? Damn Toni for letting her
in for this and damn herself for letting it happen.

The intercom buzzer sounded exactly at seven. Well, at
least the wretched girl was on time.

"Hello."

"Ms Ruger? I've brought Beech over."

Anita's spine quivered. The voice she was listening to
sounded exactly like Sean Connery's when he was still
007. What the hell? She selected the video display,
nearly spilling the remains of the martini in her rush.

Six foot and more, bulging out of a leather jacket at
the shoulders and arms and not a surplus inch around
the trim waistline. Neatly cut fair hair, a facial
profile like an Air Force recruiting poster, and
twenty one or two at a guess. This was Toni's dog
person?

"Jesus Christ!" Anita whispered.

"I'm sorry, Ms Ruger, I didn't catch that."

"Uh - yeah, right. Come on up. You know the number."

"Yes, I've got your number, Ms Ruger."

And Anita asked herself how come he'd got it? Was this
some kind of joke by Toni? Was this guy a strippergram
guy and the dog only an excuse to get in? But it was
definitely Beech's portly shape dragging its ears on
the sidewalk beside him and Toni would never have
turned her beloved dog over to some guy she'd just
rented from an agency. What the hell was the deal here?
Or was she getting a distorted picture from the
surveillance camera, maybe from the high angle? Maybe
this guy was really only four foot tall and had more
body odour than a dead goat?

The first question was answered as soon as she opened
the door - his body filled the doorway as if it had
been designed for the job without an inch to spare. The
shoulders of the leather jacket almost brushed the
frame on either side, the tight fitting denim jeans
would have made two pairs for Anita and the top of her
head didn't even reach his Adam's apple. Anita wondered
about his other Adam specific anatomy, a passing
thought rapidly overborne by a more immediate concern
that maybe it hadn't been a very smart move to let
Terminator Three into her apartment. But he was smiling
gently at her with that soap-opera-leading-man face.
And when he knelt down to unfasten Beech's lead the dog
licked his hands with obvious affection. Then he stood
up again and slid off a backpack.

"I've brought along Beech's basket, some food for him
and a couple of other things. Maybe you've got
somewhere I could put them down where they'll be out of
the way?"

"Yeah, sure, this way."

'I wasn't wrong, he does have a brogue like Sean
Connery. Where had Toni dug this character up from and
what the hell was she going to find in Europe that was
better than this?'

"Tristan. Is that really your name?"

"I'm sorry, I beg your pardon, I should have introduced
myself. Yes, I'm Tristan, Tristan Yorstan. My mother
got the stupid name from a TV series."

"Well, nice to meet you, Tristan. I'm Anita. Can I ask
what TV series that was?"

"It was about some vets in Yorkshire. Tristan was one
of them and my mum decided she'd take the name without
bothering about copyright."

Tristan grinned like an embarrassed kid and knelt down
on the kitchen floor to begin unpacking the back pack.

"No reflection on your mother, Tristan, but it kind of
sounds to me like that Johnny Cash number about a boy
called Sue. I was expecting a girl to come round."

He chuckled: "I guess it's one of those things. To tell
the truth, every time I look at my birth certificate I
feel lucky. Tristan's brother in the TV series was
called Siegfried. Being called Siegfried Yorstan is a
heavy load to carry through life."

He opened a packet of dog biscuits and poured them into
a bowl then took another bowl from the pack. "There
wouldn't be any water at all, would there?"

"Surely." She took the bowl from his hand. "You're
British, Tristan?"

"Ah, well. British by passport, Scottish by nationality
and forever and always an Orcadian."

"Orcady - is that a place in Scotland?"

Tristan smiled and patted Beech's head as the dog began
gobbling up the biscuits: "An Orcadian is someone who
lives on the Orkney Islands, Ms Ruger. Orcady is a
planet in the galaxy Alpha Centauri occupied by green
skinned monsters with long tentacles who keep pestering
George Lucas to shoot the next episode of Star Wars in
their solar system."

Anita felt the tension slipping out of her stomach as
she smiled back without reservation: "Oh dear, I've
made a fool of myself. I guess geography never was my
strong point. And please call me Anita."

"OK, Anita, the next time you meet an Orcadian you'll
know that the Orkneys are a group of islands just off
the northern tip of Scotland." Tristan was still
smiling.

"If it makes you feel any better, when the Falkland
Islands were invaded we had an urgent phone call from a
London newspaper editor asking us if the Argentinians
had landed on the Orkneys as well. We never did find
out if he thought the Orkneys were near South America
or if he was under the impression that Galtieri was
attacking Scotland."

Anita chuckled, trying to keep from spilling the water
bowl. Tristan carefully took it from her hands and put
it down on the floor. "There, that should keep Beech
happy for a while. Will it be OK if I come around at
the same time tomorrow to walk him - or would another
time suit better?"

"Oh - I guess this time of day would be fine. Would you
like a cup of coffee, Tristan?"

"I'd love one, if it's no trouble."

"No trouble at all. Go through and take a seat in the
lounge."

"The kitchen might be better, my shoes are a little
dirty. Can I sit in here."

"Surely. Yorstan - I don't think I've heard that name
before either."

"It's probably Norwegian. The Vikings owned the Orkneys
until the fifteenth century. I suppose they must have
been very desirable properties when the Gulf Stream was
warmer than it is now. There are monuments on the
islands that were already old when the pyramids were
being built in Egypt."

Vikings! Anita had a sudden picture flash across her
mind, an image of Tristan in chain mail and a sword in
his hand, blood stained and triumphant in battle,
seeking the traditional Viking booty of pillage and
rape - the cup on the saucer in her hand rattled and
she stared at it in disbelief.

'Get a grip on yourself, girl! This isn't happening and
you're not going weak at the knees just because of some
Scots hobo who happens to walk some stupid dog.'

"That's interesting. So how long have you been in New
York?"

"Only a month. I was working as a crewman on a ferry
boat between Stromness and the Scottish mainland but
the company went broke. There wasn't much else in the
way of jobs around and I'd been talking to a guy on the
internet for a while who lived in New York. He said if
I ever wanted to come over for a holiday I could stay
at his place. So when I came to work one day and there
was no job anymore I decided I'd come over and take a
look at the big apple and see what it was like. A kind
of a holiday before I went into serious job hunting
mode."

Anita switched on the coffee maker and leaned forward
on the kitchen counter. "So how come you're walking
Toni's dog?"

"Ah, I'd have to be explaining that when I got here it
turned out to terrible timing. The guy who'd invited me
over happened to have a new girl friend move in with
him almost the very day I arrived on his doorstep,
which was not a convenient situation for anybody you'll
be understanding, with him living in such a small
apartment. The girl herself was very nice about it and
asked me to stay on for a while, but it wouldn't
answer. So I had a scout around with my guide book and
managed to rent a room down in alphabet city on the
Lower East Side. But what with having to pay rent and
with all the attractions here in Manhattan I was soon
running out of money and needed to find work. Except
that being only a visitor I wasn't supposed to be
working. It was a real puzzle, especially being so new
in such a big place and wandering around as lost as
Crocodile Dundee ever was."

