Even though I realized that I'd need to visit the bathroom soon...
...for more than one reason...
...I also realized that The Master Plan was now my top priority...
...so I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.
But, finally, around eleven-fifteen, I couldn't wait anymore.
I had to pee.
Right away.
As I opened my eyes and looked across the bed at Sam, I saw that she, too, was just waking up.
"Wow, Carls...we slept for a long time," she announced...between yawns.
"Uh, yeah...we did," I agreed, turning away as I answered...not wanting her to notice any possible hint of ulterior motive in my eyes.
She crawled over to me. "Pee?"
I leaned up and hugged her. "Definitely! And the sooner the better!"
I wanted to walk...
...but she hopped off the bed...
...lifted me up in her arms...
...and carried me.
I kissed her, non-stop, all the way to the bathroom.
After her usual morning phone call, and a very late breakfast (hmm...what did we have...oh, yeah...Fat Cakes(!), she asked, "So, what should we do now? Why don't you practice walking?"
Time to implement Phase One of my plan.
I shook my head. "Sam, do you mind if we skip that today?"
She frowned. "I guess not...but are you feeling-"
"I feel fine," I answered quickly. "What I'd really like to do right now is take a nap."
She looked surprised. "A nap? We just slept for almost twelve hours."
I nodded. "Yes, but it's raining like crazy; so this really good sleeping weather...let's not waste it!"
She looked doubtful...
...but only for a moment.
"Well, okay," she answered, lying back down and holding out her arms.
I moved into them and closed my eyes with a sigh; turning my attention toward the rain's rhythmic tapping...
...against my windows...
...and away from the other damp, insistent tapping...
...between my legs.
Around three-thirty in the afternoon...
...I awoke, reluctantly...
...because, even though I was trying my hardest to ignore it...
...my stomach was demanding lunch.
And I had no choice but to give in to it.
I kissed Sam awake.
She sat up, yawned and stretched, and then looked over at me. "Wow, Carls...I never sleep this much during the day...unless I'm at school!"
Before I could reply, with one (or all) of the four sarcastic remarks that immediately sprang to mind...
...her stomach roared ferociously...
...and, without so much as an apologetic glance in my direction...
...she scrambled off the bed and hurtled out the door.
An hour later, after we had each knocked off two chicken salad sandwiches (Sam's were big) and two slices of marble-swirl pound cake (Sam's were huge)...
...I sprawled lazily on my back...
...rubbing my blissfully-full stomach...
...and, moments later, looked up to see Sam, her palms planted on the mattress, hovering over me.
"Well, Carls, Girly Cow doesn't come on again for another couple of hours; so while we're waiting, why don't we go downstairs and watch Dr. Slime's Literary Classics? I think today's episode is going to be A Midsummer Night's Scream."
I looked back at her through half-closed eyes. "Thanks...but no thanks. I'm still kinda beat."
Her jaw dropped. "How can you say that? Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
Her hand flew up to my forehead.
"I feel fine," I insisted. "You know, Sam...you were right. I really do need to catch up on my sleep."
She didn't look entirely convinced, but answered, "Well...I guess so...and while you're doing that, I think I'll-"
(Oh, no, no, no, Miss Puckett...
...you're not going anywhere.
Not today.)
Before she could begin to describe her intended plans...
...I pulled her down onto my chest, slid my hands up under her shirt, and began to rub her back.
After recovering from her initial surprise...
...she tried to get up, but I flattened my palms...
...immobilizing her...
...before they resumed caressing her...
...and she (reluctantly) gave in.
Before long, I felt her body relax against mine.
"Carls-" she murmured.
"Shh. Close your eyes."
"But, Carls...I'm not the least bit sleepy...so don't do that, pleez-z-z-z-"
With a smug smile...
...I closed my eyes.
But, no more than an hour later...
...I awoke with a start.
Because, suddenly, I remembered what we were having for dinner.
And, apparently, so did Sam...
...because she was already awake.
And looking at me..
...with utmost dread and apprehension.
I immediately pushed her off my chest. "Get downstairs, Sam...fast! For God's sake...RUN!"
She was out of the room like a shot.
Tonight's dinner is going to be fish and chips, and both Sam and I had absolutely forbidden Spencer to make it unless one of us was present; since he's not allowed to play with that much hot oil without supervision.
I used the ensuing forty-five minutes to take another fast nap.
After a memorable dinner...and an un-memorable shower...Sam schlepped the empty tray back downstairs.
She soon returned, stopping at the bedroom mirror...
...and I called across the room, "Is he gone?"
She turned to face me. "Yeah, Cupcake; he said that he's gonna be out at Socko's place, sketching bats all night."
Then she added, with a meaningful smile, "So now, you can make as much noise as you want to, without having to worry about him hearing-"
I yawned. "Not tonight, Sam. I'm so exhaus-"
She flung down her hairbrush. "That's it! First thing tomorrow, I'm making you an appointment with Dr. An-"
(Uh-oh!)
(Unforeseen, not-so-minor crisis.)
"No! Not that! I don't need to go to the doc-"
She was at my bedside in an instant.
"Carly Shay, if you're thinking of sleep instead of Buzz right now, especially since you already slept all last night...and most of today...then I have to insist that you-"
"No, Sam! I'm not go-"
Hands on hips, she leaned far over me. "Oh, yes, you are going to the doctor! You've lost so much blood recently that you're probably-"
"No! Please, Sam! I swear it's not that! I just spent an entire hellish week on my back...getting no sleep at all! "
I saw the doubt in her eyes.
She was reconsidering.
Reaching up, I grabbed her hands tightly between my own. "Please don't make me go! I'm just trying to make up for lost time! Please!"
She wrestled with her uncertainty for what seemed forever...
...but finally, she rolled her eyes and exhaled huffily. "Okay, Okay! You don't have to go...and we'll go to sleep early!"
I smiled to myself.
(That's right, Sam; we will.
Because there's No Way you're gonna make me sleep later...
...and there's No Way that I'll let you fall asleep later...
...not until I've finished with you.)
Scowling, she flung herself down onto the bed and pulled up the covers...
...and I snuggled up next to her.
Long pause.
"Carls?"
I opened my eyes and looked over at her. "Hmm?"
"Would you like to, uh...'have one'...you know...to help you fall asleep?" she asked, looking back at me...
...hopefully.
"No. Thanks." I replied with a dreamy smile. I began to move away from her...
...but she immediately pulled me closer, and I found my face inches from hers. "It's been hours...so...are you sure about that?"
I nodded. "I know I'm not going to have any problem falling asleep tonight."
Looking more than a little disappointed, she closed her eyes.
