BY
Kathy Dickinson
JoAnne DeSoto was not what you’d call a feminist. In fact, she considered herself a rather traditional housewife. While millions of women were joining the work force -- and she had no doubt she could succeed if she set her mind to it -- for the moment she saw no good reason to be among them. She liked staying at home with her children, and considered it her right and privilege to do so. It was her goal in life to make a safe, happy home for her husband and her family, and she worked hard at it. And she was very good.
JoAnne loved her husband with all her heart and all her soul. She’d been in love with him for over 20 years, from the moment she first set eyes on him in the fourth grade. She loved his shy grin, his husky voice, and the sure and steady way he had of talking. She loved his intelligence, and his sense of humor, and the way his blue eyes twinkled when he teased her. She loved the way he treated her and the kids, and she never had one reason to doubt his love for her and their family.
She was proud of him, proud that he had a career he loved and a job he did exceedingly well. She loved that he was respected by his peers, and his opinions were sought out and given serious consideration. He was everything that was solid and dependable.
But, the thing about Roy she loved the most was that wild streak of his, the one that spoke to her innermost instincts and urges, feelings that she could barely acknowledge to herself much less to the man she lived with. She’d known it fifteen years ago when they were kids, with the impromptu drag races down empty streets and the midnight skinny dipping in the ocean, and sneaking out after curfew for a drive in the moonlight, and any number of other escapades that stopped just this side of the law. Escapades that she would never, ever tell her mother about.
Oh, he tried to hide it now, just as she did, with that carefully cultivated air of sedate maturity, the thoughtful seriousness that comes with age and family and experience. But it was still there. How could he be a fireman and a paramedic, without it?
She saw it in the way his eyes lit up when he talked about the 90-foot crane they had to climb, or the way he grinned when he described the chopper ride to the remote canyon to rescue the wayward hiker. She even saw it when he told her about crawling through the second story of a burning home to find a lost child, and then handing that child over to his mother’s hungry arms. His excitement was contagious, and it called to her with a beat as primitive and intoxicating as jungle drums. She hid it well, sometimes even forgetting it was there, but nevertheless it was as strong now as when they were 15.
JoAnne loved Roy DeSoto as much as any woman could love a man, and she loved their life together. She would do anything for him, and for their children.
But, there were some things he just didn’t need to know about. There were some things you had to decide for yourself, and it wasn’t up to any other person to say whether it was right or wrong, or to take that decision away.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“She did what?” Johnny sputtered into his coffee. He couldn’t believe his ears – JoAnne??
Roy looked decidedly uncomfortable and nodded his head. “I can’t believe it,” he said gloomily.
“What . . . where?” Johnny asked, not really sure he wanted to know the answer.
Roy made a vague half gesture towards his hip, then stopped and blushed bright red. He couldn’t believe he was actually going to tell anyone where . . . .
“There?” Johnny’s voice rose an octave. The thought conjured up images he never wanted to have about his best friend’s wife, and he turned almost as red as his partner.
Roy wished he’d never said anything. Any other day, Johnny would have been so wrapped up in whatever issue had his attention that Roy could have turned into a bug-eyed green skinned alien, for all Johnny would have noticed. But not this day. Johnny had walked into the station at 7:33 this morning, taken one look at Roy and asked him what was going on. Looking back at it, Roy wished he could have thought a little quicker. Been a little more inventive. Hell, just outright lied to his partner. Why couldn’t he have come up with some easy explanation that would satisfy his partner’s curiosity and kept him off his back all day? Told him, maybe, that he’d yelled at the kids this morning and he felt terrible about it. Told him his mother-in-law was coming for another visit. Told him the doctor said he only had a month to live. Maybe if he had, Johnny would have left him alone!
But what did he say instead? “I’m okay. Nothing’s wrong.”
Words guaranteed to set off every alarm there was in Johnny’s one-track brain and keep him asking questions the rest of the day. He should have known it wouldn’t work – after all, it never worked when Johnny said it to him!
So there you have it. Johnny had been picking at him all day, trying to find out what was bothering him. He wouldn’t leave it alone, even in the midst of one of the busiest shifts they’d had all month. And Johnny had finally worn him down.
They had just returned to the station from their latest run – a trip to the mall for a car/pedestrian accident in the parking lot. Turned out two teenage girls had been caught shoplifting and managed to get away from the security guard, but as they fled through the parking lot one of them ran out in front of a car and got hit. It was quite a scene, what with one girl unconscious and the other practically hysterical, two police cars, a security guard trying to explain to anyone who would listen that they bit him, and a growing audience of shoppers attracted by all the commotion. They’d ended up taking one girl to Rampart under police escort and sending the other to the police station. After complaining so loudly about his injuries, the guard turned out to have little more than a bruised ego and refused treatment.
So add that rather trying run to everything else that had happened that day, and Roy finally gave in. He was just too tired to fight it any longer. This time, when Johnny asked him what was going on, he told him.
It was at that moment the rest of Station 51’s crew entered the kitchen, fresh from putting out a small brush fire behind an apartment complex. The smell of smoke and sweat filled the kitchen as they walked in, Chet in the lead.
“Hey, Roy, what’s for supper?” Chet stopped abruptly as he took in the scene. There was Roy at the sink, a half-peeled potato in one hand and a wildly waving knife in the other. And there was Johnny, coffee cup in hand and fresh coffee stains down the front of his shirt – and both of them flushed bright red. His eyes went from Roy over to John and then back again.
“Hey, man,” he said to Roy. “Take it easy. No matter what Gage has done now, it’s not worth going to prison for.”
Roy looked confused. “What are you talking about?”
“The knife.” Chet said solemnly. “Don’t do it now, there are too many witnesses. Wait till he’s asleep.”
Roy threw a disgusted look at Kelly and turned back to the sink to finish peeling his potatoes. He was actually relieved the rest of the men had chosen that moment to return – it saved him from having to explain any further to his partner. For now, anyway.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Roy lay in his bunk and stared at the ceiling in the darkened room. He’d never realized how much noise six sleeping men could make. Or rather, five men since he wasn’t asleep and it was beginning to look like he never would be. There was the rustle of Stoker’s blanket as he rolled over for the tenth time, and Chet’s soft, uneven snoring. The mutter of Marco’s voice as he whispered Spanish endearments in his dreams. He could even hear Johnny’s stomach growling, despite a full meal and the snack he’d eaten before turning in for the night. Two snacks, if you counted the half dozen cookies he’d snared on their last run to the hospital.
He closed his eyes and told himself to go to sleep. Every minute was important, when you didn't know when the next call was going to come. He’d already tried counting sheep, but that hadn’t worked.
He couldn’t stop thinking about what JoAnne had done.