"Oh, I see. Sit down, sit down."

Anita could have sworn she heard the antique chair
groan underneath his weight as Tristan settled on it
and leaned forward to scratch Beech's head. The dog
whined with pleasure: it occurred to Anita that she
might well do the same herself if given the same
treatment.

"So what happened?"

"Well, I saw all these people walking their dogs and I
remembered I'd heard once of people who were paid to
walk pets for owners who were too busy to do it
themselves. So I thought that maybe I could get a few
dollars together in that way without the immigration
people being any the wiser. I had some cards printed
saying what a fine dog walker I was. Not having a
telephone number I put my Hotmail e-mail address on
them - and I bought myself a cap."

Tristan smiled and pulled out a knitted GI cap from his
pocket: "Being that this is New York, I thought that if
I had something on my head I could take it off as a
sign of respect when I stepped up with a card and that
it would show people that I meant them no harm -
especially all those fine looking ladies like
yourself."

'I'm a career advocate, you big handsome lug, and
flattery is going to get you absolutely nowhere -
except into my pants.'

"So what happened when you handed out the cards?"

"Oh, I was very nervous. I tried a couple of men and
they seemed not so happy about the idea at all but the
ladies were wonderful. Every single one of them smiled
at me, would you believe?"

'Oh, I believe, I believe. The big dumb bastard is
wandering around in a city full of women who'd kill to
get their hands on a guy like this and he doesn't even
realise he's raw meat in the jungle.'

"And Toni was one of them - one of the women you gave a
card?" Anita began pouring the coffee. "How do you like
it?"

"White and one sugar, please. Yes, when I checked my e-
mail account at a cyber cafe later on I couldn't
believe I'd got several answers. I thought I'd better
start out with just one, to see how things went, and it
was Ms Toni's answer I followed up first."

Anita put down his coffee on the table. "And have you
walked anybody else's dog yet?"

Tristan's eyes dropped. "Er, no. Things have been a bit
- well, a bit busier than I expected."

'I'll bet they have! Poor Toni, sitting in my office
looking all sad about the end of her marriage and with
this hulk trotting around to her apartment every day to
screw her until her eyes pop out. And if that's a
presumption of guilt it's one I'd back with every
dollar I've ever earned since I left law school -
Jesus, look at this kid, he's practically blushing. And
if Toni's been teaching him everything she knows the
poor schmuck probably should be blushing.'

"So how long have you been walking Beech now?"

"Only a week."

'Only a week - they've been at it each other for only a
week and Toni's had to go to Europe to recover! And
she's sent her dog and her lover round to me to have
and to hold until she gets her breath back. Or have I
got the whole deal totally wrong?'

"And how do you like New York, Tristan?"

"It's fascinating. I've always liked watching films and
it seems that almost everywhere I go in Manhattan I
find a place I've seen on the pictures. And I've never
seen so many cinemas in one place as there are here."
He paused, his cup suspended halfway between mouth and
saucer. "Talking about films, can I ask why you have
that picture of a witch hanging up near your door?"

"Ah, have you seen the movie it came from?"

Tristan looked at her as if it was the dumbest question
he'd ever heard: "Of course I have. So has everybody.
It's a still from 'The Wizard of Oz'."

"That's right. It's a picture of Margaret Hamilton who
played the Wicked Witch in the movie. She used to live
in this apartment."

"She lived here?" Tristan was looking around him with
wide eyed reverence. "She lived here, in this very
apartment?"

"It was quite a while ago."

"Yes, but that's nothing is it? I mean that film will
never be forgotten, never. And one of the people who
was in it lived right here?" Tristan shook his head as
if in disbelief. "That's New York for you. Everywhere
else you watch movies, here you seem to be in one, more
times than not."

Anita smiled at his innocent naivete. He was really
just a big kid - or at least he probably had been until
Toni got her hands on him.

"Well, if you're really into movies, you should keep
your eyes open in this neighborhood and you may see
some familiar faces."

"Why, are there some movie stars still living here?"

"Not exactly, but I hear that the Gramercy Park hotel
is a favorite place for British actors and TV people
stopping over in Manhattan. I guess you won't find Sir
Anthony Hopkins strolling around here but, like I say,
maybe a face or two you've seen back home. The hotel
guests are allowed to use the park. And that reminds
me, I'd better give you a key for it as well so you can
take Beech in there."

"It's a locked park? Like the one in 'Notting Hill'?"

"That's right; residents only. You've seen that movie,
Tristan?"

"Oh yes - I had a terrible time with watching it. I ran
out of handkerchiefs towards the end."

Anita burst out laughing, the struggled to explain why.

"I'm sorry, Tristan, but ever since you mentioned the
Vikings I was thinking of how you looked like one. And
then, just now, I had this picture in my mind of a
movie theatre full of guys wearing horned hats with big
swords and axes propped up next to them, and all of
them watching a movie and wiping their eyes with
handkerchiefs. I guess maybe I'm a little crazy at
times."

"No, no, I'm the odd one. I daresay American guys are
too macho to start crying inside a cinema. I'm not
really a big city person, am I?"

"Whatever you are, you've certainly cheered me up.
What's life like where you're living?"

"Oh, not bad. No criminals - the Hell's Angels down at
the local chapter house keep all the undesirables away.
The only pests they don't frighten at all are the
cockroaches. New York cockroaches are the biggest,
meanest, smartest insects I've ever seen. If they get
any bigger, meaner and smarter they'll be driving the
cabs. Imagine that - four claws on the steering wheel,
burning stogies in two more of them and all the others
making rude signs at the other drivers. Yeah, and one
eye on a stalk looking back at you and it's saying:
'How 'bout those Yankees, Mac?'."

Anita giggled, reached out and touched his hand:
"You're as weird as I am, Tristan."

"No, no, you're not weird. Toni told me about you - a
hotshot lawyer she says. As smart as they come. Which
means that you've probably got a whole lot of work to
do and I'm keeping you from it while I'm sitting here
yarning away. I'd better slip the field and I'll come
back tomorrow night."

"OK, fine, I'll see you then, Tristan. And it's been
fun talking to you."

'What's the matter with you, you mad bitch? Standing
here gabbing away like a Sunday School teacher! Grab
his cock and haul him into the bedroom before he gets
away!'

Every movement she made seemed awkward as she opened
the door for him. She'd dried up completely, something
which hadn't happened since the first time she'd stood
up in front of a judge.

'Say something, you idiot woman, no matter how stupid.'

"I'm sorry you're having so much trouble with the
roaches. Maybe putting down lot of baits would help."

