Fair 3

Disclaimer: Not mine.

For lunch they gorged on hotdogs dripping with mustard. Marron was a purist and took only mustard, but Trunks also loaded his with chopped onions and pickle relish and a blob of catsup. She said he was a peasant. He agreed. "I'm a basic man with basic wants." The words in themselves weren't outrageous, but he smiled ever so slightly, and his eyes were hot blue flames.

She couldn't think of any reply that wouldn't encourage him too much or sound too stupid. "Where shall we go to eat?"

They carried their feast some distance from the fair to the shade of a stand of trees along the lake. They sat there with a big paper bag torn open and laid on the ground as their picnic cloth. She untied her hat with its peacock plumes and put it aside. He split their bags of corn chips and they ate too fast - wolfing it all down as often happens with hotdogs on such occasions.

"What a hungry woman!" he exclaimed. "When I offered to feed you lunch, I thought that with that skinny shape you'd pick at your food."

Her eyes laughing at him, she confessed, "It's this perfect day, being outside, the fair, the lake, and the hotdogs. I can never be discreet when I'm eating hotdogs. I gorge. Football games, basketball, baseball."

"You're a sportswoman?" He inclined to disbelief.

"Why are you surprised?"

"You don't look like a sportswoman. You're too pale and delicate."

She considered. "Perhaps sports are my rebellion. I like the competitiveness and violence because my life is so ordered."

"How?"

"I have a - private income. Very small." She shot him a quick look. "I live in a very small town that is slowly dying." Her eyes became quite sad. "It's been years since a baby was born in our town. All our young people leave. Now my cousin has told me she's leaving too. I'll be the last of my family living there."

"But you won't go?"

She looked out over the small lake and didn't reply for several minutes. "Half the stores on the courthouse square are vacant. There are empty houses all over town. We no longer have our own telephone exchange or repair. Our post office was closed down, and Mr. Yajiirobe has a counter in his grocery store that serves the town. There just aren't enough people to justify having one. We were once a town of almost two thousand, and now there are barely five hundred. The main road is kept in repair because it's a state highway, but the rest of the streets are in sad shape."

He was listening carefully and noted that while she talked, she hesitated to mention her own town. So, she was still determined to remain anonymous. Interesting, he thought. He told her soothingly, "Do your parents still live there? Do you have brothers or sisters? What keeps you in your town?"

In his small pause she'd almost blurted the name. That would never do. This was only a stolen day. They would never meet again.

She replied with the same hesitation as she watched her words for a name or any slip of information. "I was an only child. My parents were both from there. Everyone expected them to marry, so they did. They were never completely unsuited. My father is rather indecisive, and my mother was quite liberal. And she's a free thinker. They grimly stayed together until I went to college, then Dad moved to Vladivostok "on business." He never returned home, but he would come to see me at college. I went to a women's college."

"And your mother?"

"After the divorce she went on a tour and met Yamcha. He's from New York. After they married, Mother moved there. So you can see, with Dad in Vladivostok and Mother in Maine, they're about as far as they can get without actually leaving the planet. The town hasn't yet recovered from the shock of the divorce, and that was eight years ago. The town is conservative."

They'd finished eating so Trunks put their debris into one sack and placed it away from them, then he turned their paper bag picnic cloth over so that the upper side was clean. He laid his hard muscled body next to the sack and stretched out, then patted the paper invitingly before he put that hand on his stomach. "You can use me for your pillow."

It wasn't the sack that boggled her. It was Trunks lying there so marvelously. In that setting he should have been somewhat diminished by the tall trees, the decent-sized lake, the land that appeared endless, and the far away blue sky. But instead it was he who dominated all of that. He was easy and confident in his power.

He made the offer for her to lie next to him so casually. Sharpener had never done anything like that, but Trunks acted as if women lie down all the time with strange men on the side of the lake, on a summer day, in the shade of a grove of tall trees with the summer breeze gentle and sweet. He watched her with lazy, welcoming eyes.

There was no one close by. No interested eyes - that knew who she was. So why not? What harm was there in simply stretching out by him there on the ground? It wasn't as if she would fling herself over him, kiss him madly and behave outrageously. All he had done was to invite her to lie down and put her head on his stomach. In that position she would be in control. If he moved she could very easily jump up and escape. Anyway, they weren't completely isolated, so she could call for help if she needed to.

He watched her decide. She was sitting neatly with her knees to one side as she looked around. She was so interesting. He saw her judge the distance to the other people, and look across the fair, which represented safety. He controlled his smile. He had no idea whether she would lie down on the paper sack or not, and it amused him that he should be so interested in this prim and proper girl. Perhaps she would only be an older girl.

