I was delighted to see a review from Popstar, who I don't think I've ever heard from before. Your comment about my characters being "canon" really made me feel good, since that was what I was striving for, to show how the characters could be IN character and yet have this really wild situation happen to them. Please comment again!

And anyone else who is reading and has not yet commented, please comment as well! As my roommate so eloquently puts it, after having to listen to me gush endlessly about what great comments I get on my stories, I am a "Comment Whore" (lol!) Even if you just say "I like this story!" you will make me very happy. Even if you say "I hate this story" you will make me happy, because I will have to wonder why you are still reading it if you hate it so much. It's not so much about being LIKED as it is about being COMPELLING.

For Black Knight 03, I threw in a brief reference to a MG moment that may someday turn into another story for my Gordo. I think you might be able to guess the gist of such a story. In fact, if I remember correctly, you may have written a similar story already yourself. Too many other things to write first, but someday I may get to a MG. Anyway, thanks for the inspiration!

-

The street seemed exceptionally silent, the dark air cool and thin at four in the morning. In sharp contrast, everything inside me was running at full blast, full speed and in vivid technicolor. I was so wired! What a night! And what had just happened?

How had that happened? That kiss. I hadn't turned my head…at least I don't think I did, at least I hadn't consciously been planning to. Maybe I had, thought. Maybe my body was taking over now, acting without my consent. It wouldn't be the first time.

But I don't think that was what happened. It almost felt like Jo knew exactly what she was doing, like she had planned it, at least on some level. I don't think it was an accident at all. I suspected she was more responsible for that kiss than I was. And thinking that made it all the more exciting for me.

I heard my sneakers hitting the pavement as I hurried home, totally wired. When you can hear sneakers on pavement, you know the world is still and quiet. The world was still and quiet, but I was not. And then, suddenly, I smacked my palm on my forehead.

"'Sorry'?" I scolded myself, the word bouncing off the silence all around me.

Sorry? What the hell was that? Another entry in the David Gordon Gallery of Stupid Things to Say After a First Kiss.

With Lizzie, years ago, my first contribution to this Gallery had been "Thanks." I beat myself up for months over that one.

Then, with Nicole, my first high school girlfriend, I added "Yikes!" It had been "Yikes!" in a good way, and it made her laugh immediately, but afterwards I never forgot how silly it had sounded.

Evelyn, my latest girlfriend, had been very much the initiator in our relationship, and she came on so strong that all I could say when I she let me up for air was a feeble "Help…"

Then there was that really strange moment between Miranda and me just after Lizzie and I broke up the summer after tenth grade. I'm still not really sure what happened there, but I do remember coming out of a daze and asking, "What planet are we on?"

And now another entry. "Sorry." But what was I sorry for? And was I really sorry? No, I wasn't sorry at all. Not about anything. Except saying "Sorry."

I was wired. I got home and paced the house for at least an hour, trying to expend my excess energy, trying to make sense of everything that was going on. I had thought that thing with Miranda two summers ago had been weird. This was even weirder. But in a good way. In a totally good way.

But I wished I hadn't said "Sorry." I didn't want Jo to think I was really sorry. Maybe I should go back over there and apologize for my apology. Maybe I needed to let here know my true feelings.

Could any good come of that? I was leaving in only a few days. I had broken it off with Evelyn weeks before she left for college in New York because I knew we were not going to be able to sustain a long-distance relationship, and I didn't want to be burdened with the angst of weepy goodbyes when it came my time to leave Hillridge. I was looking forward to a good, clean break with this place.

But now…now…I was right back where I started, only worse, because already I cared about Jo far more than I had ever cared about Evelyn. This was going to be so hard, leaving her behind. And if I had to leave her behind, I certainly didn't want her thinking I was sorry we had kissed.

A part of me wanted to hurry back over to her house right away and make sure there was no misunderstanding on this point. I wanted to do that, but when my temporarily malfunctioning Reality Monitor finally kicked in, I knew that trip was out of the question. What was I going to do? Pound on her door at six a.m. and say, "I'm not sorry we kissed"? Sane people did not behave that way.