Why did she do it? Didn’t she know how dangerous it could be? What would the kids think? What about the neighbors? He shuddered to think what her mother would say when she found out.
He blushed again when he remembered the conversation he’d had with Johnny in the kitchen earlier that evening. Must be some measure of how rattled he was, that he’d finally given in. He wished he hadn’t – he’d never hear the end of it now, no matter how much he wanted to ignore it. Johnny was like a dog with a bone and he wouldn’t let it go until he’d examined the subject from every possible angle and half a dozen impossible angles that only Johnny could dream up. He’d twist it and turn it and bring it up over and over again until he drove Roy crazy. God, he hoped Johnny wouldn’t be fool enough to mention it to JoAnne. He did that sometimes, just like a kid who didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. JoAnne would never let him hear the end of it, if she found out that he’d told any of the guys.
Roy rolled over and buried his head under his pillow. It had been a long shift, and it wasn’t over by a long shot. The first run had set the tone for the day. Cap had barely begun roll call when they’d been sent out to a fire in an empty lot. Seems the neighboring homeowners had dragged all their trash into the lot and set it on fire. Naturally enough, it had gotten out of hand and they’d had to call the Fire Department. Then there was the man who’d gotten stuck trying to clean his chimney, and the overweight woman at the mall who thought she was having a heart attack. There was the traffic accident with both drivers seriously injured, and the pedestrian at the scene who was hit by a passing car because they both were watching the accident instead of where they were going.
Their worst call had been the man who was painting his house when his extension ladder collapsed. He had a broken pelvis and internal injuries, and had arrested on the way to the hospital with Johnny. Johnny had shocked him three times, but he got him back.
And then back to the mall just before dinner for the two shoplifters. The engine had been called out on a brush fire while the squad was at the mall, and then to a structure fire just after dinner while the paramedics were dealing with yet another car/pedestrian traffic accident. Now, 16 hours into the shift, he was bone tired and badly in need of sleep. He wished it were as easy to actually get to sleep as it was to say it.
He wished he hadn’t left the house mad this morning. Yesterday morning, it was now. JoAnne had fixed his breakfast and got the kids up for school, had even kissed him good-bye at the front door like every other morning, all without saying a word to him, their fight carried on from the day before when she first told him what she’d done.
He just didn’t understand her sometimes.
Was it something he did? Had he made her mad somehow? Hurt her feelings? He went over every minute of the last three weeks, trying to remember what he might have said or done to make her take such drastic action. He couldn’t think of a thing.
Roy flopped over on his back and went back to staring at the ceiling. Maybe he should try counting firetrucks.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Roy was still tossing and turning at 3 a.m. when the squad was toned out for an unknown rescue. He sat up with a groan and slid his feet into his turnouts, and watched with loathing at the way his partner popped out of bed and dressed in mere seconds. Cap handed him the information they needed and he followed after Johnny, feeling like he was mired in molasses.
Unknown rescues were the best calls, and the worst. They always gave him an extra jolt of adrenaline as he wondered what they’d find when they got there. He’d long ago figured out it was both the fear of the unknown, and the prospect of meeting the challenge that did it to him. Sometimes he felt like it was a drug, that peculiar excitement that came with the job. It had been like that from the beginning, from the first day he reported for duty as a rookie firefighter. They never talked about it, but he knew the other men felt it, too.
The only thing that changed was your ability to hide it.
The way he hid it from Joanne. They weren’t kids any more, they had responsibilities, a house and bills and two cars and kids of their own. She didn’t need to know that her husband and the father of her children was still just a rookie at heart.
But this is what he lived for.
The unknown rescue turned out to be a heart attack, of all things. Roy rode in the ambulance with the victim, and before they even got to Rampart the man coded on him. Despite defibrillation and CPR, he lost him. All his training and all his experience, and every ounce of effort he had in him, and he still lost him.
Halfway back to the station they were sent on another unknown. Try as he might, Roy just couldn’t recapture the same excitement he’d felt when they left the station an hour ago.
The dispatcher sent them to an empty field along Highway 91, occupied only by a dilapidated old billboard. The 40-foot structure was surrounded by fencing and clearly posted with “No Trespassing” signs. When they pulled up, they could see a black-and-white unit had already arrived. The officer had parked his car so his headlights illuminated the scene, and a portable spotlight had been placed on the roof of the vehicle and aimed at the top of the billboard. The officer was talking to a teenage girl, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
Roy pulled the squad around at an angle to the police car and left his lights on. He and Johnny climbed out and unloaded their equipment as the officer brought the girl over.
“Gage, DeSoto. Glad you’re here.”
“Jim,” Johnny acknowledged, recognizing Officer Jim Millard. Millard worked the night shift and though they didn’t know him well, they’d met up with him a time or two over the past few months. “What do we have here?”
“This young lady’s boyfriend is stuck up there.” Jim pointed to the top of the billboard. There, 40 feet up from the ground, they could see a still figure stretched out across the top of the billboard. “She says they were just sitting there on the ledge when suddenly Bill – her boyfriend – decided he’d climb all the way to the top. He made it up okay, but now he can’t get down.”
Roy glanced down at the teenage girl. She was young and pretty, with long blonde hair and big dark eyes. She looked scared, and her eyes were filled with tears. “What’s your name, miss?”
“Laura. Laura Johnson. We didn’t mean to cause any t-t-t-trouble. Bill just thought it would be f-f-f-fun to see if he could climb all the way to the top!”
“It’s okay, Laura. We’ll get him down. How about you, Laura, are you all right?”
“I’m f-f-f-fine. Just cold. Oh, please, just get Bill down before he . . . before something happens!”
Roy brought out one of the bright yellow disposable blankets and ripped open the package. He shook out the blanket and wrapped it around her. “Here, Laura, this’ll help. Why don’t you stay back here by the squad, and we’ll see about getting your boyfriend down, okay?”
Laura nodded, grateful for this stranger’s quiet, calm voice. Why oh why, she thought, did I pick this night to dare him to climb it? Bad enough we snuck out in the middle of the night, but now our folks will find out, and please let him get down okay! Please, God, let him get down okay!
Roy and Johnny picked up their equipment and moved in closer, awkwardly squeezing through the opening the kids had made in the fence. Millard told him what he’d found out so far -- the kids were both 16, which meant their parents would have to be called before they could treat either one of them. The two had snuck out for the night – and not for the first time, apparently. There was no evidence of alcohol on the scene, and Roy was inclined to chalk it up to typical teenage high spirits. After all, it was spring – and he could well remember for himself the temptation of a full moon and a beautiful girl.