Time to implement Phase Two of my plan.
Long pause.
I rolled over on top of her.
"Sam?"
She opened her eyes lazily and looked up at me. "Yeah?"
I wrapped my arms around her neck. "Before I go to sleep...would you like me to help you 'have one'?"
"No," she answered quickly.
Which was the response I had expected...
...and planned for.
I ran a hand through her hair and smiled at her lovingly. "It's been months...so...are you sure about that?" I asked softly.
She averted her eyes. "I'm sure."
"Okay. That's fine," I replied...
...cheerfully.
Still staring at the wall, she flinched at my answer; apparently surprised that I'd given up so easily.
I took a deep breath.
"Sam? Look at me."
She slowly turned her face back to mine. "Yeah?"
"Before you go to sleep, there's something I need to say."
She was eying me warily. "O-kay."
I reached down and took her hand. "I just want to tell you how sorry I am for all the times I tried to make you be intimate with me, when it's obvious that you have absolutely no interest. That was so wrong...and I'm so sorry...and don't worry...because I give you my word that I'm not going to ask you to anymore. Not ever."
She looked surprised. "Carls...I-"
"Wait, I'm not finished. I owe you another apology...for all the times I pushed you to tell me why you don't want to be with me. That was so selfish of me, and I'm really, really sorry. Whatever is bothering you, I realize now that you don't want me to know anything about it...nothing at all...and I have to respect that. So from now on, no more trying to pry into your personal-"
Her eyebrows shot up. "But-"
I held up my hand.
"No, Sam, it's fine. You've made your wishes perfectly clear to me, time after time, and I'm really sorry that I didn't honor them for so long...so, starting now, I'm going to respect your right to privacy. Completely. I'm not going to try to make you tell me anything about why you refuse to be intimate with me, or even ask you anything of a personal nature at all. Never again."
From her stunned expression, you would think she'd just heard that her mom had joined a convent.
"Carls, I-"
"Shh. No, Sam. It's not necessary. I know how much it upsets you to confide in me...so don't. It's perfectly okay...and I understand completely. You don't have to worry about it...or even think about it anymore. I'll never be so selfish as to expect that from you again. From now on, we'll just talk about general, non-threatening, non-personal subjects...you know, like the weather."
She opened her mouth again...
...but absolutely no sound came out...
...and that's when I knew...
...beyond a shadow of a doubt...
...from the expression on her face...
...and from the look in her eyes...
...and from her sudden and complete lack of verbal ability...
...that the seed most definitely had been planted.
Deeply.
Time to let it germinate.
So, after one fast peck on her lips...
...which she apparently was too stunned to return...
...I moved off her...
...over toward my edge of the bed.
I knew that she would be too bewildered to follow me.
Rolling over onto my stomach, I closed my eyes and began to focus on my breathing...
...in and out...
...in and out...
...in and out.
A few short minutes later, it felt like my body was rocking...
...not from side to side...
...but forward and backward...
...rhythmically and repeatedly...
...as I was lifted up...
...and I felt myself being enveloped in warm sunlight...
...as I drifted away effortlessly.
A few short minutes later...
...the rocking stopped suddenly...
...as my feet slammed down onto hard concrete.
I opened my eyes.
Even though I had never been farther East than my disastrous trip to Wisconsin...
...and even though there were no recognizable landmarks nearby...
...I somehow knew...
...without a doubt...
...that I had landed in the middle of Manhattan...
...in the middle of October...
...in the middle of the afternoon.
As I scanned my immediate surroundings...
...I didn't see anyone I knew.
But that was okay.
It wasn't the reason I was here.
Still, even though the city street was very crowded...
...with people from all walks of life...
...I also didn't seethe one person who I was looking for.
But I knew I'd find him.
I had to.
And I'd keep looking until I did find him.
Because I desperately hoped that he had the answer...
...and, when we finally did meet...
...that he'd share it with me.
Flipping up the collar of my long, double-breasted, navy wool overcoat...
...I started to walk.
East.
I smiled at a few random people I passed...
...but no one smiled back or even acknowledged me at all.
Was I invisible?
I fervently hoped not.
Less than five minutes later, I realized that I couldn't walk any farther...
...because a low brick wall was blocking my path.
Central Park.
Turning to my right, I headed south for two blocks...
...until I reached an open entrance gate.
Turning left, I went in.
A few minutes later, the shady, wooded path I was following broadened considerably; and I crossed to a sun-drenched bench on the far side of it, and sat down.
And looked around.
There were a few random people nearby, engaged in random activities...
...but, even though I smiled and nodded at each of them in turn...
...no one seemed to notice me.
Slightly unnerved, I looked down and kicked the pile of fallen leaves at my feet...
...and, much to my relief, they scattered.
I am here.
I am solid.
Thank God.
A few minutes later, a blonde lady wearing a blue track suit passed by, eating a hot pretzel.
"Hi!" I called. " Lovely day, isn't it?"
She stopped momentarily; turned to me, smiled, and nodded.
I'm guessing that she didn't speak because she was busy chewing...
...but that was okay, because I was finally assured that...
...I am visible.
And that was of utmost importance...
...because I wanted him to be able to find me easily.
And, somehow, I was sure that he would...
...so I leaned back against the bench...
...and sat staring straight ahead, at nothing in particular, for maybe ten minutes.
Lost in thought.
Waiting patiently.
And then, I was aware that he was approaching...
...but I heard him before I actually saw him...
...due to the slightly muffled, but still perfectly audible, jingling sound he was making as he walked.
I looked to my right...
...and sure enough, there he was, walking/jingling his way up the path.
Toward me.
I'm not sure how I knew...
...but I was absolutely certain that he was the one.
Several years ago, I read in a Psychology Magazine article that every single character we encounter in our dreams is really some part of us.
To this day,I'm still not sure if that's true...
...but if it is...
...I didn't recognize myself.
According to color charts I've studied, my hair color and complexion classify me as a 'Winter'...
...but he most definitely was the color of 'Autumn'.
As he sloped along confidently, with a kind of unstudied, casual grace...
...looking straight ahead, taking no notice of me...
...yet steadily moving closer and closer...
...his features came more sharply into focus...
...and I took the opportunity to size him up.
He appeared to be about twenty-six, around five-eleven...
...broad-shouldered, but not like a weight-lifter...
...he looked more like an intellectual...
...one who kept fit by doing cardio...
...a rower perhaps?
The gradually-lengthening rays of the afternoon sun, which back-lit his approaching figure, accented the gold highlights in the short, chestnut hair which framed his handsome, clean-shaven face...
...which, itself, radiated calm, self-assurance.
