The morning after Angela and I recreate my first night in the house, with a significant variation, I serve her Crunchy Crawlers, as a joke. I went out to the market extra early to get them.

"Thank you, Tony, but I was hoping for something more filling."

"Oh, sorry. Here." I set a stack of pancakes on the table.

"Well, not that filling."

"No, you'll like mine." I'm not sure if we're back in our first year or if that's not till tonight, but just in case.

"Well, all right. Did you get any syrup?"

"Yeah, I got all the toppings. Allow me." So I pour on Vermont's finest, scoop on some hand-chopped strawberries, and then shake up the can of Cool Whip. She tries her best not to giggle.

"That does look very appetizing, Tony. However, I need to speak to you upstairs."

"Uh, should I bring the Cool Whip?"

She stares at me, frosty acquaintance Angela again.
"Kidding, kidding."

I follow her upstairs and she says that her bedroom needs cleaning. Oh, I think I know where this is going, so I pretend reluctance.

I tell her how nice the room is and she says that that proves I've never been in here before. I guess last night didn't happen. We're starting from a different beginning.

I tell her I'm uncomfortable in her private chamber, and really uncomfortable about cleaning her bathroom. But I hesitantly follow her.

"Gee, what a great tub!" Oh, please, Angela, please have this go where I think it's going! She's even got headphones that look massive seven years later.

We say as much as we can remember of what we said then, even her "Really, a bubble bath? I always pictured you in the shower." As if she's never seen me in the shower. Well, maybe not. Ingrid saw Anthony.

And I do my best to be scared of touching her dainties. "You don't really want me to wash your skivvies, do ya?"

We go back in the bedroom and she shows me where she puts the particular kinds of underwear. She's actually un-organized them, after all those years of arranging them by where I had to organize them back then. It still irritates me, the inefficiency of it!

After breakfast, I drive her to the train, like I did that day, although there are no kids to get ready. Then I come back and get ready for class. Yeah, I'm distracted but I'll be OK…..

…When I come home, I do the housework, even vacuuming the drapes by running the cleaner over them, the way I used to.

I'm assuming she's not going to have Professor Morell or Mona drop by. Geez, Mona! How are we gonna keep this all secret from her? I mean, yeah, she knows about Anthony & Ingrid, but as far as she knows, Angela and I don't do more than neck, especially in the house.

I do homework for awhile and then I hear Angela's car come home. Let's see. I'm not supposed to be in the living room. I'm supposed to be in the kitchen. OK.

"Oh, what a long day," I hear Angela say in the living room, only I guess I'm not supposed to hear it, if you catch my drift. "I think I'll take a nice relaxing bath."

I grin and give her a couple minutes to bathe in privacy. Then I murmur to myself, "Gee, since Angela's not home, I think I'll take a nice relaxing bath. She said I could use the tub anytime I want."

Then I go upstairs to my room and strip down. I put on a bathrobe and get a towel, a box of bubble bath, a scrubbing brush, and soap-on-a-rope. I even sing my silly song about bathing. "Hi-ho!" I'm still singing as I enter her bedroom and then her bathroom. "Hi—Holy smokes!" I exclaim as I see her standing naked before me.

It's very hard to stand here and look shocked when I just want to grin. Jesus, I've missed that body! Sixteen months is far too long. And it looks even better at 41 than it did at 39. Or 34.

Angela gasps and then wraps the big pink towel around herself. "Tony, what are you doing here?"

"Uh, taking a bath?" Not what I said then. Back then, I mumbled incoherent apologies.

"I'm taking a bath. Or I was."

"Oh, sorry. Uh, I'll wait till you're through in here."

"Don't you knock before entering a bathroom? Or a bedroom for that matter?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you were home."

"I came home early." (I guess we're skipping the whole parents' meeting mix-up with Jonathan.)

"Oh. You didn't call or nothin'."

"I didn't know I was supposed to."

"Angela, I'm your housekeeper. I need to know things like that. For when I'm preparing dinner."

"Or taking a bubble bath?"

"Well, yeah."

"I'm sorry, too."

"It's OK, we just, we just miscommunicated."

"Well, no harm done I suppose."

"Sorry for walking in on you."

"Sorry for flashing you."

