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Swansong

Mop Boy date stories

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Please continue the mop boy stories here. I will be collecting them until JULY 31 and then organizing the book. Thanks GALS!

~Lish

******************************************************

Disclaimer: This a fictitious fan encounter, purely a product of my imagination. I am in no way suggesting that if I were to actually meet Gerry, he would behave in this way toward me, but one can dream!

A Chance Encounter

I am in San Diego visiting my good friend Corey and his new bride. My husband has decided to spend the day back at Corey and Liz's while I go out for some shopping. It is a beautiful early summer day. I am wearing a long flowing skirt and a light summer top with sandals. My hair is down, and blowing in the warm breeze. I decide to look through the cute little shops down by the bay, and make plans to stop at the B&N for the latest sequel to OUTLANDER.

After a couple of hours of wandering through the shops, but not buying anything... I head down the boardwalk to the Starbucks and B&N for iced Vanilla Latte. Paying for my drink, I stand in a long line and wait until mine is served up. Sipping my latte, I walk into the B&N, and make my way to the new fiction section, and as I turn the corner between a row of bookshelves, I see none other than Gerard Butler standing there, his nose buried in a book. I freeze right where I stand, I can't really see his face, but I would recognize that tall handsome Scot anywhere. He is wearing jeans and a white button down shirt, un-tucked, his sun glasses sitting atop his head. His hair is slightly tousled, he's tan with a few day's growth on his chiseled jaw and chin.

At first I am in shock, and just hover there, pretending to sip my latte and look through books I have no interest in. I glance around to see if he is with anyone, but he seems to be alone. I really don't want to bother him, and besides, what would I say? I am too shy to approach him. And so I make up my mind, just to let him be.... I don't want to be another pesky fan interrupting his private time.

But as I turn away to walk down a different aisle, my handbag accidentally swipes a short pile of books, and they tumble from the table to the floor at my feet. He looks up from his book, and catches my eye, his gaze taking in the mess of books and my sheepish expression. I am totally embarrassed, and stoop down to rearrange the books. Despite my shyness, I can't help but smile at him, and he smiles back. Those eyes... heaven help me, I never thought I would see them in person. I can feel my cheeks turning bright red, and it is hard to breathe. I feel my knees buckling just from that beauitiful grin and those eyes, and I am stunned by the fact, that he is even more handsome in person. My mind is shuttering so fast, I can scarcely think, but since he does not seem to be in any hurry, I stand up straight, swallow hard and clear my throat. I must say something... this may be my only chance.... but what?

How can I say in a few seconds what my heart has taken over a year to grasp, and has failed to do so? What he means to me, and how he has impacted my life? How can I say anything, without blurting out my soul like a blithering fool?

He continues to smile at me, thumbing through his book, and gathering every ounce of courage.... I open my mouth and say....

"I swear, Mr Butler... I did not do that to get your attention, I'm just a klutz."

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want very much to take them back. "Mr Butler?" I question in my mind, biting down on my lower lip. "Why on earth did I call him that?" But somehow in that moment when my brain is flashing so many chaotic neon thoughts at once... it feels disrespectful and too familiar to call him Gerry. I mean, I am not really a friend of his. I am a fan. And I fear that if I attempt to call him by his full name... Gerard, I will mispronounce it, even though I know perfectly well how to say it correctly, having practiced speaking it with the correct emphasis.... just in case I should ever meet him.

I am aware that he is looking at me now, and I avert my eyes from his, staring down at my feet. Certain I am about to blow one of the most beautiful events of my life if I do not get hold of myself, I force myself to lift my eyes from the floor to his face. To my surprise, he is wearing a huge toothy grin, and his eyes twinkle back at me with obvious pleasure.

"Oh.... so you know who I am?" he asks, his silk and leather voice, an immediate opiate to my senses. I hear the faint giggle in the enthusiastic rise of his pitch.

I take another deep swallow, and let out the breath I have been holding, as he closes the book he's been sampling, and plops it back on the shelf. To my utter amazement, he broadens that smile, and begins walking toward me. I search around desperately for something to balance myself in case I faint. But I manage to remain upright, and lift my chin, offering him my best smile in return, thinking how glad I am that I had my teeth whitened before this encounter.

"Of course I recognize you!" I exclaim with a bit more passion than I intend.... "Doesn't everyone?" I insist, as he approaches.

The closer he comes to where I am standing, the taller he appears. In fact, much taller than I expected. His slender but hulking frame seems to tower over my five foot three inch height, further adding to my spinning head and desperate efforts not to fall on my face.

