How lovely it is to wake up next to Tony! Well, Anthony.

Just like a year ago, we smile at each other, but it's different now of course, because we've become even closer, physically and emotionally. And this time we know it's not just one night.

I glance down at his crotch. Oh my, he's hard again! Well, I can't say I'm terribly surprised. I want to make love with him again. I reach out for him, but he gently moves my hand away.

"Not now, Baby."

I try not to feel rejected. Maybe he doesn't like it first thing in the morning.

"Later, I promise," he says, finally stripping off the shirt I unbuttoned hours ago. "But right now I'm gonna take a shower."

"OK."

So I lay here in the bed alone, thinking about last night, thinking about today. Trying not to think too much outside of this weekend.

Anthony was inside Ingrid! And it was wonderful! It was this strange combination of what I imagine sex with an almost-stranger would be like, the illicitness of that, along with the comfort of knowing that really, all games aside, this was my dearest friend, perhaps the man I trust most in the world. And Anthony is Tony enough to care what gives me pleasure, to have that sensitivity and consideration.

Yes, there was less foreplay than last time, but last time was nothing but foreplay. And it's not like we spent the past year thinking entirely platonically about each other.

I wish I could join him in the shower, but it's a very narrow stall, and he seems to want some time alone, maybe to think about what we've done, what it means. I don't know what it means. I can't really know that till this weekend is over and we're back to normal life.

He returns to me, fresh and clean and now completely naked, not even wearing socks, but his erection is gone and I understand one reason he took a shower. Well, I will bring it back later. Ingrid will bring that erection back.

I go to take a shower myself, imagining my hands are his, remembering every moment of last night that I can. When I go home, I will have to try not to remember, but I can think of him, of Anthony, as much as I want right now.

I wrap myself in a towel, picking up my discarded sundress from the bathroom floor, since I'm sure Anthony has enough of Tony's neatness to object to the mess. Indeed, when I return, he's made the bed and made it back into a sofa.

"Uh, could you put on some clothes? That's a little distracting." He's wearing yesterday's jeans and shirt.

I think of how he ogled me in my "fitted sheet," but I felt shy then, while now I want to feel sexy. Still, he's right. There'll be time for ogling later. I get my overnight bag and take it into the bathroom, since I assume he doesn't want me to get dressed in front of him right now.

I put on underwear, not sexy underwear, since I didn't pack any, and a T-shirt and hiking shorts. I didn't know if we'd go outside at all this weekend, but I brought these just in case.

"Nice," he says when I return.

"Thank you. Um, what are we having for breakfast?" I'm guessing it'll be something simple, like the little dinner last night, but that's fine.

He brings me a plastic bowl with cereal and a plastic spoon.

"Cheerios?"

"Well, I couldn't get eggs or bacon since it might've spoiled without a fridge. I could make toast if you want, over the stove."
"Cereal is fine." It shows how little I think about kitchen matters, that I didn't even consider these things. Tony of course would. But then, I don't think he gave any thought to contraception, and he's probably much more sexually active than I am.

"Sorry there's no milk. I poured you a cup from the tap."

"Thank you." I take the plastic cup from him and try not to think about my morning juice and coffee.

We sit on the couch and the mood is different than at dinner. Pre- rather than post-, if you know what I mean. My whole body is screaming, "You made love to me last night, Tony!", while I'm pretending that we're just pals hanging out. It's both arousing and frustrating, but it's also cozy, in a different way than at home.

"So, we don't have to check out till tomorrow at 11 a.m.," I say. "What did you want to do today?" I use a casual tone of voice, although he can respond flirtatiously if he wants.

"Well, I was thinkin', maybe after breakfast, we can go for a walk in the woods."
"Oh." He doesn't want to do it outside, does he? On the one hand, that would be wild, in more ways than one, and on the other, I don't want to have to worry about mosquitoes and poison oak.

"I need to go for a walk with Angela," he says, very seriously. "Anthony and Ingrid will stay here."

He makes them sound like some annoying couple we're sharing this little cabin with and he needs to take a break from them. I feel hurt that he doesn't like them as much as I do, like they're good friends of mine that he just didn't hit it off with.

"We'll come back to them later. But Angela and I need to talk."

"Can't you—can't we talk here?"

