This is so funny, because as I was writing this chapter, I got a review alert from Jennifer 10 who said, "All I ask is that you pretty please recreate the infamous 'Mrs. Robinson, are you trying to seduce me?' moment." It's been years since I've seen the movie, and I don't remember the moment so well, but I do remember the line, and even though I wasn't planning to use it, your suggestion was just too good and too obvious, so I threw it in, and I hope it works. Thanks!

By the way, Jennifer, your comment that you "so did not wanna love this story" absolutely made my day! All along my goal in writing this story for other people to read has been that even though I understand that some people may not like it or agree with it, all I really want is for the reader to BELIEVE that it could happen, within the context of the storyline. But if you do in fact like it, or better yet loveit, that's icing on the cake! So thanks again!

-

I can't believe I let Sam get to me like that. I can't believe I let him aggravate me so much that I was drawn into a violent verbal clash with him right in front of Lizzie and her friends. I could probably count on one hand the number of times that had happened in our twenty years of marriage, and this was the second time it had happened in the last six months.

We were on a steady downward spiral.

Fuck you? Had I really screamed "Fuck you"? And in front of the kids! All I can say is thank God Matt was not there that night.

After the anger came tears, which David helped me through, and after that came the numbness, which was what I felt when Sam finally came back in that night. I was lying in bed when I heard the door open, and felt him in the room. I pretended to be asleep, but of course he knew I was not.

"Jo," he said, in what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech. "I am not going to get into this with you all over again, but I am going to say that everything I'm doing is because I love you, and I love the kids, and I'm sorry if you don't see it that way, but a man has to work, a man has to support his family. I've got to do what I've got to do. And I'd like it if you would support me in that, but even if you don't, I've still got to do what I've got to do."

There were a dozen things I could have said in reply, but I also did not wish to start up the argument all over again. I was so tired, and all I wanted at this moment was to get some sleep. I calmed myself with the memory of how wonderful it had felt to be in David's arms, gently swaying back and forth, slow dancing to a quiet tune he was humming in my ear. I felt Sam lay down in bed beside me, sighing heavily. I would deal with him in the morning, when I felt strong and fresh. Right now, the memory of David was all I needed to get through this night.

David…

He was my rock, he was incredible. There were so many times when I completely forgot that he was Lizzie's age, had once been Lizzie's friend. He was so mature and helpful, so insightful. Did it come from having two parents who were psychiatrists, or was it just him? Naturally smart and sensitive? And how had I been so lucky to get him into my life right now, when I needed him most? He was my angel.

But my angel was leaving for college in a couple of weeks now. I couldn't even bear to think of it. How was I going to get along without him? I had come to depend on him entirely too much.

David kept trying to persuade me to get back to talking with my friends, but I had been ignoring them all for so long it was difficult to know how to start up again without feeling incredibly awkward. After the night of the party and the big fight, I didn't have the emotional strength to get through "awkward." I only wanted what was familiar and comfortable, and at the moment, only David felt that way to me.

So I kept picking him up from work, and he kept coming over the house for ice cream and anything else I would serve him, and then we would watch movies. He introduced me to so many wonderful movies that summer. We would watch, and sometimes we would drink a little wine. And then we would talk. Sometimes till very late in the night, sometimes till two or three in the morning, long after everyone else had gone to sleep. David told his parents he was at Lizzie's house, and they were happy with that explanation. Each time he left I gave him a little kiss on the cheek at the front door.

At this point that was the extent of it. There was nothing more going on, honestly, though I could tell by Lizzie's attitude that she thought there was. Not that it would have been any of her business, anyway. She had had her chance with David, and she had made choices she now had to live with. We were all adults here, and as far as I was concerned, my relationship with David was entirely my own business.

Sam, by the way, was clueless. Either he was clueless, or he simply was too busy to care.

So nothing was happening between us at this point. Well…there was that one night, of course, when I gave him a backrub. That was an interesting experience.

David was so tense sometimes, especially in the shoulders. We had been drinking a little wine during the movie, and yet he was still feeling antsy, so he went to sit on the floor in front of me. Once again, I could not resist the curls, so I positioned myself above him on the couch and asked if he wouldn't mind…

"Mind what?" he asked.

In answer, I ran my hands through his hair.

"Jesus!" he cried, tensing up, throwing his hands in the air. "What are you doing, Jo?"

