Coming Together: Special Memorial Edition
Colleen Thomas
Coming Together: Special Memorial Edition
Alessia Brio, editor
Coming Together: Special Memorial Edition - Colleen Thomas © 2006 Alessia Brio, editor
Individual stories © Colleen Thomas.
Reproduced with permission.
Story introductions © 2006 each individual author.
Reproduced with permission
All digital rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
Cover art © 2010 Alessia Brio
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Coming Together Production
Smashwords edition
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/comingtogether
License Notes
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this special edition of
Coming Together
is dedicated to the memory
of
Colleen Thomas
1969-2006
R.I.P.
Table of Contents
I write this with a heavy heart. In a way it is a goodbye to my partner, lover and best friend, but it also serves as a loving piece of Colly.
On May 27, 2006, a great person passed from this earthly realm to the unknown. Her name was Colleen Erica Thomas, a great author. Her writing was her love, passion and compulsion. I hope all who read her stories get from them the one true underlying theme of all her work, LOVE.
Due to the fact that Colly's anxiety was such that she could not leave our home without someone being with her, the time that I had to spend away from her was very hard for me. I now understand that she was in a wonderful loving community that truly watched out for her. I would often be jealous of the time she spent online with her stories and talking to all of her friends. It now serves as a great comfort to me to know she was never truly alone during those times.
All who knew her understand that she was in a great deal of pain a lot of the time with migraines. Many a night was spent getting her medicine or staying up with her so she would not be in pain and alone. I have to thank all who would be with her the nights she would wake up with a migraine and not tell me. At least now I know she is truly out of pain.
We had been together for about ten years. She brought me down to earth and tamed my wild side in her quiet shy way. Together we were truly one person. Many a day would be spent talking of history or daily events. Colly was my sounding board and her arms gave me great comfort in times of sorrow. Her wit always made me smile even on the worst days. Her presence was all I needed to be able to continue on with whatever needed to be done, good or bad.
I only hope that she comes for me when my time on this earth is completed. I can see her guiding me across the bridge into the brilliant white light to the unknown, where we will be like one again.
Until we meet again, Colly,
Love,
~ Mel
a/k/a meekomn
PostScript:
The reason I chose the Kaplan Family Hospice Residence is because we always helped those in need. I feel that giving the proceeds of the book will be a way for us to continue to help those in need. Kaplan House will give those who are in the process of leaving this world a loving, warm and safe place from which to depart. It also gives me a way to keep her memory alive.
Coming Together was conceived online in the Literotica.com® Author's Hangout. It is the result of many hours of collaboration between some very talented authors, poets, and illustrators who have (ahem) "come together" to produce a scintillating erotic cocktail.
When we launched in the spring of 2005, none of the participants were yet professionally published. Since then, many have gone on sign contracts for both print and electronic publication, myself included.
Each volume of this serial anthology differs in content. This edition, due to the preferred genre of the late author, exclusively features lesbian relationships. Within those bounds, however, the reader may partake of a variety of intoxicating spirits: group sex, romance, humor, incest, bondage, anal sex, fantasy, and fetish. While each individual ingredient may not suit the tastes of every reader, the savory combination of flavors is sure to stir every imagination.
Proceeds from the sale of this special memorial edition of Coming Together will be donated to The Kaplan Family Hospice Residence in honor of Colleen Thomas, a prolific and award-winning author of lesbian erotica.
So, join us in a toast: to sex!
Bottoms up,
~ Alessia Brio, editor
a/k/a impressive
alessiabrio.com
The Internet is a wonderful, terrible place to make friends. Some of us, shy or just in need of a break from 'real-world' intimacy, come here believing we can enjoy the special people we meet without being vulnerable to them. Then someone like Colly proves us wrong.
My first post in the Literotica® Author's Hangout was in response to something Colly wrote in a political thread. I wouldn't have bothered, if I hadn't admired the way she expressed herself. I didn't expect to like her; it was impossible not to. Colly's toughest weapon was her abiding grace and generosity. Nothing defuses a heated feud like a sneak-attack hug that arrives out of nowhere when you're having a lousy day.