Johnny tipped his helmet back and looked up at the billboard. Old and decrepit looking, it was just the kind of eyesore that the former First Lady Mrs. Johnson had tried to get rid of. The flat plywood surface had to be 20 feet long and 15 feet high, built on top of a 25-foot high scaffolding. The wooden poles and cross bars had been painted once, but in the sharp glare of the headlights everything was just another shade of gray. There was a narrow service ledge at the bottom of the billboard, and a series of lights across the top, sticking several feet out from the surface and bent to illuminate the surface of the board. The lights had long since been broken out and the power turned off. Whatever message was on the board had been left to wear out, leaving bleached strips of paper streaked across the wood.
Somehow, young Bill had climbed to the very top of the board, and was now stretched out across the narrow edge, one leg in front and one in back, his hands clutched tightly around one of the lights.
“I’ll get the ropes,” Johnny said.
In retrospect, the two paramedics figured they should have called an engine crew for back up. But at the time the rescue just didn’t seem that complicated. Not that it would have made that much difference, in the end.
Johnny returned with the ropes, his white T-shirt glowing unnaturally white in the bright light and sharp shadows cast by their vehicle headlights.
Sometimes Roy thought Johnny must be part mountain goat and part monkey. Johnny buckled on his safety belt and slung a rope over his shoulder and was halfway up the scaffolding before Roy even got his belt on. Roy, no slouch himself, was only halfway up by the time Johnny reached the service platform. The structure swayed and rattled a little as they climbed, but seemed solid enough.
At the platform they stopped to rig their lines. They tied the ropes off and clipped their safety belts on, then tossed one of the lines up and over the billboard. Johnny swung around to the back of the board and finished the climb to the top while Roy stayed on the ledge. Johnny was soon perched atop the board, ropes safely rigged and secured, ready to rescue their victim. It was a matter of minutes for him to ascertain that Bill was unhurt, merely frozen from fear. But when he tried to ease a safety belt around him, the boy reacted with a wild grab for his would-be rescuer, kicking against the board and almost sending Johnny backwards over the edge. Fifteen feet below, Roy could feel the structure sway and hear the creak of overstressed joints.
He cast a worried look up towards his partner. Johnny had the belt around the victim and was clipping it to the safety line. Roy could hear the calm, steady voice of his partner as he tried to reassure the boy that he was fine, there was nothing to worry about, and he’d be on the ground in no time at all.
“Johnny,” Roy called as he felt another shudder pass through the structure. “Johnny, you might want to hurry it up a little.”
Johnny lowered the victim to Roy’s waiting arms, then made short work of rappelling down to join them. They quickly reworked their lines, then Johnny went down with Bill. They were only a few feet from the ground when Bill, eager to reach solid ground, started struggling against Johnny to get himself free. His actions pulled Johnny off balance and they started swinging, bouncing off the wooden cross bars supporting the scaffold. The structure started to sway in earnest.
“Calm down!” Johnny ordered, swiftly dropping the rest of the way while trying to keep Bill from causing any more damage. They landed safely on the ground and Johnny quickly untied their lines and pushed the boy away from the swaying structure. “Roy, you gotta get down NOW!”
But it was too late; Roy was trapped up on the ledge. He heard the horrendous sound of breaking wood as the rotting support poles cracked and broke, and fought to keep his balance as the entire structure started to tilt towards one end. He tried to release his safety belt so he could jump clear, but there wasn’t enough time. The entire structure collapsed with a crash, taking Roy with it.
“Roy!” Johnny yelled, frantic get to his partner and make sure he was okay. “Jim, call for an ambulance!” he shouted, even as Millard was already reaching for his radio. He scrambled over the pile of rubble to where Roy was lying, half buried in broken pieces of plywood and 2x4s.
Roy landed more on top of the pile than underneath it. He could feel the wooden beams and planks underneath him, broken slivers of wood poking his ribs and arms. A large piece of plywood had landed half on top of him, prevented from doing him serious damage only because it was supported by the uneven pieces of poles still left standing. He pushed off against the debris beneath him, setting his back against the plywood and heaving himself to his feet. The solid wood they’d trusted their lives to was no longer solid, but lay in pieces around him. His rope had come free in the fall and he was no longer tethered to the treacherous wood.
Johnny reached him just in time to grab his arm and keep him from going right back down again. “Easy, partner, let’s get you over into the light and get you checked out.” He wrapped his arm around Roy’s waist and led him back towards the squad.
“I’m fine, Johnny,” Roy tried to tell him. He sounded breathless and more than a little shook up. “Just let me sit down a while.”
“So humor me, okay, Roy?”
Millard ran ahead and pushed the fence down and out of the way, then helped Johnny guide Roy over the pieces of wood and wire. Roy was limping and pretty shaky, and Johnny could feel him trembling against his side. He sat him down on the ground and had him lean back against the squad. “Jim, shine that light over here, would you?” To their credit, the kids had realized what was happening and had pitched in to help, hauling the equipment over to the preoccupied paramedics.
“Okay, Roy, you know the drill.” Johnny got out his penlight and shone it in his partner’s eyes. “Did you lose consciousness at all? Any dizziness or nausea? Do you have any pain anywhere?”
Roy stifled the urge to push the penlight away. He was fine, or he would be in a few minutes. But Johnny was right, he knew the drill. “No, none of that. And of course it hurts. But nothing’s broken, I’m just shook up a little.”
Johnny helped Roy ease out of his jacket and continued his examination, expertly running his hands down Roy’s arms and legs looking for breaks. His hand came away bloody from Roy’s right arm. “You’re right, I don’t find any breaks – but you got a pretty good laceration there on your arm.” Johnny covered the wound with a couple of 4 x 4s to stop the bleeding, then wrapped his arm in gauze. He opened up the biophone and got it set up for transmission.
“Rampart, this is Squad 51. Rampart, do you copy?”
“Squad 51, this is Rampart base. Go ahead, Squad 51.”
“Rampart, I have three patients. Number one is a male, victim of an approximate 25-foot fall. No apparent broken bones, but he does have several serious lacerations, a probable sprained ankle and extensive bruising. He is conscious and oriented. Stand by for vitals.”
Roy closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cool metal of the squad. He heard the ambulance arrive, tires crunching across gravel, the wail of the siren abruptly cut off as the driver turned the engine off. Personally, Roy thought it was all a bunch of fuss over nothing. No broken bones, no concussion, normal vitals. All he needed were a few Band-Aids and he’d be fine. He waited patiently while Johnny checked Bill and Laura and finished his report to Rampart.
“10-4, Rampart.” Johnny closed up the biophone and stood up, resting his hand lightly on his partner’s shoulder. “Just sit here a minute, would you, Roy? I’ll be right back.”
