Disclaimer: Lots of the dialogue in this story comes from the movie Spider-man 2. The characters belong to Marvel and others. I promise to put them back when I'm done.

A/N: I wrote this story partly as an exercise in controlling P.O.V. and partly as an exercise in inserting flashbacks naturally into the flow of a narrative. The P.O.V. is MJ's (3rd Person Restricted). The story is mainly comprised of her memories and flashbacks. I've incorporated the memories with MJ's thoughts and reflections; the flashbacks (as well as a few of MJ's thoughts) are set off with italics. I hope this is clear. I appreciate any and all reviews, of course, but if some of you care to give me constructive feedback over how well (or badly) I managed the P.O.V. and the flashbacks in this story, I'd be especially grateful. Thanks, and enjoy!

Memories and Revelations

Part I

In her cosy Manhattan apartment, Mary Jane Watson was having trouble keeping her mind on her work. Ever since a certain irresponsible guy had jerked her around by suggesting out of the blue that they "pick up where they left off" she hadn't been able to concentrate on anything. She didn't need this hassle. Her wedding was in just three days, and her life was hectic enough without her mind always zinging back to Peter's hopeful yearning face, and the persistent feeling that he had wanted to tell her something important. Why had he come to her play anyway? He'd caused her to flub one of her lines, he'd ruined her evening, and now he was ruining her life.

MJ and her fiancé John Jameson were spending one of her rare, weekly evenings off together as they usually did lately, finalizing wedding preparations. MJ was sitting cross-legged on her brightly colored carpet with a stack of little envelopes and the pages of her guest list in front of her on the floor. Beside her, she'd placed a bowl of freshly popped popcorn for her guest, who was reclining comfortably on the couch just watching her. From the first day, John seemed content to let MJ and his mother, Joan, do all the work of this wedding. Typical guy, she thought. She was busily opening response cards, checking off names, and trying to decide at which tables she should put people she'd never met. Meanwhile John, probably thinking he was keeping her entertained, chatted to her about this and that. Under other circumstances, MJ would have been amused to find that she needed only half of her attention to carry on a conversation with him, to check off her list and to come up with a preliminary table list for John's mother. She was the queen of multi-tasking. Multi-thinking, too, apparently. With the other half of her brain, MJ was distractedly wondering if the guests would even all fit in the hall, given the extraordinary number of people that John's mother had invited.

MJ checked off the latest name, and put the list to one side. Being the star of such a big wedding was beginning to make her very uncomfortable, she realized, with the half of her brain that wasn't involved in counting up the remaining unopened RSVPs. The wedding was going to be a spectacle, and it was making MJ feel as though her life were turning into some big show. She often thought she would prefer a much less formal wedding, something small and intimate, an outdoor wedding, perhaps, on a hill ... Shaking off the thought, MJ bent over to pick up another envelope. Maybe she was just feeling uncomfortable because John's mother had completely taken over the wedding planning. Joan Jameson had spent the 5 short weeks of her son's engagement ordering flowers, planning the dinner menu, choosing the church, selecting the music, and practically drawing up the guest list single-handedly. MJ was starting to feel out of her league with this wedding, a sinking, drowning feeling which was making her increasingly uncomfortable.

MJ looked at her reflection in the mirror. The wedding dress was a beautiful soft chiffon, an elaborate billowy affair, with a wide cream puff of a skirt consisting of snowy silk over layers of tulle, and a huge cathedral train stretching out behind. The pretty neckline was a soft V, with one tiny frill across the chest stretching away on either side to form ruffled off-the-shoulder cap sleeves. It was a dream dress, the archetypal wedding dress, and she looked like a fairy princess in it. But was it really her?

"I don't know," she said doubtfully. She thought about a few other lovely dresses she'd tried on today. There had been a delicately embroidered indian cotton with a slender, flowing skirt, a sweetheart neckline and wispy gossamer lace sleeves and edges; it had made her look like a sweet, old-fashioned maiden, more innocent and virginal even than Wilde's silly Cecily Cardew. Then there was the elegantly simple peau-de-soir silk, unadorned and strapless, with a slim, misty skirt. She had looked very chic and sophisticated, a woman of the world, in that one. Which was the right dress?

She swivelled to look at the back of the dress, which was unique. The soft frills and ruffles from the front came together in a close clasp below the nape of her neck, then there was a bare span showing a hint of skin, and then, beneath her shoulder-blades, came the straight, confining back of the dress, held tightly closed with a line of dozens of tiny white buttons down the middle. "Isn't this one kind of expensive and elaborate?" she asked her companions uncertainly.

