The floor was a bit warmer, but not much. He was worried that she had not woken nor voided. There was nothing to do but let nature take its course. He...went back to sleep, folded in her arms and she in his.He woke crying. Someone was kissing his neck and ear the way Bea used to. He sniffed back his tears and came to himself, then squeezed the woman he had in his arms."You weep. Why?" "The way you woke me reminded me of my wife, taken from me nineteen years gone. I miss her." "I am sorry. I did. Not everything about sex is perfect, good, sexy, hot. Some of it is pain and baggage. It shapes you and even when you try to resist, you find yourself wanting, desiring, the very things that you’re running from.That’s the basis of my story.I am sure that I will eventually write about some of the “good times” I had with my father. I may even write about the bad. My stories may never be read. They may even be poorly written. But they will always be honest – even when you, the reader, might wish. More

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