Roy felt himself drifting off while he waited. He listened to Johnny talking to Jim and the kids, then heard the slam of car doors. First one vehicle left, then the other, leaving the night silent and peaceful. He hoped JoAnne didn’t have too many things planned for him when he got home. As banged up as he was, he didn’t think he’d be up to anything too strenuous.
“Okay, partner, let’s go. They’re waiting for us down at Rampart.”
He opened his eyes to see Johnny eyeing him with concern. “I’m fine,” he insisted, earning a raised eyebrow and a crooked smile from his partner.
“Right. But they need to check you out anyway.”
“Oh, hell,” was Roy’s muttered response.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Roy pulled in to his driveway and turned the car off with a sigh. It was quiet and peaceful all along the block, husbands having gone off to work and children off to school. The midmorning sun was bright and warm. The neighbor had his sprinkler turned on, and he could hear the muted sound of water drops hitting the sidewalk.
The ER had been busy last night and they’d been kept waiting longer than usual. But just like he kept telling Johnny, all he had were a few bruises. Some bruises, and a sprained ankle, and a gash on his forearm that took 15 stitches to close up. But other than that, he was fine.
He wasn’t even going to call JoAnne, except they had to wait so long they missed the end of their shift and of course she’d worry when he wasn’t home on time. He’d kept it brief, just to let her know he was at the hospital to get checked out and he’d be home as soon as he could.
Roy had just been taken into the treatment room when Dwyer and Russo arrived to take the squad back to the station, leaving Russo's old beat-up Studebaker in exchange. It was a near thing whether the car was going to make it back or not, leading to a lengthy discussion on Johnny's part about why Russo just couldn't part with his car when it had become painfully obvious that it was past time to put the poor thing out of its misery and send it to junkyard heaven. Roy just leaned back in the corner and kept his eyes closed, trying to ignore the teeth-rattling lurch every time the clutch stuck.
It was after nine when they got back to the station. Roy showered and changed, keeping the stitches dry with some plastic wrap and surgical tape. For once, Johnny volunteered to finish the paperwork and sent Roy home, but not before asking him a dozen times if he'd be okay to drive. The only way to shut him up was to actually walk out, get in his car, and drive away.
Well, limp actually.... But, the thought was there.
Roy rubbed his temple with his good hand. The headache, he figured, was more from lack of sleep than anything else. After all, he’d been up at least 20 of the last 24 hours. The novocaine they’d shot in his arm when they stitched it up was wearing off and the cut was beginning to ache with a vengeance, with his swollen ankle throbbing in an annoying counterpoint.
He limped up to his front door and quietly let himself in. There was a note on the refrigerator. “Roy – Jenny had her program today. Be back by 11.” Roy groaned when he read the note. He was supposed to be at that program. Jenny had a poem to recite, and she’d been practicing for weeks to get it right. She’d recited it for him two days ago, the last time he’d been home. Stood in front of him in the living room, her blue eyes round and solemn. She’d done a fine job, and he’d been so proud of her. He told her so, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a big hug and planted one of her special Jenny kisses from his cheekbone to his chin. And he promised her he’d be there when she had to say it in front of the whole school, cross his heart and hope to die.
Roy glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Ten o’clock. Well, he wasn’t dead, but he might as well be. Even if he hurried – if he even could hurry, he’d never make it in time. His women folk would never forgive him for this one.
Shoulders slumped, Roy limped slowly off to the bedroom. He stripped off his clothes and thew them in the hamper, mindful of all the hurts, both large and small, that made any sudden movement a painful adventure. He lay down on the bed in his underwear, pulling up the extra blanket JoAnne always left lying at the foot of the bed. He’d just close his eyes for a few minutes, and when JoAnne got home he’d try to explain why he wasn’t there for his daughter’s big moment.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
JoAnne stood in the doorway of her bedroom and watched her husband sleep. He lay motionless in the middle of the bed, one arm flung up on the pillow beside him, his right arm wrapped in gauze from wrist to elbow and laying across his chest. The light blanket was bunched at his waist, leaving his torso bare for her scrutiny. There was another gauze bandage taped over his right shoulder, and his chest was dotted with dark bruises and angry red scrapes. She knew there would be more of the same on the rest of his body.
She was glad Johnny had called her while Roy was still being examined. He told her what had really happened – as opposed to Roy’s rather sketchy explanation of ‘I took a fall and got scraped up a bit, but I’ll be fine.’ Roy always said he was fine, and of course he was – otherwise she would have been down at the hospital in a flash. But Johnny had assured her Roy was going to be okay, and so she had gone to their daughter’s end-of-the-year school program after all. It didn’t seem fair to Jenny if neither of her parents were there to hear her do the poem she’d worked so hard to master. But once Jenny’s part was done, she hadn’t been able to concentrate at all on the rest of the program, and it was a shame really because she was sure all the kids had worked very, very hard -- but all she could think about was her husband.
Bad as it was, she knew he’d been lucky this time. These were minor injuries, soon healed. Knowing Roy, he wouldn’t even miss his next shift. In less than 48 hours he’d be back at work, putting his life at risk saving another victim. When he talked about his job, he told her about the good runs, and the funny rescues – the cat in the tree that ran right back up as soon as they got it down, the healthy baby they delivered in the middle of a storm, even the rather plump woman who couldn’t breathe because her girdle was too tight. Sometimes she could almost forget just how dangerous his job could be.
He helped people, and it didn’t matter if they were young or old, black or white or yellow, rich or poor, actively stupid or just plain careless or just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But sometimes her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest from worrying about the things that could happen, and might happen, but she prayed never would happen. This time he was lucky.
JoAnne DeSoto loved her husband, heart, body and soul. She knew his job was important, and he did it well. But sometimes, in helping others, he himself could be injured. When he hurt, she hurt, and she wanted nothing more than to ease his pain.
And there was more than one way to ease his pain.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Roy woke to a darkened room. The drapes were drawn, casting an eerie glow over the bedroom. He lay there, slightly disoriented, trying to remember why he was lying in bed in the middle of the day. He lifted his hand to rub his face and the aching pain in his forearm suddenly gave him his answer. He glanced at the clock by the bed; two o’clock. He’d been asleep four hours, then. He hated it when he slept through the day after his shift; it always left him feeling tired and fuzzy and all too often, unable to get to sleep that night. He pushed himself up and leaned back against the headboard, wincing in pain as the action reawakened all the aches and pains he’d accumulated the night before.
He felt like he’d taken a dive off a 20 foot building and then been buried by the debris.
Oh wait, that’s what did happen.