"Oh don't worry about the expense, dear, we'll help out," gushed Mrs. Jameson eagerly. "Just look at you! And with this kind of wedding, you'll want the most stunning dress, the fanciest and the biggest one you can find. The bride ought to be the centerpiece."

MJ tilted her head to one side, trying out a new perspective. She wished her own mother could be here to help her decide. Unfortunately, weak from her first round of treatments, Madeline Watson was resting at home in bed. She'd offered her unconditional support for whatever dress MJ chose, but it wasn't the same as having her present. In her place, MJ had brought John's mother, who had seemed really eager to come, and her maid of honor, a new girlfriend. "What do you think, Louise?" MJ asked, meeting her friend's laughing eyes in the mirror.

"If you're not sure, then you probably haven't found the right one yet," advised Louise. "You shouldn't settle; it's your wedding day. Find the dress that really is you."

However, in the end MJ had decided the fanciest of the dresses would be the most suitable, a decision which had made Mrs. Jameson almost ecstatic with rapture. In MJ's opinion, John's mother was, or at least appeared to be, a rather silly woman. As far as she could tell, Joan spent all of her time redecorating her luxurious house, shopping, throwing lavish dinner parties, and now planning her son's wedding. Having been a guest on almost a weekly basis at these dinner-parties during the last two months, MJ had observed her fiancé's mother on many occasions. She'd concluded that maybe Mrs. Jameson had adopted this frivolous behavior over time to fill the absence left by her workaholic husband. She shivered at the thought that her life could ever come to resemble the life of Mrs. Jameson.

Not that she disliked John's mother, far from it. John had obviously inherited his good nature from her – a fortunate thing, considering how hot-tempered and irascible his father was. MJ liked most people, and she honestly did like John's small, plump, vivacious mother ... although she had to admit she preferred the talkative Joan Jameson in small doses. Somehow, too, her conversations with Joan never got past the superficial level of household arrangements and mutual compliments. MJ would compliment Joan's beautiful house or the delicious meal she was serving, and Joan would praise MJ's clothing or latest performance. It never quite felt real.

MJ supposed she should be grateful that Joan was taking charge of the wedding, since John was very uninterested in all those details. She could have been doing all of the work of what was rapidly becoming an enormous society wedding by herself. Instead she was barely doing any of it, only the secretarial stuff. Well, maybe that was the problem. MJ liked to think of herself as an independent woman, and she liked to do things herself. It was weird to be a bystander at her own wedding. It was leaving her with too much time on her hands, time which she kept filling with doubts, questions, fears and uncertainties.

No wonder stray thoughts of Peter Parker, her annoying former best friend, kept intruding. Tonight, maybe because John's relaxing on the couch was bugging her, she found herself suddenly thinking that if she and Peter were getting married ... not that she would ever, in a million years, marry such a goofy, irresponsible guy ... a guy who apparently enjoyed playing weird head games with her ... but if she were to, oh, in a flight of madness, agree to marry him ... he'd be down on the floor beside her, and they'd be doing this list checking together. He would tease her in his gentle way, or make the occasional dry and funny remark about the stuffed shirts on the list ... not that they'd have much of a guest list, come to think of it ...

MJ opened a new envelope and pulled out a little card, pushing this latest thought of Peter away again. She was soon to be a bride, for heaven's sake. What was she doing imagining marrying another man, a man she was certainly no longer in love with? Shouldn't she be a little more excited about this wedding? Why did it all feel so much like a chore?

MJ looked down at the RSVP in her hand, from "Aunt Ida." She had no idea who this woman was, because she only had an Aunt Anna in her family, not an Aunt Ida. In fact, apart from her Auntie Anna, who was her favorite aunt, the only other "aunt" she'd thought seriously about inviting to this thing was Aunt May, a thought she'd immediately rejected because she knew Aunt May would probably bring Peter as her escort. The last thing she wanted on her wedding day was that strange tunnel-vision thing that always seemed to happen between her and Peter, to happen again, say as she was walking down the aisle, or repeating her vows. Imagine losing your place in the service while repeating your vows, she thought, how embarrassing would that be!