In some part of my brain, I know this is silly. That I am truly overreacting, because he is after all, only a man. As I find myself lost in those extraordinary jewel faceted eyes, the first moment I saw him on screen as the Phantom, flares up in my mind like a swarm of fireflies. I recall that white mask, the arched brow, cleft chin and smoldering narrowed eye. I see the golden corridor lined with enchanted candles, and then I remember how he made me feel... as if I were being drawn by him into that magic realm, and as if it were me, and not Christine his hand was guiding. And oh how I remember wanting to be that one, descending with him into my dreams, and into a place where I was young and beautiful again.

For two and a half hours during that first viewing of the Phantom, I was unknowingly being taken on a journey of my own... a journey that would ultimately change my life. How was I to know that after seeing that masked face, my life would now be divided and defined by my pre and post Phantom days? How was I to know that this man, the very same man who stood so near me now... would touch some part of my soul that I thought had died?

Shaking my head to bring myself back to the present, I see that he cannot stand still, and that there is an undeniable energy surging through him, as if in his mind, he is doing a thousand things at once. He is unbuttoning and re-buttoning his shirt cuff as he answers me, his voice soft and buttery, "Well actually, no they don't." he says, with that trademark Scottish accent, lopsided smile, and one eye rakishly narrowed.

Surprising myself, I take a step forward, keeping just enough distance between us, so as not to breach his personal space. Without even giving my reply much thought, I find myself oddly relaxing, though there is a slight tremble in my voice when I inform him boldly, "Well that will all change after Butterfly and 300 are released.... then everyone will recognize the name Gerard Butler."

I am hoping with all my heart that I pronounced his name correctly, but if I did not, he gives no indication of my mistake, "Wow... I see you have done your homework... so you are a fan." he says, his brows lifting.

"Yes Mr Butler... a huge fan, and a member of your sites." I add, wondering when he will have to rush off, and why he seems to be in no hurry. I again notice that although he appears to pulsate and simmer with intensity, at the same time, he seems content to be just where he is. There is an obvious brightness about him, and I suddenly find myself desperate for some fleeting physical contact between us. Just the touch of his hand on mine.... if only, but I will will not ask.

Standing there before the man I have admired and adored for over a year, I try to slow down the passing of the minutes, taking note of every gesture, each shifting nuance of his beautiful and expressive features. I notice how he stands with his legs slightly apart, and with one sneakered foot slightly turned in; white shoes, black socks.

I observe the hint of scruff softening his chiseled features, and I am struck by how perfectly put together his face is, his eyes animated and alight with the thrumming inner life that fuels his thoughts.....

In the less than few seconds it takes for me to become profoundly lost in his eyes... they alternate between grayish green and luminous turquoise. I think to myself... that Gerry's eyes are like a siren's song... luring me to crash haplessly in the rocks, with an impact I may never recover from. All at once, I feel as if I am seeing into him, and for mere seconds... I feel him seeing into me. Was that a connection? I wonder? Am I really sensing some invisible thread of connectedness between us, or have I simply lost my mind? And if there is some unspoken connection, what is it? Where does it come from, and why is it there?

I remind myself that I do not know him, and that this encounter is only one of thousands for the up-and-coming actor. In a day or two, he will have forgotten me.... my features and average plump form, melding with all the other mid-life women he has hugged or kissed in the past year or so. Yet for me, this is my one chance, my one and only brush with someone who has unknowingly lavished me with gifts which have set in motion improvements and changes in my life. For me, this moment will be lived repeatedly... and I have a sense, that even when I am old... if I forget everything else, I will never forget the day I met Gerard Butler.

My mind pressing ruthlessly, and my voice struggling to emerge from its paralysis, I wonder what I should say next, but Gerry surprises me yet again by extending his open hand, "Well you already know my name," he says with laughter hidden in his voice. "How about telling me yours?"

Yes... I know he just said something.... and his hand is still stretched out as if he wants to touch me. Does he really want to touch me, I wonder? Oh.... and what did he just ask me? My name? Was that it? He wants to know my name?

"Think Bonnie, think." I whisper in my head. "Say something, woman!"

I gulp when I notice for the first time, how large his hand is, and then my own hand... having a mind of its own, shyly closes the distance between us. As I fold my hand in his with a firm shake, he claps his other hand over mine, until my fingers are sandwiched between his. My hand literally vanishes in the deep cushioned warmth of those bear-paws, and I can hardly breathe as he squeezes gently, not letting go, "So are you going to tell me your name, or do I have to guess.... is it Mildred?" he jokes, that trademark giggle breaking the surface of his voice like rippling water. "Oh, you have very soft hands." he remarks under his breath, squeezing again.

"Um.... no, not Mildred, but a good guess." I reply, feeling the blood pulse hotly up into my cheeks, "My name is Bonnie.... Bonnie Anne, nice to meet you, Mr Butler." I add awkwardly, embarrassed that all of a sudden, I am acting like a school-girl with her first crush.