He suddenly realized JoAnne was standing in the open doorway. He automatically straightened up, subconsciously trying to hide his discomfort and not even aware he was doing it. He looked up with a smile. “Hey, Jo. Sorry about this.” He made a vague gesture towards the bed, apologizing for sleeping through the day.
“It’s okay, Roy,” she said softly. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’m okay. Just a little tired is all.”
“Roy.”
He could hear the skepticism in her voice, and sent her a self-conscious half-smile. Never could put one by her, he shouldn’t even try. “Okay. I’m pretty sore, but I’ll be fine. Just some scrapes and bruises.”
JoAnne came over to the bed and sat down facing him, curling one leg up underneath her.
“So, what do you have in mind for me today? Just let me get some lunch and I’ll get started.”
JoAnne let a smile play on her lips. “No list today.”
“No chores? There isn’t anything you want me to do today?”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
She reached out and ran her hand over his shoulder, carefully detouring around the bandage. She trailed her fingers down his chest until she reached the bruises on his ribs. She stroked her fingers across the skin, slowly soothing away the pain.
Roy held his breath, watched her closely. “JoAnne . . .”
“Shhhhhh . . .” she answered, clearly preoccupied with inspecting the hurts that life had inflicted upon her husband this time. She took his right hand in hers, gently turning the arm to look at the bandage wrapped around his forearm. "How many stitches this time?"
“Uh . . . I don’t know. Eight or ten. Mostly it’s just a scrape.”
She lifted his hand and kissed his palm.
“What happened?”
Roy caught his breath as his wife moved her attentions back to his chest.
“Couple of kids. They climbed up . . . ah . . . up a . . . . billboard.” He closed his eyes when she kissed his collarbone and ran her fingernails across his stomach, the muscles tightening in response.
“And?”
“One of them couldn’t get down. We climbed up to get him, and it fell on me.”
JoAnne nuzzled her husband’s neck. Roy brought his hand up to his wife’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft dark strands.
“The kids . . .”
“Won’t be home for hours.”
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
Bad as it was, she knew he’d been lucky this time. These were minor injuries, soon healed. Knowing Roy, he wouldn’t even miss his next shift. In less than 48 hours he’d be back at work, putting his life at risk saving another victim. When he talked about his job, he told her about the good runs, and the funny rescues – the cat in the tree that ran right back up as soon as they got it down, the healthy baby they delivered in the middle of a storm, even the rather plump woman who couldn’t breathe because her girdle was too tight. Sometimes she could almost forget just how dangerous his job could be.
He helped people, and it didn’t matter if they were young or old, black or white or yellow, rich or poor, actively stupid or just plain careless or just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But sometimes her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest from worrying about the things that could happen, and might happen, but she prayed never would happen. This time he was lucky.
JoAnne DeSoto loved her husband, heart, body and soul. She knew his job was important, and he did it well. But sometimes, in helping others, he himself could be injured. When he hurt, she hurt, and she wanted nothing more than to ease his pain.
And there was more than one way to ease his pain.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Roy woke to a darkened room. The drapes were drawn, casting an eerie glow over the bedroom. He lay there, slightly disoriented, trying to remember why he was lying in bed in the middle of the day. He lifted his hand to rub his face and the aching pain in his forearm suddenly gave him his answer. He glanced at the clock by the bed; two o’clock. He’d been asleep four hours, then. He hated it when he slept through the day after his shift; it always left him feeling tired and fuzzy and all too often, unable to get to sleep that night. He pushed himself up and leaned back against the headboard, wincing in pain as the action reawakened all the aches and pains he’d accumulated the night before.
He felt like he’d taken a dive off a 20 foot building and then been buried by the debris.
Oh wait, that’s what did happen.
He suddenly realized JoAnne was standing in the open doorway. He automatically straightened up, subconsciously trying to hide his discomfort and not even aware he was doing it. He looked up with a smile. “Hey, Jo. Sorry about this.” He made a vague gesture towards the bed, apologizing for sleeping through the day.
“It’s okay, Roy,” she said softly. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’m okay. Just a little tired is all.”
“Roy.”
He could hear the skepticism in her voice, and sent her a self-conscious half-smile. Never could put one by her, he shouldn’t even try. “Okay. I’m pretty sore, but I’ll be fine. Just some scrapes and bruises.”
JoAnne came over to the bed and sat down facing him, curling one leg up underneath her.
“So, what do you have in mind for me today? Just let me get some lunch and I’ll get started.”
JoAnne let a smile play on her lips. “No list today.”
“No chores? There isn’t anything you want me to do today?”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
She reached out and ran her hand over his shoulder, carefully detouring around the bandage. She trailed her fingers down his chest until she reached the bruises on his ribs. She stroked her fingers across the skin, slowly soothing away the pain.
Roy held his breath, watched her closely. “JoAnne . . .”
“Shhhhhh . . .” she answered, clearly preoccupied with inspecting the hurts that life had inflicted upon her husband this time. She took his right hand in hers, gently turning the arm to look at the bandage wrapped around his forearm. "How many stitches this time?"
“Uh . . . I don’t know. Eight or ten. Mostly it’s just a scrape.”
She lifted his hand and kissed his palm.
“What happened?”
Roy caught his breath as his wife moved her attentions back to his chest.
“Couple of kids. They climbed up . . . ah . . . up a . . . . billboard.” He closed his eyes when she kissed his collarbone and ran her fingernails across his stomach, the muscles tightening in response.
“And?”
“One of them couldn’t get down. We climbed up to get him, and it fell on me.”
JoAnne nuzzled her husband’s neck. Roy brought his hand up to his wife’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft dark strands.
“The kids . . .”
“Won’t be home for hours.”
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
JoAnne DeSoto loved her husband, heart, body and soul. She knew his job was important, and he did it well. But sometimes, in helping others, he himself could be injured. When he hurt, she hurt, and she wanted nothing more than to ease his pain.
And there was more than one way to ease his pain.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Roy woke to a darkened room. The drapes were drawn, casting an eerie glow over the bedroom. He lay there, slightly disoriented, trying to remember why he was lying in bed in the middle of the day. He lifted his hand to rub his face and the aching pain in his forearm suddenly gave him his answer. He glanced at the clock by the bed; two o’clock. He’d been asleep four hours, then. He hated it when he slept through the day after his shift; it always left him feeling tired and fuzzy and all too often, unable to get to sleep that night. He pushed himself up and leaned back against the headboard, wincing in pain as the action reawakened all the aches and pains he’d accumulated the night before.
He felt like he’d taken a dive off a 20 foot building and then been buried by the debris.
Oh wait, that’s what did happen.
He suddenly realized JoAnne was standing in the open doorway. He automatically straightened up, subconsciously trying to hide his discomfort and not even aware he was doing it. He looked up with a smile. “Hey, Jo. Sorry about this.” He made a vague gesture towards the bed, apologizing for sleeping through the day.