We didn't share much about our personal lives, except for the parts we had in common: Southern small-town families; the challenge of balancing love and loyalty with seemingly unbridgeable ideological differences. It would be easy to say I wasn't close to Colly, if not for the fact that she was so often the first person to welcome me back after an absence or offer her support when she knew I was facing a difficult time.
All things considered, I have to say she was a real friend. The hugs and grins and roses were real, too. The illusion was that I could control how much I cared.
I'll miss you, Colly.
~ she reads
Coming Together is a compilation of erotic fiction, poetry, and illustrations. It is solely intended for persons of legal majority.
Please note that Coming Together contains works of fiction in which the characters may not practice safe sex. The participants encourage all readers to act responsibly and to take appropriate precautions against both unwanted pregnancy and the transmission of disease.
For resources and frank discussion about safe sex practices, we refer the reader to the Coalition for Positive Sexuality at www.positive.org.
Introduction : A Separate Peace
I've been a regular poster on the Author's Hangout and Literotica for a little over two years now. When I first arrived one of the most noticeable people was Colleen Thomas. She was hard to miss.
I've always loved debating politics, so those were the first threads I wandered into. Being who I am and Colleen being who she was we ended up butting heads. It was, to say the least, a daunting experience.
I've rarely met a more potent mixture of learning, wisdom, common sense and passion. You had to have your facts straight. If not, she'd wipe the floor with you.
And I liked this facet of her. Such traits are fascinating to me and Colleen had them in abundance.
Over the years I learned more about her, difficult not to with how often she posted and her honesty. And I learned we were more similar than different.
She really had an open mind; there were few preconceptions. She was generous with her time, wit and wisdom. And she had the warmest empathy. She really cared. There was no enemy in her worldview. All people were included, none were rejected. Colleen tried, as hard as she was able, to understand what others thought and felt. And she shared everyone's happiness and pain.
I picked this story, A Separate Peace, as it most clearly showed Colleen's empathy. The antagonists come together, realise their similarities, rise above their cultures. The protagonists are in the wrong, not because of who they are and where they come from, but because of their actions.
At the end, there are only people in love, not cultures that hate.
Thank you for this, Colleen. You've given us so much.
~ Rob Graham
a/k/a rgraham666
romantic-heretic.com
A Separate Peace
Author's Note: This story is a story of hope. Every effort has been made to not make political statements or offend anyone. Special thanks to Oggsbashan and Lauren Hynde for advice on the history, attitudes and religions involved.
CET
* * * *
Sarah Goldblum moved through the bazaar in Cairo feigning the stunned and rather vapid look of a western tourist. The myriad of sound and color had long ago lost its ability to mesmerize her. She dodged merchants hawking their wares, women in traditional dress shopping, and tourists, with an almost unconscious ease.
Sarah wore jeans and a conservative top, along with a baseball cap. Her long blonde hair was done up in a ponytail, and the expensive camera bounced at the end of its straps with each stride. The man walking next to her was slightly shorter than her six feet and was darkly handsome in his Hawaiian shirt and shorts. They looked like any western tourists, stopping often to examine the wares and occasionally arguing loudly in English with a vendor, over a price.
Jachin was totally at ease, but Sarah was nervous. The cover of American tourists worked best, but with the state of politics in the Middle East, it was inherently dangerous to masquerade as Americans. From her point of view, it was doubly dangerous, because they could very easily end up in trouble that had nothing to do with The Jackal and his militants.
Jachin was a good agent, but he was careless sometimes, especially when it came to the ladies. While he assured her that he hadn't said or done anything to blow their cover last night, Sarah was extra wary as they moved around today, keeping an eye on their only link to the terrorist cell, a thin Palestinian called Ahmed.
"Stop worrying," her partner whispered. "You're too tense, too watchful. Americans don't act like this."
