With the kitchen as clean as were going to get it tonight, we move to the living room ending up on the sofa — I, sitting on one end, and K, lying with her feet in my lap. I massage her feet almost rhythmically keeping time with the inflection in my voice as I finish telling her about the book I am reading. Music has filled the house all night long — sorry guys, no jazz for us — tonight its been Alison Krauss, Shawn Colvin and Bonnie Rait. I didnt object to that Chris Isaak thing K slipped in there cause I do like Wicked Games (wink wink!) (I like the old stuff and shes getting used to it!)

Its been such an enjoyable evening for me — the food, the music, the company, the opportunity to tell a story — a brief respite from the constant sometimes uncontrollable urge to check the computer. I havent had to lie in over three hours.

So, what do you think will happen with the ex undercover woman police officer? Sounds like she has a lot to deal with . (dont we all!)

Well, despite the fact that these stories are often pretty predictable, I definitely gotta finish reading the thing, I answer. Im kind of addicted, you know. But I think shell probably find a way to accept responsibility and the subsequent consequences and fallout from her stupid mistake. Shell be forgiven by those closest to her and shell regroup to try to find some happiness.

If you think these stories are so predictable and thats what you think is going to happen, why read something so clich-ish?

I knead her feet just a little harder trying to hid my slowly simmering frustration – K just doesnt get it.

Good question, I lie.

Everyone wants to believe in happy endings even if the road to that conclusion is a paved with conflict and high drama, I try to explain. This is just what I THINK will happen. Actually, I hate to speculate (LIAR); Id rather be surprised even if the end result is unexpected and Im disappointed with the resolution.

I stop talking and I stop the massage unintentionally as well. (What the fu*k am I doing? What story am I trying to explain – the ex undercover woman police officers or Bettes? What the fu*k am I doing?)

Hey, whats wrong,? K asks noticing I have stopped with the foot thing.

Oh, I was wondering if your were going to stay tonight. (LIAR)

K doesnt live with me, yet, even though we have been lovers for nearly two years. Im the one with the house, the yard, the dog and the doubts — shes the one with the apartment, the rented storage space, the cat and the hope. Its not like we havent talked about it, havent wanted to do it — Im just not sure whats stopping me — I mean us. You know, Im not looking any more, she always tells me reassuringly whenever we have this discussion. I know, I answer. I wasnt looking when I met you. I know, she flashes a devilish grin raising her eyebrows.

Yea, Im thinking about staying, she teases.

Well, how much thought are you actually going to give to this question, I ask as my hands move from her feet to her calves to her thighs . . . Its the same friendly foreplayish banter we engage in every time – always with the same result.

You know Im old and Im getting a little tired from all the food and talking and everything. So you better make up your mind soon.

She chuckles a little, Yea, you are old. I better take you to bed. She grabs my hands before they find their way any higher up her legs and we walk, arm in arm , to the big bedroom. Thats where we go when she stays.

Now this is the part you guys have been waiting for — that graphic sexual description, that blow by blow, step by step detailed story of us undressing each other, tender, loving, kissing, touching, licking, pining, moaning, groaning, whispering, cumming, screaming and finally lying together — spent, satiated, gratified, oh so happy. Well, I cant do that.

I dont seem to have the ability to put into words what K means to me, what she does TO me, what she does FOR me. Its hard for me to come to terms with some of my most intimate feelings. The ever eloquent (or *****-filled — depends on which post you happen to be reading) stories of love that all you authors write about are so moving, so HOT, so over-and-over readable that I dont want to attempt such a task. Im not going to tread on that virgin territory — I will leave those descriptions to the experts. Because you all are SSSOOOO GOOD at it and I thank you, thank you one and all.

All I will say is that we went to bed at 11 and K drifted off to sleep around 3. I may be old but Im not dead!

I clasp my hands behind my head, close my eyes and listen to her breathe. As usual, I cant sleep. At this moment everything seems so right, so why do I want to burn that bridge?? I turn to look at her, then quietly get up, go to the bathroom, splash some water on my face, look at the reflection in the mirror and drop my head. You are SO pathetic, I say to myself as I go back and close the bedroom door where K sleeps. I turn and head toward the small bedroom — because thats where the computer is . . .



TBC