“It’s okay, Roy,” she said softly. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’m okay. Just a little tired is all.”
“Roy.”
He could hear the skepticism in her voice, and sent her a self-conscious half-smile. Never could put one by her, he shouldn’t even try. “Okay. I’m pretty sore, but I’ll be fine. Just some scrapes and bruises.”
JoAnne came over to the bed and sat down facing him, curling one leg up underneath her.
“So, what do you have in mind for me today? Just let me get some lunch and I’ll get started.”
JoAnne let a smile play on her lips. “No list today.”
“No chores? There isn’t anything you want me to do today?”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
She reached out and ran her hand over his shoulder, carefully detouring around the bandage. She trailed her fingers down his chest until she reached the bruises on his ribs. She stroked her fingers across the skin, slowly soothing away the pain.
Roy held his breath, watched her closely. “JoAnne . . .”
“Shhhhhh . . .” she answered, clearly preoccupied with inspecting the hurts that life had inflicted upon her husband this time. She took his right hand in hers, gently turning the arm to look at the bandage wrapped around his forearm. "How many stitches this time?"
“Uh . . . I don’t know. Eight or ten. Mostly it’s just a scrape.”
She lifted his hand and kissed his palm.
“What happened?”
Roy caught his breath as his wife moved her attentions back to his chest.
“Couple of kids. They climbed up . . . ah . . . up a . . . . billboard.” He closed his eyes when she kissed his collarbone and ran her fingernails across his stomach, the muscles tightening in response.
“And?”
“One of them couldn’t get down. We climbed up to get him, and it fell on me.”
JoAnne nuzzled her husband’s neck. Roy brought his hand up to his wife’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft dark strands.
“The kids . . .”
“Won’t be home for hours.”
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Roy woke to a darkened room. The drapes were drawn, casting an eerie glow over the bedroom. He lay there, slightly disoriented, trying to remember why he was lying in bed in the middle of the day. He lifted his hand to rub his face and the aching pain in his forearm suddenly gave him his answer. He glanced at the clock by the bed; two o’clock. He’d been asleep four hours, then. He hated it when he slept through the day after his shift; it always left him feeling tired and fuzzy and all too often, unable to get to sleep that night. He pushed himself up and leaned back against the headboard, wincing in pain as the action reawakened all the aches and pains he’d accumulated the night before.
He felt like he’d taken a dive off a 20 foot building and then been buried by the debris.
Oh wait, that’s what did happen.
He suddenly realized JoAnne was standing in the open doorway. He automatically straightened up, subconsciously trying to hide his discomfort and not even aware he was doing it. He looked up with a smile. “Hey, Jo. Sorry about this.” He made a vague gesture towards the bed, apologizing for sleeping through the day.
“It’s okay, Roy,” she said softly. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’m okay. Just a little tired is all.”
“Roy.”
He could hear the skepticism in her voice, and sent her a self-conscious half-smile. Never could put one by her, he shouldn’t even try. “Okay. I’m pretty sore, but I’ll be fine. Just some scrapes and bruises.”
JoAnne came over to the bed and sat down facing him, curling one leg up underneath her.
“So, what do you have in mind for me today? Just let me get some lunch and I’ll get started.”
JoAnne let a smile play on her lips. “No list today.”
“No chores? There isn’t anything you want me to do today?”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
She reached out and ran her hand over his shoulder, carefully detouring around the bandage. She trailed her fingers down his chest until she reached the bruises on his ribs. She stroked her fingers across the skin, slowly soothing away the pain.
Roy held his breath, watched her closely. “JoAnne . . .”
“Shhhhhh . . .” she answered, clearly preoccupied with inspecting the hurts that life had inflicted upon her husband this time. She took his right hand in hers, gently turning the arm to look at the bandage wrapped around his forearm. "How many stitches this time?"
“Uh . . . I don’t know. Eight or ten. Mostly it’s just a scrape.”
She lifted his hand and kissed his palm.
“What happened?”
Roy caught his breath as his wife moved her attentions back to his chest.
“Couple of kids. They climbed up . . . ah . . . up a . . . . billboard.” He closed his eyes when she kissed his collarbone and ran her fingernails across his stomach, the muscles tightening in response.
“And?”
“One of them couldn’t get down. We climbed up to get him, and it fell on me.”
JoAnne nuzzled her husband’s neck. Roy brought his hand up to his wife’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft dark strands.
“The kids . . .”
“Won’t be home for hours.”
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
Oh wait, that’s what did happen.
He suddenly realized JoAnne was standing in the open doorway. He automatically straightened up, subconsciously trying to hide his discomfort and not even aware he was doing it. He looked up with a smile. “Hey, Jo. Sorry about this.” He made a vague gesture towards the bed, apologizing for sleeping through the day.
“It’s okay, Roy,” she said softly. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’m okay. Just a little tired is all.”
“Roy.”
He could hear the skepticism in her voice, and sent her a self-conscious half-smile. Never could put one by her, he shouldn’t even try. “Okay. I’m pretty sore, but I’ll be fine. Just some scrapes and bruises.”
JoAnne came over to the bed and sat down facing him, curling one leg up underneath her.
“So, what do you have in mind for me today? Just let me get some lunch and I’ll get started.”
JoAnne let a smile play on her lips. “No list today.”
“No chores? There isn’t anything you want me to do today?”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
She reached out and ran her hand over his shoulder, carefully detouring around the bandage. She trailed her fingers down his chest until she reached the bruises on his ribs. She stroked her fingers across the skin, slowly soothing away the pain.
Roy held his breath, watched her closely. “JoAnne . . .”
“Shhhhhh . . .” she answered, clearly preoccupied with inspecting the hurts that life had inflicted upon her husband this time. She took his right hand in hers, gently turning the arm to look at the bandage wrapped around his forearm. "How many stitches this time?"
“Uh . . . I don’t know. Eight or ten. Mostly it’s just a scrape.”
She lifted his hand and kissed his palm.
“What happened?”
Roy caught his breath as his wife moved her attentions back to his chest.
“Couple of kids. They climbed up . . . ah . . . up a . . . . billboard.” He closed his eyes when she kissed his collarbone and ran her fingernails across his stomach, the muscles tightening in response.
“And?”
“One of them couldn’t get down. We climbed up to get him, and it fell on me.”
JoAnne nuzzled her husband’s neck. Roy brought his hand up to his wife’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft dark strands.
“The kids . . .”
“Won’t be home for hours.”
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
“It’s okay, Roy,” she said softly. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’m okay. Just a little tired is all.”
“Roy.”