"It's not worth making too much fuss about. I'm only
allowed to stay in the States for ninety days and I've
used up quite a few of those already. But I'll be
checking my suitcase carefully when I go home, just to
make sure I've got no stowaways. Good night, Anita, and
thank you for the coffee."

"You're welcome."

"Oh, and there was me almost forgetting. Toni said to
tell you she'd be on the way to the airport by now but
she's sent you an e-mail you should read as soon as you
can."

"OK, thanks, I'll check it out later."

He was gone and she was staring at her reflection in
the hallway mirror and wishing she hadn't been wearing
her oldest pair of corduroy slacks and a blue sweater
which looked as if it belonged in a welfare donation
bin. As for that fat ass - well, maybe she should quit
doing so much riding.

'God, I used to worry about looking like my mother but
it's worse than that - I'm starting to look like my
high school principal. A huge nose, those two beady
eyes, this ridiculous hair parting that goes down over
my forehead at forty five degrees - I look like a bald
eagle wearing an oversize toupee!'

A face crumpled up into long lines of permanent sadness
peered around the kitchen door and whined at her.

"Yeah, buddy, I know just how you feel. And you don't
even have to get up in the morning. In the meantime I
think we'd better find out what our mutual friend Toni
is up to."

She went into her study, switched on the Dell and
logged on. Yep, there is was with "Walking the dog" in
the subject heading:

"Anita, hi,

I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you. I'm
not going to Europe but back to Oklahoma to visit my
folks. Pop's not too well at all and I've been telling
the family I'd come back for a visit as soon as I
could. Now the legal side of the divorce is all settled
I guess this has to be the time.

I would have told you this before but it would have
been really hard to explain the situation until you'd
met Tristan. Now I don't know how you've reacted to him
but when he came up to me in the street I felt like
dragging him unto the nearest doorway. But in the end I
did a lot better by getting him into my apartment as
often as I could and once I'd shown him I needed
exercising as badly as Beech does he went to it like
gangbusters. We are talking serious sexual aerobics
here - the first time was on top of the freezer box and
I nearly defrosted a month's supplies of groceries on
the spot. Honey, this guy is guaranteed road tested and
I'll swear that I've never found anybody like him for
laying down rubber on the old pink highway.

Now maybe this all doesn't mean squiddly dee to you,
Anita. Maybe he doesn't do anything at all for you but
somehow I doubt it. Anyway, I have problems with him.
The truth is that Mom and Pop are straight out Bible
belters and they're finding it hard to cope with the
idea of my getting a divorce at all. If I came back
from separating from Al the loser La Rocca with a toy
boy like Tristan in tow I'd probably get excommunicated
or something. Not to mention likely putting Pop
straight back into hospital with another heart attack.

On the other hand if I let Erik the Viking out on the
street again with those damned dog walking cards he'll
surely be walking some other bitch's bitch before Mom's
finished cooking my welcome home barbecue. And even if
none of that happens the government is going to take
away my daily ration of scotch on the rocks by kicking
him out when his non-visa waiver period expires in two
months.

So, rather than lose him altogether, I figured that the
best thing I could do was to find him a good home while
I'm gone - and you're it. Pay him whatever it takes to
keep him around and occupied and put it on my bill. And
I want you to do whatever you can legalwise to let him
stay in the country - and that's on my bill as well.
Take it as high up the tree as you need to. As for
whatever happens between you and him, I guess that's
none of my business. But I'm getting sick to death of
hearing about your dressage riding and your Portuguese
bull fighting techniques. In my opinion, counsellor,
it's high time that you got down off your high horse
and did some hand to hand bull fighting for a change.
If you think I may have something, then go and check
Beech's basket and see what's taped underneath the
cushion inside it - then open the attached text file
and follow the instructions inside it.

And don't I just wish I could see your face right now,

Toni.

PS. Don't forget to e-mail me if anything interesting
happens!"

"Toni!"

Anita stared at the screen, re-reading the message over
and over as she tried to sort out her emotions. The
most difficult to come to terms with was feeling
ashamed that Toni had read her reaction to Tristan so
perfectly. God, was she really such an open book? And
what was she going to do now? Apart from taking a
casual look inside that basket of course, just to see
what kind of craziness Tony had thought up.

It wasn't such an easy thing to do though. Beech was
tired out by a long journey on short legs from the Park
Avenue metro and snoring in his basket, dreaming of
chasing rabbits. Not that he'd ever actually seen a
rabbit but he was an animal of vivid imagination and
generally managed to visualise some satisfactory
substitutes. Trying to prise him out of his rest and
out of his basket wasn't easy.

"Come on, you fat slob, get your butt out of there,
willya?"

Beech opened an eye in a face which had gone from its
usually melancholy to an expression of infinite sadness
in coming to terms with a world run by humans who
hadn't enough decency to let sleeping dogs lie. He
finally stepped out from his basket with the grief
stricken grandeur of Louis the Sixteenth descending
from a tumbril into a crowd of unwashed sans-culottes.

"It's OK, you can go straight back to bed in a minute."

Beech ignored the crass comment with all the disdain it
deserved and went to crunch a biscuit with a strictly
non-wagging tail and miserable mien. His whole attitude
was that of a dog which had broken off diplomatic
relations with humankind for an indefinite period.
Directed at a softer heart it would have been a good
guilt-inducing tactic - against a lawyer's conscience
it was a waste of time.

"Suit yourself, buddy. As far as I'm concerned you
ain't nothing but a hound dog, anyway."

Beech quivered but kept a straight back as Anita added
injury to insult by vandalising his basket. Underneath
the cushion was a neatly coiled strip of leather held
in place with pieces of ducting tape. She pulled off
the pieces of tape and held up the leather coil. At
first she thought it was just a spare dog collar for
Beech - and then she realised it was much too big for
that. This was a thick leather choker as wide as her
thumb, embedded with silver pyramid studs and with a
big silver restraining ring double studded to the front
of it.

"Toni! What the hell are you doing to me?"

Anita put down the choker but kept glancing at it as
she put the cushion back inside the basket. "OK, mutt,
it's all yours again. No wonder you always look so
pissed - that mistress of yours is an evil, evil woman.
And her ears are even bigger than yours."

The dog sniffed in disdain, walked back to the basket
and began making a big performance out of re-settling
himself into a comfortable position.

"Go ahead, have a good night's sleep. It's probably
more than I'm going to get."

Back to the computer, back to the e-mail attachment:
"Layme.txt" Very funny, Toni. She clicked on it . . .

OK, Anita, it looks like we have an interesting
situation here.