The face of someone who had answers.
He was wearing neatly-pressed, yet comfortably-broken-in, charcoal-gray flannels...
...and a cable-knit, v-neck sweater, apparently new; in the most indescribably-gorgeous shade of marine blue that I've ever seen...
...over a blue and white Bengal-stripe dress shirt.
The instant he reached the bench where I was sitting...
...he turned from the path and, without an invitation...
...and without looking at me...
...he sat down on the other end of it.
He knew that I was waiting for him.
I had absolutely no idea how to begin the conversation.
But, as it turned out, I didn't have to.
He sat in relaxed silence, looking straight ahead, contemplating the statue of Christopher Columbus that was directly across from us, on the patch of grass at the opposite side of the path...
...as I waited.
Finally, eyes still on the statue, he spoke.
"It's great to live so close to the sea, don't you think?"
I hesitated. "Well, actually, I'm from the West Coast, but-"
He turned to face me.
"I know that," he answered with a smile...
...not volunteering how he knew...
...and catching me completely off guard.
Still, I had to concede that he was right.
"Oh. Well, yeah...living by the sea is enjoyable. Are you from around here?"
He nodded. "I especially enjoy long walks on the beach...right at sunrise. You do too, don't you?"
Correct again.
"Yes, I do...especially during sunset." I paused, and then added, "But I hate when you're so deep in thought that you forget your surroundings; and then a huge wave rolls in unexpectedly...and washes over your shoes."
He shook his head. "Don't hate when that happens...it's actually a good thing."
And, once more, I was caught off guard. "What do you mean by that?"
Instead of answering my question directly, he said, "Okay, let's see them,"...
...while gesturing toward the huge shopping bag at my feet.
Did I have that with me earlier? At first I wasn't sure...
...but then I remembered that I most definitely had been shopping.
Anyway, I knew exactly what he was referring to...
...so I reached down, deep inside the over-stuffed bag...
...and pulled out the shoe box.
Lifting the lid, I held the box out to him.
He leaned over, looked inside for a moment, and then he lifted his eyes to mine and smiled. "Your first pair of Top-Siders."
I almost dropped the box.
"Well, yes...they are...but how do you know that?'
"You usually wear boots or sneakers," was his answer.
With shaking hands, I closed the box and returned it to the shopping bag.
Turning back to him, I replied, "Yes...but how do you know-"
He shook his head. "Now, what's the first thing you have to do after you buy a new pair of Top-Siders?"
What kind of question was that?
"I...have no idea."
He looked at me with a most-serious expression. "You have to put them on, and run through the ocean...repeatedly...and then let the sea water dry on them...so they'll be permanently salt-stained."
Unbelievable.
"But...why would I want to do that? Especially to a new pair of-"
"So when you travel inland, people will know that you live on the Coast," he replied, matter-of-factly.
I frowned. "You mean like...a status symbol? I've never considered myself to be a show-off."
"No. Not at all. You should do it so when people see you, they'll have an idea of who you are."
I waited...
...but he didn't volunteer any additional explanation.
Still confused, I began, "I'm not sure I understand what you- "
"Do you know that you can tell a lot about a person by their shoes and their underwear?" he asked, suddenly.
I shot him a skeptical look
He shook his head. "It's true. Their shoes are who they want you to think they are, but their underwear is who they really are. For example, a lady might be dressed like a librarian, all prim and proper, with sensible shoes; but underneath she might be wearing racy, lacy lingerie."
I didn't know how to respond, so I just continued to stare at him in polite, profoundly-puzzled silence.
"Come on," he said, with an encouraging smile. "What do my shoes say about me?"
Gamely, I leaned over and glanced at them, and then scanned him from head to toe, noticing that the bottom edge of his sweater was riding up in the back.
After a short period of reflection, I replied, "Well, uh, I see that they match your belt...so you do have some sense of style."
He seemed disappointed. "Too obvious. That's a valid answer, but not the best one. Try again."
I leaned over again and looked more closely. "I don't know...do they say that...you like the color 'brown'?"
"You're missing the mark. Try again."
I silently contemplated them one more time, from all angles, before declaring, "I give up."
"Come on. Try again."
"I..don't know," I replied, shaking my head.
"You give up way too easily."
I found that last remark to be more than a little annoying.
After a long silence, during which I was hoping he'd drop the subject he said, "Well? Try again. You're still not getting-."
Enough.
"I don't know!" I snapped. "Why don't you tell me what they say!"
"Carly?"
"Yes, Charles? Wait How do you know my-
"-and how do I know your-"
He smiled and shrugged.
Despite being quite confused, I managed to pull myself together without too much difficulty; and then I leaned back against the bench with a sigh. "I'm sorry. I have no idea what your shoes say about-"
He turned to face me, hiking his left knee up onto the bench; and then he leaned forward. "Carly, tell me about the last time you saw a ceiling fan."
What? A ceiling f-...oh, no.
I've heard that New York is a Wonderland for Weirdos...
...and now I have to deal with one!
That's just great!
I looked back down at his feet. "What the hell do ceiling fans have to do with your shoes?"
"Shh. You'll see. Just look away from my shoes and think about the last ceiling fan you saw."
I directed my attention across the path, to the Columbus statue.
"Uh, well...okay. One morning, a little over two months ago, my brother asked me to pick up some business cards that he'd had printed...he's an artist...so, that afternoon, I stopped by Parkview Press, which is about five blocks from where I live. And while I was waiting for the counter guy to get the cards from the back room, I happened to glance up at the shop's filthy ceiling fan...and, when I noticed how dusty and cruddy it was, I was convinced that it probably hadn't been cleaned since they bought-"
I stopped...
...and turned to face him.
"Your shoes aren't new, but it's easy to see that they were very expensive...and they're still in very good condition...because they've recently had new heels put on them...and they're polished...so they say that you appreciate good quality stuff, and you buy the best you can afford, and you take very good care of it."
"Excellen-"
"Wait! And they're lace up, cap-toe oxfords, but the toes are more rounded than pointed, so they're comfortable, as well as stylish...so they say that you walk a lot...which also corresponds to the fact that you had them re-heeled."
"Well done, Carly!" he exclaimed.
I wasn't expecting such an enthusiastic response. "R-really?"
"Yes. You're exactly right...good job!"
I beamed back at him...
...and leaned back against the bench in quiet triumph.
But then, as I sat there...
...basking in the afterglow of having found the correct answer to such a difficult question...
...I began to curse my insatiable curiosity...
...which, for the record, has plagued me all of my life...
...because...
...even though I was trying my hardest to resist...
...with everything that I had in me...