Her mind flicked back to the fundraiser at the Science Library, the night she and John had gotten engaged. At the start of the event, as she'd been descending the stairs into the well-dressed crowd on John's arm, MJ had spotted Peter. Actually, Peter's face had almost seemed to leap out of the crowd at her. For some reason, the stunned expression he was wearing tugged insistently at her heart. The public smile faded from her face as their eyes met. She had wondered distractedly, still holding the arm of her handsome, no, delicious, and very reliable boyfriend, why Peter Parker was the only one in the place who seemed real. This feeling made her extremely annoyed at herself. What was wrong with her? She was with a wonderful man, a "true American hero" as his father liked to say; she shouldn't even be noticing a flighty guy who barely had time for her. Looking deliberately away from Peter, she had lifted her head high and pasted a bright, artificial smile on her face.

Then, just over a week ago, the same strange thing had happened again. She was merrily delivering one of her best lines to her friend Reed, who was playing Algernon, declaring, "I hope you have not been leading a double life, pretending to be wicked and being really good all the time. That would be hypocrisy." As she concentrated on infusing just the right teasing lilt into her voice, she'd looked out at the audience to include them in the joke. To her utter amazement, she caught sight of Peter's smiling, keen-eyed face. Even wearing his old glasses perched on his nose, he looked good, way too good, in a navy blue blazer and grey sweater. Then Peter, positively beaming at her, mouthed "Hi," and her stomach turned right over. She completely lost her place in the scene as once again she experienced the dizzying sensation that Peter Parker was the only one in the theatre auditorium who was real. Suddenly there was no Cecily, no Algernon, no directors, cast or audience, no one else in the theatre except the two of them.

Why did this keep happening? It was all very odd and unsettling.

"Honey?"

MJ looked over at the couch, where John was smiling uncertainly down at her, "You sure you don't want to invite your friend, the photographer... Peter Parker?"

MJ started guiltily at his question. It was curious that John would bring up Peter, whom he'd never even met, just when she was trying hard not to think about him, and failing miserably in the endeavor. Then she remembered that they had just been talking about the guest list, and the huge number of people on it that neither of them knew. MJ had half-joked, half-complained that hardly any of her friends were even coming – there hadn't been room for them, according to John's mother.

"Positive," she said emphatically, trying not to show her discomfort.

John gave her a puzzled look. "Thought he was your pal," he remarked.

MJ frowned. When she'd first met John's father at one of his mother's dinner parties, she'd made the mistake of mentioning Peter, which was how John knew about him. It was just after she and John had started dating. She'd been seated next to Mr. J. Jonah Jameson at dinner. Feeling nervous, and more than a little intimidated by her brash, larger-than-life host, she had cast about for an innocuous subject of conversation and finally mentioned that they had a mutual friend, her friend Peter Parker, the guy who took the spectacular pictures of Spider-Man. She had assumed, wrongly as it turned out, that since John's father featured Peter's pictures so prominently in his newspaper nearly every day, he would be proud of them.

But instead of finding common ground, MJ had inadvertently launched Mr. Jameson into a rant that she timed at just short of a full half-hour, lasting from the start of the meal all the way through several courses. A smiling Mrs. Jameson had tried changing the subject unsuccessfully a few times, but her oblivious husband continued ranting on and on about irresponsible kids who practically committed extortion by demanding exorbitant payment for news scoops, and "dangerous lunatic vigilantes like that criminal wall crawler." The general conversation had died, the other guests had shifted uncomfortably in their seats, and MJ had silently fumed. By the end of the rant, MJ had been so angry, she had longed to shut Mr Jameson's mouth by stuffing her dinner roll into it. When his father finally paused for a breath, John, who was sitting on her other side, tried to salvage the mood of the evening.

"How do you know Peter Parker, MJ?" John asked curiously.

MJ couldn't resist replying, "Peter and I are friends ... great pals, actually. We grew up next door to each other in Forest Hills since we were both six." She cast a sly, sidelong look at Mr. Jameson as she spoke. He had the grace to look a little abashed at this information.

"Parker's not a bad photographer," Jameson said gruffly to MJ, "But I swear he walks around with his head in the clouds. He's impossible to find when you need him, he's always late ..."

"Pete does live in his own little world," MJ quickly agreed, determined to cut short another diatribe.

"Don't worry, MJ," John inserted with a grin. "Your friend Peter takes pretty damn good pictures of Spider-Man. Dad may not have much nice to say about them here, but the fact that he prints them proves that they're good ... right Dad?"

"Those over-priced comic-book shots?" scoffed Jameson. "No one else can get such clear shots, I'll give Parker that, but he's gotta stop with the hero-worship. I wish he'd quit giving me so many action shots, or those face shots of that webhead from below, or those pictures of him striking ridiculous hero poses at a distance. He needs to get right up close – show us some blemishes."