"I don't mind. Uh, I mean, it's OK. It was so quick, I hardly saw anything."

"Well, good."

"So, uh, did you leave me any hot water?"

"Yes, I wasn't in there that long."

"Oh, well, good." I'm not sure if I'm supposed to invite her to share my bath, or if that would be skipping steps.

"Well, I guess I'll let you have your bath now."

"Thanks, Angela. And thanks for being so great about this. Not every boss would be so understanding."

"You're welcome. Would you like me to draw your bath?"

"Hey, come on, you're not my servant."

"Tony, I would never expect you to perform a task like that as part of your job description."

"I wouldn't mind. Uh, I mean. You know, it's not that tough a task."

"True."

We seem to have reached a stand-off, knowing what has to happen next but neither of us sure how to move on. Finally, I go over to the tub, point at the faucets, and say, "So, uh, this side's hot and that side's cold, right?"

"Right. Do you want to borrow my headset?"

"Well, maybe. What have you got on there?"

"Classical."

"Sounds relaxing." She comes closer and puts the clunky headphones on me. I thank her. Then she hands me the stopper, so I put that back in the tub. Then I turn on the hot water, mixing in cold when I'm ready, but keeping it very warm, testing it with my hand. Then I pour in lots of bubble bath powder.

Just as I look at her, wondering if she's going to keep standing there or realize she's supposed to leave, Ravel's "Bolero" comes on. I try not to laugh.

I stand up and stretch. "Well, I guess I'll take that old bath now."

"Tony?"

"Hm?"

Her voice is soft but I can just barely hear it over the music. "Don't you think, to be fair, you should flash me?"
"Well, yeah, I guess that would be fair." I open my robe and flash her, except it's a very slow flash. Unlike when she did it, where my eyes wandered everywhere in wonder, as quickly as they could, I give her plenty of ogling time. She does it demurely, very Angela of seven years ago, but she ogles.

We both blush and I feel myself stiffen under her gaze, which of course I can't hide, except by closing my robe again.

"OK, show's over. Time for my bath."

Then she drops her towel to the floor. And without a word, she steps into the tub. She sits down and smiles up at me.

I know a wordless invitation when I hear one. I drop my robe to the floor and climb in to the opposite end. Now the bubbles hide our bottom halves, but I can still see her breasts and it's like they're smiling at me.

At first we just sit there, looking at each other, not saying anything, enjoying the feel of the bubbles against our skin. Then she stretches those long legs of hers, landing her feet on my hips. So I unwind a little myself.

I lightly use the scrubbing brush on her feet. She smiles more. But when I move up to her ankles, I use the soap-on-a-rope. I wouldn't have known then that Angela has very sensitive skin, but I could've guessed.

Normally, I'd be checking all along the way, "How does this feel, Baby?" or "Hey, Boss, you OK with this?" But all I can hear is the heavy, insistent, yet slow and sensuous tune in my ears. (It seems to be on a loop.) So I just watch her very expressive face and, well, what body language I can see through the bubbles.

Higher and higher up her legs, as we slouch more to get closer, slowly slowly, sweetly slowly.

Till at last, I arrive at the apex of her legs. I ask a silent question with my eyes and she nods. By now she's lying almost flat, her legs folded against my hips, her pinned-up hair resting on the back edge of the tub. Her center rests on my crotch. If it wouldn't be rushing things, if this wasn't a tricky position, and if there wasn't that whole condom issue, which we have not discussed since before Kathleen, then I would want to take her like this.

Instead, I pleasure her with my hands, slowly and sensuously. It seems only fair, considering what she did to and for me last night, although I would be happy to do it for and to her even if she hadn't. Neither of us can see what I'm doing, the bubbles covering it up. Even her nipples are now just tiny pink islands in this soapy sea.

She climaxes in time with the music, which there's no way she could've planned. Uh, unless she practiced this earlier? Hm.

Then the music stops and I take off the headset. "Uh, thanks for sharing your bath with me, Angela."

"Thanks for sharing your soap-on-a-rope, Tony."

"You want me to let you know next time I want to use your tub?"

She carefully stands up, wraps the towel around herself, and says, "Yes, but knock first. So I can invite you in."

I guess we're through in here. I'll have to come up with a good follow-up for Day Three.