"Bonnie," he says, and then repeats across his tongue and lovely lips, "Bonnie Anne. What a beautiful name... one of my favorites, you know."

While I am standing there, my hand still grasped between his, I feel as if all the oxygen has been sucked out of the air. He said my name. Gerard Butler said my name.... with that accent.... that velvet and sand-paper voice. Now what should I say? I ask myself, conscious that one of his fingers is softly stroking the top of my hand.

"Oh... and please call me Gerry." he says, shifting his weight and taking a step closer.

With his nearness... I become aware of two things at once; one; I desperately want him to hug me, and two; he smells amazing. Trying not to be too obvious, I lift my nose, breathing in his scent more fully. I suppose it is some kind of cologne, but I am not familiar with the fragrance, and wonder if it might be the Jo Malone I've heard so much about. It is not strong or overbearing, but very sensual, green and organic. I find myself trying to recall if I am even wearing cologne, and whether or not he notices my hair, or my outfit. Just like everyone says, there is no hint of cigarettes on his person, and his teeth are so white and pretty!

"Gerry." I say, smiling up at him, forcing calm into my quivering tone, "Nice to meet you, Gerry."

"Say something else!" I tell myself. "He hasn't got all day!"

Okay, but what?

Again, while I fumble through the cluttered and disorganized cabinets of my mind for the right thing to say, Gerry takes the initiative, and it is becoming more obvious by the minute, that he has done this many times.

"So, Bonnie, or do you prefer Bonnie Anne?"

There it is again! I stammer in my adrenalin-pickled brain. He said my name again!

"You may call me either," I reply, as he finally lets go of my hand, my flesh tingling in the afterglow of his touch. "But my close friends and family call me Bonnie Anne."

"Well I like Bonnie Anne, so I'll call you that as well... but what is your name on my sites?" he asks, fidgeting with his shirt-sleeve, picking off imaginary lint from the nearly see-thru white cotton fabric.

I am more than pleased by his inquiry. He seems genuinely interested, and subconsciously, my fingers smooth a few curls behind my ear, as he waits for my reply.

"I am Swansong." I say, expecting no real response, perhaps a polite nod, but not much more than that. Instead, first one of his eyebrows shoots up, followed by the other, until they both arch upward, nearly touching his hairline, and he immediately reaches again for my hands enthusiastically.

"Oh.... you're Swansong?" he asks, an impish smile altering the palette of his handsome features into a boyish grin.

Sucking in my breath at the touch of his hands again on mine, almost melting into a puddle at his feet, I try to form a reasonably coherent sentence, "Yes... I'm Swansong." I repeat, realizing too late, that it isn't much of a sentence, but it is the best I can do at the time. When Gerard Butler is holding your hands, major regions of your brain simply start to malfunction, as mine is doing at the precise moment.

Suddenly it dawns on me, that the tone of his voice and his vocal inflections suggest familiarity. Is it possible he recognizes my screen name? Has he really read some of my posts. I am thrilled and intimidated at the same time, by the mere implication of that prospect.

"You recognize the name?" I finally ask, wondering whose voice just came out of my mouth.

He shrugs his shoulders, and tosses his head back with an infectious laugh, and I find myself joining in his amusement, laughing as well. Sunlight streaming in through the wall of windows, brings out glinting silver strands in his dark hair, lending even more brightness to his being. He suddenly reminds me of why I fell for my own husband all those years ago... and of how a handsome man can literally stop a woman’s heart.

Yes.... my husband was exceptionally good looking at Gerry's age, I recall... and still is... in his own way.

Gerry's lopsided smile reflects his intelligent confidence, but there is something sincere and warm behind the naturally oozing charm. Unlike some famous personalities, he is not all smoke and mirrors; an artificial image projected for the sake of his career. I am beginning to think he actually likes me, and the more time I spend with him, the more of an enigma he becomes.

"Sure, I know who you are... doesn't everyone?" he jests, good-naturedly mocking our earlier introduction. "But yes," he continues, his eyes narrowing and his tone more serious, "I do read the fan messages to me, when I can.... and I have read some of yours."

Standing there in this man's presence, knowing that he has actually read some of my posts, I try to keep a minimal grasp on reality, because this all feels like a dream. I look down the long row of bookshelves, and across the room, where people are milling around, sipping their drinks, talking, and browsing the merchandise. The clock on the wall above the counter says 2:00, and I remember my own latte still sitting ignored on the table, probably diluted and watery by now, since I have not touched it. Outside I see passersby with their shopping bags in tow, and the sun reflects off the bay, white sails visible in the distance, glaring against a sharp azure sky.

Soft music plays over the speakers, and I hear a woman's voice somewhere behind me, asking the clerk for directions to the restrooms. It is a normal afternoon in the B&N.... and I am talking with Gerard Butler.