He could hear the skepticism in her voice, and sent her a self-conscious half-smile. Never could put one by her, he shouldn’t even try. “Okay. I’m pretty sore, but I’ll be fine. Just some scrapes and bruises.”
JoAnne came over to the bed and sat down facing him, curling one leg up underneath her.
“So, what do you have in mind for me today? Just let me get some lunch and I’ll get started.”
JoAnne let a smile play on her lips. “No list today.”
“No chores? There isn’t anything you want me to do today?”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
She reached out and ran her hand over his shoulder, carefully detouring around the bandage. She trailed her fingers down his chest until she reached the bruises on his ribs. She stroked her fingers across the skin, slowly soothing away the pain.
Roy held his breath, watched her closely. “JoAnne . . .”
“Shhhhhh . . .” she answered, clearly preoccupied with inspecting the hurts that life had inflicted upon her husband this time. She took his right hand in hers, gently turning the arm to look at the bandage wrapped around his forearm. "How many stitches this time?"
“Uh . . . I don’t know. Eight or ten. Mostly it’s just a scrape.”
She lifted his hand and kissed his palm.
“What happened?”
Roy caught his breath as his wife moved her attentions back to his chest.
“Couple of kids. They climbed up . . . ah . . . up a . . . . billboard.” He closed his eyes when she kissed his collarbone and ran her fingernails across his stomach, the muscles tightening in response.
“And?”
“One of them couldn’t get down. We climbed up to get him, and it fell on me.”
JoAnne nuzzled her husband’s neck. Roy brought his hand up to his wife’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft dark strands.
“The kids . . .”
“Won’t be home for hours.”
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
“Roy.”
He could hear the skepticism in her voice, and sent her a self-conscious half-smile. Never could put one by her, he shouldn’t even try. “Okay. I’m pretty sore, but I’ll be fine. Just some scrapes and bruises.”
JoAnne came over to the bed and sat down facing him, curling one leg up underneath her.
“So, what do you have in mind for me today? Just let me get some lunch and I’ll get started.”
JoAnne let a smile play on her lips. “No list today.”
“No chores? There isn’t anything you want me to do today?”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
She reached out and ran her hand over his shoulder, carefully detouring around the bandage. She trailed her fingers down his chest until she reached the bruises on his ribs. She stroked her fingers across the skin, slowly soothing away the pain.
Roy held his breath, watched her closely. “JoAnne . . .”
“Shhhhhh . . .” she answered, clearly preoccupied with inspecting the hurts that life had inflicted upon her husband this time. She took his right hand in hers, gently turning the arm to look at the bandage wrapped around his forearm. "How many stitches this time?"
“Uh . . . I don’t know. Eight or ten. Mostly it’s just a scrape.”
She lifted his hand and kissed his palm.
“What happened?”
Roy caught his breath as his wife moved her attentions back to his chest.
“Couple of kids. They climbed up . . . ah . . . up a . . . . billboard.” He closed his eyes when she kissed his collarbone and ran her fingernails across his stomach, the muscles tightening in response.
“And?”
“One of them couldn’t get down. We climbed up to get him, and it fell on me.”
JoAnne nuzzled her husband’s neck. Roy brought his hand up to his wife’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft dark strands.
“The kids . . .”
“Won’t be home for hours.”
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
JoAnne came over to the bed and sat down facing him, curling one leg up underneath her.
“So, what do you have in mind for me today? Just let me get some lunch and I’ll get started.”
JoAnne let a smile play on her lips. “No list today.”
“No chores? There isn’t anything you want me to do today?”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
She reached out and ran her hand over his shoulder, carefully detouring around the bandage. She trailed her fingers down his chest until she reached the bruises on his ribs. She stroked her fingers across the skin, slowly soothing away the pain.
Roy held his breath, watched her closely. “JoAnne . . .”
“Shhhhhh . . .” she answered, clearly preoccupied with inspecting the hurts that life had inflicted upon her husband this time. She took his right hand in hers, gently turning the arm to look at the bandage wrapped around his forearm. "How many stitches this time?"
“Uh . . . I don’t know. Eight or ten. Mostly it’s just a scrape.”
She lifted his hand and kissed his palm.
“What happened?”
Roy caught his breath as his wife moved her attentions back to his chest.
“Couple of kids. They climbed up . . . ah . . . up a . . . . billboard.” He closed his eyes when she kissed his collarbone and ran her fingernails across his stomach, the muscles tightening in response.
“And?”
“One of them couldn’t get down. We climbed up to get him, and it fell on me.”
JoAnne nuzzled her husband’s neck. Roy brought his hand up to his wife’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft dark strands.
“The kids . . .”
“Won’t be home for hours.”
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
JoAnne let a smile play on her lips. “No list today.”
“No chores? There isn’t anything you want me to do today?”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
She reached out and ran her hand over his shoulder, carefully detouring around the bandage. She trailed her fingers down his chest until she reached the bruises on his ribs. She stroked her fingers across the skin, slowly soothing away the pain.
Roy held his breath, watched her closely. “JoAnne . . .”
“Shhhhhh . . .” she answered, clearly preoccupied with inspecting the hurts that life had inflicted upon her husband this time. She took his right hand in hers, gently turning the arm to look at the bandage wrapped around his forearm. "How many stitches this time?"
“Uh . . . I don’t know. Eight or ten. Mostly it’s just a scrape.”
She lifted his hand and kissed his palm.
“What happened?”
Roy caught his breath as his wife moved her attentions back to his chest.
“Couple of kids. They climbed up . . . ah . . . up a . . . . billboard.” He closed his eyes when she kissed his collarbone and ran her fingernails across his stomach, the muscles tightening in response.
“And?”
“One of them couldn’t get down. We climbed up to get him, and it fell on me.”
JoAnne nuzzled her husband’s neck. Roy brought his hand up to his wife’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft dark strands.
“The kids . . .”
“Won’t be home for hours.”
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
She reached out and ran her hand over his shoulder, carefully detouring around the bandage. She trailed her fingers down his chest until she reached the bruises on his ribs. She stroked her fingers across the skin, slowly soothing away the pain.
Roy held his breath, watched her closely. “JoAnne . . .”
“Shhhhhh . . .” she answered, clearly preoccupied with inspecting the hurts that life had inflicted upon her husband this time. She took his right hand in hers, gently turning the arm to look at the bandage wrapped around his forearm. "How many stitches this time?"
“Uh . . . I don’t know. Eight or ten. Mostly it’s just a scrape.”
She lifted his hand and kissed his palm.
“What happened?”
Roy caught his breath as his wife moved her attentions back to his chest.