He decided that if he had any brains at all, he would get up and out of here. Get away from this beautiful entanglement. From this girl-woman. In response to his own warning he was starting to rise, when she turned her back and looked at him. She was his moon maiden. Her blue eyes were like the Mediterranean summer night sky.

He didn't get up after all. Instead he said, "Take your hair down."

She looked at him sharply.

He explained. "I don't want to the pins gouging at my tender stomach."

She had to think about that too, but slowly she lifted her arms. As worldly as he was, Trunks wasn't jaded enough to conceal the gasp her exquisite movement drew from him. He relaxed. His beginning attempt at escape thwarted as he narrowed his eyes a little against the sensation in him caused by her movements in taking down her hair.

The graceful figure sitting curled before him was exquisitely female. Her body was open to his gaze, and her nape was vulnerable as her head tilted downward as if in submission.

He raised his knee and cleared his throat as he rubbed one hand slowly up and down his bare chest. "How long is it?" he added in a rather foggy voice.

"It's not long. There's just a lot of it. I can't let it get too long. It gets heavy and I get headaches." She loosened the ribbed hair band and shook her hair free. It was just below her shoulders, and it looked like the golden sun around her head and shoulders.

Her hair puffed and errant curls framed her face. Her white face, with her thick lashed blue eyes, almost stopped his heart. Something almost like fear trembled in him. Although he was technically lying motionless, he felt as if he was taking a blind step into an unknown territory.

She gathered up her hair band and pins and looked for a place to keep them. He moved one arm toward her and turned his big hand up to receive them. It was such a simple gesture, but to both of them it appeared to have a greater meaning. She looked at his strong hand, then her eyes went to his and her lips parted. Their gaze was serious and longer than necessary. Then she lifted her hand and put the collection of pins and band onto his palm. Her fingers touched his palm and an electric thrill shot through them from the brief contact. With his eyes still on hers he closed his fist and held them tightly captured. To them it was as if his holding them was a symbol.

She didn't immediately lie down. She stood and busily shook out her gown and lifted her face to the breeze as she finger-combed her hair. It was possible that she sought to distract them both from that remarkable minute, but she was very mistaken. She was in the shade, the July sun behind her and she was silhouetted beautifully in that modest, soft cotton gown. He was in thrall.

She said, "What a glorious day!" She smiled down at him. He didn't reply but simply watched her. She said, "I almost didn't come to the fair. I saw the signs."

"Yes."

She asked, "Where is your home?"

"Here," he replied solemnly.

She chuckled deliciously and, feeling in control because they were joking, she sank down gracefully onto the crackling paper sack and pretended she needed to pillow plump his hard, sculpted stomach. "What a pillow!" she protested, acting inordinately casual and worldly. "What sort of feathers do you have?" She watched him as she pressed his side with her stiffened fingers.

He couldn't think of a reply.

With elaborate casualness, she settled down, and discretely she laid her silken head on his stomach. Her neck was too high, and she turned on her side so that her face was toward his. "What sort of work do you do to support that, uh, Muscle Machine?" She waited for him to entertain her.

"Odd jobs," he replied. That was loosely true.

"What sort of odd jobs allows you to support a Muscle Machine?" Her eyes glittered with humor.

"I'm a troubleshooter."

She nodded. Was that like being a bouncer at a bar? She couldn't ask. He was probably a bodyguard. How dull. Of course, that would depend on whom he guarded. She frowned. It could be very dangerous. She'd read of people being kidnapped and their bodyguards were always left dead. She shivered. "Where does your family live?"

"All over."

Well, while that was mostly true enough, he sounded as if he was trying to be as vague as she. Perhaps this was a stolen day for him too. Trunks Briefs probably wasn't even his real name. Perhaps he had a stack of business cards with many different names on them, then each day he would become someone else. She'd read of someone who did that. He's married a whole string of women. She looked at Trunks. He was a man who might get away with that. There would be a shortage of willing women.

How could she be critical of him when she was being as elusive? She suddenly realized. For all he knew he might be a gold digger after his money. She could be a very dangerous woman. She could be a woman who went around seducing men, driving them out of their minds and then flitting away, leaving them desolate. He was taking a great chance being out there, isolated from help, lying on the ground, vulnerable to her.

His eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep, though his pulse was rather high for him to be sleeping. She moved her head a little and contemplated this rash thing she was doing, lying there on the ground with her head on this man's stomach. How reckless of her!

