His name is Brock, and he's the best thing that ever happened to me. I first noticed him in the campus bookstore. I caught a glimpse of his ass as he climbed down from a stepladder, and admired the taut curves. When he turned around, he looked even better from the front. His name tag said 'Hi! I'm Brock. What can I do for you today?' I remember thinking that if I really told him, I'd get arrested.

I lingered in front of the Dramatics section, doing my best 'confused and needy' impression, waiting for him to approach. But when he started toward me, Sharon bustled up instead, and refused to understand my hissed demand that she clear the deck for that dark-haired Adonis. She did it on purpose, the cat. I had to watch him turn away to help someone else, and I didn't have time to wait for another chance. It went on like that for a couple of weeks. *sigh* Sometimes Fate can be such a bitch.

I finally started getting desperate. Sharon and the other girls in my class thought it was hilarious that I hadn't managed to chat him up. They wanted to know why I didn't just hang around till he got off work, and corner him then. I reminded them of the recently enacted stalking laws. I kept pushing Sharon for an introduction, but she refused. I think she was enjoying my increased frustration.

Sharon underestimated me--she always does. She never should have let me overhear about the 'girls' night' she had planned. If it was going to be anything like my elder sister's sleepovers, I knew that I could acquire plenty of blackmail material--if I was cunning. And I -am- cunning, boys and girls. I did the old 'pizza delivery' routine, but instead of an extra large Garbage, I busted in with a fully loaded camera, speed, and a lot of attitude. What the hell -is- it that girls put on their faces during slumber parties, anyway? It looks toxic.

I posted one of the photos to a password protected site I sometimes operate, just to show her what was possible. The girls conferred, and asked me what my price was. I told them. That same week they convinced Matt that they needed him to pull a joke on me, and he went along, bless 'im. I still get a little tingle when I think about that wink he tipped me when the lights came back on, and I pretended to be considering who might have kissed me. The poor baby looked so disappointed when I acted shocked that I -knew- I was right about him. He wanted it as much as I did. He proved me right a little later in the back seat of my car.

We've been together for a month now, and it shows no signs of flagging. It's still early days, but who knows? I've never been this comfortable this fast with anyone else. Maybe this is 'the one'.

We're at the local pub, the same one where we pulled the prank, but we've moved to the side, to one of the pool tables. I'm playing with Brock, Sharon's boyfriend Hobie, and Sharon. Sharon is quite the little pool shark, and has threatened to 'beat the pants off all of you.' Brock responds by singing a chorus of Moody Blues' 'In Your Wildest Dreams'. I'm so proud of him.

We're lined up, Hobie, myself, and Brock, watching Sharon choose her shots. She's got another glass of Irish Cream on the rocks. What IS it with her and that syrupy stuff? I can see using it as an ice cream topping... *pause* Or maybe a Brock topping. Damn. Mustn't think about that--so indiscreet to get hard in my pants out in public.

Anyway, Sharon takes a sip, then sets the glass down on the corner of the table and moves around, clicking a ball neatly into a pocket. 'Someone' steals her drink, and guzzles it. She takes her time, and the glass is once again sitting peacefully when she reaches for it, but all that's left are cubes and a thinning puddle in the bottom of the glass.

We all three fight down snickers as she stares into the glass, then looks at us. We all look off in different directions, whistling innocently. She smirks. Still carrying the glass, she puts down her cue, strolls over to us, and gives Hobie a lingering kiss. She looks thoughtful, licks her lips, and shakes her head.

When she comes to me, she doesn't have it quite as easy, because it's a little harder to kiss someone who's grinning. Still, she manages it. She licks her lips, then smiles triumphantly. "Aha!"

Brock clears his throat, and taps his own chest. Sharon shrugs--she's already caught her man, so why not? She gives Brock a kiss, and begins to turn back toward me, ready to demand that I replace her drink. Brock clears his throat again. When she looks back at him, he pointedly licks his own lips. Oo, the man is turning into such a tease! He knows what that does to me.

Sharon decides to humor him, and licks her lips. Her eyes go wide at the familiar, sweet taste, and she stares at me. I shake my head no. She finally speaks, "But how...?

Brock says, "Like this." He grabs the back of my neck and kisses me--with tongue.

Hobie's mouth is hanging open. He'd been watching Sharon's ass instead of Brock and me, and he's as stunned as his girlfriend. Not hostile--just so shocked you'd think that defensive line of the Green Bay Packers had broken into a step dance, while singing show tunes. She makes sure Hobie doesn't see when she winks at us. "Matt, are you going to take Brock home and molest him?"

"I certainly plan on it."

Sharon of course, has to give him just that teeniest, tiniest little push. She opens her mouth to say something (and I know -exactly- what it's going to be). I must admit, though, that it takes us -all- by surprise when Hobie does a duet with her.

Imagine stereo.

"Can I watch?"