"Wow!" I finally answer, my voice a bit high and breathy, "Well, they say you read them... but I figured you wouldn't have much time for that these days."

"Yes, well I am a bit busier this year," he says, his humility not at all lost on me. "But I do stay up on my sites.... because at the end of the day, it’s the fans who keep me wanting to make films.... especially on those days when I feel like sh*t-canning the whole thing!"

I watch in fascination as his eyes darken slightly, the little creases between his eyebrows deepening, and his fingers tightening around mine. He bears an inward expression of pensive concentration, his soft lips drawn together in thought. He is suddenly somewhere else, perhaps reliving one of “those” days, I wonder? I marvel at his words and their meaning, surprised he spoke them to me, and grateful that the rude demands and immature actions of a few fans have not jaded him against us all. For the first time since we began our conversation, he glances down at his watch, but he looks back up quickly, his attention once again focused on me, as I reply.

"I am glad we encourage you, Gerry.... because our love and support are the only way we can repay you for all you have given us."

He goes still for a moment, his body relaxing, his face unguarded and soft. I watch something flicker in his eyes, and the corner of his lip turns up, as he lets my hands go, rubbing the side of his face with the faint rasping of stubble against his palm. He leans in closer, places his hand on my shoulder, and his voice drops in both pitch and volume.

"Hey, I have to meet my friends in a few minutes, so I can't stay much longer... but before I go, I just have to say, Bonnie Anne....er... Swansong, that your letters to me are very moving, and I really do appreciate you writing them."

I am instantly struck dumb, while a dizzying wave of emotion passes through me, making my throat dry and my heart pound blood up into my ears. I believe him. I think he means what he is saying, and now my eyes are stinging. Opening my eyes wide, trying desperately not to cry, I bite the inside of my cheeks, summoning every ounce of courage... fighting my frustratingly shy nature. I must tell him. I must let him know, I tell myself. It is one thing for him to read my messages on a public post... it is quite another to speak them aloud to the man himself.

"Can I tell you something, Gerry?" I ask, aware that his hand is still resting lightly on my shoulder. He nods, "Sure... but then I have to get going."

Okay, this is it... the point of no return, and the moment I have been waiting for, for over a year. My moment... my chance to tell him what he means to me. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as his eyes bore into mine, intense and questioning.

And then it is too late, the tears in the corners of my eyes overflow my lashes. "Oh God, don't cry, Bonnie Anne!" I upbraid myself. But it is no use, I AM crying. Controlling my emotions to a point, I smile, and without actually touching him, my trembling hand reaches out toward his heart.

"I know you have heard this before," I begin to explain, my voice wavering, "But when I saw you in Phantom, something happened to me, I still can't figure out." It is getting harder to speak as my throat constricts with unshed tears, and a love beyond my comprehension.

"It's okay," he says in a voice softer and kinder than anyone could possibly imagine. He makes me feel as if I am the only person in the world, listening, and encouraging me to continue with his eyes. I clear my throat, swallowing the offending phlegm, and go on....

"It is like..." I stammer awkwardly, taking a deep breath, "It like something from here...." My hand still outstretched toward him, my fingertips barely graze the place where his heart is beating just under his breastbone. Withdrawing my fingers, the tears fully flowing down my cheeks; I place my hand on my own heart, feeling it drum madly beneath my sweating palm.

"It is like your own heart reached out through that screen, and touched me here." I emphasize the word *here* with a gentle pat of my hand on my chest. "And I.... I have....”

I gulp again, shaking my head and blowing out my breath. “Well, I have never been the same since." I conclude breathlessly, unable to utter another word.

For a few seconds, he says nothing, and I notice that his lower eyelids are reddening slightly. He blinks once or twice, making a gravely sound at the back of his throat, before speaking, "Awww... that is so sweet." he says, rocking back on his heels. "But please stop crying, or I will too." he adds with a stiff giggle. I sniff a few times, aware that my make-up is smearing, and that I probably look awful. But I do not care. I said what I needed to say, and I can tell, he is moved.

"Okay... I really have to go meet my friends now." he tells me, glancing down quickly at his watch, "But before I go... can I have a hug?"

W-what?

Gerard Butler is asking me for a hug?

"Of course!... I mean... sure!" I answer, a tremor passing through my body and my stomach tightening.

Then suddenly his powerful arms wrap around me, and I feel our bodies pressed together, as his embrace engulfs and draws me in. There is nothing remotely sexual or suggestive in the gesture. It is merely the physical breathing of one soul into another, and it is beautiful. He is holding me close, his face buried in my neck and hair. I shiver with the warmth of his breath, overcome by the solid realness of a man who up till now, has only been an icon to me; a perfect male image... someone out of my reach.