But she considered him. She was excessively conscious of the reality of him. The maleness of him. His unique fragrance. Stealthily she turned her head so that she could sniff at his skin. He smelled so good, so different. It was his own smell. She refrained form turning over and licking his stomach to taste him. How shocking that she would want to do that! Even just a quick lick could seem quite forward. She became aware of his breathing, making her conscious of him as a living being, a person, then she noticed the fact that his breathing wasn't very steady. He could be having a nightmare.

He wasn't asleep, but he was experiencing something of a turmoil. She was so close, and his need for her had grown to awesome proportions. He opened his eyes to look at her and she was sniffing at him with some pleasure. That almost blew him sky high! She was a sensual woman! But such an innocent! He almost shivered with his desire.

She pretended casualness and licked across her lip so that her tongue "accidentally" touched his skin. She relished it. She moved her tongue inside her mouth, tasting him. And her lashes closed in embarrassment over her rashness so they brushed against his bare skin in a butterfly kiss. She looked up and caught him watching her. She smiled innocently and her cheeks flushed as she thought of herself lying there curled on her side with her head on his stomach.

There is a limit for any man. Trunks curled up, took her in his arms and kissed her. She had thought the kisses that she'd taken from her earlier were magnificent. They were nothing. She heard bells ringing and she recognized them as her alarm bells sounding in her brain. She was in serious danger.

She smiled and moved in tiny stretches while lying across his lap in his arms, with her head back on his shoulder, completely unresisting. He trembled. His breath was harsh and his breathing ragged. Marron felt a surge of power, of astonishment, that he could react to her in that manner. Other people might react that way, in films or on TV. But here on the bank of a lake? With Marron Chestnut? She though that was completely incredible.

She saw that he managed to drag himself to a halt. Disgracefully, she was no help to his control and her conscience did writhe but her senses were so deliciously drugged that she paid no attention. And anyway, her curiosity was rampant. What would he do?

He finally lifted his mouth from hers, and the exchanged a sober gaze. Her breasts were pressed against his bare chest, and she found that exceedingly nice. His arms held her lax body strongly, and she didn't do anything to discourage him.

Watching her eyes, he carefully moved his hand from her back, around her ribs, to just under her breast. He watched her lips part as her cheeks flushed, but she didn't object. He moved his hand up over her breast, his fingers spread at he rubbed his palm over her sensitive mound. She gasped and her body moved. He kissed her again quite remarkably, but she had floundered out of her depth and began to struggle.

He released her immediately, slowly, soberly, watching her very seriously. She sat up, self-consciously combed her hair with her fingers and swallowed, trying to delay anything protesting. How could she protest when she had encouraged him? That was a difficult question. Finally, she looked at him.

He seemed frozen still. It was stridently apparent that he was having a very hard time. But he was no longer just any man to her. She had become too aware of him as an individual. Someone who lived and breathed; wanted and suffered. One who could be hurt. She had lured him into feeding her curiosity and had allowed him too much. She knew better. She was very fortunate he had obeyed her resistance that late.

She moved from him to give him time. He took a deep breath and bowed his head forward as he hung her arms over his drawn-up knees. She put her hand on his forearm and asked, "Are you all right?"

He lifted his head to smile ruefully. "You're very, very dangerous."

"I am?" She was somewhat indignant. After all, she hadn't started it; she'd only not stopped it. He was the one who had kissed her! She'd been lying there perfectly ordinarily. Well there was no way he could have known her curious she was about him or her reactions to him. Or, could he have felt that tiny lick? Could something that minor set him off? Could she just ask him: "Trunks, did you notice that I licked your stomach?" That sounded terribly sinful! He couldn't have noticed that she did that. Even if he had, no man could be triggered by such a tiny act. She decided that to get excited over one little bitty flick of a tongue would be ridiculous. She dismissed the silly idea. She began, "Trunks - "

She was interrupted by a man yelling, "Trunks!" It was like a strange echo of her word.

Trunks rolled effortlessly to his feet to stand astride, his hands in the vest's deep pockets as he looked at a man jogging toward them. The man was laughing. "That crazy fool did it again! Uub hit three in a row."

"Oh, HFIL," Trunks muttered under his breath, and gave an exasperated sigh.

The man turned as he called cheerfully, "Come on back." He gave a beckoning wave.

Trunks lifted one hand, but he gave no smile in return.

"My hair." Her eyes were quiet. "I need my pins."

He took them from his pockets and held them on his palm as she used them. He acted as if he had all the time in the world. He watched as she skillfully twisted the mass into the smooth and proper bun, settled her hair with its peacock feathers back on her head, and demurely tied it under her chin.

He smiled as she looked up at him from under the brim. His eyes were gentle; the fires in them were banked. He nodded once, as if he acknowledged some kind of agreement, before he took her hand. As they walked he asked her, "What's your middle name?"

