At what point in our lives do we start thinking about what we are feeling and stop feeling? I think I was probably about 20-something, headed off to graduate school. I don't think I quite realized then that I was headed into a life for myself where I encouraged people to think about their feelings.

In my field, I realized that some colleagues viewed me as a bit unconventional. I think that is always the way when a new generation in any field begins to become the "current generation." My unconventional side was that, on occasion, when appropriate, I encouraged people to simply feel what they were feeling and try not to over think it too much. After years in practice, I appreciate that the majority of people seek counsel, whether that counsel be someone like me, or a religious figure, or a parent, because they are out of touch with how they are feeling. And, even when some asks, "how do you feel about that" what they are really asking, oftentimes, is "think about how you feel about that." So, think, think, think.

After spending the evening at my sister's, watching Jake with his girlfriend Beth, it occurred to me that here are two people who are so busy feeling, they do not spend much time thinking. After what they had gone through the other night with their friend Rob, they spent the evening always maintaining some kind of touch, whether it be their finger tips, their knees, or just flat out with their arms around one another. Though part of me thought that all of the feeling and touching is just generally the way of adolescence, and that maybe it should be the way we all choose occasionally.

So, as I was on my way home from my sister's, I found myself not on my way home at all. I found myself, standing on his doorstep, unannounced. I stood for a moment, practically saying the words out loud to myself, stop thinking, stop thinking. I reached up and knocked, and stood, closing my eyes, just breathing, just feeling. If I would like to know how I feel, perhaps I should simply feel.

I heard the door open, and I opened my looking up at him. I could see the surprise on his face, in his eyes. And, I thought for a moment that he was going to say something, but I did not want to talk. I was always talking, getting people to talk. So, I stepped forward, threaded my arms around his neck, pulled myself to him and kissed him. For a moment he stayed straight, stunned really, that I should be standing there kissing him. But then, I could feel him soften against me, and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me up a bit off my feet, kissing me in return, bringing me inside.

He kicked the door closed with his foot, not letting me out of his arms, out of his touch. We stopped kissing long enough for him to set me gently onto my feet, push my coat off my shoulders onto the floor. He was wearing a black t-shirt and loose pants, his feet were bare. He looked incredibly sexy. He deftly undid the buttons on my shirt while I stepped out of my shoes and slid my pants off over my hips, until I was standing in his entry way in my plum colored underthings. I could see him breathe in, sharply, as he looked at me. Then he moved me backward against the wall, his thumbs pressing into my hips, his lips crushed against mine. He ran his strong hands upward across my ribs until his arms were back around me, and he brought me back to his bedroom.

I pushed his t-shirt off, over his head, and pushed his pants off down to the floor. I ran my hands upward across his chest, to his throat, our eyes meeting for just a moment, as if to make sure we both definitely wanted this.

He tossed me lightly onto the bed, my nails dragging down his back, leaving light red welts in their wake. I definitely wanted this. I closed my eyes, and stopped thinking all together.

Near 4:00 in the morning, when I stood up out of bed, he was sound asleep. He was laying on his front, I could see his back rising and falling with the deep breathing of sleep. I watched him for a moment, thinking about how sleep resets the soul. I wondered how he would feel when he woke up in a few hours, what he would think about me coming by. I quietly gathered my things, realizing the rest were in the front hall.

"Where're you going." He mumbled, turning his head on the pillow, looking at me through sleepy eyes.

"I have a 7:00am." I said, every Monday I had early hours. I needed to get home to shower and change. I watched him close his eyes again. His breathing immediately returned to deep sleep. And, I wondered if he would remember me telling him I had to go.

In the shower, at my house, I looked down across my body. I could see faint bruises on my hips and remembered his thumbs pressing against me as he pinned me backward, kissing me, against the wall. I knew my feelings for him, so clear to me. I couldn't seem to stop myself from again thinking about his feelings for me. So, I was back to thinking again.

A/N: Think, think, think. Don't we all think too much? So, what do you think about this...