I know in that moment that he is real, and that everything I have heard about him is true. He is warm and compassionate, yet there is much concealed behind those emotion-filled eyes, which few are permitted to see. He is a swirl of contradiction and mystery; of light and darkness.... but he is nevertheless, a genuinely decent man. A bad boy...yes, but with a good heart.

Strangely, my tears abate as he gently releases me, his hand lingering on my upper arm as we pull apart. He came into my world unexpectedly over a year ago.... walked right through a magic-mirror and stole my heart. Now he is about to walk back out of my life... and it is highly unlikely that we shall ever meet again. I am not sure how to process it all. I feel an odd mixture of sadness and joy, and manage to squeak out a few parting words before I am overtaken by the shock and joy, "Thank you, Gerry" I whisper, wishing I could have him as my real-life friend. "Good luck on future projects. You are a great actor and a beautiful person, Gerry... and we are all.... so proud to be your fans.... take care."

Chuckling softly, he shakes his head, "Well I am fookin' lucky to have such great fans.... but you're all crazy!" he remarks with an impish laugh, the fine lines around his eyes crinkling. Scooping up his shopping bag with a whoooosh, he tacks on, "Yeah, like me... crazy, but in a good way!"

Our time of enchantment coming to an end, I hover dreamily between two bookshelves which have sheltered our meeting from prying eyes. Gerry turns and walks away from me then. My eyes following his every move, are filling again with tears. He pauses, looking back over his broad shoulder.

Raising his hand with a friendly wave in my direction, he heads toward the exit, smiles broadly... and calls out to me....

"Cheers!"

Edited by Lish

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Guest greyeyegoddess

Whadda mean it could happen??

It will happen one day!

This was beautiful. I haven't read too much fan fiction, but I try to read the little bits here and there, and I've enjoyed what I've been reading. I laughed, sighed, jumped for joy at your 'fan encounter' and hope one day you will have a real encounter with Mr. Butler.

~alice

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:clap: Swansong, that made me even cry and it is of course a very dignified way to conduct yourself in front of Gerry... I don't think I could carry that off personally!! ::D:

I am sure Gerry does know you... your such a lovely writer..

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Swan - it is one of my dearest wishes that such an encounter becomes a reality for you one day, and I fully believe that is quite possible. You deserve the opportunity to tell him to his face just how much he means to you, how seeing him in Phantom changed so many things for you. So I will continue to put the thought out there to the universe that your dream comes true.

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Thank you Susan... I really do hope that one day I will meet him. But I have to say that writing this fake encounter was a great catharsis!

Though it is strictly fictional, I tried to capture the real Gerry, from all the fan encounters and interviews I have read. I hope I did him justice.

Swan

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Bonnie

I must say you have a wonderful way with words

I love to read anything you write

I hope someday it does come true for you

I think you wrote a beautiful real Gerry

And a very moving and real reaction to Gerry

Lots of hugs

Rebecca

Edited by rebecca

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Bonnie Anne, that is a delicious daydream! I predict you will have your chance, one of these days, to tell him how you feel, so start psyching yourself up for it! I just hope I'm there to witness, and maybe say "hi" to him as well. ("Hi" is probably all I will be able to utter, as I will be in a total state of shock.... But he will know I adore him by the smitten look on my face!). You described your fantasy beautifully. As always, I love reading your delightful parables...

:yourock:

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OMG.... I dreamed about this all night long! Libby... maybe we will run into him in Vegas! hey, it could happen!

*giggle*

Swan

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Oh WOW! I bloody love it, Swan! Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful...

Did I mention beautiful? :wub:

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Swan -wonderful wonderful story - if it just came true, for everyone of us.

Sighs and goes back to read it again.

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Swannie Bon Bon, I adore your story!!! :hugs:

Hey... it COULD happen!!!

Susan, Loverly new siggy!

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OK, Gals... Once the SC floor closes, I'll still be taking submissions for the GALS naughty Bedtime story book. Submissions must be in this thread by midnight Central time. Post away and I'll get info about the book as soo as I can.

:hugs:

~Lish

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the GNBSB I love it!! :inlove:

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He suddenly reminds me of why I fell for my own husband all those years ago... and of how a handsome man can literally stop a woman’s heart.

Bonnie Anne, I was thinking of this line last night and this morning...

:wub: :tissues:

So hard to describe that feeling. It's not just "oh, he's hot" reaction, but something that just strikes you right in the heart...

See, I still can't explain it!