...I found it impossible to stop myself from asking the next question.
I turned to face him once again. "So, uh...what does your underwear say about you?"
"Sorry, no comment," he answered.
Which was not acceptable to me.
"Come on! You started this conversation! What does it say?"
"I'm not going to tell you," was his prompt - and unsatisfying - response.
"What? Why not!"
He shook his head regretfully.
"Tell me!"
"I'm sorry, Carly."
"Why not?" I insisted.
"Because that's classified information," he replied.
Which only intensified my already-uncontrollable urge to know.
Immediately.
"Get over here!"
After a moment's hesitation, he rose slowly to his feet and walked over to my end of the bench; standing in front of where I sat, looking down at me without speaking.
I glanced around nervously, but the park was suddenly and completely deserted.
But somehow I knew that it would be.
I looked up at him impatiently. "Well? I'm waiting."
He shook his head.
Which really pissed me off.
"Come on! Show me!"
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"I'm sorry, but-"
"Well then, at least tell me!"
"I'm sorry, Carly."
Wrong answer.
"You'd better tell me! Right now! Or else!"
His face remained impassive. "You know as well as I do that I'm not going to-"
Furious at his refusal to cooperate, I began fumbling with his belt...
...and then with his button...
...and then with his zipper...
...while he smiled down at me in amusement.
Finally...
...his pants were open...
...and I dragged them down past his knees, hearing them jingle as I did.
He obligingly lifted his shirttail.
"Well? What's your first impression?"
Somehow I knew that I could be honest without offending him.
"Tighty-whities! Yuck! Booooring! And not exactly fashionable right n-"
"Carly?"
I looked up to see him frowning at me.
"You're going about this the wrong way. What you just said is your own personal opinion. Now, what does my underwear say about me?"
"I don't know!"
"Try again."
Fuming and frustrated, I leaned forward...
...reached around behind him...
...grabbed his butt with both hands...
...and pulled him to me...
...and sat, looking closely at his underpants.
For more than a minute.
But I still was completely stumped.
Long stretch of silence.
"Carly?"
"I don't know!" I yelled in exasperation. "Why don't you tell me what they say!"
"I can't do that, Carly, but I can help you. Stop staring at them."
I immediately shifted my gaze down toward his shoes, and to his trousers, which lay like a rippled, gray flannel pool around his ankles.
"Good girl. Now tell me about the last time you bought a toothbrush."
I snapped my head back up. "Huh? What the hell does my toothbrush have to do with you under-"
"Carly? Toothbrush."
"Okay, fine!"
Once again, I lowered my eyes to the ground.
"Uh, a little over a month ago, I had just finished brushing my teeth, and I was only half awake when I went to put my toothbrush back into the stand. Anyway, as I did, it slipped out of my hand, bounced off the edge of the sink, and landed right in the toilet. And, even though I always clean the entire bathroom twice a week, there was no way I was going to use it again after that!
"But that afternoon, on my way home from school, I had forgotten all about it, and so I walked right by the big pharmacy that's near Meridian Park. Since I didn't feel like backtracking, I stopped instead at the convenience store that's across the street from my apartment building. They don't have much of a selection, but the people who work there are really nice. Anyway, I did find one soft-bristled brush, but it was orange...and I hate that color...but I bought it anyway, because I needed one for the next day. And now, every morning when I brush my-"
I stopped...
...and looked up at him.
"Your underwear looks nearly new, which means that you haven't worn them very often...which probably means they're your bottom-of-the-drawer-ones. And you put them on today because they're your last clean pair...which means that you had to do laundry. And you did. You just finished dropping off your recently-cleaned clothes at your apartment...and you decided that it was a nice day for a walk in the park...and that jingling sound in your pockets is from all the extra quarters that you didn't need while you were at the laundromat."
He nodded. "Very Good. These were my last clean ones...but what kind would I be wearing if today wasn't 'laundry day'? And what would they say about me."
I thought it over for a minute. "No idea."
"Come on, Carly, you can do this."
I stared at my feet...
...and thought it over again...
...but no answers presented themselves. "I just don't know!"
"Carly? Tell me about the food in your school cafeteria."
Eyes still turned downward, I slapped my knees with both hands. Hard. "What the hell does that have to do with your under-"
"Carly. Cafeteria."
"Okay, okay! The food there is so disgusting that I cringe every time I get in the lunch line and see what's written on the menu board at the cafeteria entrance. But, then again, at least they have the decency to label the crime! Which is a relief, because it's impossible to identify most of that glop by sight alone! And, worst of all, I can't tell you how many times I've had a stormy stomach from eating in-"
I froze...
...and looked up at his underwear...
...and then, farther up, into his eyes.
"You'd still be wearing white briefs...you always do...because you're secure enough in who you are that you don't care whether or not they're fashionable...and you like that they give you good support, which means that you're a practical sort of person...which is also the reason why you like white...because there's no colors to fade or run in the wash."
He smiled. "I couldn't have said it better myself."
And then...
...as I was congratulating myself for getting it right once again...
...I suddenly thought of something else.
Something very different.
Something that I couldn't believe I was thinking.
And I started to tremble.
I lifted my gaze to his.
He nodded. "Go ahead. It's okay. We both know that you need to see for yourself."
I began nervously twisting my hands in my lap. "I...don't know."
"It doesn't make you a bad girl. You know as well as I do that it doesn't. So go ahead."
I looked around.
There was still no one else in sight.
But somehow, I knew that there wouldn't be.
So, after a long moment's hesitation...
...I stretched my trembling right hand forward...
...palm upward...
...and rested it against his crotch.
On the outside of his underwear.
He didn't move.
I didn't breathe.
And then...
...after almost a minute of profound silence...
...I said it.
What I've never said to any guy...
...before...
...or since.
"I...want to."
He nodded. "Go ahead. See for yourself."
And I pressed my palm against the soft bulge at the top of his thighs.
He leaned forward and over...
...resting his hands on my shoulders...
...as I began to rub my hand against him.
And then, as I watched...
...and soon felt...
...his 'personals' suddenly were no longer limp...
...and, instead of hanging downward, they were now pushing forward, firmly, against the inside of the front of his underpants...
...pressing back against my palm...
...with a pressure equal to what it was exerting against them.
"Help me," I requested...
...and he began to push his hips forward...
...forcefully...
...repeatedly...
...and, within seconds, what was underneath my palm had become totally rigid.
And began to feel very, very hot to the touch.
I had never done anything like this before.
I had never touched any guy's crotch...
...or even opened any guy's pants...
...but the few guys who I had made out with...
...going only to second base...
...before fighting them off (successfully, thank God(!)...