"Nor do they cry out in Yiddish when they cum," Sarah shot back.
"A regrettable mistake, but come now. The girl was a German tourist, not an Egyptian whore," he said with irritating smugness.
"I don't like this place. There are too many eyes on me," she said sullenly.
"Oh no! Blonde hair, tits like ripe melons, legs up to your ass... There are always eyes upon you, Sarah."
She was covertly watching a short man who was staring at her from under his long lashes. She could feel his hatred for her, as if it were a physical blow.
"The blonde hair was not my idea, as you well know. When the eyes are sizing me up for a potential roll in the hay, it's one thing. That is not the feeling I get now," she whispered urgently.
"Pah, I could make a small fortune pimping you to these animals. Your problem is you haven't had a man in your bed in too long. Why I... He's moving."
The words were spoken softly, but the hard edge let her know exactly whom it was. Sarah turned and moved purposefully towards the alley where their man had just ducked out of sight. Jachin was two steps ahead of her, and only that saved her life.
As she rounded the corner, a wave of intense heat and a violent shockwave threw her to the ground. Jachin didn't even have time to blink as the car exploded, sending thousands of shards of glass and bits of metal into his body. Sarah caught some fragments in her arms, but she was spared the full blast of the explosion. People were screaming, running in all directions and diving for cover. An ambulance pulled up and two men leapt out, ignored the several bystanders who were down, and none too gently placed Sarah on a stretcher.
Her mind was foggy and she was disoriented, but she knew something was wrong. Once inside the ambulance, she realized it was just a panel-van with no medical equipment of any kind. She started to rise, but a foot slammed into her chest and forced her back down. The man who had been staring at her with such malevolence suddenly appeared in her vision. He jabbed a hypodermic needle into her arm and, within moments, the world began to spin. Sarah lashed out and broke the leg of the man who was standing on her chest, using her elbow as she had been taught. She actually made it to her feet, before the drug sent her conscious mind spiraling into darkness.
* * * *
Sarah came to as the muezzin called worshipers to the evening prayer. She was staring up at a cracked plaster ceiling and, for a while, she just followed the lines with her eyes. She tried to move, but found she was restrained in some manner. Looking down she saw that she was naked, and that her legs were tied securely to the foot of the small bed where she was lying.
"So you awake at last," a pleasantly modulated feminine voice called with a slight accent. "I've been worried that Ali might have overdosed you."
"Where am I?" Sarah managed. Her mouth felt sticky and the words sounded thick to her ears.
"That isn't important. What is important is that you realize you are totally helpless and your life hangs by a thread."
Sarah heard the steel in those words. This wasn't someone playing games. She realized she was in real trouble and gathered herself before responding.
"You can't do this to me! I'm an American citizen! I demand..."
"Enough!" the woman shouted as she stepped into Sarah's field of vision. "Do you take me for a fool? You are an agent of the Mossad, and you are my prisoner. If you were really Angelina Johnson of Peoria, Illinois, as your papers say, you would be less than useless to me. Think carefully before you speak again, we are both playing a dangerous game, and time is running against us."
"Very well. What do you want?" Sarah said quietly. This was no ordinary woman, and the light in her eyes convinced the tall woman that she wasn't one to be gainsaid.
"First, you will show me how to operate the transmitter in this camera. Then you will call in and report that you are all right."
"Very well," Sarah responded, "but you will have to let me use my hands to work it."
The woman, who now came fully into her view, was very short, and even in the concealing clothes she wore, it was obvious she was very slight. Her long dress was dark, long-sleeved, and covered her to the ankles. She wore a hijab and a yashmak that concealed her face. Sarah relaxed and waited, she was certain she could take this one, once her hands were free. The woman stepped to the head of the bed and pulled hard on the ropes, then stepped away quickly.
"The knot is undone; you may free your hands."
Sarah cursed inwardly, but freed her hands and sat up. She rubbed her wrists and glanced at the many scratches and cuts. They had been treated and that gave her some hope.