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Only if you want. I've got it in my Wrod doc already... You can leave it here or there. ::D:

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Paige starts thinking i wanna make up a story.

anyways here it goes. i am at a friday night high school football game for northwest high school. yes in real life i was in the colorguard with the band. anyways as i am looking at the crowd i see my mom and a familiar face sitting next to her looking at me. then i realize omg it is him i am going to mess up in front of him please god do not let me mess up. our part of the halftime show comes up. the theme being looney tunes. as we go out to the field i start feeling like i am not going to breath.

(after the show) i did a great job. did not mess up or anything. i go to see my mom and tell her what i want to eat. as i am doing that i shake his hand and ask him "how are you doing gerry?" as my face is turning red from embarassment."fine love thanks. you must be paige" as he said that in his lovely scottish accent i am like think paige think and then said "aye i am. (to my mom) mom, can i get a hamburger." "no you stay and talk to gerry." "umm ok." so anyways as my mom is getting me my late dinner he tells me that he enjoyed the show and loved what me and the other guard members were doing and he asked me how do you do that you know all the sabre and rifle spinning and flag tossing and stuff. anyways i tell him that it is like singing you practice til you get it right. "ok, when did you start doing what you do?" " i started this year" gerry gives me a shocked look. so i told him that there were other girls that were about my age that started this year as well. i start thinking i am going to remember this night when gerry got to see me at his first american football game ::D:

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this was my first year but it was not my first time. ::D:

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here is another story that i am going to add.

one afternoon, i was walking out of my school's coffee shop yes at my school we have a coffee shop. anyways i had a hot chocolate in my hand and then all of a sudden something in my school's library catches my eye. i see a familiar face talking to one of the librarians. anyways i go in there and try to act like i am going to one of the computers to do research. then all of a sudden all of my stuff falls out of my bag. Gerry looks over to where i am and asks "you need help love?" and i said "yes thank you." after he helps me with my stuff my housekey falls out of my purse and Gerry sees my keychain with his face on it. "So you are a fan aren't you lassie?""Yes i am." "Why didn't you say anthing?""i wanted you to figure out for yourself but in a sort of way it came out."

"So what is your name love?" " some people call me paige others call me courtney but i prefer paige."he whispers my name back to me and takes my hand and softly kisses it causing my face to turn red especially with the librarians there watching our every move.i asked him if he would like some coffee from the coffee shop and he said yes and i said but i have to buy since you need to use a school id card when you are purchasing something from the school. he let me buy him a frappucino. and the best part was i got to give him sort of a tour of my school. i showed him everything about the school. then i hear my cellphone ring and it was my mom calling me and she says "there is a limo outside waiting for you and i think there is someone in there that you know" and i am like "mom, i found him in the school library."

anyways i tell Gerry that we better leave and take me home because i have an animal that has to be let out. he asks me "what kind of animal" i tell him"a boy dog." he takes my hand and leads me to the limo and we had a nice chat and i told him that it has been a long time since i had been in a limo. he asked me "what were you in a limo for?" "it was more of a birthday present from one of my mother's friends." he had offered me a drink of water and i said "thank you""you're welcome" and we put our glasses together and said cheers. he asked me to tell him about myself and i told him that i am 15 fixing to be 16 in november and that i live with my mother and that my father lived in a town not far from where i lived and that i had no fully related siblings just two stepsiblings and one halfsister on my dad's side but on my mother's side i am an only child and that i enjoy movies and reading and horsebackriding when i get the chance and listening to a bunch of old 80's music mainly i will listen to everything except for rap. but i am mainly an 80's fan.

we arrive at my house and i give him a nice tour of it. after the tour he tells me that he must leave i said "alright". we give eachother a nice hug ::D: and then we said our goodbyes and as he was leaving i started to cry for i have not seen what a gentle man he was and always will be.

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Well done Paige.

Okay, here is my "date" with Terry.

The KLM flight out of Amsterdam was full. Luckily, I was in business class and the trip to Australia via Hong Kong would be long, but at least relatively comfortable. The seats turned into beds so I could at least get a few hours sleep. I would be disembarking in Hong Kong for an overnight stay before continuing on to Sydney and then changing for Canberra, the national capital. The Commonwealth government at least was kind enough to give you a break after more than 8 hours flying. Hong Kong was nearly 14 hours flying. After all, I would go straight back to work when I got into Canberra.

Initially, I took little note of the man who sat down next to me except for the fact that I could smell his spicy cologne. I had the window seat and, immediately after take-off, I began to organize my notes so that when given approval by the pilot, I could set up my laptop. I would need to write clear briefs on the visit to Europe for my Departmental Secretary. Better to do it while it was fresh in my mind.

It wasn’t even three hours into the flight when the guy next to me started squirming more than most. I had noted a short time before that he seemed a bit twitchy. I turned to look at him and found a set of grey/blue eyes looking right back at me. They were the sort of eyes that dragged you down into their depths and held you there for an unusually long time.

Dragging my eyes away with difficulty I stammered “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m staring.”