I guess I wasn't feeling completely sane at the moment. I did know I was delirious from lack of sleep. I had missed an entire night, sitting on the couch with Jo, watching her sleep. No wonder I was thinking such strange, erratic thoughts.

I forced myself to lie down on my bed. My body twitched as my head spun. Still, I could not shake the idea of going back to her house. I saw myself going up the path, through the door. In this dream---if it was a dream---the front door was not locked. And Lizzie was not there. I climbed the stairs and found Jo in her bedroom, asleep in her bed, all alone in that big bed, until I laid down next to her and took her in my arms...

Now my head was really spinning, and I felt the rest of my body wanting to participate in this fantasy---or dream, or whatever it was---but alas, both mind and body were finally forced into submission by the overwhelming need for sleep.

-

The next day Dad and I went car shopping. Dad had a patient who had a brother who owned a used car lot, and he guaranteed us a sweet deal, so we went to check it out, and I fell in love with a Mustang that was only five years old and totally within my price range. And it was metallic blue. Dad's philosophy when making a large purchase (or when doing just about anything, for that matter) was to "sleep on it" at least one night, so he did not let me put any money down on the car that day.

That evening I went out to dinner with my parents. It was the last time we would go out together as a family before I left for Berkeley on Tuesday, so it was kind of sad, but also kind of exciting. Mom kept talking about how much I was growing up. She also said that if the car was "meant to be" it would still be there in the morning.

The next morning I informed Dad that I had slept on it and wanted the Mustang. We went down to the lot, did the paperwork and I got to drive it home. What a trip! What a blast! I could totally see myself filling this car with all my personal belongings and making the road trip to Berkeley, where Adam had a room waiting for me in his rented house. In a few days I would be there, I would be starting a new life.

In a few days, I would be leaving Jo.

I was a mess of conflicted emotions.

I also only had two more shifts to work at Circuit City: tonight and Monday. The plan had always been that I would leave on Tuesday, so I would have a few days to get settled in before having to start classes the following week. Now a part of me was thinking that I wouldn't mind staying in Hillridge a few extra days, if only so I could spend some more time with Jo. I didn't know how I would explain that to my parents or anyone else, including Jo, but that was what I was thinking.

I knew I at least wanted the opportunity to take her for a ride in my new car. I started having this fantasy about us going for a long drive, and ending up at the beach somewhere at sunset, standing together barefoot on the sand, looking at the sky, then kissing passionately as the night came on full force. Then getting back into the car, and maybe somehow getting into the backseat, and----

I so did not need these thoughts right now. I had everything planned out, and now my plans were all screwed up. I had to get myself under control. Being out of control was not a comfortable place for a Gordon to be. Especially not at a time like this.

-

The Mustang was mine, sitting in my driveway, but until I got it registered and insured on Monday morning, there was no way Mom and Dad were going to let me drive it to work. Monday afternoon I would be able to drive my new car to my last day on the job, but Sunday evening at ten p.m., I still needed a lift. And as always, Jo was there.

"Hey, how did everything go yesterday?" she asked as soon as I got in the car.

I told her all about the Mustang. I was so busy babbling, that I had actually temporarily forgotten about everything that had happened the last time we saw each other, about the heavy flirting, the chest hair, what I'd done in her shower, the four a.m. kiss. She could see that I was so excited about my car, and I knew she was excited for me, but I could also see that she was a little sad when I started talking about how easily all my stuff would fit into the car for the ride to Berkeley. I eased up on that kind of talk and asked, "Would you like to come see it?"

"I would love to see it!" she exclaimed. "Just one thing. Are your parents going to be there?"

So then…there was some awkwardness on her part, possibly some…guilt? I didn't want to run into my parents either and have to explain why Lizzie's mother was looking at my new car, but not Lizzie. But that was not likely to be a problem. I explained to Jo that my parents had tickets for a show in the city, something they'd been looking forward to for a long time. They would not be home for some time. Jo drove directly to my house.