...were entirely different.
After only a few kisses...
...they all were hyperventilating like crazy...
...and their hands were everywhere...
...but, as I listened to his breathing...
...which was very deep and slow and masterful...
...I knew that he trusted me...
...and so...
...I realized that I could trust him.
Completely.
I shifted my attention from his breathing...
...down to his bulge...
...which was now more than twice its original size...
...straining forward insistently, demanding to be released...
...and then I shifted my focus even further downward...
...to what was happening between my own legs.
Which was absolutely nothing.
I stopped moving my hand...
...and looked up at him.
Questioningly.
He nodded. "Go ahead. See for yourself."
And, after a moment's hesitation...
...I reached up...
...and pulled his underpants down.
I'd never seen one before, so I had nothing to compare it to...
...but, for the record, he had been circumcised; and his hair, which was the same color as the hair on his head, was neatly trimmed.
And his nine-inch long, granite-hard, marble-veined penis was a very dark maroon color...
...because it was so engorged with blood.
Once I had satisfied my curiosity, I realized that...
...even though I had absolutely no interest in his hot, throbbing genitals...
...aside from a clinical/academic one...
... I could not leave him like that...
...so I leaned far forward...
...until my lips were two inches from the head of his ramrod-stiff penis...
...and yelled, "Wall Street took a dive this afternoon! All your stocks have tanked! You're now out $187,000!"
And his erection wilted.
Immediately and completely.
(What do you want? It was a dream!)
He sighed in relief. "Thanks. I didn't want to carry that around all day."
"No problem."
I pulled his underwear back up.
After I had, I added, guiltily, "And I'm really sorry that you're broke now."
He shrugged. "Money is a renewable resource. There's always more where that came from."
I looked down and began to ponder this.
"Carly?"
I looked back up to see him gazing at me...
...expectantly.
But what was I supposed to say?
"Come on, Carly? What's the answer?"
I knew I could be honest.
"Well, I didn't feel any kind of...arousal or anything...while I was touching you...or looking at you... so I think the answer is...that I'm gay."
"Sorry wrong answer."
"What? You mean...I'm not gay?"
"No...you are," he answered quickly. "But that's not the right answer here."
"Well, what's the question then, because now I have no idea what you're-"
"Don't worry; you'll get there," he replied, reaching down toward his ankles.
"No. Let me."
I had started it...
...so I'd finish it.
I pulled his pants up, carefully tucking his shirt in; and then I got him zipped, buttoned, and buckled up; finishing by pulling the bottom of his sweater down neatly over the top of his pants.
"Thanks." He walked back to his end of the bench and sat back down, turning to face me.
And we looked at each other...
...without speaking...
...for God-knows how long.
Because I couldn't figure out what to ask next.
Finally, it came to me.
"Can you help me? It would really help me if you would...you know...show me how it's done."
"Sure."
He leaned forward obligingly.
After spending more than a minute looking carefully at my shoes, even gently lifting my feet and examining the soles...
...he leaned back against the bench, stretched his legs out in front of him, and closed his eyes.
After another minute or two, he spoke.
"If you ever get a chance to head down the coast, be sure to check out Cape May, at the southern-most tip of New Jersey."
"Huh? What the hell does that have to do with my sho-"
He held up his hand. "It's a lovely Victorian seaside town, with a lot of gorgeous, original, late nineteenth-century architecture...both commercial and residential. There's one very picturesque Bed and Breakfast called Castle by the Sea, and it's supposed to be haunted; but during all the times I've stayed there, I've never met any ghosts. I get away down there as often as I can...and so should you."
He opened his eyes, and looked at the sky, just above the tops of the trees which lined the opposite side of the path.
"It'll really help you with your writing."
I was slightly disappointed at this pronouncement.
Maybe he didn't know everything after all.
"You must be mistaken," I replied. "I haven't written anything."
Not looking over at me, he said, "Don't worry about that...you most definitely will."
I shook my head. "I don't think-"
His eyes were closed again. "You haven't written anything yet, because you're still finding your voice; but I promise that you're going to. And sooner than you think.
"Anyway, Cape May has some really great restaurants. My favorite is called The Moon Under Water; and their house specialty is grilled chicken, stuffed with smoked Gouda and Portobello mush-"
He sat up...
...and turned to face me.
"You don't normally wear tassel loafers, do you?"
"No."
"I didn't think so. As I mentioned earlier, you mostly wear sneakers and boots. Overall, you usually dress kind of high school/collegiate, with jeans and sweaters. But lately, you've been thinking about the fact that you're growing up, and about your place in the world...and, as a result, you decided that you were going to use this trip to New York to experiment. So, one of the first things you did when you arrived here was to go clothes shopping...and, instead of your usual choices, you bought a lot of classic pieces. In fact almost everything you're wearing right now is new. Almost."
Okay, maybe he does know everything, after all.
"Yes, you're right."
He didn't seem the least bit surprised as he asked, "About all of it?"
I nodded. "Yes...almost everything."
He was looking at me.
Expectantly.
And I knew why.
So, without hesitation, I stood up...
...took off my new overcoat...
...and, after laying it over the back of the bench...
...I walked over to where he sat...
...stopping right in front of him.
I didn't bother looking around...
…because, somehow, I knew for a fact that the park was still deserted.
He looked up at me...
...questioningly.
I nodded.
And he opened my belt...
...my button...
...my zipper...
...and then, with both hands...
...he slid my pants down to my knees.
I lifted my shirttail...
...and immediately felt the warmth of his palms through the white silk which covered my backside...
...as he gently pulled me closer.
And looked.
After more than a minute spent standing and waiting, disgruntled, while he sat...
...examining me in total silence...
...the suspense was killing me
"Well? What do my panties say about me?"
He looked up. "You tell me."
Which was incredibly frustrating.
"That's not fair! I thought you said that you-"
"Yes...and I can," he assured me. "But you're the one who needs to practice."
He was right.
So I looked down at my panties...
...but I didn't have any answers.
None at all.
I looked at him again...
...pleadingly.
He shook his head. "Sorry, no. You're going to have to do this on your own."
I tried again...
...staring at them for what seemed forever...
...but still...
...nothing.
"Well, Carly?"
"I can't! I'm trying as hard as I can...but I can't!"
"All right, I'll help you again. Stop thinking about them for a minute."
I did.
But blushed furiously at what I immediately thought of instead.
"Carly?"
I looked up at him.
"It doesn't make you a bad girl...only an inquisitive one. Go ahead. See for yourself."
And, without even having to think it over...
...I knew that he was right.
So, acting on my instincts alone...
...I let him do what no other guy has ever done to me.