“Don’t fuss yourself, gorgeous” came the response in a lovely lilting Scots brogue. A naughty little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth suggested he was totally aware of his affect on women.

Just then my laptop bleeped at me to let me know my battery was low. I would have to shut it down soon or I might lose my work. I had a few sentences I wanted to finish but going back to my task took a great deal of willpower, and sticking to finishing, even more. I was very aware now of his presence next to me.

Five minutes later I was finished and so was my laptop battery. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about that for the rest of the flight and layover in Hong Kong I thought.

The work had allowed me to regain my composure just a bit. I put the laptop in its case and excused myself as I stepped over his long, and I noted very well muscled, legs wrapped in a pair of seemingly well worn jeans, to put it in the overhead locker. I took the opportunity to wend my way down the aisle to the ladies.

I got back to my seat to find the man sitting in it, leaving his aisle seat free for me. He was staring out at the sunset and the clouds, and seemed suddenly deep in his own thoughts. I tried to tell myself didn’t have a problem with that and I left him to his contemplation.

I sat back and closed my eyes for a few minutes until the flight attendant came to ask for our dinner preferences. I glanced over at the man sitting next to me just as he looked up at the woman. The smile he gave her was luminous and a quick look back at her made it clear he could have asked for the moon and she would have tired to get it. Even I found myself smiling and I wasn’t even the focus of that incandescent smile.

She took several seconds to come to her sensed and then ask me for my order. I ordered the veal and some white wine. He ordered the beef and a can of Red Bull.

“I hope you did not mind my taking your seat. I wanted to watch the sunset” he said. Now the smile was turned on me. It appeared much gentler but it seemed to me, sexier. “It’s the most beautiful time of day. By the way, my name is Terry. What’s yours?” I noticed he had this habit of leaning toward me as he spoke.

I gave him my nickname and during diner and the next few hours we chatted about our travels, our favourite places in the world and the best food we had ever eaten. It was a relaxed conversation and a delightful way to spend the boring hours of a flight. Just watching him, his animated way of telling stories, listening to his inflections and different sentence structure was mesmerizing. In fact hours breezed past. He was intelligent and witty and often had me in fits of laughter with his descriptions of people or places. He listened intently when I spoke and his replies showed he understood the undercurrent of conversation as well as the literal meaning of the words spoken. Twice I told a funny story and I found he had the most enchanting giggle that was in no way unmanly. I was sad I couldn’t think of any other funny stories to hear it again.

Not only was he a very attractive man, he was attentive and showed an unusual level of sensitivity. I noted that he avoided the topic of what we each did for a living, and so I kept silent on that subject. So often we meet strangers and talk about our work and end up playing these ego games about who has the best job, the best status in life. Not with Terry, and I found that very refreshing. Besides, listening to him speak, even though sometimes I had to work out certain words or phrases, was a feast for my ears. His voice had a light quality even though his discourse was liberally sprinkled with profanities. But from him, they did not seem ugly or incongruent. It suited him and was oddly charming.

The cabin was becoming quieter as more and more passengers changed into comfortable clothes and settled down to sleep. I didn’t want to stop our conversation but I had to admit to myself I was tired and needed rest. So I excused myself, got up and took my backpack from the overhead locker and went to change into a pair of track pants and a loose t-shirt. When I got back to my seat, Terry stood up and indicated that I should return to my window seat. Then he went off to change. I tried to settle down to sleep.

But I couldn’t. The subtle aroma of his cologne wafted toward me and in the ambient cabin light I could see his profile. It seemed to me that no matter what angle his face, it had striking facets. I had seen his height when he had stood up to exchange seats and his frame seemed too large even for these bigger seats. Reclined and relatively relaxed as he was, there was this air about him. A certain tension that suggested he could switch from asleep to wide awake without a transition. His body was well proportioned with broad shoulders, well defined chest clearly outlined by the tight t-shirt and strong, square hands. I eventually fell into a dreamless asleep.

I awoke when the flight attendant bent over me and opened the slide over my window. Terry was not in his seat and I was instantly, and to my dismay, deeply disappointed. Hopefully my recent awakening hid the fact. The attendant smiled and advised breakfast was being served soon as we were only about an hour and a half out of Hong Kong. Again, that was disappointing because it meant I only had a short time to spend with this most agreeable man.

I stood up and found most of the people were already awake and sipping coffee. So I got a bathroom and tried to refresh myself in its tight confines. When I returned, Terry was back in his seat and promptly stood to let me into my window seat. But just as I stepped past him, he leaned into me so that I had to make contact to move past him. I could not avoid brushing against his chest with my shoulder and arm and neither did I want to. His body heat was palpable even through my clothes. I looked up into his face as I moved through and time seemed to stop. He leaned his face close to mine, slipped his harm around my waist and stepped through with me. It was a simple, not even overly intimate contact. Yet time slowed noticeably I could feel every part where we were connected. As he helped me into my seat the connection broke and he took his own seat. As I looked at him I saw the slight flare of his nostrils. The only indication there was something going on for him as well. I hid my pleasure by quickly glancing out the window.