“Couple of kids. They climbed up . . . ah . . . up a . . . . billboard.” He closed his eyes when she kissed his collarbone and ran her fingernails across his stomach, the muscles tightening in response.
“And?”
“One of them couldn’t get down. We climbed up to get him, and it fell on me.”
JoAnne nuzzled her husband’s neck. Roy brought his hand up to his wife’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft dark strands.
“The kids . . .”
“Won’t be home for hours.”
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
Roy held his breath, watched her closely. “JoAnne . . .”
“Shhhhhh . . .” she answered, clearly preoccupied with inspecting the hurts that life had inflicted upon her husband this time. She took his right hand in hers, gently turning the arm to look at the bandage wrapped around his forearm. "How many stitches this time?"
“Uh . . . I don’t know. Eight or ten. Mostly it’s just a scrape.”
She lifted his hand and kissed his palm.
“What happened?”
Roy caught his breath as his wife moved her attentions back to his chest.
“Couple of kids. They climbed up . . . ah . . . up a . . . . billboard.” He closed his eyes when she kissed his collarbone and ran her fingernails across his stomach, the muscles tightening in response.
“And?”
“One of them couldn’t get down. We climbed up to get him, and it fell on me.”
JoAnne nuzzled her husband’s neck. Roy brought his hand up to his wife’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft dark strands.
“The kids . . .”
“Won’t be home for hours.”
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
“Uh . . . I don’t know. Eight or ten. Mostly it’s just a scrape.”
She lifted his hand and kissed his palm.
“What happened?”
Roy caught his breath as his wife moved her attentions back to his chest.
“Couple of kids. They climbed up . . . ah . . . up a . . . . billboard.” He closed his eyes when she kissed his collarbone and ran her fingernails across his stomach, the muscles tightening in response.
“And?”
“One of them couldn’t get down. We climbed up to get him, and it fell on me.”
JoAnne nuzzled her husband’s neck. Roy brought his hand up to his wife’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft dark strands.
“The kids . . .”
“Won’t be home for hours.”
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
“What happened?”
Roy caught his breath as his wife moved her attentions back to his chest.
“Couple of kids. They climbed up . . . ah . . . up a . . . . billboard.” He closed his eyes when she kissed his collarbone and ran her fingernails across his stomach, the muscles tightening in response.
“And?”
“One of them couldn’t get down. We climbed up to get him, and it fell on me.”
JoAnne nuzzled her husband’s neck. Roy brought his hand up to his wife’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft dark strands.
“The kids . . .”
“Won’t be home for hours.”
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
“Couple of kids. They climbed up . . . ah . . . up a . . . . billboard.” He closed his eyes when she kissed his collarbone and ran her fingernails across his stomach, the muscles tightening in response.
“And?”
“One of them couldn’t get down. We climbed up to get him, and it fell on me.”
JoAnne nuzzled her husband’s neck. Roy brought his hand up to his wife’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft dark strands.
“The kids . . .”
“Won’t be home for hours.”
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
“One of them couldn’t get down. We climbed up to get him, and it fell on me.”
JoAnne nuzzled her husband’s neck. Roy brought his hand up to his wife’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft dark strands.
“The kids . . .”
“Won’t be home for hours.”
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
“The kids . . .”
“Won’t be home for hours.”
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
JoAnne pulled back and giggled at his soft moan of protest. “I have something to show you.”
She shifted slightly and was suddenly standing alongside the bed. Roy wished he knew how she did that, ever graceful and elegant. He watched as she unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse, letting it drop at her feet. She was wearing some lacy pink thing that barely covered the swell of her breasts, revealing far more than it concealed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, satisfied that she had his full attention. Suddenly self-conscious, she slowly unzipped her royal blue capri pants and let them drop.
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
There, on her right hip, just above the lacey elastic waistband of her pink flowered bikini briefs, was a red heart tattoo.
This was the first time he’d seen it and despite himself, he was fascinated.
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
He’d been angry with her when she told him what she’d done -- how could she? It was dangerous.... Didn’t she know what those places were like? Dirty needles, infections. Prostitutes and drug addicts and Hell’s Angels. The thought of her in a tattoo parlor, alone and unprotected, made him sick to his stomach.
JoAnne took her husband’s unresisting hand and placed his fingers on the tattoo.
Roy gently ran fingertips across the red heart on his wife’s hip. It was still in the healing stage, the skin raised and slightly rough to the touch. The tattoo was small, less than an inch across. It was outlined in black, the bright red dye inside shaded to pink on one side. He ran his thumb lightly across the heart, and felt a sudden surge of passion as his finger dipped below the elastic and he felt the quiver that shot through his wife’s body.
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
The thought of anyone but himself touching his wife there was enough to drive him crazy.
JoAnne watched Roy as he ran his sensitive fingers across her tattoo. He had been so angry with her. He was shocked, she thought. Hardly the kind of thing his quiet, respectable housewife should be doing. But she’d been cautious, she’d picked the tattoo parlor carefully, she’d insisted they use a new, sterile needle. The man who had done the work was over 6 foot tall and covered with pictures of roses and stilettos and skulls and flowers. But his voice was warm and his touch gentle.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
She knew exactly what she was doing. Every once in a while, just to stir things up, she liked to see Roy shocked. Kept life interesting. Took his mind off his job, if just for just a few moments.
Roy suddenly realized he was caressing more than just the tattoo. He glanced up, his heart racing, to see his wife’s flushed face. Her eyes were half closed, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.
“A little. It’ll pass.”
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
“And you were careful when you got it? Those places – the people who go there . . . . “
“It’s okay, Roy. I was careful.”
“JoAnne . . . why did you do it? Why would you get a tattoo, of all things?”
Clad only in a few wisps of lace and cotton, JoAnne lifted the cover and slid in to lie alongside her bruised and battered, but now thoroughly distracted husband.
“Roy,” she whispered in his ear, “I did it for you.”
Author's Notes: A couple of months ago my friend, the lovely and talented but Totally Evil Tanya, tore me away from the Stargate universe and introduced me to the world of Emergency! fanfiction. It was a quick and easy descent into
absolute addiction. Meals remained unmade, household chores undone, sleep left
unslept, as I spent hours glued to my monitor reading every story I could get my hands on. I never meant to write my own story, really I didn't! But you
just never know what's going to inspire you to write. This is the
result -- my very first E! story. And, it's all Tanya's fault.
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all
those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you
just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Editor's Notes: And, we are all grateful to Tanya the Totally Evil One!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
My thanks to E! Universe for giving my story a home, and for all those terrific suggestions. I didn't agree with everything you said -- but you just kept bugging me until I got it right!
Again, all the talent belongs to the writer. She sent us an outstanding story, her first effort, too! We look forward to her next!