Now I need to tell you that I've talked to Tristan a
lot about you. He wants to stay in the US for a while
longer and he knows a lawyer like you could be a real
help to him. What he doesn't want to do is have a
lawyer filing a complaint of sexual harassment against
him. So he asked me to try and find a way where there'd
be no misunderstandings. Now I'm writing this without
knowing what happened when you met and if there was any
chemistry between you - but I don't think you'd have
opened this file if you weren't getting some hots for
Tristan Yorstan (hell of a name, isn't it? Sounds like
the Swedish Chef on Sesame Street.)

Still, if you're not interested, put the choker in a
drawer and forget about it until I come back and
collect it. You can have Tristan walk Beech, clean your
apartment, your car, maybe even squire you around to
anyplace you want to go. I'll pay the wages and he
won't lay a finger on you. That's the deal and I guess
I'd trust the big lug. I don't think he's ever been
short of feminine company in his life and he's not
likely to be having a frustrating time in Manhatten.

On the other hand, if you want to be swept off your
feet, just open the door to him with the choker around
your neck. He'll put that leash onto it, haul you into
the bedroom and . . . . well, I guess you get the idea.
It's a little game Tristan and I play and Beech gets as
mad as hell when I get taken for walkies before he
does. Anyway, between us, we've sure been keeping that
guy fit.

So there it is. Now you know how to bring the genie out
of the bottle but forget about any kind of three wishes
routine. I've told Tristan and now I'm telling you,
counsellor, as long as that choker is on you'll be
doing what he wants and any objections will be over-
ruled. That's the way we play it and that's the way
you're going to have to play it if you want to join in.
You're either going to be a totally unsullied fille
d'honneur or a totally screwed every which way but
loose fille de joie. These are big girl's games and
them's the rules.

I guess the only other thing you need to know is that
playing the dutiful daughter in Oklahoma is probably
going to be as much fun as a vacation spent cleaning
the craphouses in a Mexican nunnery. I'm going with
gritted teeth and the intention of spending at least
two weeks with the family but don't count on it. I
could be back very much sooner and if you're still
humming and hawing you'll have lost your chance. To
tell you the truth, hon, if there's no other way to
keep Tristan I'll move my entire goddam business to
Scotland and run it through the internet. And won't I
love breaking that news to the bridges and tunnels set
who keep turning up late for work with hard luck
stories about how far they live from Manhattan.

So there it is - Tristan needs a lawyer and I think
you're a lawyer who needs Tristan. He's yours on a
strictly loan arrangement because you're the only woman
in town I'd even halfway trust with him and because -
to be honest - I've got no other choice. I'll also be
honest enough to admit that I'd love to know what
happens between the two of you.

OK, Anita, he's all yours.

Toni.

PPS. I'm backtracking a hundred bucks off my
accumulated bill for every act of gross indecency you
commit with my dog person. I've told Tristan to carve
the notches on your bedhead so there'll be no
accounting arguments. Chou!

After carefully reading and digesting the file Anita
came to three conclusions.

The first was that Toni had gotten it real bad.

The second was that Toni had watched far too many
episodes of 'Ally McBeal'.

The third conclusion was that Toni had put her lawyer
between a rock and a hard place and all the lawyer
seemed able to think about was what she needed to do to
make that place hard.

Being a calm and rational person Anita mixed herself a
fresh drink, drank it slowly and then retired peacefuly
to her bed for some well earned rest which wouldn't be
disturbed by any further stupid thoughts about Tristam
Yorstan.

At one o'clock in the morning she got up and switched
on her computer again. There seemed to be very little
on the net about the Orkneys except advertisments for
hand knitted sweaters guaranteed to keep out Atlantic
gales. Anita turned her attention towards the web pages
of various New York lingerie stores and spent a lot of
time looking at items of clothing absolutely guaranteed
not to keep out marauding Vikings.

The following day Anita was happy for once not to have
to appear in a courtroom. The necessary concentration
simply wasn't there. The only thing which her mind
seemed determined to fasten on was whether to check out
the item of virtual non-apparel which had caught her
fancy in the small hours of the morning. Assuming, of
course, that she was really going to do what Toni had
suggested and turn on an act for a man - a boy - on her
own doorstep.

Simple, really. A classic case of plea-bargaining. I'm
wearing this piece of nonsense and behaving like a
tramp because I'm lonely and unloved and my friends
think it's time I was put out to stud for a while. So
which would you rather do, walk the dog or lay the
bitch? Either way, you get paid.

That was one way of looking at it. The other way was
that she hadn't had a man in her bed for months and it
had been years since she'd since a man who'd made her
go weak at the knees just by looking at him. If Toni
thought she was so frightened of being human maybe she
should show her how wrong she was - to hell with being
an ice-maiden. Anita Ruger was a long way down the
track from being a maiden, her blood ran as hotly as
anybody else's and who cared who knew it?

In the end she locked her office remarkably early in
the afternoon and went off in grimly determined mood to
the nearest Stage Door shop. A mood of determination
tempered by the legalistic determination that she sti

ll
wasn't making any real commitment, only window
shopping.

It was window shopping which ended in the production of
a credit card though, and a subsequent ride home
accompanied by a ribbon wrapped parcel and enough
butterflies in her stomach to pollinate a country
garden.

The first thing she did when she got home to Gramercy
Park was to check the time. It was also the second,
third and fourth thing she did. Anita decided she
needed to take a grip on herself and bypassed her usual
martini for a shot of Smirnoff, the best butterfly
killing liquid ever invented. She sat and looked at the
parcel whilst terminating a few million of her brain
cells with extreme prejudice. Beech wandered over,
feeling a vague sense of duty to welcome her home and
willing to negotiate some kind of rapprochement with
his temporary mistress.

It was a cautious approach though. Genetically
fashioned to keep both ears on the ground he was well
aware of the air of tension she'd brought with her. But
she scratched his forehead and he responded dutifully,
if not with the outright joy similar treatment from
Tristan had evoked.

"It's easy for you dogs. You can just come right out
and say what you want and nobody gives a hoot. Human
beings are different though - we're not supposed to sit
up and beg because we've got something called pride.
The problem is that the more pride we have the more we
usually need what we can't ask for. Does that make a
lot of sense to you?"

Beech broke wind - a deep rumble that died away into a
strange sounding whistle. Anita looked at him with
dawning respect and a flapping hand.

"You're right, Beech, you're right. I never understood
that philosphical point before - maybe I should have
got a dog myself. Or maybe I should drink vodka more
often."

Her fingers flicked playfully at one of his outsized
auricles. "Whaddya say, boy, shall we both sit up and
beg for a bone?"

Beech grunted with seeming approval.

"Well, OK, but I have to tell you that this isn't going
to come easy. When I was a student I could get all the
guys I wanted just by going to the beach at Coney
Island. Now I have to go to the goddamned Orkney
islands for sex."

She re-filled her glass and took it into the bathroom.
By the time it was dry she was as well, having
showered, powdered, and perfumed a body which now
contained an unusually high alcohol content in its
blood stream. A blood stream which was beginning to
pound against her ears like Niagra Falls.