"Um, Spider-Man wears a mask, Mr. Jameson," said MJ frostily. "You're not likely to see many blemishes through a mask." Beside her, John broke into laughter.

"So, you're really saying, Dad, that you wish Peter Parker would make Spider-Man look bad by taking bad pictures of him," said John, still chuckling. "I can't believe that you'd even print a bad picture." Then he adopted his reasonable tone, one that MJ was already beginning to find a little irritating. "What Spider-Man does is hardly Peter Parker's fault – he's just a photographer; it's his job to photograph events as they happen. He's not the one making Spider-Man look like a hero."

"I think Spider-Man is a hero," interjected MJ suddenly, startling herself with her boldness. She carefully avoided looking at John as she said this, although she couldn't have told why. Oh well, in for a penny ... MJ raised her eyes defiantly to Mr. Jameson's face. "He saved me from falling to my death on two occasions," she continued with soft insistence.

"Oh, that's right," said John thoughtfully. "You told me he saved you from falling off that balcony at the World Unity Festival."

"He also saved me from being thrown off the top of the eastern tower of the Queensboro bridge," MJ had to add.

"He saved my life, too," spoke up a well-dressed dark-haired woman whose name MJ hadn't caught. "Or at least my best Fendi handbag," she continued, shaking her head with a wry smile. MJ looked at the attractive middle-aged woman at the opposite end of the table. Their eyes met and the woman smiled encouragingly at her. "Two years ago, I was trying to find a taxi after leaving a party late," she said, "when this thug knocks me flat on my back and jumps on top of me, holding a gun to my head. But as soon as he grabs my bag, something whips the gun out of his hand. Next, someone swings down from behind me and yanks him off me. Before I can even sit up, my handbag drops back into my lap with a note tucked into it, saying ‛Courtesy, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.'"

Over a few nearby murmurs of "Really?" and "Wow!" the woman went on, "I still have the note."

MJ looked back at her host. His face had turned an alarming shade of red and he looked as if he were about to explode into another tirade. He raised his finger and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. For once, it appeared that J. Jonah Jameson couldn't think of anything to say ...

John was still looking at her, waiting for her answer. "Peter Parker?" MJ said, shaking her head with a dismissive little laugh.

"Yeah," said John.

MJ searched for the right words, an incredulous smile on her face. "No, Peter Parker is just..." Just an incredibly cute-but-irresponsible guy. Oh yeah, and I used to think he loved me, I once fell desperately in love with him myself, and he broke my heart into a million pieces. Now I can't seem to get him to stay out of my mind ... Her mouth twisted into a self-mocking smile and she looked down at her list. "He's just a great big jerk."

John eyed her as if he didn't quite believe her. "World's full of great big jerks," he observed casually.

MJ looked at her good-looking fiancé, really looked at him, and then extended her left hand. John was such a good man that she couldn't understand why she didn't spend more time thinking about him. Guiltily, she caught one of his hands in her own. He brought it to his lips and kissed it. "You're adorable," she said, giving him her most winsome smile. John was a true gentleman, an all-round good guy. She'd just have to do better. John didn't deserve to come second anywhere, especially not in the head of his fiancée.

He shrugged nonchalantly and smiled, gazing at her steadily with a warm expression. "It's just the uniform."

Holding his affectionate eyes with her own and stroking his fingers lightly with her thumb, MJ thought about their relationship. When they'd first started dating, John had been like a balm for her wounded heart, the perfect antidote to Peter's rejection and his continued indifference to her. John was dependable, warmly affectionate and easygoing. He gave her real affirmation, not just a constant stream of presents as Harry Osborn once had. He didn't blow hot and cold, but continually told her how special she was, how much he liked spending time with her. More importantly, John was a grown up who had never let her down, whether he was picking up her dry cleaning, or meeting her for a date, or taking time out of his busy training schedule to see her show several times.

Lately, though, she'd wondered in the back of her mind if something wasn't missing from their relationship. Sure, John made her feel good about herself. Every encounter was pleasant, every kiss was warm and comforting. But wasn't it all just a little boring? Perhaps this tranquillity had something to do with how things had happened between them. Their friendship had evolved into something romantic so gradually that she had hardly even noticed where it was heading at the time. They'd dated for a few weeks before John had even kissed her. He'd finally done so, on the front step of her apartment building one night after he had thoughtfully taken her to a new play that she'd been dying to see. It had been ... nice, full of affection and devotion. She'd kissed him back, feeling flattered, grateful for his attentiveness, and contented. The next day, they were a couple, without anything more being said.