"No, it needs to be in the fresh air."
"OK." I'm a little scared. This isn't the Tony I expected to see this morning. I thought that if I did see Tony, he would be sweet and affectionate, flirty and sexy. Did I do something wrong? Was I too much Ingrid? Or not enough?

He kisses my cheek. "Angela, it's OK. I just want to clear some things up."

"Things? What things?" Things like "Angela, I love you"?

"We'll talk in the woods. You done with breakfast? Or you want some more?"

"I, I'm almost done." I can hardly taste the oaten O's. Oaten O's, O's of oat. That sounds like an ad, although I've never had a food account as big as Cheerios.

When we're done, we put the "dishes" in the trash and find our shoes. Then we go outside. It's a gorgeous morning. The birds are singing, the sun is shining. My heart is breaking.

Then he takes my hand and says, "Let's try this path."

It'll be OK. We agreed that Angela & Tony will go on, no matter what.

We walk awhile in silence. I can't do small talk right now and one nice thing about being out in nature is you don't have to say anything. You can just smile and point if you want. So we do.

Neither of us knows where we're going. "Maybe we should've brought the bread," he says after a few minutes. "For crumbs."

"The birds would probably eat them. Anyway, as long as we stay on the path, then we can find our way back."

"Yeah," he says, and there seems to be a lot behind his words, like maybe we've wandered off our path for this weekend, or are in danger of it at least.

We get to a clearing with a bench. I don't know how private a talk we can have, considering there are other cabins at our site, but at least we can start. And maybe if we're lucky, everyone else will have a lazy morning inside their cabins.

He takes out a handkerchief and dusts off the bench for me. I smile in thanks and sit down. He sits near but not next to me.

"So," he says.

"So," I echo. He'll have to start this conversation himself because I have no idea where it's going.

"So Anthony and Ingrid had quite a first time together, didn't they?"

"Yes. Yes, they did."

"Anthony is looking forward to the second time."
"So is Ingrid."

"Good. And it probably won't be a year from now. Definitely not twenty."

"Definitely not."

"Not even a day."

"An hour?" I venture.

He smiles a little. "I think they'll have to wait more than an hour."

"OK."

He turns serious again. "Angela, are you gonna be OK, back home, knowing that Anthony and Ingrid have crossed the last line?"

I'm not sure how to answer that. Does he mean that it might be frustrating going back to not even kissing now that I really know what he's like in bed? Or does he regret what we've done and wonder if I have regrets?

"I don't know. I can't know that yet."
"Yeah."

"How about you?"

"I'm not sure. I'm going to see you differently because of Ingrid. I mean, I did already but even more now."

"Differently?" Does he think less of me now? Tony has some funny, old-fashioned ideas about "girls you fool around with" and "girls you marry." I overheard him telling Mother. So far I, at least in my non-Ingrid moments, have been neither.

"Well." He doesn't look at me. "Ingrid is very passionate. And playful in a different way than Angela is. But it's like Angela's legs."

"Angela's legs?"

"Yeah, I know how good they are but I usually don't see them, just glimpses at most."

"Ah." I'm beginning to understand.

"It's probably different for you, because well, Tony and Anthony are very alike."

"Yes, mostly. But Tony is one of my best friends. And he's helping me raise Jonathan. And I share his concerns about and hopes for Samantha. And we laugh together, watch movies together. He makes me wonderful meals and does little thoughtful things. We talk together about everything, well, almost everything."

"Yeah, Anthony and Ingrid don't have that. They're not sharing a life together. I mean, not like mar—I mean, they don't live in one house."

"Right."

"I wouldn't say it's just physical with them, but it's mostly physical. While with Tony and Angela, it's mostly not."

"Right."

"I wish there was a way to have both, but the two things are in contradiction. You can't have a nice, family-like atmosphere for the kids, and have the wild private passion, too. Right?"

"I don't know. You're probably right."

"So what are we going to do, Angela?"
"I think we're going to let Anthony and Ingrid finish out this weekend. And then we'll do our best to go on with our lives. Maybe not exactly as we were. But still as close friends who have all we had."

He nods. "I'd like that. Both parts. The home part and the cabin part. And it's only one weekend a year, right? We're entitled."

I laugh and then we kiss. It's soft and friendly at first, then it goes on, getting deeper. We stroke each other's hair, mine still wet from the shower but drying in the sun, his already wavy and surprisingly soft. He's got a little morning stubble, although he shaved last night. It's sexy and domestic at the same time.