Anita looked dubiously at her naked relection in the
full length mirror. "If I'm a lot younger than Goldie
Hawn, how come I don't look as good as she does?"

It was no use worrying about that, nor about the extra
pounds which had somehow crept through her defenses and
hunkered down around her hips. At least she was still a
long way from living in a total ruin of a body.

"So why don't I put on a glamorous dress and let
Tristan take me to a restaurant and just see what
happens from there?"

'Because . . . because I'm not interested any any of
that stale old routine. Because when he walked through
my door the first time I took one look at him and
wanted him to grab me. Maybe it's because there's
something about him that stirs my German genes - maybe
a Norseman looking just like him screwed one of my
Rhine Maiden ancestors. Toni says that if I'm wearing
that chocker he'll just grab me - OK, let's see if he's
as good as he looks and to hell with all the usual
courtship rituals.'

Answering her own question made Anita shiver. She went
into the bedroom and opened the parcel, carefully
lifted out the garment inside and slipped it on over
her head. Then she returned to the mirror.

It looked good - really good, she thought. The Stage
Door web page had described it as a stretch
cotton/spandex split side mini-dress. The sort of
little black number that any lady lawyer would wear to
an fashion conscious orgy - sexy without being vulgar.
A haltered top, a low cut bodice, a hemline that
stopped three quarters of the way up her thighs and
splits on both sides of the skirt which went up to her
waist. With nothing worn underneath it she was ready
for anything that came her way.

'Hey, lady, are you putting out the welcome mat or
what?'

If this didn't bring Tristan into the breech then
nothing would - not unless she coated herself in
porridge. She giggled and twirled around on her toes.

"Hey, Beech, whaddya think?"

Beech did not strain like a greyhound at the slip. He
looked at her, yawned and lowered his head onto his
crossed front legs.

"Alright, that's it, buddy. Tomorrow I'm going to bring
home the biggest stapler in the office and I'm going to
clip those big lugs of yours together over your head.
See how you like that."

Anita poured another shot of Smirnoff, a generous one,
and then went into her bedroom, opened a drawer and
took out the choker. She seemed to have grown an extra
set of fingers on each hand because there was no way
she could clip it together behind her neck. Her brain
was all skewed as well because it seemed to take
forever before she realised it was a lot easier to
secure the clips in front and then rotate the choker
around her throat.

Back to the mirror and looking at her slightly swaying
image again. "Please, God, let anything happen as long
as he doesn't start laughing."

'Do I put on a robe to open the door in? Or just like
this? Kiss him or stand back and smile? Make the first
move or let him start, like Toni said?'

Ten minutes to seven and all those dead butterflies in
the pit of her stomach were dissolving in a pool of
vodka mixed with battery acid. She moved around
uncertainly, picking things up and putting them down
again. Then she took down Beech's leash and attached it
to the choker ring. The dog immediately bounced up at
the sight of the leash and began whining with eagerness
in anticipation of its daily exercise.

"Shut up."

At the same time the door buzzer sounded. The video
screen was filled with Tristan's hulking shape in a
three quarter length yellow oilskin. Trickles of water
were visible as he pulled the hood back to show his
ruggedly handsome face. Streetlights near the doorway
were reflected in the wet sheen of the sidewalk. At
least she could claim she'd decided to let him screw
her because it was too wet to take Beech outside - even
if was the weakest attempt at justification she'd ever
heard in her life.

"Good evening, Anita."

Her mouth suddenly seemed to be full of dust and grit:
"Come on up, Tristan."

'Play it cool - put the leash on the dog.'

She did that, and it wasn't a smart move. Beech was
more than ready to go out to sniff the roses and
everything else as well. His paws clattered on the
polished wooden flooring as he finally did get down to
some serious straining on his leash. Instead of
standing there waiting cool and collected, the woman of
mystery and intrigue, Anita was becoming involved in a
full scale tug of war with a small but surprisingly
strong body.

"Calm down. Steady, steady, Beech, steady. Oh hell!"

The door bell sounded, she pushed Beech to one side
with her leg, opened the door, Beech went through the
gap like a torpedo fired out of a submarine and dragged
her behind him, her hand caught in the leash's strap.
Hitting Tristan was like hitting a brick wall, she went
sideways, her legs stumbled over Beech and she was
falling, then caught by an arm which caught and held
her body upright without the slightest effort.

"Beech, sit!"

The dog instantly complied to the deep male voice.
Tristan set Anita straight on her feet, then looked her
up and down.

"God, but this is a wonderful country. "

He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out another leash
and snapped it onto the choker ring. Anita yelped and
tried to get back inside her apartment, only to find
that Tristan was still holding her in place.

"For God's sake, somebody might come along the corridor
at any minute. Let's go inside."

"No, I've a better idea. Let's all go for a walk in the
park. Beech needs it."

"Fuck Beech, you big fool. I can't go anywhere dressed
like this."

"Which is a terrible shame because you look drop dead
gorgeous. But I've a great desire to get some wet grass
underneath my feet while I've the chance, so I want to
take a walk in the park, right now."

Anita cast fearful looks, left and right. "Let me get
inside, please, Tristan."

"I'll do a deal with you. Hand me those keys to your
apartment you leave hanging up by the door and I'll
give you this rain coat to put on. Then we can all be
on our way."

Anita was so desperate to cover herself up she did as
he wanted, moving back inside the doorway with Tristan
following her step for step, but still holding onto the
leash. Beech whined in disappointment at what seemed
like another delayed walk but remained sitting outside
the still open door. Tristan took the keys from Anita's
hand and jerked her back out into the passageway, then
kicked the door firmly closed.

Beech yelped in joy and Anita in dismay. Tristan
chuckled and unsnapped the leash from her choker.

"Don't be worrying, woman, here's my side of the
bargain."

His huge hands snapped open the restraining studs down
the front of the glistening oilskin. He pulled it off,
revealing an old black and yellow patterned track suit
underneath, then held the raincoat up for Anita. It was
clammy but warm and most importantly it covered her up
decently. In fact it covered her up so much she felt
like a little girl dressing up in her mother's clothes.
The hem of the oilskin was hanging around her ankles
and when he pulled the hood over her head it was like
hiding in a subway tunnel.

"Aye, that'll keep the rain off you. Now we can go into
the park."

"I sure did a good job of turning you on, didn't I?"
Anita sniffled. "One look and you'd rather go for a
walk in the park."

"Anita, I took one look at you and wanted you on the
spot. But I'm getting bored with making out with
clinically clean women in high rise, high tech, high
life apartments. You were telling me, were you not,
that the park over yonder is locked and only residents
can get inside? As it not as dark as the inside of
cow's gut out there, with the wind blowing and the rain
pissing down? Nobody is going to be in there on a night
like tonight. Can we not walk on the wet grass awhile
and get to know each other with a little hugging to
keep warm?"