I knew she wasn't a big car nut. I hadn't known many girls who were. I popped the hood and showed her how clean the engine was, which was pretty much lost on her, but she did "ooh" and "ahh" over the beautiful metallic blue shine, the leather interior and the superior sound system. We were sitting in the car in the driveway, listening to Eric Clapton on the radio, and I felt myself beaming like a proud daddy.

"Look at you, David," she said, and I had pretty much learned by this time that whenever she said "Look at you" that meant some incredibly personal and often embarrassing observation was on the way. But this time she just kept smiling at me and saying "Look at you. Look at you."

Then finally she nodded her head and proclaimed, "David. David. I've got to admit. This is a pretty sexy car."

Now finally I blushed. I felt myself grinning ear to ear. "Yes," I had to agree. "It certainly is."

"This car is going to be your friend," Jo predicted. " This car is going to get you get a girlfriend the moment you arrive in Berkeley."

I know she was just joking around, but somehow her comment made me feel really sad inside. I didn't want a girlfriend. I couldn't possibly think about anyone else but her right now. I looked across at her sitting in the passenger seat of my new car, and made an instantaneous decision.

"Before my new car and I carry out this amazing feat of attracting women like moths to a flame," I said, "would you let me take you out tomorrow night, Jo? I'd like to take you for dinner, to thank you for all the delicious food you've been feeding me these past weeks. And I'd like to drive, to thank you for all the times you've saved me the pain in the ass of having to take the bus. Please let me do this for you. I won't feel right unless you do."

She looked at me for a long time, and I was starting to get nervous, until at last I saw the corners of her mouth begin to go up in an amused little smile. "David, " she said ever so sweetly. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

I shrugged. "Call it what you will. I feel we've become…very close, these last weeks, Jo. And I think we deserve to give ourselves a special time to have a proper goodbye."

"So do I," she said quietly, with a big smile. "I would be happy to go out with you for dinner, David. Dinner…and a drive."

I smiled back, but inside some crazy stuff was happening, especially as I rememebered my most recent fantasy about the back seat of this car. If my face wasn't beet red by this time, I'm sure I don't know what color it was. My heart was beating like crazy. I could feel myself breathing. I almost felt like I was going to pass out.

I think Jo could see all this happening to me too, because suddenly she laughed and said, "Why don't you go inside now and take a shower? I've got some leftover lasagna and a fresh bottle of wine, and nobody's home at my house tonight either. We won't be disturbed."

Egads! Was I reading too much into her words, or was she flirting with me again, big time?

"What's…what's the movie?" I managed to ask.

"Bring something from your collection," she said. "Surprise me," she added with a wink.

"Comedy or drama?"

"Comedy," she replied instantly. "Definitely comedy. I don't think I could take anything too heavy or too serious tonight."

"Me neither," I agreed.

Great!" Jo said. "Then we're just going to have a good time tonight. We're going to have a nice time."

-

A good time? Or a nice time? The connotations were not exactly the same for both phrases. A nice time was a nice time. But "a good time" could be something else entirely. All the while I showered and changed my clothes, I wondered what Jo really meant by "a good time." I wondered if I was reading way too much into her words. What was happening here? I felt unstable, almost believing anything could happen.

I folded Sam's clothes from the night before and carried them out of the house, topped by my Dodgeball DVD, one of my favorite Ben Stiller movies, which was somewhat crass, but hysterically funny. I still laughed a lot every time I saw it, and tonight I just wanted Jo to be able to laugh and laugh and not have to be upset by anything sad.

When I got to her house, though, I could see that she was already upset. After I rang the front doorbell, while I was waiting for her to open the door, I could hear her yelling. When she opened the door I saw that she was on the phone. She barely looked at me as she let me in, all her focus on the phone.