Then, one evening a month or two ago, they were having a late dinner after a performance. Gently, he'd taken her hand, told her he loved her, and asked her to marry him. MJ had been stunned, because she'd had no idea he was so serious about her. She had asked for time to think about it. Since she'd finally said yes, on the night of the Science Library function, John's happiness had been heartfelt and frequently expressed, but she had found her mind wandering in the oddest directions every time they were together, and her heart had often been heavy.

If only she could do something to add a spark to their relationship. She wanted, for John's sake and her own, to be completely focused on him. She wanted to crave his presence, and to feel an urgency in their kisses that would drive every other thought from her brain. He deserved nothing less.

MJ thought back to the most passionate and romantic encounter of her life. She decided that now would be the perfect time to heat up her relationship with John, and she knew just how to do it.

"Lean your head back for me," she urged with a coaxing smile.

"Put my head back?" asked John, clearly thrown by this odd, unexpected request.

MJ got onto her knees, crawling in the direction of the couch, still with a teasing smile on her face. "Yeah, just do it," she wheedled.

"Put my head back," repeated John, blinking in bemusement, as MJ positioned one of her cute flowered pillows on the wooden arm of the sofa, so that he could rest his head there easily.

Leaning over the arm of the couch, MJ placed one hand on John's chest, and curled her other arm down about John's neck. Then she bent slowly, seductively, over his face, her hair falling around them like a curtain. She rested her mouth on his, pressing her lips firmly onto his lips and brushing them repeatedly. She could feel John responding to her, a warm hand coming up to stroke her cheek through her hair and to clasp her gently around the neck. Her mind veered off for a minute to another kiss, a breathtaking kiss of sweetness and ardor in a chilly cemetery, and she sternly ordered herself, "Focus!" She moved her lips more desperately over John's, drawing in a breath and opening her mouth, determined to go all out. Again the memory of another mouth, stronger yet softer than John's, forced its way forward in her brain. She shoved it resolutely away, pushing her lips onto John's more slowly, more carefully, sure that she must be forgetting some technique or trick. A lingering memory of the satin feel of eager, forceful lips, clinging to hers and capturing them in a tender, inexorable hold once more obtruded, and MJ finally gave up. She conferred on John a last succession of tiny little kisses, hoping against hope that something would flare between them, and, when nothing happened, she straightened up, pulling away.

"Wow," John said in a hushed voice. "I'm back on the moon." He exhaled heavily.

MJ was thinking about another upside-down kiss, one which she couldn't seem to purge from her memory.

It had been so good that sometimes she thought it must have been a fantasy. But she knew that it wasn't a fantasy. After all, another kiss, an even deeper one, had happened in a cemetery, and that kiss had certainly been real if she was still feeling its ghostly echoes now. The man who had shared it with her was real too ... Peter Parker, who had come around looking for her at her play just a few nights ago, his eyes a deep and magnetic blue, asking her out two years too late, reminding her gravely that she had once told him she loved him ...

She realized that John was looking up questioningly at her. "You up there with me?" he asked softly.

She smiled down at him sadly, and then moved quietly back to her spot on the carpet, intending to continue her list checking. John watched her uncertainly for a minute, then picked up the bowl of popcorn and began munching. "Do you have a lot left to do?" he asked her.

"Not too much," replied MJ distractedly, finding Aunt Ida's name at last, and checking it off. She decided to put this unknown Aunt with a table of John's other relatives, since she was probably one of John's family. She continued cheerfully, "You can take this list back with you to your mother tonight. I know she's anxious about the seating arrangements."

MJ worked steadily for the next half hour, opening envelopes, checking the RSVP cards against her list and stacking them in a neat pile. She forced herself to keep focused entirely on the task at hand. Sensing her preoccupation, John finished the entire bowl of popcorn by himself, and quietly went to sleep on her sofa.

When she was done with her task, MJ stood up and walked over to her window, gazing out over the nighttime cityscape, and then glancing back into her apartment. John was still sleeping peacefully, looking as handsome as a movie star. She supposed it was a comfort to know that he didn't snore, and that he looked as good asleep as he did awake ... no drooling, no unpleasant habits. So why did she feel so depressed?

Was it because she had just realized that no amount of kissing would turn John's lips into Peter Parker's?