"I'm just playing with your hair. It's so beautiful. You don't mind, do you? Let an old lady have her thrill," I teased.

"First," he said, "you're not an old lady," which was what he said every time I described myself that way (and to tell the truth, I think I only said it because I wanted to hear his reply). "And second, what the heck is so thrilling about my hair?"

"You really don't know, do you?" I asked. "You really have no idea how attractive you are?"

"Stop it!" he said. "You're embarrassing me."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about," I replied. "You're a sweetheart of a guy, Davey, and so attractive, and someday you're going to make some lucky girl extremely happy. And when that happens, I guarantee you she'll want to play with your hair, just like I am now…"

Having said this, I felt compelled to continue playing with his hair, yet as I did I noticed his shoulders growing more and more tense.

Finally, I said, "Drop your head" and he said "Why?" almost in a worried tone, and I said, "Because I need to get at your neck and start loosening it up for you."

"I don't need my neck 'loosened up,'" he laughed.

"If you really believe that, buddy, then I'm certain that you have no idea what you really need."

"But---"

"Don't argue with me," I grinned. "Drop your head and be quiet. And let yourself relax for once…okay?"

At last he did as he was told, and I was able to work away at a giant knot of tension right between his shoulders until finally I actually heard him moan.

I smiled. "Still think you don't need this?"

"I guess I am tense, a lot of the time," he finally admitted. "I think it comes from too many years of trying to excel at everything I do. I always have to be at the top of my game."

"Not everything is a game, David. Not everything is a competition. Sometimes it's okay just to let yourself go a little."

"There are only a few people I can do that with," David said. "But you're one of them, Jo."

"Well, I'm glad for that," I said, working my way down his shoulders.

There's really nothing more to tell about this. I gave him a good backrub, through the neck of his tee shirt, for a long time, and I could tell afterwards that he felt very relaxed, but nothing more came of it. I enjoyed helping him, touching him, but I didn't expect it to lead to anything else.

But the fact that I'm even thinking that it didn't lead to anything else has got to indicate that the idea of there being "something else" was lurking just around the corner. There was a certain energy slowly building up between us, and I think we both knew it, even at this point.

If I had to guess, I would say it probably kicked into high gear the night of the big thunderstorm.

-

It was the last Thursday in August. David would be buying his car this weekend, and leaving for college on Tuesday. I had so little time left with him, but I tried not to think about that. We had a fun evening planned, Chinese takeout and A Knight's Tale, which I had never seen but David assured me was highly entertaining. So far he hadn't steered me wrong, and his brief description of a romantic story about a servant disguising himself as a knight in order to win the tournament and the princess sounded like just the thing to get my mind off my troubles.

My troubles being that Sam and I were barely speaking at this point. And also that I was about to lose my very best friend.

At the moment, though, I could not think about my troubles, or anything else except the rain that was pouring down in buckets. I went out early to pick up David at the store, anticipating the weather might slow down my drive. I had circled the parking lot three times when I saw him come out the front doors. There was an overhang, so if I pulled up as close as possible to the curb, I could probably keep him from getting absolutely drenched.

I saw him in his khaki pants and red Circuit City shirt, and he saw me and waved, and began to walk towards the curb. As he did, however, another SUV in front of me suddenly spun out its wheels, tearing through a puddle, which sprayed a muddy mess of water up into the air…and directly on to David!

I saw this happen. I gasped. Poor David! I pulled up beside him and lowered the window. Through the pounding rain, and just as a streak of lightning illuminated the depth of the damage, I exclaimed, "Oh my God, David! Oh my God!"

He was pushing mud off the front of his shirt. He was shaking out his hair, sending dirty drops of water flying in every direction. He looked up at me, an expression of shock and dismay filling his face.

"Oh my God!" I said again, and then for some reason, I began to laugh.

I know it wasn't very nice. I guess it was one of those times when if you don't laugh you're going to cry. So I laughed. And I laughed. And in a moment I saw that David was laughing with me.

"Oh…crap!" he exclaimed, wiping his dirty hands on his dirty pants. "How am I going to get into the car now?"

"Don't worry about that!" I said. "I've got Scotchguard protection. It will clean up easy enough. As will your face."

He grimaced. Yes, there was mud and rainwater all over his face. He took his fingers to his cheeks, then saw that he had pulled off a good deal of dirt.

"Get in!" I called. "We'll clean you up at home!"