Reaching down...
...I took hold of his hand...
...turned it palm up...
...opened my legs...
...and pressed his hand up between them.
Against the outside of my panties.
"Are you ready?" he asked quietly.
Not looking at him, I nodded.
And, seconds later, two of his fingers began gently probing...
...searching very carefully...
...until I could tell from the expression on his face...
...that he knew he had found the right spot.
He pressed his fingertips deliberately between my outer lips...
...and I felt the crotch of my panties being pushed up inside me...
...at the top of my vagina...
...directly up against my clitoris...
...with his fingers directly on the other side of them.
He knew exactly where to find my special spot.
I leaned over...
...grabbed onto his shoulders...
...and forced myself to look directly into his eyes.
"G-go ahead."
And, with a nod, he began gently rubbing my clitoris...
...with a skillful precision that could only have come from years of practice...
...and from a caring sensitivity...
...and from a thorough understanding of a woman's physical needs.
"Help me," he insisted...
...and I began to push my hips forward against his hand.
Over and over.
Closing my eyes...
...I focused on my breathing...
...determined to keep it as even as his had been...
...but failing utterly...
...because I was soon out of breath from pushing as hard as I could...
...trying to feel...
...something.
I felt his fingers...
...but nothing else...
...and that scared me...
...so I began thrusting harder...
...desperately trying to feel something...anything...arousal, shame, embarrassment, guilt, disgust...
...but all I could feel was frustration.
Because I didn't know the answer.
Because I didn't know any of the answers.
After five solid minutes of fighting against, then realizing - devastated - that I had no choice but to accept this revelation as fact...
...I began to sob.
"Carly...we need to stop. Right now."
He was right.
Incredibly upset, I immediately stopped moving my hips.
He removed his hand from between my legs...
...and I lifted my shirttail...
...and he slowly pulled my panties down...
...and we both looked down into the crotch.
Without lifting his eyes he asked, "Carly, what do your underpants say about you?"
"W-well, they're completely dry...and I still don't feel any kind of arousal...so I'm pretty sure it means that I'm gay."
"I'm sorry. That answer isn't the right one."
"But you just told me before that I am gay!"
He nodded. "Yes. You are."
"What, then? Are you telling me that I don't want to be gay...and so now I'm trying to like guys?"
"No, I'm sorry. That's not correct. And it's also not the answer to this question."
I lost it.
"Tell me! Tell me the answer!"
"I can't. You're going to have to find it out for your-"
But, before he could finish refusing me yet again...
...I grabbed his hand...
...and shoved his fingers back against me...
...between my legs...
...between my lips...
...pressing them into the upper left side of my clitoris.
Bare skin against bare skin.
I grabbed the back of his hand with both of my own...
...holding his fingers tightly against me...
...and started thrusting against them as hard as I could...
...over and over...
...but still...
...no feeling.
No answers.
No.
Nothing.
I started to cry.
Hard.
"You're going to tell me!" I insisted, tearfully; frantically grinding my vagina against his hand.
"I'm sorry. I'm not."
"Yes! You Are!"
He shook his head.
In wildly-unbalanced desperation...
...I yanked his hand from between my legs...
...separated his index and middle fingers from the rest...
...pushed my pelvis forward...
...and his fingers downward...
...and then upward...
...and the instant they had penetrated my outer lips...
...I leaned over him...
...determined to shove both of them up into my vagina...
...to have them entirely inside me...
...as far up as they would go...
...well aware of how excruciatingly painful it was going to be...
...and how badly it was going to hurt afterward...
...for a long time afterward...
...knowing that I wasn't even going to enjoy it at all...
...but not caring...
...because I desperately needed help.
But before I could make him enter me...
...he jerked his hand down and away. "No. I'm sorry. We're never going to-"
I wanted to strangle him.
"Help me! Why the fuck won't you help me!"
"Help you what? Do you want to have an org-"
"No! You know that I don't! I want the answer...and you're going to give it to me!"
"I'm sorry. No," he replied.
I leaned over and began frantically tearing open the front of his pants with one hand, while grinding the palm of my other one against his crotch...desperately trying to make him hard again.
He began calmly "This isn't going to-"
"Yes it is!" I sobbed insistently. "It is going to happen! Right now! Even if I have to force myself down on your-"
Just as I managed to get my fingers into the fly of his underwear, he grabbed my wrist...
...and removed my hands from between his legs.
"No! Let go of me! Let me fin-"
He pulled me closer to him, until I was staring directly into his eyes. "Carly. Why do you think I'm not willing to help y-"
I started to cry. "I don't know! You're some kind of control freak! You get off on making people craz-"
"Carly. Stop. Now."
"N-no...I-"
"Now, Carly."
"B-but...I-"
"Right Now."
I stopped.
He let go of my wrists and then, looking down, he zipped his pants back up.
Looking back up at me, he said, "Tell me about the worst TV show you ever watched."
"Huh? What the hell does that have to do with my pan-"
"Carly. TV show."
"Okay! Okay! It was called A Tail of Two Kitties, and it was about a couple of cats living in Paris during The French Revolution. They had these lame, unconvincing French accents, and they ate RAT-atouille, while they planned to overthrow the government; to protest the sales tax that had recently been added to kitty litter. They were furious at being disenfranchised, and, since they hadn't been allowed to vote on the tax issue, they decided to take matters into their own paws...and then they attempted to destroy the cat-stitutional monarchy. Not only was the whole show historically inaccurate, it was also incredibly..."
I froze.
And looked down at him.
"My panties are silk...which means that I have a sensual side; but they're also white...they're always white...so they say that I'm a good girl who doesn't sleep around. And they're not g-strings or thongs, because I consider those to be too revealing, plus, I like to be comfortable. And they have a kind of quiet, refined elegance about them...which means that I consider myself to be a lady."
He nodded approvingly. "There, that wasn't so hard was it?"
"Fuck you."
"As much as I appreciate the invitation...
I shot him a look.
"...I've already told you that we're not going to."
He gently but decisively pulled my panties back up.
I began to reach down toward my ankles...
...but his hands were already there. "No, please...let me."
Once my pants were up and closed, I walked over to my side of the bench.
"It's October. Put your overcoat back on."
Even though it wasn't a particularly cold day, I did as he instructed...
...and then fell back onto the bench...
...drained.
"Well, Carly?"
I looked over at him. "Well, what? What do you want me to say?"
"I'd like to hear a summary."
I rolled my eyes in exasperation. "Fine! Well, I didn't enjoy groping you...and uh, nothing personal, but I didn't enjoy you groping me...not at all...so that means I'm definitely-"
"I'm sorry, Carly. This doesn't have anything to do with you being g-"
"YES IT DOES! IT HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH THAT!"