Her voice came out of the folds of the hood in another
wail of protest: "But I've got no shoes on!"

"Then it's me that'll carry you across the road to the
park. Come on."

He took her hand in his and again she felt like a small
girl as she was pulled along by a strength totally
beyond her own. Tristan went down the stairs instead of
using the elevator, moving at a speed which had Anita
stumbling. At the first landing he stopped and looked
back to see Beech eagerly trying to keep up but delayed
by his short legs and big stomach in getting over the
ledges, his leash dragging along behind him. Tristam
laughed, put his hands underneath Anita's arms, lifted
her off her feet and pressed her back to the wall.

"Tristan!"

"I've been wanting to this ever since I met you,
gorgeous."

His face was in underneath the hood, close against her
own, his breath was mingling with hers, his lips were
against his, his tongue was between her teeth, against
hers, and both tongues were pressing and licking
against each other. Anita snorted through her nose like
a steam locomotive beginning to move out of a station
and her fingers slipped up and down the steel muscles
of his arms. Then the rough kiss was suddenly broken
off and she was lowered back onto her shaking legs.

"We've got to keep up with Beech," Tristam said. "If
we're quick we can overtake him before the next landing
and grab another quickie. How about it?"

"How many landings are there all the way down?"

"Let's find out."

They did, but nobody was counting. Anita alternated
between mad bouts of scrambling down the steps with
equally insane periods of her feet treading air and
intensely enjoyable french kissing.

'This is crazy - this is over the edge. They've
probably got surveillance cameras in here, the co-op
board is going to be asking who are these crazy people
we got living here? We have a fire, we've got to fight
our way out past giant men and dwarves in oilskins
making love to each other all over the building? In an
apartment they want to put on rubber clothes OK, but on
the steps and frightening the dog? And you're telling
us this is behaviour from a lawyer who never yet melted
butter in her mouth?'

She couldn't stop laughing, not even when she was out
on the sidewalk with rain drops tapping aginst the hood
and wind gusts cold around her bare ankles. Tristan had
Beech's leash in his hand and transferred it to hers.

"Here, hold this."

She was off her feet again, cradled in his arms like a
cord of wood, the rain was blowing in through the front
of the hood, making her eyes blink, and she stared into
the face of an old man underneath a raised umbrella,
his jaw opened in astonishment as Tristam stepped past
him, Anita held high, the leash tugging at her wrist as
Beech raced ahead. Then they were in the dark, out over
the road away from the street lights and the tree
branches were rustling overhead like an angry crowd as
Tristan trotted towards the park gate. When he reached
them he put her down.

"Ooops-a-daisy."

Anita giggled: "You said 'oops-a-daisy'".

"No I didn't. An effete Englishman might say that but
an Orcadian would say something like 'Fur Fria Und
Odon'. It's a tribal custom whenever we're getting
ready to sacrifice a virgin."

"I'm not a virgin, Tristan."

"Then I won't have to explain anything that's going on,
will I?"

He unlocked the gate, pushed it open. The sidewalk was
cold underneath her bare feet. Anita stared into the
dripping and forbidding interior of the dark park.

"We'll freeze to death in there."

"No we won't. And when we get back I'll give you a nice
hot bath and a good rub down afterwards that'll get
your circulation going nicely - especially to your
nipples."

Anita felt her face turning hot underneath the hood at
the prospect. Tristan pushed her past the gate. It was
like being put into the starting stall for a race, she
thought. Her soles stepped on to a gravel pathway and
she gasped with pain, moving sideways to walk on the
grass instead.

The gate closed with a creak and a squeak as Tristam
relocked it. "Scram, Beech."

The dog bounded off into the darkness, apparently quite
untroubled by the darkness or the spluttering rain. The
trees and bushs were still banging angrily against each
other, their movement traced around the perimeter of
the park by the flickering appearance and disappearance
of street lights behind swaying branches. Tristam
walked over to a bench playing hide and seek in the
moving shadows, then sat down on it, apparently
untroubled by the wet slats. He unfastened his velcro
secured running shoes, pulled them off, then his socks.
He carried the socks and shoes in one hand and reached
out with the other to take Anita's hand. Together they
padded across the saturated turf.

"You're mad, Tristan, you know that, don't you?"

"What, because I want to feel some real earth
underneath my feet instead of concrete all the time?"

"We could have been in bed by now and afterwards you
could have left me there while you walked around out
here all night until your feet turned green for all I
care. I'm a not a nature lover."

"Ah, but are you a lover? Toni said that it was her
considered opinion that you were a fine woman but you
needed some of that legal starch taken out of you. So
this seems like a good place to do it."

"What are you talking about?"

Tristan turned towards a group of trees off to one side
of the park. A few shifting rays of light from East
20th street fell onto another park bench standing in
the grass. Tristan steered her towards the bench.

"Sit down and relax."

Underneath the enveloping hood Anita had difficulty in
even doing such a simple thing as sitting down. Tristam
held her hands as he guided her awkward movements onto
the bench. He knelt down on both knees in front of her
and unsnapped the two bottom studs on the oilskin, then
drew it aside so her legs were uncovered to the top of
her thighs. Drops of rain pecked at the qivering bare
skin.

"Tristan! There are buildings all around here. Somebody
might be looking down!"

He jerked open another stud: "You'd better keep covered
up like little yellow riding hood then, hadn't you?"

Tristan opened the oilskin further yet and trickles of
cold water ran down the front of it, falling onto her
exposed bush and inner thighs like icy fingers.

"Tristan!"

He leaned forward, pressing his scratchy cheeks between
the smoothness of Anita's thighs, forcing them apart,
pressing her back against the bench.

"Tristan!"

His lips, his tongue were up against her and he was
lifting her legs up, resting the backs of her knees on
his shoulders, the warmth of his body coming through
the damp material of the track suit.

"Tristan - oh, Tristan."

His face was underneath the folds of the mini dress,
blackness in blackness, with only his blonde hair to be
seen, first ruffled by the wind alone, and then by
Anita's fingers as he tongued her clitoris with
clinical precision and single minded perseverance.

"Oh, that's good. Oh, that's soooo good!"

Even if he couldn't hear the low voiced words of
encouragement from underneath the hood the fingertips
urgently massaging his scalp conveyed their own
message. Anita writhed around on the wet wooden slats
of the park bench, completely past caring about her
surroundings as her body sparked with long repressed
needs.

"Oh, I want to be fucked by you, just you, just you,
you big fucking monster," she crooned in delight, her
eyes squeezed shut in delight as every nerve inside her
seemed to be tingling with pleasure.

A cold nose touched the outside of her right leg, ruing
her pleasure: "Go away, Beech, go away!"

Beech barked.

"Fuck off, Beech."

Beech barked again.