"Wait!" he said, and suddenly he pulled his shirt up over his head, turning it inside out, and using the clean side as a towel to wipe down his face and hair.

It was a smart thing to do, because it really took away the worst of the mess. It was a bad thing to do, however, because for the first time since he had been a little boy, I was looking at his chest, and the shock of how manly he looked just about pushed me into another dimension.

In case you haven't noticed already, I have this thing about hair. On a man. And by the way, not just the hair on his head. This may sound a little weird, but I get really turned on by chest hair. Okay, maybe more information than you need to know. But you need to know this to understand why for the next several moments I sat there transfixed by the image of David, bare-chested and beautiful, rubbing his head with his inside out shirt.

He was beautiful. There is no other word for it. Unless you want to use the word "sexy." But I didn't want to use that word. I was only subconsciously aware at this point that for some time now I had been trying to avoid the word "sexy" while thinking about David.

Yet, when he finally ran to the car and got in, I couldn't help myself.

First, he caught his breath and said, "That was so not funny, Jo!"

Oh my gosh, you're right!" I agreed. "That was not funny! But it was also hilarious. Come on, David! You know in a few days you're going to be telling this story and laughing your head off."

"In a few years, maybe. Right now, I just want to get cleaned up. Look what I'm doing to your car! I'm wet and I'm dirty, and I'm so sorry---"

"Stop it!" I insisted. "I don't care about the car. I only care about you. Are you okay?"

He took a deep breath, and I saw his chest heave up, and then down. "Yeah, I'm alright."

"David, look at you!"

"I know," he sighed. "I'm a mess."

"Not that!" I insisted. "Look at your chest!"

He did, clearly not knowing what I was talking about.

"You've got hair on your chest!" I exclaimed. "You're a man!"

Now he was embarrassed. He pulled the crumpled up shirt in his lap higher against his body, suddenly conscious of his partial nakedness.

"You're a man," I repeated. "You've got hair. And look how nice it is. Not too much, just right, and in just the right places…"

And then I did what I never could resist doing. I reached out to touch his hair. Only this time I didn't even ask first "Do you mind…?" My hand just instinctively flew to his chest, needing to know what this pretty patch of chest hair must feel like.

Immediately he drew in a sharp breath, stunned by my forwardness.

"Jo…"

"Oh, indulge me," I said playfully. "Let an old lady have her thrill."

So I stroked his chest, enjoying the sensation of his skin and his hair against the palm of my hand. This was so much fun! And then, after a few moments, I realized I was beginning to flirt with the idea of brushing my fingertips across his nipples. I so wanted to do that, but I suddenly came to my senses when I also realized several other things, all at the same time.

One: he had not offered his customary "You're not an old lady" reassurance. In fact, he had not spoken at all, unless you counted a small "mmm…." I thought I'd heard him utter.

Two: he had moved the bunched up shirt which he clutched in his hands back down into his lap---probably not because he wanted to give me more room to work, but rather because there was something in his lap he felt compelled to hide.

And three: though he had been breathing quite heavily, his chest moving up and down, now suddenly he stopped breathing altogether.

I stopped too, and asked, "David, are you okay?"

I saw him close his eyes and wince. In a small, cracking voice, he asked, "Are you done yet?"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" I apologized profusely, removing my hand from his body. "I'm so sorry, David. Am I making you uncomfortable?"

He laughed shortly. "Uh…a little."

I put my hand back on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry" I repeated.

I looked at him sitting there, his eyes closed, his chest heaving, biting his lower lip. Something was happening here. I started to feel uncomfortable as well.

I put the car back out on the road, momentarily lost in my own thoughts. What had I been thinking? True, it had been over twenty years since I had flirted so heavily with a man who was not my husband, and that man had in fact become my husband. But had I really forgotten how powerful a simple touch could be? Nowadays it took a lot more than a rub on the chest to get Sam aroused. I thought of the old joke: How to impress a man? Show up naked and bring beer. Lately even that wasn't working with Sam. But David was so young, so inexperienced, so sensitive even to my slightest touch…

I looked at him again across the dark front seat. He was silent, still clutching the dirty shirt in his lap, still catching his breath.

I had been so unfair!

"I'm sorry," I said again quietly.

He offered a weak smile. "It's okay."

"Do you want to talk about this?" I dared to wonder.