She didn't pretend to understand why, but the memory of Peter's kiss seemed to be stamped onto her brain. Surely I don't still have feelings for Peter Parker, she thought desperately. I'm over him, I've moved on to a great new guy ...

All at once, she recalled the long ago night when she'd shared another upside-down kiss with someone, with a stranger. Did he even remember it? she wondered wistfully.

For MJ, that kiss, more than the one she'd shared with Peter in the cemetery, was a memory to be treasured. Peter's kiss, wonderful as it had been, had preceded so much heartbreak that it was afterwards a little tainted with the taste of tears. But Spider-Man's kiss ... now that memory was pure and perfect. She even liked to relive that kiss occasionally, mostly when she was feeling down.

"Do I get to say thank you this time?" she asked him softly.

He didn't reply.

Heart pounding, MJ reached out toward his mask, intending to grasp the top and pull it straight down.

"Wait," he whispered.

For a moment, she hesitated. Had she presumed too much? Then she reached out again. This time her fingers reached up towards his neck, sliding lightly down it until they found a seam below his adam's apple. She slipped her fingertips underneath it, finding an edge. Ever so slowly, she began to roll the mask down, exposing firm, warm skin, a strong, smooth chin, and finally ... a well-shaped and oh so inviting mouth.

In the dark, cold, rain-soaked alley, MJ took the face of a stranger gently in her hands, and touched his unmasked lips with her own. Immediately their mouths fused together, forming a perfect connection. MJ grew lightheaded at the desire and tenderness she could feel coming through his kiss. She found herself responding to it with a passion she never knew she was capable of feeling.

His lips clung to hers fervently, their eager pressure communicating both hunger and delight to her. No one had ever kissed MJ like this before. Her stomach fluttered exquisitely while her heart throbbed with an unnamed emotion. She kissed him back with everything she had, thrilling at the soft little noise of pleasure that escaped him as she explored his mouth.

Too soon, though, it ended. MJ brushed Spider-Man's upper lip with one last tiny, tantalizing kiss, then broke the delicious contact. For a heartbeat, she nuzzled his chin with the tip of her nose and, lips parted, they shared a heated breath. Both of them were panting as harshly as if they had been running. And despite the icy rainwater drenching her clothes, which were sticking unpleasantly to her skin, MJ's whole body felt flushed and rosy with heat. To distract herself, she began easing Spider-Man's mask back down over his chin, first brushing his chin with her lips one last time before retreating a step while she arranged the edge to lie flat around his neck.

She wanted to say something, to thank him again, but before she could speak, Spider-Man cast a new web line, gave it a tug and shot straight upward. MJ couldn't stop herself from laughing at the delightful absurdity of the situation as she watched him go. She was madly in love with a man whose face she'd never even seen ...

It hadn't mattered that they were strangers – if anything that had increased MJ's excitement as their lips had met unforgettably for those few intense moments. Anyway, he hadn't felt like a stranger. Their passionate exchange had awakened in Mary Jane sensations she had never before dreamed could exist, but the kiss had felt emotion-filled and, well, real, too. She'd been sure at the time that their attraction was mutual.

But perhaps the kiss didn't have the same meaning for him. For all she knew, Spider-Man accepted lots of thank-you kisses from adoring females. Sometimes she doubted it, remembering how ardently his lips had lingered over hers. Other times she thought it highly probable that their kiss, which had happened over a year and a half ago now, had not made the indelible impression on his mind that it had made on hers – if only because she suspected that he did not have much time to think about girls.

She had safeguarded the memory of his kiss as her own private secret, until one night, just after Earnest had opened to glowing reviews, she'd gotten a little too tipsy. She and a new friend, her co-star Louise, had been really hitting it off, laughing and trading amusingly awful kissing experiences.

"I hate those kisses, you know, where the guy kisses you and it's so bad you can't keep your mind on it. But you've got to finish it up so your mind wanders and you start wondering if you have enough detergent left to do two loads of laundry the next day?" said Louise. She laughed, shaking her mane of dark hair back from her face. "So I'm thinking about that, and usually the guy says, ‛Wow! You're very passionate.'"

MJ shuddered and then laughed herself. "What about the guy who thinks he's the Lizard?" she said mischievously. "You know, with the tongue already slithering out before he's kissed you, and then pushing in and out as though it's looking for something in your teeth."

Louise laughed so hard at that she almost lost her balance on her chair. She grabbed the table at the last minute, and then choked out her agreement between more bursts of laughter. "It's like kissing an anaconda."