"Well, that's just swell, Sam. You know what? Do you really want to know what? I don't give a damn anymore. No actually, more than that: I don't give a flying fuck! What do you think about that?"

I followed Jo into the kitchen, where she leaned against the kitchen counter, the phone pulled away from her ear, listening impatiently to her husband, who was obviously also yelling, because I could hear him clear across the room, though I could not make out any of his words.

"Oh, yeah," Jo shot back suddenly. "And when was the last time you----?"

She paused, then gasped. "That is so not true! You're losing your memory, old man. I never---!"

I was starting to feel uncomfortable, listening to this, so I walked into the living room and sat down on the couch, hoping this would be over soon. I could smell the lasagna cooking, I had seen the wine on the kitchen counter. I hoped out evening wasn't going to be ruined, and I hoped there would be some way to get Jo past the stress she was so obviously feeling at the moment.

"Whatever!" I heard Jo screaming into the phone, sounding more like Kate Sanders from high school than like herself. "That's all I have to say to you at this point, Sam McGuire: WHATEVER!"

Then I heard her scream "Aaaargh!" in her loudest voice and I also heard the portable phone smashing against the wall.

I ran into the kitchen. "Jo---"

"Aaaargh!" she repeated, shaking her hands in the air uncontrollably. She looked like she was about to crack. I had never felt so worried about her. I ran and wrapped my arms around her.

"Calm down," I said, holding her tight. "It's okay. It's going to be okay…"

Jo was so agitated by her fight with Sam that she couldn't bear to stand still, and after only a moment in my arms, she pulled away and began pacing the kitchen.

"What is wrong with me?" she asked in bewilderment. "Why is this happening? Why can't I hold on to him? Why doesn't Sam love me anymore?"

I don't know if she was talking to me so much as she was talking to herself. One thing I did know, by the tone of her voice, was that no matter what she may or may not have said to me about Sam in the past (and she had said plenty), at the end of the day, she still loved him. That much was obvious. She loved him, and I was an idiot, crushing on a married woman who was so in love with her husband.

But this wasn't about me now, it was about her. I put my own feelings aside and said, "Listen, Jo. It's a rough patch. All marriages go through them. My parents have had a few, and they're still together. I'm sure Sam does still loves you very much…as much as you love him…" I couldn't help adding.

"Oh, you're sure?" she shot back. "What makes you so sure of that, David?"

I had no answer. I was, in fact, sure of Sam's love for Jo, but I didn't know how to explain it. I lifted my shoulders and opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"Because I'm not so sure," Jo went on. "And I think I'm a little closer to the problem than you are. I see things about Sam that nobody else sees. I see how he looks at me---or rather how he doesn't look at me anymore. There used to be a time when he couldn't stop looking at me. Now it's almost like I'm not even there, or like I'm a piece of the furniture. You know…furniture! You see it every day, but you never think about it. You don't get excited about it. But you would miss it if one day you looked and it was gone."

"What are you saying, Jo?"

She sighed heavily and walked into the living room, plopping down on the couch. I followed and sat beside her. "What are you saying?" I repeated. "Are you thinking to leave him?"

She sat still for a long time, looking like she was about to cry. I can't explain why exactly, but I very much needed to hear that she was not thinking of leaving Sam. Despite anything I might currently be feeling about Jo, it would destroy my world to hear that the McGuires were splitting up. Some things could just not happen in the real world and still have it be the real world.

Finally Jo gave one last "Aaaargh!" and cried, "No! No! I don't want to leave him. I don't want him to leave me. I want us to be together, and I want things to be good, like they used to be. I want him to notice me, to care about me, to treat me like something more than furniture! But how do I do that? How do I do that? I'm wracking my brain trying to figure out how to do that.

