It only got harder each time. Not again. Not alone again, she thought miserably as her tears slowly dampened her pillowcase. Why am I alway... alone? Why can’t ever find something real? How many times is this? Is it that some people aren’t meant to be together, Steven? Or is it that I’m not meant to be with anyone, ever? Am I supposed to grow old alone? I hate this, I hate this, I hate it. …… The next morning she stared at the ceiling for a long time, sprawled out among her. I was wrong about one hand being as good as another. Rather than just grabbing ahold and pumping as we usually did, he made a real event of it - a massaging, caressing, sensual handjob. I couldn't help but get heated up as I read the article (though, in retrospect, I have no memory of what that article was about) and, still trying to be macho and joking, I asked, "Enjoying yourself, Erica?" He blushed again and, in an awkward shot at a woman's tones, answered: "You know it, stud."It wasn't. More

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