Louise's laughter was infectious, and suddenly MJ was laughing uncontrollably too, "No, no," she gasped, "it's like a trip to the dentist. You know, you've got to open your mouth as wide as possible, you've got to remain motionless ... meanwhile, he roots around in your mouth, using his tongue like some kind of cleaning tool."

They both laughed again, painful, full-bodied laughs, until they were holding their sides and gasping for air. In the back of her mind, MJ was starting to wonder if she hadn't had just a bit too much to drink. She wasn't used to it: she usually avoided the stuff like the plague because of her father; she didn't want to be like him or to act like him. But she'd never had cocktails before and tonight they were so yummy, while the company was so pleasant. She was having a really good time. Louise was so funny, such a kindred spirit.

"What about the guy who waggles his head like he's a dog, and you're a bone he's chewing?" Louise was saying, still giggling. "Or the guy who soaks you in about a gallon of drool?"

"Ewwwww!" said MJ, grimacing. "Don't remind me!" Then she went on roguishly, "How about the Masher? You know, the guy who mashes his face against yours so hard your teeth collide, your face gets twisted out of shape, and you wonder if you're going to pass out because you can't breathe. I had a boyfriend in high school who did that all the time, and I always felt like I had rug burn on my face from his stubble after he kissed me."

Louise laughed helplessly at that for a few moments, then hit the table so hard the glasses rattled and exclaimed, "I've got one! How about The Woodpecker? You know, the guy who pecks away at you like a bird eating birdseed, giving you an endless series of these dry, monotonous little kisses accompanied by loud smacky sounds ..."

MJ laughed at that description until her sides hurt again. Then, all of a sudden, she became sick of remembering all the botched, clumsy kisses she'd endured over the years. She sobered and said, "You know what's wrong with the bad kisser, regardless of his technique?"

"What?" asked Louise in an interested tone, leaning over the table and resting her chin on her hand.

"The bad kisser isn't focused on the kiss at all. He's simultaneously thinking: ‛When can we get to step two? And three? And four?'"

Louise sat up, nodding emphatically. "Yeah, and you can almost hear him asking himself the whole time ‛Is she aroused yet? Can I put my hand on her breast now?' It's like kissing you is only the next step on his quest to get you into bed."

Playing with a paper umbrella, MJ looked down and then said softly, "Whereas the good kisser ... it's like the kiss is his only goal." Her voice turned dreamy. "He kisses you as if that's what he's been dying to do for years and he wants to savor every moment."

Louise leaned forward again, her animated face lighting up. "Girl, it sounds like you are speaking from experience here. Do tell. I need an antidote to all those bad visual images you conjured up."

MJ thought for a moment, remembering a clinging kiss of tenderness and desire, an ardent kiss that had lingered on her lips, evoking pleasure, passion and deep emotion all at once. "A guy once gave me a perfect kiss in the rain," she confided hesitantly. "He kissed me as if he never wanted to stop, and it was wonderful ... slow and intense ... hot and gentle ... all at the same time." She took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to her friend's. "I don't think I want to say anything more than that ... I've never told anyone about it before."

Louise gave her a fond look. "You, my girl, are a true romantic. You know, I think that's the main difference between a good kiss and bad kiss – the feelings. It sounds to me like you were really in love with him."

Sometimes she wished later that she had not foolishly told Louise about her "perfect kiss in the rain." Ever since, she had been forced to endure her lively friend's sly little hints and good-natured teasing. Oh well, at least she'd somehow avoided mentioning the actual identity of her kisser. Luckily she hadn't been that drunk. And oddly enough, even that embarrassing mistake had not tainted the memory of one of the two best kisses of her life.

She realized now that her little experiment with John had been very unfair. It was wrong of her to use her fiancé to try to recapture the sensations of that first magical, upside-down kiss. She shouldn't have been surprised that this second upside-down kiss was not able to supplant the first – it hadn't been a just comparison. She loved John, she knew she did. So maybe she wasn't in love with him, so what? Love had wounded her terribly once, and she knew John would never do that.

John stirred on the couch, and opened his eyes, blinking sleepily up at her.

"Hello," she said softly.

"Hello," John replied groggily, passing his hand over his eyes. "I fell asleep."

"You did," said MJ with a smile.

John sat up, stretching and yawning. "Did you finish your list?" he asked her, getting slowly to his feet.

"I did," said MJ cheerily, walking back to her neat pile on the floor and gathering it together. "It's all done, and you can take it back to your mother any time."

