Dinner with the Michalchuks was just as much fun as you could imagine. I'd never met them before we started dating, but I always get the feeling that their daughter has been running circles around them since the day she was born and all they can do is stand there feeling clueless. They're always polite to me, but seem baffled as to what is actually going on. And Paige never seems to slow down enough to let them think.

Luckily, her talking a mile a minute takes a lot of the stress off of me. I smile at her parents, and they at me, all the while Paige sits in the limelight. I gotta give it to them though, for all the weirdness they must feel, they certainly do go out of their way to make me feel comfortable. This was probably only the third time they'd seen me for any considerable amount of time (usually it was just in passing – either on the way to or from Paige's room) so they kept trying to sneak in words whenever Paige took a breath. Of course, half the time, Paige went ahead and spoke for me.

I actually really like spending time with her family. Of course, I'd never choose it over alone time with her. But they treat me fairly, don't seem to judge me, and, well, it's just nice to pretend like I'm part of a normal family for once.

We headed over to the living room for the movie. Paige curled up in my arms, whispering "Cuddlebunny" into my ear – our little joke. She used that on me once and I laid down the law. I'm not Spinner and I don't ever want to be confused with him. Plus, do I look like a Cuddlebunny? Or any other perverse sugary name she might come up with? She'd apologized and never tried to give me another pet name…except Cuddlebunny stuck, but only when she was messing with me or trying to get me to laugh. I jabbed a few fingers into her side, causing her to shriek with laughter and her parents to look over and give that same confused look. We smiled innocently and snuggled closer.

The movie was pretty dull. Paige's dad was out in about 30 minutes. Her mother dozed on and off. Paige stretched out on the length of the couch, resting her head in my lap. I couldn't even think of sleeping, no matter how bad the movie was, thanks to the certainty of making out and the possibility of sex, so I trailed my fingers up and down her arms. She smiled and occasionally traced circles on my leg. Oh, how I wished the movie would end. But I did use my time wisely, slipping in an occasional brush of her breast or running my fingers through her hair. I wanted her to be tearing off my clothes as soon as we made it to her room.

The closing credits rolled and everyone began to stir again. We suffered through the awkwardness of goodnights – or rather, I suffered, and Paige remained completely oblivious to the fact that her parents totally knew what we were going to do and were afraid to say anything. She'd never asked them if it was ok that her girlfriend spent the night – frequently – and shared her bed. She just did it. "If they have a problem with it, they'll tell me," she'd said once when I asked. They kissed her, but stuck with a simple "Goodnight, Alex" for me. Which was ok; I wasn't about ready to receive any physical affection from them. Now, their daughter was another story…

She took my hand and led me upstairs – always a good sign. Of course, before I could plant a kiss on her, dinner breath had to be taken care of, which lead to general prepping for bed. We brushed out teeth together, sharing foamy smiles and looks that spoke of what was to be done afterward. I washed my face while she smothered her own in some sort of expensive cold cream. I loved these moments. There was something so intimate about watching her take off her make-up in front of me, and my heart would flutter and I would smile in spite of myself. I liked watching her in the mirror too, because it was the only time I got to see us together, like everyone else saw us. Paige bent over the sink to rinse her face, and no longer able to resist, I came up behind her, placing a hand on the small of her back, just to let her know I was there. She stood up, wiping her face dry with a towel, and I wrapped my arms around her, placing my chin on her shoulder. She leaned her head against mine and we smiled at each other's reflections.

"You make me ridiculously happy, you know that?" I said.

"Do I?"

"Yes, you do. And don't you dare tell anyone or you'll kill my reputation."

"I think your reputation is good and dead. Bad girls don't date popular girls."

"And you think your reputation is still standing? Last I checked popular girls didn't date any girls."

"Well, this popular girl is so popular that she can get away with it."

"And this bad girl is so bad, she can too."

I kissed her cheek and hugged her tighter.

"You know what else? We are one very fine looking couple."

"Even sans make-up?"

"You've never looked as beautiful as you do right now."

She cracked up and let herself out of my embrace. "See, now I know you're just trying to sweet talk me into having sex with you."

"Well, that would certainly be nice, but I must submit my statement as fact. And if you need proof," I said, leaning in to kiss her.

"No, no, no. Obviously you believe it, though your motives are unclear. Now out of the bathroom," she ordered, pushing me out, leaving a kiss on my lips before closing the door on me. After my turn, I opened the door and found her waiting for me in the hall with another kiss, one that led me into her room.

Inside, the kissing was slow, light, and sweet. There was really no need for urgency. The rules were different in here, anyway. In fact, there were so many rules, I'd considered making a list to keep them straight. Things that were ok at school were completely inappropriate in here. And things that were permissible standing up were not ok lying down.

I don't think she was fully aware of the rules herself. We both ended up learning them together. If I made one wrong move, she'd panic and I'd either be bussing it home or, if I was lucky, just not getting any that night. Things had to move in a certain order. She had to be prepared and keeping that order was the only way. I once grabbed her breast a little too early and found myself sleeping on "the couch of inevitable backaches," and scaring the shit out of her mother the next morning. And slipping some eager fingers into her panties before she'd taken off her shirt? That got me a bus ride home – at 2 in the morning.

And it wasn't just about the sequence of events. Any time I pushed her too far in her bedroom, anytime I shifted the balance to my taking advantage of her, she would freak. This was learned the hard way. We'd been moving towards the bed one night, our hands all over each other, but I could feel her tensing up a little. Didn't think much of it – was too busy thinking this might be the night. We hit the bed. There was a moment there that I wish I'd caught, when she stopped and looked at me, but I was already pushing her down. She wasn't resistant, but I didn't notice that she was no longer as into it as before. I started to settle down on top of hers, finally realizing that something was wrong, but before I had a chance to try to figure it out, she cried out for me to stop and pushed me away. I was caught off balance, and I suppose she was thinking I weighed more than I do, because next thing I knew, my ass was on the floor.

My wrist and tailbone took the brunt of the fall. I think I was more stunned than she was, because she was off the bed in a heartbeat, throwing out apologies like they were going out of style. I can't say that I was terribly sympathetic. I get knocked around a lot; tends to build up resistance to the sudden shower of guilt. I just sat there, clutching my wrist, and glaring. It was the rape; I knew it was the rape, and yet I didn't care.

She nervously got down on the floor beside me, approaching me like she might an injured dog, afraid I would snap at her or run off. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I thought, for a moment, you know, that you were him." She touched my wrist and I pulled away. "Does it hurt? I'll go get something to wrap it up in."

"I'm fine," I told her. She didn't say anything after that. Just put her arms around me and rested her head on my shoulder. It was a long time before I spoke. "We've got a lot of issues, don't we?"

"Definitely."

I asked her then about the rape. At any other time she would have refused to talk about it or blown it off. But it was late and we were both emotionally high-strung at that point, and so she began. Told me every gory detail. That was when I fully realized there were rules involved.

Nothing happened that night. I wanted to go home, but she insisted I stay. Neither one of us got much sleep, but it wasn't because of the normal reasons. We talked a lot that night, but only about things not connected to the drama in our lives. And in a few hours, things seemed normal again. We could both smile, but even though contact was inevitable in her narrow bed, there was no deliberate touching. It was not a night either one of us was eager to repeat.