He didn't seem the least bit phased by my outburst. "Sorry. Try again. You're way off base."
"HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT? YOUR HAND WAS BETWEEN MY LEGS! MY HAND WAS BETWEEN YOUR-"
He raised his eyebrows, but answered calmly. "Carly. Stop. Now."
I stopped.
"Now look at me."
I looked.
"You're still not getting it. This has nothing to do with my hand between your legs...or your hand between mine. And it has absolutely nothing at all to do with penises."
I started to speak but he held up his hand. "Listen to me...very carefully. You already know that you're gay. You've accepted it, and, even though you haven't officially come out yet, you're comfortable with who you are. You've embraced your sexuality."
I nodded slowly.
He continued, "For years, you've had to deal with a lot of inner conflict, and, as a result, you really suffered...because you didn't accept it for so long. And, now that you've come to terms with that problem and solved it, you finally feel deeply relieved."
"I g-guess."
"So, it follows logically that the whole 'gay' thing is old news. Correct me if I'm wrong."
"No. You're right," I admitted.
"Yes. I am. Now, what do you think all of this is really about?"
Still confused, and near tears again, I buried my head in my hands. "I don't know. Please help me."
He reached across the bench...
...and gently lifted my chin.
And I clearly saw the kindness in his eyes as he began, "It's about resolving current problems. There's something in your life right now that you don't understand, even though you've really tried to. And you can't fix it, even though you've really tried to. And it's really upsetting you."
I nodded.
"Even though I already know what it is, I want you to tell me all about it," he continued.
It was the best news I'd heard all day.
"Okay, I will...and what a relief this is going to be! To get an objective opinion on this!"
I took a deep breath.
"Well, my problem is...um...actually, what's bothering me is...uh...uh...it's-"
And, suddenly...
...my entire body went cold...
...because...
...not only did I not have the answer...
...now I also had lost the problem...
...and it was imperative that I remember it...
...because my future happiness depended upon it.
But I had forgotten.
Completely.
And that was terrifying.
So I did the only logical thing...
...I started to panic. "Oh, no...OH, NO! OH, GOD!"
"Carly...everything is going to be okay," he stated.
"You're wrong! It's not! None of it will ever be!"
He laid a hand on my arm.
I shook it off violently.
Because I couldn't deal with not knowing the answer.
Or the question.
And I most definitely could not live with the gaping chasm that their absence left in my soul.
I had to get away...
...far, far away.
From all of it.
Right now.
So, there was only one solution...
...even though it might only be a temporary one.
I had to run.
As far and as fast as possible.
I shot up off the bench...
...but he was faster.
In a flash, he was in front of me.
Grabbing both of my upper arms...
...he pushed me back down onto the bench.
Leaning over me, he stated, "You know you can't run from-"
"Let go of me!"
I started to struggle, but he shifted his body weight...
...successfully gaining leverage...
...forcing me to remain where I was.
"I have to leave! Now! Let go!"
I couldn't believe what I heard next.
"Yes, Carly. Let go."
"What the hell are you talking about? I'm the hostage here! Let go!"
"Yes, let go."
"Stop mocking me! Let go!"
"You're right. Let go."
"LET GO OF ME!" I screamed up into his face. "LET GO!"
He nodded. "Yes. Let go."
I frantically began whipping my head around...
...frantically scanning the park...
...praying that I'd see a cop...
...or any other person...
...preferably one with a black belt in karate...
...or at least a cell phone...
...who could make this psycho let go of me.
But, deep down, I knew with absolute certainty that I wouldn't see one.
Anywhere.
Ever.
I looked back up at him.
"Let go, Carly."
"Shut Up, You Obnoxious Prick! Shut The Fuck Up!"
"Carly, let go."
Since there was no one around who could rescue me...
...and I was now waaaay past furious...
...I decided to slap him.
But, despite my repeated and dedicated efforts, I couldn't get my hands anywhere near his face, due to his solid, unyielding grip on my upper arms.
Back to cursing.
"Leave me the fuck alone! Get off me you son of a b-"
"Sorry. I can't. Not ever," he replied.
Which was the last thing I wanted to hear.
"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!"
"No. You don't," he replied calmly.
I tried again to make him let go of me...
...thrashing wildly...
...but he tightened his grip...
...and so, without really thinking things through...
...I did the very next thing that occurred to me.
I slammed my head forward...
...against his chest.
As hard as I could.
Bad idea.
Because the only results it produced were...
...I saw stars...
...and it hurt like hell.
"LET GO!" I demanded, now struggling like a lunatic...
...trying to get close enough to viciously bite any parts of his anatomy that I could reach...
...but soon I stopped...
...shocked...
...as he began to shake me.
Hard.
"Let go, Carly!"
"I c-can't! You're t-the one w-who needs to let g-go of m-me!"
"Carly, let go."
"B-but..."
"I'm not going to stop saying it until you get it. How many more times am I going to have to tell you to let g-"
Finally, completely finished and defenseless, I started to cry. "I w-will! I'll let g-go! I p-promise! Even though I h-have absolutely n-no idea w-what y-you-"
He stopped shaking me...
...and leaned forward, his face inches from mine.
"Finally! Are you going to try to run away from me now?"
I was so whipped, in every sense of the word, that I knew I couldn't have run now if I'd tried to...
...so I shook my head.
He gently pulled me up toward him...
...wrapping his arms around my back...
...and I embraced him in return...
...resting my still-aching head against his chest.
"Breathe," he directed.
I did.
And, within a few minutes, I felt my heart rate slowing back down to normal.
He carefully settled me back against the bench and sat down next to me, so close that our shoulders were almost touching.
"I love October, don't you?" He asked congenially.
Stunned at the conversation's abrupt change of direction, I looked down at my feet and nodded.
"That's no good, Carly. Lift your face to the light."
Too spent to argue, I did as he advised...
...tilting my head far backward...
...allowing the warmth of the late afternoon sun's nearly-horizontal rays to envelop my entire body.
Almost immediately, I began to feel more relaxed.
I turned my head in his direction. "What should I be thinking about right now?" I asked...
...very, very politely. " At least tell me that. Please."
He reached over and took my hand in his. "I want you to focus on the sound of a violin."
I strained my ears. "But, no one's playing a vio-"
He shook his head. "That's not important. If someone was, what would he look like?"
Before I could consider this question, I suddenly heard the sound of loud chattering...
...and my attention was diverted to a pair of squirrels about six feet up the path...
...and I found myself smiling, for nearly five minutes, as I sat watching the two of them fight over a half-eaten Kit-Kat bar.