"I'd better do it right away," said John with a chuckle. "She's been breathing down my neck for it, and if I get it to her tonight, she can still work on it for a few hours before she goes to bed." He came over and stood next to her, his breath warm on her neck. MJ turned around and awkwardly handed him her pile.

As she did, he slid an arm around her waist, and bent towards her. "That was some kiss you gave me earlier," he murmured. "You wanna try it again?" In response she offered her lips, and he attacked them with fervor. Unhappily, she tried to reciprocate, but it was as if a veil had fallen from her eyes. John's kiss was pleasant, it felt as warm as a handshake or a backrub, but there was nary a trace of passion or desire in MJ's stubborn body. Despite what she wanted in her head, her body seemed to have fallen into a permanent sleep, and was hinting to her that only one man ... well, only two men, at most ... could stir it back into wakeful life.

"Whoa, babe, you are something else." John said, releasing her to smile widely down into her face. She returned his smile with a wide one of her own, but her heart felt as heavy as lead.

"Listen, honey, I'd better go" John said, retreating from her, and then striding to her door with a definite spring in his step. "I'll call you in the morning, early, and we can decide how to divvy up the various errands for tomorrow."

"Sure," said MJ, following him to the door. John bent again and kissed her ear, and then she closed the door quietly behind him, throwing the deadbolt and wandering back into the center of her living room.

What was wrong with her? she raged silently at herself. She had the perfect guy practically prostrate at her feet, and all she could think about was a guy who hadn't wanted her. Or had he? Suddenly MJ remembered Peter asking her to "think about it" after the play. Now that she remembered the conversation, she realized that Peter hadn't even had to tell her what he had meant by coming to view her performance; she'd somehow known what he was after without him having to explain. They'd always had a wordless understanding, even when they'd barely known each other. She thought about some other words he'd said that evening. What were they exactly? Oh yeah ... "I let things get in the way before" he'd said, holding her eyes intently with his pleading blue ones. "There was something I thought I had to do. I don't have to." What does that mean? she suddenly thought with rising excitement. Was Peter saying that we can finally be together? All of a sudden, she had a burning desire to call Peter and continue that conversation that she had abruptly and foolishly cut short the week before.

She looked around at her clock. It read 10:15. That wasn't too bad, and she knew from talking to Aunt May that Peter kept very odd hours. He'd think nothing of her calling him this late. Heart pounding, she walked over to her table and picked up her phone, wondering as she dialled if Peter would actually, for once, be in when she called.

The phone rang in her ear, and was immediately answered. "Hello?" said Peter's familiar, slightly husky voice.

"Hey Pete," said MJ a little breathlessly. She wasn't sure whether she was relieved or nervous that he was actually there.

"MJ?" said Peter, sounding much more alert all at once. She heard a distant crash, as though Peter had dropped the phone. "What's up?"

"Nothing special," said MJ nonchalantly, suddenly feeling as though he were there in the room with her. "I'm just calling because, well, I wondered if you were free tomorrow. If you are, I'd like to meet up with you."

There was a pause. "Sure," said Peter slowly. "I've got classes all morning, but I'm free by 11:30."

"Great," said MJ brightly, twisting her hand around her phone cord, and watching as the beautifully liquid, square-cut diamond glinted in the light. "Let's meet for lunch at 12:15 at Ari's Village Deli in midtown. It's a nice place, not too expensive, and they have the best samosas. I buy them by the bagful sometimes and take them home ..." She knew she was beginning to babble but she couldn't seem to stop herself.

"Well, I'd better give them a try, then," said Peter, and she could hear a trace of a laugh in his voice. "MJ, can I ask what this is about?"

MJ hesitated for a moment, as all of her burning questions and newly rediscovered feelings seemed to rush to the tip of her tongue. She wanted to pick up their conversation from where they'd left off a week ago, she wanted to tell him that she couldn't stop thinking about him, she wanted ... well, the last thing she wanted was to scare him away. She swallowed her riotous feelings and tried to calm herself.

"I just need to see you," she said quietly.

"You need to see me?" Peter repeated in surprise. She thought she could detect a note of hope in his voice. Or maybe it was nervousness. She wished she could see his face.

"I'd like to see you," she corrected herself. She held her breath, hoping that she hadn't alarmed him too much. What if he got cold feet all of a sudden? Then they'd be right back where they'd started, trapped in their usual stalemate.

"Really? Well, I'd like to see you too, MJ." said Peter, his voice dropping down in pitch as he said her name. MJ smiled happily. Maybe they would finally be able to get out of their stalemate at last.

End of Part I