The woman tossed the camera in her lap. When Sarah looked up, she was staring down the barrel of a large caliber pistol.
"It occurs to me that you might think I'm stupid, simply because I'm Palestinian, as our last prisoner did. I assure you I am not and I know that you have not only a panic button on that device, but a coded phrase to signal agent in trouble. Should I even suspect you have used either one, I will ruin that beautiful bust and be gone long before anyone arrives to cart your carcass off to the morgue. Think carefully."
Sarah looked at her and nodded grimly. She carefully deployed the small antenna and depressed the shutter button, careful to stay away from the auto-feed button, which would send out the panic signal.
"All is quiet along the Nile," she said as she depressed the transmit button. When she let it off, the voice of Ariel Began, her section chief, came in return.
"Understood. Are the children all right?"
"They are fine."
Sarah looked up at the woman who still eyed her suspiciously.
"It's done."
The woman slowly lowered the pistol and nodded.
"Place the camera on the floor, and put your hands back in the loops."
When Sarah complied, the woman moved carefully around to the head of the bed and re-secured her wrists. She then tossed a thin blanket over Sarah's body and whistled loudly. A thick man with wild black hair and even wilder eyes came through the door.
Almost instantly, the two began arguing in an urban Palestinian dialect. Sarah understood the language, but they were speaking too quickly and her mind was still foggy. What she did catch left her mind reeling. This woman, was the most wanted terrorist of all. She was The Jackal!
The argument grew in volume and ferocity, until the man drew back his hand, as if to slap the small woman. Before he could move, the large pistol appeared as if by magic, its barrel resting right between his eyes. He gave Sarah a hate filled glance and stormed out of the room.
The small woman closed the door and sighed. With that sigh, she seemed to diminish again, becoming nondescript and non-threatening, but Sarah had seen differently and would never underestimate her.
"I take it that someone thinks I would be better off dead," she said after a long silence.
The woman glanced at her, and then moved to the small window and leaned on the sill, looking out at Sarah knew not what. It was too painful to keep her neck craned, so Sarah relaxed, staring up again at the ceiling.
"My brother-in-law Hashim has grown bold of late," she said at last.
"Bold, but not stupid," Sarah observed.
"No, not yet, but he is almost there. The fire of the fanatic burns in his eyes. There was a time when he deferred to me in all things, but he has grown to like playing the leader, and the whispers have begun to rankle. Soon he will do something very rash on his own, possibly to the detriment of us all."
"You are The Jackal," Sarah said. It was a statement, not a question.
"For a while longer, yes."
"All this time we have been searching and laying traps for a man. This is how you have made so many escapes!" Sarah marveled.
The small woman laughed bitterly. She turned from the window and moved to a chair within Sarah's limited field of vision.
"You are too intelligent for your own good."
"You had to know I would realize it. Why keep me alive? It makes no sense."
"That is what my brother-in-law thinks. That we should kill you, as a warning, but only after hours of rape and torture."
Sarah blanched at the words and at the prospect. She was ready to die for her country, if need be, but she wanted very much to live.
"Fool. He is ignorant of your SOP, but I am not. Should you not report in, a host of agents would descend upon us, and being in Egypt would not stop them from killing us all. I planned to keep you alive and reporting until we could melt away, but he will have none of it. Idiot. He looks to God to rectify his stupidity."
"You don't think your God will see you through?" Sarah asked, regretting the words immediately.
"My God?" she practically spat. "Where was He when your military shot my father for nothing more than being on the wrong street? Where was He when my mother was burned to death in a rocket attack on Gaza? Where was He when my sisters and I found ourselves on the streets with no parents, no money and no food? God doesn't live in the camps, any more than He sits on your side of the wire with a sniper rifle. He has turned His back on us and the evil we do to each other in His name."
Sarah was taken aback. The depth of despair she heard in those words was heart-wrenching. The hopelessness behind them was even more frightening.