"Just Marron."

"Just Marron." He left the space for her to supply her last name, but she did not.

He said, "I won't kiss you this time. Maybe then I'll miss and he'll win that damned panda."

But he couldn't miss, even without kissing Marron. Uub had a girl there, and he kissed her rather wildly each time before he swung, but he missed the middle bell. He hit the third bell furiously, then turned and glared at Trunks. "At three there's fights. We're in the same class. I'll fight you for the damned panda."

Trunks shook his head. "No."

"What's the matter, hero? Gutless?" Uub taunted loudly.

Trunks gave him a slow, level look and replied quietly, "I am a martial artist. I was taught to win. I won't fight you hand to hand. But I'm open to any other contest."

"The races are next!" a male voice suggested.

Uub sneered. "Can you ride a horse?"

Trunks' eyes crinkled just a bit, but his mouth didn't smile. "I can stay on."

"Then let's go."

"Do I have some say as to the horse?" Trunks asked.

Another voice offered, "You're big enough to ride mine."

Trunks laughed softly, thinking about what kind of horse might be offered to a stranger. It was, however, a surprisingly good horse. Intelligent, alert, nicely restless, and beautifully graceful. "How's his mouth?"

"Sensitive. He'll ride to a squeeze."

"You'll trust him to me?"

"I've watched you." That seemed to reply to Trunks' question, and he understood. He, too, watched men to see if they were trustworthy. He even realized that once Uub got through this arrogant stage, he'd probably be a good man. He had great determination; he simply had to learn where to use it. He also had cheerful friends who were loyal. In a pinch Uub would probably pull the strongest for a cause. Trunks felt it would be interesting to see.

Because of the interest in the competition between Uub and Trunks, their race was last. There were speculations and bets. Uub was known, but Trunks was a dark horse. Marron smiled to hear her pirate called a dark horse. The race made for an interesting afternoon.

There was no racetrack. The dirt access road was used instead because there were two well-packed lanes where the horses could race side by side and there were no chuckholes. They ran the horses at a time for purposes of elimination. It was really the horses that were being matched, not the riders.

Trunks petted his horse, High Wind, allowing the animal to become accustomed to him as Marron tied one of her peacock feathers in his mane. The horse was gelded so it would never "marry" anyway. Trunks was told the horse loved the wind and ran like it. Trunks mounted and dismounted, and rode the horse in gentle circles. Then he took him off along the lake for a ride to see how he paced.

High Wind won. It was so close that there was little arguing about it, but it was Uub who said High Wind won. "I could see it," he stated firmly.

When they gave out the ribbons, Trunks added his to the horse's bridle. The horse had run competitively without any urging from Trunks, who'd simply gone along for the ride. He said as much, and High Wind chose that time to nod, making the spectators laugh.

With the ribbons distributed and the races finished, there was an odd pause as Uub and Trunks looked at each other. Their match was still unresolved.

"So?" Trunks asked softly.

"You won't fight me?" Uub lifted his chin in challenge.

"The logs," someone shouted amid the varying suggestions. "Nobody beats Uub at the logs."

With relief, Trunks gave a quizzical smile. "Logs? Do you climb them or carry them?"

"You walk them," Uub said arrogantly. "You ever do it?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "In water?" he added belatedly.

Trunks chuckled with real humor. "Log rolling? My Waterloo!" And he was so amused that others laughed too. "I've never done it. Give me a little practice first?"

"Yeah." Uub eyed Trunks. "And you gotta have boots. What size?"

"Twelve."

Uub yelled, "Any log boots size twelve?"

"Ho!" There came that cheerful call. "You don't have hoof-and-mouth-disease, do you?"

"I'm pure," replied Trunks, and the people around laughed.

Trunks kept hold of Marron's hand as they went through the crowd to the man who would lend him boots.

"Never done it?" the man asked. "It's tricky and takes talent. Watch the other guy's feet. He'll try to dump you. Wear a shirt. You should scrape yourself on the bark. Here, you can have mine. You ought to wear a wool cap too. Keep your hair out of the way. I ain't got lice, so you can wear mine."

He was a friendly man named Omi, and he followed as Trunks was led down to the lake edge opposite from where they'd picnicked. Uub and his cohorts trailed along and others followed.

Lying in the water was a log, the bark still on it, and it was big enough not to submerge when two men stood on it. Omi mentioned, "You're gonna get wet."

Trunks grinned. "I suspected."

Thanks to those who reviewed! I'm really glad that you like it although I do wish that more people would review. Four hours a chapter for two reviews doesn't seem fair. But don't worry. I've no plans of abandoning this fic. And I'll still write for those who still keep on reviewing. (