"No," he said strongly, and without hesitation. Then, "I'm just thinking maybe….maybe it would be a good idea if you took me home first---"

"Oh no!" I cried. Now I was truly sorry. I had scared him away! "Oh, David!"

"I really need to take a shower," he said.

"But I thought we were going to watch the movie…"

"We are," he said. "But I really need to take a shower first. I'll come back afterwards."

I smiled, now warm and happy again. I hadn't scared him away after all!

"Listen," I said. "If you shower at home, you're only going to have to walk back through the rain and get wet all over again. Why don't you take a shower at my house? I can give you some of Sam's old clothes to wear."

"He won't mind?"

"He won't know."

David thought this through. Finally he said, "Will they fit?" Sam was bigger than him to start off with, and had put on some extra weight these last few years.

"He has some sweatpants with a drawstring waist. And a tee shirt will be no problem."

As I said this I looked across the front seat again, trying to imagine him in Sam's shirt. This time I had an excuse for looking at his chest, but I realized that in the last few moments, every time I glanced in his direction I had not been able to keep my eyes from dropping down. For the first time I truly appreciated how difficult it must be for him, all those times I had caught him sneaking involuntary glances at my chest. I couldn't fault him now any more than I could fault myself.

"Okay," he said about wearing Sam's clothes. "That makes sense."

I gave him one more sideways glance, then smiled, determined to keep my eyes on the road.

-

Due to the rain, I parked the car in the garage and we came in through the side door. The house was quiet, nobody was home. Nobody was ever home these days. Matt would be spending the night at Chubb's, and Lizzie was out with Josh. Sam, of course was roaming around the state, selling plastic do-hingys.

I led David into the foyer, saying "Come upstairs. I'm going to put you in my bathroom. Lizzie called before I left to pick you up, looking for her wallet. She'll be stopping back home to get it, and if she should want to use her bathroom and finds you in it, she'll totally flip out."

We were in my bedroom by this time, and I was searching through the dresser drawers. I found the drawstring sweatpants and threw them on the bed. I also found one of Sam's older, smaller tee shirts in the bottom of a bottom drawer. It was bright blue and read "Tee-Ball Tigers!" on the front and "Coach" on the back. I had to smile, remembering.

David remembered too. He had also been on that team. Now as he looked at the shirt I held out before him, he also smiled, but sadly, and said, "It's not like it used to be. Lizzie doesn't like me very much these days, does she?"

"Lizzie has issues," I said, shortly. "Sometimes I'm not sure if she really knows what she likes anymore."

I looked at him, standing there in my bedroom with his hairy chest only half covered by the bunched up dirty tee shirt, and I sensed an uneasiness about him. It occurred to me that it was quiet possible David had never been in this room before.

"The bathroom is through here," I instructed, opening the door. "Towels are in the closet. I'm sure you'll find them. Feel free to use any of the products you find in the shower."

It was time for me to leave. It was beginning to feel a little too weird being here with him like this. I walked towards the door, saying, "I'll order the food, David, and I'm sure you'll be downstairs before it even arrives."

"What about this shirt?" he asked. "And my pants? Do you have a plastic bag or something I can put them in? I don't want to leave them laying around and getting your nice room all dirty."

I walked up to him and put my hands on the dirty shirt in his hands. For a moment he looked woundedt, as if I was trying to steal his security blanket. I really didn't want to make him feel any more uncomfortable, but standing in front of him, so close to him, I could not help but look at his chest yet again, and them up into his crystal clear blue eyes.

To avoid my eyes, I saw him glance away….and where do you think he looked? Where else? He brought his eyes up from my chest and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry…"

"I'll take that shirt," I said, prying it from his hands. "And while we're at it, let me have your pants also."

David stared at me in disbelief. For a moment he was speechless, but then I could almost see his lightning fast brain kick into overdrive, and he softened the moment with a stab at humor.

"Mrs. Robinson," he grinned, his face flushed, "are you trying to seduce me?"

I had to laugh. What else could I do? He was so adorable. "No, David," I said. "I'm trying to do your laundry!"

We both laughed, and at last he gave up the shirt.

"Now pass the pants to me through the door," I said, going into the hallway. I waited on the other side of the door until he opened it a crack and I saw only his hand, delivering the laundry.

I thought momentarily to ask about his socks and underwear, but I felt any conversation about underwear could too easily lead to more suggestive talk, more innuendos, and frankly I was beginning to feel like we had gone too far already.