Anita opened her eyes, then tried to make some sense
out of seeing a big white dog which looked like a ghost
in the faint light. Only it wasn't a ghost and the
white outline had dark spots on it. A dalmation! Oh
God, somebody else was walking their dog in the park!

"Vikki, Vikki?"

A voice, a man's voice - and a pool of light from a
flashlight appearing like a small fallen moon on the
grass, a moon drifting towards the bench, swinging in
search of the dalmation! Anita beat with her fists on
top of Tristan's head, clenched her legs against his
head, released them and clenched again. It was useless,
he just thought it was the effect he was having on her.

The dog barked again, as if wanting to share the
discovery with her master. Anita drummed her heels
against Tristan's back, then drew her head as far back
into the hood as she could and lowered her face. The
flashlight swung onto the bench and suddenly stopped
moving.

It was a tableau which seemed to last for ever. Behind
her closed eyes Anita had visions of a thousand heads
suddenly appearing from a thousand windows to gape down
at the sexual scene which had suddenly been revealed
below, and each head calling on other heads to come and
and look at the lewd lawyer letting herself be
lasciviously licked on their lawn. She felt Tristam's
head move from between her thighs and the fall of
blessed darkness again as the flashlight was switched
off.

The same voice which had called the dog was speaking to
them, falling and rising in tone as the wind flung the
words. "I'm sorry - I didn't know anybody was here - I
was looking for my dog."

Tristan answered, in that Sean Connery voice,
accentuated into upper class English english: "Quite
alright, old boy, you can play through on this green.
I'm afraid the lady was too impatient to wait until we
got home."

"Yeah - right." There was an uncertain pause. "Vikki,
Vikki. Come along - sorry, folks."

The dalmation finally lost interest in whatever these
humans were doing and disappeared into the darkness.
Tristan turned back towards Anita and carried on his
task where he had left off, ignoring her scandalised
protests until she fell into in irrepressible fit of
giggles at the same time as she was being stimulated
towards an uncontrollable climax. It was a combination
of physiological events which had never happened to
Anita before. But before she'd found a way of coming to
terms with them both she was distracted by Tristan
standing up.

He pulled the waistband of the track suit pants down,
revealing a curved shape vaguely seen in the darkness,
more like structural member than anything human. Anita
cupped it between her palms, discovering a heat and a
throbbing activity within it that belonged to a male
animal. Then her fingers traced its dimensions.

'My God, it's larger than anything I've ever seen on
anything except a stallion!'

"There you are, lassie, one slice of prime island
haggis. A special treat for a girl who wants to taste
the finer things in life."

She tweaked the foreskin and Tristan moved towards the
bench, his hands on the back of the hood drawing it
forward and closer to him, her head moving closer as
well.

"It needs to be kept out of this cold wind or it might
go down. If I put it inside the hood, will you help me
keep it interested?"

"Yes, OK."

Anita steered the uptilted head of the cock into the
hood, bending forward with her lips open to meet it at
the entrance. A mouthful of hot, incredibly smooth
skin, into and over the dip behind it, and as much of
the thrusting shaft behind the head as she could take
at first swallow. Her nose was brushing against his
tightly curled hairs and the man smell flared into her
nostrils, exciting her even more. Tristan's hands
behind her head gently pressed in encouragement as she
vigorously massaged him with her lips and tongue.

'I used to be damned good at this once. Never thought
I'd ever end up as an old maid with so much time
between blow jobs. Jees, I love doing this with the
right sort of guy though. I wonder if that character
with the flashlight is still around. Fuck him anyway,
and fuck everybody else. I just hope Scottie here is
getting the message that I'm ready to be beamed up.'

The big man was groaning with pleasure as his rampant
prick twitched and pushed itself further and further
underneath the hood until Anita was snorting with
despair at dealing with any more.

"OK, Anita, that'll do for a minute."

He pulled back, put a hand into the top pocket of the
track suit, took something out and tore at it with his
teeth. A small shiny square of silvery paper blew away
in the wind as Tristan discarded it and put his hands
down on his cock, obviously rolling on a condom.

"Here, see if you can finish this job for me."

"Sure."

Anita leaned forward and used her lips to roll the
rubber down as far as she could along the shaft, and
then her fingers to finish stretching the sheath as far
as it would go.

'If this was a fish I'd hang it up on a hook as a
trophy and photograph it. Remember when the High School
did some Shakespeare play and all the girls kept
laughing when there was a line about a lusty horn is
not a thing to laugh to scorn? Hell, how right that's
turned out to be.'

Then Anita yelped and moved her head back on panic as
she felt rough hair brushing against her leg. That
fucking dalmation again!

"Relax," Tristan said calmly. "It's only Beech."

He was right, it was Beech, a far more energetic Beech
than she'd ever seen before, bouncing around Tristan's
legs and apparently fascinated by what was happening.

"Now, Anita, would you have a nice warm place where I
could be putting this away and out of the rain?"

"Now? Here?"

"Sure, and isn't exercise in the fresh air supposed to
be so healthy and all?"

He put his hands on hers and hauled Anita to her feet,
then turned her around to face the bench. "OK, just
kneel down and lean forward over the backrest. I want
your arse nice and high in the air."

"Oh, God."

The hand on her back pushed her forward insistently
until her legs were rubbing against the bench. Still
the pressure from behind didn't relent. She pulled the
flaps of the oilskin clear of her legs and knelt down
on the seat, bent her upper body over the back of the
bench, stretching her arms out to grasp the bottom
slats as Tristan's hands lifted her bottom up into the
position he wanted her. Next, he lifted up both sides
of the oilskin, higher and higher and Anita squeaked as
the cold wind blew across her exposed buttocks, leaving
them shivering and rain moistened.

'I sure as hell bet nobody has ever dared do this to
Judge Judy.'

Then Anita squeaked much more loudly as something even
colder than the wind and the rain nuzzled up between
her legs. A cold wet nose sniffing around her cunt

"Beech, sit. He's just trying to make friends, that's
all. Like me, I guess. See if this makes you feel
better."

She tried to look behind her, a useless effort with the
oilskin piled on top of like a fallen tent. Then she
felt something else moving between the top of her legs,
something hot instead of cold, something rubbery smooth
that rose up and into her outer lips and rubbed against
them with an insistance nothing could deny. Anita
moaned and squirmed in anticipation, then pressed back
and managed to get herself around the head of the cock,
her muscles eagerly gripping it. Tristan laughed and
rewarded her with another inch or so.

"All the way, Tristan! All the way!" she whispered.

Whether or not he heard her he gave her a full stroke
of the absolute fulfilment her body was craving for,
his hips slapping against her ass like hands clapping.
Anita yelped in her own round of applause and clung to
the bench as more strokes filled her up like waves of
molten lava.

"Hey, look. I can see the moon coming out from behind
the clouds. Just for a second. It's the moon and New
York city, Anita."