I’ve never felt like that before. The relatively simple contact made my chest tighten and a feeling of warmth beginning there and slowly work it’s way down toward my stomach. It was an almost erotic touch. I looked back at Terry and that intensity of his gaze was now fully focused on me. I didn’t want that to stop.

“So, where are you staying in Hong Kong?” he asked almost non-chalantly.

“I’m at the Excelsior on Hong Kong Island” I replied successfully holding back the intense feeling from my voice.

His “so am I” was the most beautiful phrase I had heard in many years. “Do you want to share a taxi to the hotel when we arrive?”

I continued to hide my delight in finding I could spend more time with him and simply responded with a “Sure” just as breakfast arrived. We took up the conversation from last night, now talking about movies and books, both agreeing Lord of the Rings was one of the best books ever written. But he liked books with action in it and I liked them with mystery. We agreed books with both were the best.

The chaos that is always Hong Kong International airport didn’t allow much further chat after we disembarked. We worked our way through immigration, found our bags and got through customs. Then the heat and smell of the city hit as we exited the air-conditioned terminal to find a taxi.

Like Terry, I was not a stranger to Hong Kong, a city I am truly fond of and know reasonably well. The trip through the harbour tunnel did not take as long as it could have and we arrived at the hotel in less than an hour. Check in was handled with the usual efficiency expected here. I noted our rooms were several floors apart.

In the lift Terry asked if I had any plans for the day. I responded I had intended to do some shopping. He smiled and asked if he could tag along. Surprised, I still did not hesitate to respond in the affirmative and we agreed to meet back in the lobby in an hour.

The day was totally enjoyable. We walked, shopped, talked, ate, drank coffee and shopped some more. With all that, when we got back to the hotel, I still only had two extra bags and one beautiful gold ring with a jade stone that Terry insisted on buying for me. I returned the favour and bought him a silver pendant for the chain he wore around his neck. It seemed absolutely natural to buy these things for one another.

At around 5pm Terry suggests we go to his room for a quiet chat before dinner. It seemed neither of us wanted the day to end. We sat on the settee in his room and continued to talk about the issues of belief and the need of some people to cling to untenable beliefs. It seemed I was talking to a soul mate.

His he moved closer to me and I without thought moved into his arms. It was a natural progression. Now I felt the soft scratch his two day growth against my cheek where his soft lips kissed it. His arm slipped around my shoulder and I turned my face toward those lips. Our lips met and the kiss was soft and gentle. Then it slowly deepened to light a slow flame throughout my body. Those strong hands were quite gentle and they began to roam, first down my back and then with more urgency, over more intimate part of my body. The hunger we both felt was quickly becoming unmanageable.

It was clear he was a practiced lover but that neither surprised nor worried me. To me he felt and tasted good. My hands roamed his body with abandon and found the scars which his clothes hid well. As a woman with some experience of life, I knew what sort of scars they were. They were made by knives and bullets. They left questions I thought I knew the answers to but wanted to leave them unsaid. He looked at me just once when my fingers outlined the scar just below his heart. I saw in his eyes the truth, the pain I glimpsed there needing no words. I left it at that.

The next twelve hours were spent in each others arms. All too soon morning light began to leak in around the heavy curtains. My flight back to Australia was scheduled for 11.30am and I need to leave the hotel by 10am at the latest. Breakfast for two was ordered up to his room and we sat in comfortable silence while eating and drinking the days first cup of coffee.

At 9am I returned to my own room. As I left his room, Terry simply gave me a hug and a deep, longing kiss. Without another word I turn and leave. I had no reason to unpack the previous night so and a quick shower, a change of clothes from the top of my suitcase, down to check out and catch a taxi to the airport.

Settled once more in business class I sat quietly and looked at the gold and jade ring which he had moved to my left hand ring finger. In less than 48 hours I had found a man I could love, loved him and left him. Yet it was as it should be. The Universe had given me two days of joy. I could choose to build on this joy and take it though the rest of my life or let the loss of it destroy me. As an optimist I choose the former. He was not the sort of man any one woman could hold, ever. But I would hold him in my heart for the rest of life, whatever direction that took and whoever entered it.

Cat

Edited by Terry's Witch

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Awesome Cat!!! I need to finish my Terry date, too...

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Cat, that was wonderful - I still have to finish my Stranger story

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Cat now you make me want to do a date with erik story i will do that later

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