I didn't know that squirrels are fond of candy. I wonder if they like other kinds of junk food, too...hmm...I once read somewhere that the reason squirrels have such bushy tails is so they can wrap them around themselves during cold weather, using them as blankets. Squirrels are so cute...and I just love the way that they...
...and then, without even having to think about it, I knew.
I turned back to face him.
"He'd be tall, dark haired, and kind of thin; with sharp, piercing eyes. And he'd be sitting in front of his living room fireplace, playing late into the night."
He nodded approvingly. "See, Carly? You do know how to find the answers."
He returned my hand to my lap, and let go of it...
...and then, I watched in silence as he leaned back, tilted his head upward, and closed his eyes.
"It's been a beautiful afternoon, hasn't it?" he asked, contentedly.
He was absolutely right, and so...
...wanting to savor its final remaining hour, I turned my face back to the sun and closed my eyes.
"Carly?"
I looked over once again...
...but his face was still turned upward.
"Don't worry, he said, with a self-assured smile. "You're going to get there. Stop trying so hard."
And somehow, I knew that he was telling me the truth.
And so, finally at peace, I closed my eyes again and leaned back against the bench...
...breathing slowly and evenly...
...feeling my body relax, more and more, each time I exhaled...
...until every last bit of stress had drained from me.
Complete, profound relief.
Blissfully content, I realized that I couldn't move...
...but I didn't even want to try...
...because the late-afternoon autumn sun was washing over me in wide, sultry waves...
...and I finally felt so secure, so confident, and so warm.
Except for my left foot...
...which, for some reason, was beginning to feel oddly cold..
Too lazy to open my eyes, I decided that it must be in shadow.
I moved it closer to my right one...
...but it wasn't feeling any warmer...
...so I began waving it around, wildly; trying to get it back into the sun...
...but it was rapidly growing even colder...
...so I opened my eyes...
...and realized that it was cold...
...because it had kicked its way free of the sheets and comforter...
...and was now hanging, exposed, over the edge of the bed.
I pulled it back under the covers and rubbed it with my right foot...
...trying to warm it up as quickly as I could...
...while I felt the rest of my body rapidly growing numb...
...as I reflected on the bizarre dream I'd just had.
Oh, my God.
I hope I never land on a psychiatrist's couch...
...because they'd be strapping me into a straightjacket less than five minutes into that story!
But, even though I remembered the entire dream with vivid accuracy...
...what did it mean?
I lay in silent confusion...
...trying to figure out its message...
...but, after wracking my brain for ten solid minutes...
...I decided to give up...
...for now.
Maybe the answer will come to me later...
...when I can put some distance between myself and...but then again, if I wait too long to re-examine my dream, I might forget parts of it.
Important parts.
So, to be on the safe side, I decided to review every aspect of the entire dream...
...right now...
...to make sure I'd remember every single detail.
Let's see: Manhattan, autumn, walking, Central Park, handsome guy, jingling gray flannels, gorgeous sweater...I absolutely love that blue sweater...
...hmm...I could see myself wearing something like that.
In fact, I think I saw a similar one, not too long ago, at Windsor & Gordon, the huge department store over on Union Street.
I really want that sweater.
It's gorgeous.
Even though, (with the exception of a few T-shirts) I rarely wear men's clothes...
...I made up my mind, right then, that I was going to buy one anyway.
Soon.
But then again, Windsor & Gordon is an upscale store, and their stuff is usually pretty expensive...but then again, you can catch some pretty good sales there, if you're patient...but, then again, if I wait too long, all the blue ones in my size might already be gon-
My eyes snapped open.
Oh, my God.
Oh.
My.
God.
I know exactly what's bothering Sam.
All of it.
Immediately, the entire scenario began flashing before my eyes, rapidly and accurately...just as if I was watching it onscreen.
But then...
...before my mind even had an opportunity to process this information...
...I also had the answer...
...to why it had taken me so long to come up with the answer.
First of all, according to Sherlock Holmes, the smallest details are the most important...
...and even though I'd noticed them...
...I hadn't really paid attention to them.
And secondly...
...I was reminded of the report I did last year, in my Psychology class.
My chosen subject had been Tapping into the Power of the Subconscious.
To sum up this fascinating subject:
The most effective way to solve problems isn't through conscious thought...
...but by letting your subconscious solve them for you.
And, if you stop thinking about a problem consciously...
...it usually will.
For example: When you're trying to remember something, such as the name of a person who you used to know, and you try and try to remember, but you can't...you finally give up, and turn your attention elsewhere...onto something totally unrelated.
And later, maybe an hour after you stopped thinking about the problem, the answer pops into your head...seemingly out of nowhere.
Because, when you let go of it, your subconscious was able to solve it for you.
And that's where I had made my major mistake.
From the moment I'd realized that this problem existed...
...I hadn't let go of it.
Not even for a minute.
Not until this dream...
...which had nothing to do with Sam.
I know that some Freudian scholars are shaking their heads right now and saying that every single aspect of that dream had everything to do with Sam; but my point is that I didn't think of her, not even once... not even when I tried to...or for fifteen minutes after I woke up.
I had dropped the problem...
...and my subconscious had picked it up...
...solved it...
...and delivered the answer to me.
Even Sherlock Holmes did that...
...absently playing his violin, to divert his mind from difficult problems.
And that distraction helped him solve his cases.
And I knew now...thanks to all the unnecessary, unsatisfying, and unfinished 'crotch groping' in my dream...that pushing sex on an unwilling Sam never would have gotten me the answer to what was bothering her...
...because you can't use the problem to solve the problem.
I had committed a grave error in tactics.
Instead of trying to make her do it...
...I should be trying to make her want to do it.
There's a huge difference.
And, now that I knew exactly what the problem was...
...I knew exactly what I had to do next...
...which was almost exactly what I had planned early this morning.
But with one major difference.
Now, I would no longer be flying blind...
...and could proceed with confidence, knowing that my efforts were about to produce positive, permanent results.
And so, with calm self-assurance, I looked across the bed...
...and, by the dim glow of my table lamp...
...and from the obviously-troubled expression on her sleeping face...
...I saw that the seed I'd planted a few hours ago had most definitely taken root.
And I knew that it was, without a doubt, time to finally solve Sam's problem.
Forever.
So, slowly and silently...
...I eased my way across the bed...
...over to where she lay.
A/N: The entire 'dream sequence' was never pre-planned; it was a gift from my subconscious; handed to me - almost in its entirety - two minutes after I woke up one morning...so I decided to include it.
P.S.: The more you review...
...the more I write.