We hear a twig snap and jump apart guiltily. It's just a nice older couple who smile at us and keep walking.

"What?" Tony whispers. "You thought it was Grover leading Mona and the kids on a rescue mission?"

I laugh and shake my head. "Come on. We should go back to the cabin. I'm sure Anthony and Ingrid are waking up now."

"Oh, I know Anthony is waking up." The way he says it, I have to glance down at his crotch. Mmm, Anthony is filling out his jeans nicely. But I think he'd be more comfortable out of his jeans.

We get back to our cabin in record time. It is no casual stroll. We didn't bother to lock up but everything is fine, it's safe. No fumbling for keys, just fumbling at T-shirts and zippers, like we're two hormone-crazed teenagers. Well, older teens than Anthony & Ingrid were when they first kissed. Well, he was only eleven. And now he is a full grown thirty-four-year-old. Very full grown.

We don't even get our clothes fully off before he has his hands on the waistband of my panties!

"I want you standing up! OK, Ingrid?"

The sane part of my brain makes me remind him, "Condoms, Anthony!"

"OK, yeah, where are they?" He lets go of me and scrambles around, looking for them.

"Um, they might be inside the sofa bed."

He curses in Italian but he tears the sofa bed apart. I can't help laughing at how ridiculous this is.

"Are you laughing at me? Now, Ingrid?"

"Not at you, at the situation."

He looks annoyed and then he chuckles. "OK, maybe we are not built for spontaneity."

"Next time, we'll have to set it up for spontaneity."

He shakes his head. "You've got a bit of Angela inside you, Ingrid."

"Well, let's get a bit of Anthony in me."

"A bit?"

"Well, more than a bit."

I join him on the bed, find the condoms under the sheet, and put one on him. When our bodies reunite, we're horizontal again, rather than vertical. He's much less frantic now, as if it soothes him to move inside me, as if this is what this hot-blooded Italian man needs, like the way my touching his arm can calm him down. And every slow stroke he gives me is comfort, food for my soul.

"Home," he murmurs.

"Home?"

"Uh, yeah, this cabin is homey."

"Right."

This is not what I expected when we raced back to the cabin, this slow, leisurely, almost dreamlike sex. As if there is no need to rush, as if we will do this forever.

Even when I reach orgasm, it's like coming in my sleep from a sweet, sexy dream. It's drifting in a boat rather than being at the center of an explosion. It's as different from last night as, well, night and day, but it's like this is the nighttime.

He smiles at me with his bedroom eyes. "This is nice. I mean more than nice. I've never had it like this before."

"Neither have I."

"But I don't know if I can come like this. I may have to keep making love to you into eternity."

"We've only got the cabin for the weekend."

"Good point." And then he speeds up, startling me, but my body responds in great, shuddering orgasms to his quick thrusts.

"Mmm, yeah, Ingruh—you're so guh—Can't get enuh—I luh!"

It's like he's become one giant schwa, lapsing into uhs that I answer with ohs. Big O's. Oaten O's. Oh my God, I have a brilliant campaign inspiration for Cheerios! But you could only run the ads on the Playboy Channel.

I start laughing and he looks down at me. "It's not you," I say quickly.

"Don't be laughing at me now, Ingrid!"

"I'm not. I'm just giddy."

"Oh, I get it. Your brain is melting."

"A little."

"Mine, too." Then he pushes pushes pushes, not like the slow, exploratory thrusts of our dream-time but like he's not a bit soothed anymore and he needs release. I'm as open as I can be for him and he dives in again and again. He's so fast, what would've been much too fast earlier, but is now just blissfully dizzying.

"I love y—I love this!"

My thoughts are no longer cohesive. Coherent, sorry. I can't overanalyze Tony's, sorry, Anthony's slip. I just say, "Me, too!" and collapse onto the bed, no longer arching my back, a moment before he collapses onto me.

"Sorry, Ang—Ingrid."

"No, I like having you there."

"OK, then I'll stay awhile. Till lunchtime."

"What are we having?"

"Sandwiches. Since you didn't want toast."

And then we laugh our silly heads off, our bodies rocking together in a completely different way than a few minutes ago.

I'm so glad we've still got lunch and other things to look forward to. And I'll try not to think beyond 11 a.m. tomorrow.