From: char@chaffin.com   
      
   NO ARCHIVE   
      
      
   CHANCE ENCOUNTER   
   By Char Chaffin   
   MSR, R, third person POV   
   No Spoilers   
   Disclaimer:  Clones on Loan   
      
   Note:  It all started when I teased Mims about her OOD sources and   
   got her all blue... and of course I had to redeem myself in my   
   Mimsy's eyes, right?  So I figured a story would make her feel   
   better, and I asked her to set the parameters.  She wanted someone to   
   watch M&S making love and feel all envious... and she wanted detailed   
   MulderDescription.  Well, this is what I came up with.  Mims, hope   
   this does it for you!   
      
      
   Summary:  "I shouldn't have done it..."   
      
      
   "Chance Encounter"   
      
      
   Near Pensacola   
   Late spring   
      
   I shouldn't have done it.  It was wrong of me.  And I never, never   
   do anything like this.  Up until this point in my life I haven't felt   
   the compulsion.  Not until that day, a few weeks ago.   
      
   I've lived here all of my life.  It's a nice place, and I love being   
   this close to the Gulf.  The beaches are pretty and the sand is   
   whiter, the surf is cleaner.  It gets crowded in the spring and then   
   again in the fall, but I don't mind.   
      
   I love walking the beach in the evening when the sky is red and the   
   wind is blowing, surf pounding.  I dawdle as I walk, searching for   
   sand dollars and starfish; finding crabs trying to burrow back into   
   the cool, wet sand.  I take off my shoes and I walk aimlessly,   
   thinking of nothing in particular, just enjoying the start of   
   twilight.   
      
   Sometimes tourists will wander this far up the shore, away from the   
   hotels and condos that are grouped in close to the main beach.  Where   
   I usually walk it's private, but we get the occasional strays.  It's   
   all right with me and my family, as long as they don't dump garbage   
   in the sand or dig up the beach.  Most of the time those vacationers   
   who walk this far away from the hotels are respectful.  If I   
   encounter any of them during my evening walks I always nod and smile   
   at them, say hello.   
      
   But that evening, a few weeks ago, I saw someone walking, and I   
   couldn't do anything except stare, and stare.   
      
   I'd just come over the rise of a small sand dune, had just kicked   
   off my sandals and was heading down to the lower beach for my usual   
   walk, when I saw him.  He was barefoot, feet shuffling in the foaming   
   surf, holding a pair of sneakers in one hand and socks in the other.   
   He'd rolled up the legs of his jeans and unbuttoned the short-sleeved   
   shirt he was wearing.  He wasn't looking my way, instead gazing out   
   to the sunset on the horizon, and I stopped dead in my tracks, and   
   simply stared.   
      
   I'd never seen a more beautiful man in my life, and let me tell you,   
   I have seen plenty of beautiful men.  They're all over the beaches   
   around here, any given time of the year.  Hard-bodies, musclemen,   
   weightlifters, strength trainers.  Young, middle-aged, tall, short.   
   They're everywhere.  I'm used to seeing them, walking along in their   
   little stretchy trunks, showing off their bodies.  Wanting all the   
   women - and the men, too, in some cases - to stare at them, desire   
   them.  And I do stare; I'm a healthy young woman and I appreciate   
   the male form.  I feel desire for them, now and then.   
      
   But this man put them all to shame.  This man was perfect.   
      
   He never looked fully in my direction but I saw enough of his   
   profile to understand that his face was everything fine and noble in   
   a male face.  Thick, dark brown hair blew back from a strong   
   forehead. Against the setting sun his eyes squinted a little, but   
   even from a distance and in profile I could tell they were large and   
   compelling.  A prominent, well-formed nose.  A full, sensuous mouth.   
   Strong jaw line and chin. Darkly tanned throat rising out of a pale   
   yellow shirt.  Muscled arms, elegant hands.  Wide shoulders and a   
   narrow waist. Long legs encased in tight, faded denim.   
      
   Oh, my...   
      
   He didn't walk as much as meander, not paying attention to where he   
   was walking but instead depending on his feet to propel him along the   
   shoreline without tripping.  He seemed to be in deep thought.  I   
   watched him until he moved out of sight, heading around a curve in   
   the beach.  I watched him until there was nothing more to watch.  I   
   had no idea I'd been holding my breath all of that time, until he   
   disappeared from my view and I found myself sinking down on the side   
   of the dune, almost directly on a scuttling crab that had worked its   
   way up from the surf.  I blew out a heavy breath, in a total daze;   
   if that crab had pinched me I wouldn't have felt a thing.   
      
   It's said that love can hit you instantly.  Well, it's true, for in   
   that instant I fell, hard.  I didn't know his name, had yet to look   
   into his eyes.  I didn't know if he was married, straight, normal, on   
   drugs or fond of wearing women's underwear.  All I knew was the way   
   looking at him had made me feel.  Shaky.  Needful.  As if a thousand   
   butterflies had migrated into my stomach and beat themselves into a   
   frenzy to break free.   
      
   I had to find out who he was.  I had to see him again.   
      
   I spent the next day in a fog.  I couldn't eat.  Didn't want to talk   
   to anyone, which luckily worked out for me since I have an office   
   with a door and when it's shut my co-workers know to leave me alone.   
   I spent the day pretending to work on my spreadsheets but in reality   
   I was seeing him over and over again, walking that slow walk up the   
   beach, elegant, graceful, sexy as hell.  I drove home after work   
   fully intending to plant myself in the sand that evening, and wait   
   for him to pass by again.  I plotted various ways to approach him,   
   talk to him, smile at him.  Of course, as luck would have it, I   
   didn't see him anywhere along the beach. When I finally fell asleep   
   that night, overheated and over stimulated, I knew I'd dream of him.   
      
   *************   
      
   A week went by before I saw him again.   
      
   I'd gone down to the beach every evening, standing by the dune where   
   I'd first seen him, eyes trained in the direction of the hotels,   
   waiting for him to come walking my way.  I'd haunted different areas   
   of town at specific times of the morning and afternoon, looking for   
   him; I'd actually taken time away from work to do this.  It was a   
   wonder I didn't get fired.   
      
   Usually the hotel people come to town to shop and snack; there are   
   many fun little places and unusual cafes.  It's a charming area, even   
   beyond the obvious attraction of the lovely beaches.  So I took time   
   from work and went looking for him, but I never saw him.   
      
   I agonized over where he might be staying.  Was he a friend of   
   someone in town?  Was he a visitor who purely by accident had   
   wandered onto a private beach area and then simply left town, never   
   to repeat his evening stroll?   Would I finally, finally find the man   
   of my dreams, only to have him slip through my fingers before I could   
   even talk to him?  It seemed grossly unfair.   
      
   Yet I told myself that I knew nothing about him.  He could be so far   
   beyond my reach; impossible to connect with.  I stared at myself in   
   the mirror more than once at odd times of the day, wondering what   
   he'd see if he looked at me.  I have always considered myself a nice-   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)