"Never mind the romance, just keep on fucking me!"

"You city girls, you're even tougher than the
cockroaches. OK, here we go, loop-de-loop."

Tristan's movements quickened up from a walk to a trot
to a gallop, his fingers digging into the front and
tops of her legs as he moved her backwards and forwards
in time with her thrusts. Anita shouted out in joy and
then went into a spasm of absolute pleasure, almost
weeping with the relief, her head falling forward as
the erection inside her seemed to get ever bigger and
longer.

'Toni, Toni, you're not getting this back, not if I
have to fight you tooth and nail to keep him.'

A shape close to the ground and whining with pleasure
approached, then reared up and licked her face.

"No, Beech, no, damn you," she whimpered, turning her
face from one side to another.

The dog hesitated, she gasped with satisfaction as her
cunt went into melt down mode once again and Beech took
it as a sign she wanted to be licked again.

"Fuck off, Beech - again, Tristan, again. More - not
you, you fucking animal, Oh God, I'm going mad!"

'If Toni ever gets to hear that I let her dogboy fuck
me doggy style on top of a bench in a park I'll never
hear the last of it - not unless she goes to the
Orkneys like she says. Imagine going to a place like
that just to get laid like this every night - yeah,
imagine that. . .'

Anita let go of the bench and slapped at Beech: "Sit!
Sit!"

Then she screeched as Tristan's cock reached critical
mass and she imploded around it into a dissolving mass
of jelly only held up by the rigidity of the rod
hammering into her as if he was a human pile driver.
Her pleasure ululated through her lips and across the
park like an Arab soldier's war cry as Tristan gave a
deep chested sigh of ejaculatory satisfaction.

A woman was a woman was a woman but a classy woman was
an act worth following. A lawyer, a top courtroom
lawyer, for God's sake. Back home Anita would be a
barrister with a wig and a gown, maybe even a QC, a
Queen's Counsellor. Imagine the chances of screwing a
sexy looking QC in a London park! It was about as
likely as getting to play for Manchester United. How
the hell could a man want to leave a marvellous
madhouse like New York and go back to boring sanity?

Tristan looked down at the excellently contoured
bottom still quivering at the end of his cock and gave
the right buttock a friendly slap. His newly found and
well learned friend giggled in her throat.

Unknown to both of them, they were part of a joined
experience. A dozen paces away a man standing behind a
bush and beside a tethered dalmation had been
masturbating himself into his handkerchief as he
listened to the sounds of the love making. When Anita
and Tristan had finished, so had he. He dropped the
handkerchief, untied his dog and quietly walked away
until he'd gone far enough to feel safe in talking.

"Vicki, I'm going to call the manager of that
goddamned hotel right now. He shouldn't be letting
those dirty Britishers of his roam around in a park
that's used by decent people."

Anita was curled up on top of the bench, her head in
Tristan's lap, her body underneath the covering oilskin
in a post coital glow that was like an unexpected re-
run of a long gone but fondly remembered TV series.

"So I'm supposed to find a way of keeping you in the
States, am I?"

"Oh, that's easily fixed. Just marry me."

Anita nearly fell off the bench, then realised he must
be joking. "With the difference in our ages it would
make more sense to adopt you."

"Whatever - as long as we're together. Why don't you
let me move in with you for the rest of my ninety days
on a no obligation try out and then I'll ask you
again."

"Why would you want to marry an old hag like me?"

"For money. It's always been an overwhelming argument
with my ethnic group. No Scotsman has ever willingly
divorced himself from a regular supply of cash."

Anita moved her head and looked up at him quizically:
"And what would you do with yourself if you could stay
here - keep on walking dogs for obliging ladies?"

"No, no, I've a mind to get myself a leg up in the
world. Twenty two legs if possible."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I've got qualifications from the Scottish Football
Association as a coach and soccer seems to be catching
on amongst women in the US as a sport. There's probably
a ladies' soccer team somewhere in New York City
looking for a fine upstanding coach to give them a
hand."

Anita snorted with laughter: "Yes, and I can guess
where they'd get the handling. And where would your
wife be playing on the team?"

"You could be the goal keeper. You get to stop
everything that the rest of the girls let through."

"Ha, what a great offer!"

"Eleven normal girls wouldn't tire me out as much as
Toni would. There's a lady who's really eager to share
out her beaver. And morally, she has first call on my
services."

Anita's heart sank: "Yes, I guess she'd marry you even
if you were having an affair with an entire soccer team
on the side. So you'll be going back to her, I suppose,
once she comes home?"

"I suppose I could, but I don't want to. I want to stay
with you. You've got a fine sense of humor, Anita, and
I think we've got things in common."

"Such as?"

Anita drew her legs up underneath the oilskin, away
from the still falling raindrops, happily feeling like
a little girl again in a contented and well protected
world.

"For a start, to tell you the absolute truth, I don't
like dogs much myself. I was only walking them to make
a few dollars."

Anita giggled, then fell silent: "Toni though - she'll
be as mad as a cut snake if you stick with me. It's bad
with her being a client and all. She could make some
nasty scenes."

"Maybe we can avoid them. You remember how I told you
about how there was a Tristan and a Siegfried in that
TV series, and how I said that being called Siegfried
Yorstan was a heavy load to carry through life?"

"Yes."

"Well, my mum didn't pick one of the names, she picked
both of them, and I was the twin lucky enough to get
Tristan."

"What?"

"Yeah, Siegried is my twin brother. Nobody can tell us
apart - and he's not engaged or anything yet. I can
have him over here in a couple of days if somebody
would lend us the airfare."

"You're identical?"

"Like two peas in a pod, to coin a phrase. If I were to
tell him all I know about Toni he could go off with
her."

Anita sat up, clutching the edges of the oilskin
underneath her chin. "Wait a minute, you want me to
tell Toni I've got a substitue for you she can have?"

"Ah well, maybe it would be more interesting to let
Siegfried answer to the name of Tristan for a while and
then to see how long it takes Toni to spot there's been
a switch; by the time she does find out she'll also
have found out that Siegfried can do everything for her
that I can. And if I can get a job as a coach with a
woman's soccer team I suppose Siegfried can job-share
with me - we just won't tell the girls they've got two
coaches instead of one. That way we can have twice the
fun."

"And what about me - how would I know whether I was
getting Tristan or Siegfried?"

"I guess you'll just have to keep putting love bites on
me in places where only you know where to look for
them. Let's go home and I'll give you a bath and a
massage and then you can get started."

"Can I? Well, yes, I guess I could do that until I get
myself a branding iron."

Together they walked hand in hand across the grass,
often stopping to break into laughter. Beech followed
on approvingly - he couldn't remember when he'd last
seen a pair of humans enjoy a walk so much. A pity they
were usually such a miserable looking species.

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