"Everything I've done to myself, I've done for him, you know. My eyes, my boobs…all for him, to make myself sexier for him. But does he even care? Has it done us any good? Not one damn bit of good! We were supposed to be having more sex by this time, not less. Sam is a 'boob man.' That's why I had them done. He can't resist a good set of knockers. It's always been that way. Once, when we were first married---"

"Jo," I interrupted. "It doesn't matter what happened when you were first married." I said this partly because it was true, but mostly because I did not want to hear any more stories about her sex life with Sam. She had told me too many already, and I had always listened, partly out of friendship, and partly out of guilty fascination, but at this point I simply could not bear to hear another tale about something I wanted so much, but which would never be mine. It was far too frustrating.

"Okay," she agreed. "You're right, of course. The past doesn't matter. But what about the present? And what about the future? Here I am, waiting for him at home, my brand new boobs just aching to be touched and played with…in fact, every part of me aching, just aching…and does he want to come home to me? No! He wants another day on the road! Another chance to make another dollar! He would rather make another dollar than to come home and fuck his wife. Is that right, I ask you? Is that right?"

Okay. She had just sent me over the edge, into the land of utter speechlessness. I understood that this was not a rhetorical question, that she was looking for the answer, for the verbal validation "No, that's not right, that's not right at all!" She wanted to hear me say that. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't do anything but sit there stupidly, staring at her, back and forth between her face and her breasts, which by her own admission were aching to be played with. I sat stupidly and listened to all the blood in my body rush through my veins.

"David, you do understand, don't you? I know you're on my side, aren't you? You're not going to take his side, just because you're a man? Oh, please! You've got to tell me! I've got to know I'm not crazy."

She wasn't crazy. And I did understand. But I couldn't tell her. I couldn't speak.

"I know I look good," she said. "Just tell me that much, at least, that I look good."

"You look good," I managed to squeak out.

"I know I do!" she exclaimed. "Now just tell me this," she added, bringing her hands up the sides of her body pushing her breasts up and forward. "What the hell is wrong with Sam? If you were my husband, wouldn't you want to touch these and play with these all day long?"

She looked at me, and I looked back at her, but mostly at her breasts which she had thrust practically in my face, and I could not speak. I could not move. But then somehow I moved. I got up off the couch, which had grown suddenly hot and extremely uncomfortable and I went into the kitchen.

Jo followed me. "David, don't run away from me."

"I'm not running away from you," I said, nervously circling the kitchen island.

"You know what I'm talking about, don't you? I'm not crazy, am I? There's nothing wrong with me wanting my husband to play with my boobs, is there? And there's nothing wrong with me wanting him to come home from a long business trip, and before he can even drop his suitcase or think if anything else, to want to take me upstairs and fuck me. That doesn't make me an oversexed bimbo, does it? Why doesn't he want to fuck me anymore? David, where are you going? Why are you running away? Stay here and talk to me. I need you to talk to me, or I'm going to go crazy."

"Jo, I'm going to go crazy if you don't stop this!"

"You're going to go crazy?" she questioned. "Why are you going to go crazy? What's your problem, David?"

"My problem? My problem?" I exclaimed, pacing the opposite side of the kitchen island. "Jo! Do you really have no idea what you're doing to me? My problem is that I'm not your husband, yet I do want to touch your breasts and play with them. All day long. I think about them, and I think about you, lately it seems…all day long."

I stopped for a moment and caught my breath. I saw that now I had cast her into utter speechlessness. I should have stopped there, I had said too much already, but now that the dam had burst, I figured, what was the use of trying to hold it back?

"Sam is insane," I said. "He's insane not to come home and fuck you. He's insane to leave you here with me, when I want you so much." I looked at her across the kitchen, wondering whose voice that had been. Was that me? Had I really said all those things?

And then I heard myself add, in a quiet, sad voice, "So much, Jo. I want you so much."

And then I couldn't bear to look at her anymore, it just hurt too much. I leaned on the counter, my face in my hands, having no idea what might happen next, but knowing that I had passed a point of no return. I waited for her reaction.

At first there was silence, utter silence. Then the stove timer rang, nearly shocking me out of my skin.

The lasagna was ready.

But we were not ready for the lasagna.