jobob
Rock n' Roll Doggie ALL ACCESS
A Story Without Me
Chapter 4: The Good Book.
Disclaimer: Father, forgive me. I first plotted this chapter on my way to -- and during -- a Sunday Mass. I may have received divine inspiration, for which I thank You. I also may have found one reason why Bono likes The Message so much. BibleGateway.com is excellent. Bono still doesn't belong to me (but I'm very close to my 500 pounds worth of U2 CDs, DVDs, and concert tickets). Bono belongs to God and Jesus, Ali, his children, U2, Ireland, Africa, and himself. He is and he isn't himself here (in Midwestern America during the summer of 2005). Important Reminder: There is no U2 in this alternate universe, so our heroine and many others would, sadly, never see or hear "40." On the other hand, she wouldn't have to hesitate to say "you two" to B. On with our story, which I need to post so I can do some real life writing today:
It's been the most wonderful -- the most romantic, the sexiest -- month of your life.
B's been a frequent patron. Makes it a point to come in, call, or e-mail you whenever you're at the library (or sometimes he'll call or e-mail you at home or your day job). He often comes to get you from work after your night and weekend shifts. You go for little walks or drives. To the movies on a Saturday night. Sunday brunch. Sometimes to dinner after work. Or you have drinks at the Irish pub B says is as authentic as any he's seen in America. He bought you your first pint of Guiness there, although he insists Guiness tastes best in Dublin.
You invite him to your house, or he invites you to his apartment. Either way, you almost always ... okay, always ... end up making out. When you sit on a couch and talk about your days or your lives, or read together, or watch a movie in one of your DVD players, the two of you can't seem to keep your hands (or lips) off each other.
What started in the library and his living room quickly moved on to other locations. Both of your living room floors. Making more food jokes in your kitchens. Kisses and a little more on his balcony. Looking at the stars and the curve of the moon together while lying on a blanket in your back yard.
And when you and B think no one's looking, kisses and hugs inside and outside of the library.
Hopefully this is not just a summer love. Something in you feels there's a possibility of a deeper, longer-lasting relationship between you. How can that be? You wonder. We still barely even know each other. And does he feel it too?
Friday night, you didn't have to work. B was sent to London on business on Monday. After the July 7 subway bombings and the second wave of attempted bombings, you really didn't want him to go. You knew it was no use to argue or object, however. You gave him an order anyway.
"Don't you even *think* about going near a subway station or getting on a double-decker bus while you're in London. Please, B. I'm not kidding, I mean it," you told him when he told you he had to go. "It's dangerous there now." I just met you, and I don't want to lose you already to a terrorist, is what you didn't tell him.
"J, I don't know if my saying this will make you feel better or worse, but terrorism, sadly, is nothing new in the UK. I lived in London while it was being bombed by the IRA. I grew up in Ireland while the IRA was at its worst. Over the years, I've learned how to watch out for myself, love. There are many security measures in place in London. I'll be fine. And my company has asked us to do the same thing you just asked of me: Avoid the Tube and buses while in London."
You still made him promise to text your cell phone or e-mail you as soon as he could if there was another attack. You made him promise to send text messages in an emergency because you had read that on July 7, texts went through the London cellular telephone system when calls didn't. Or e-mail, because your computer classes taught you that U. S. Army researchers designed the Internet to withstand wartime attacks.
You kept busy while B was away. You worked at both your jobs, caught up on your housework, bought and read the new Harry Potter.
You also searched B's car company's Internet site for new car information. Your little red sporty car is, sadly, on its last legs, and you plan to buy a new car as your graduation present to yourself. You remind yourself to ask B to get you his "friends and family" employee discount when he's back in Detroit. He can give the discount to anyone, a few times a year, and you know he'd give it to you. Would he also go car shopping with you?
While B was gone, he e-mailed, text messaged, or called you at least once a day to let you know he was fine and thinking of you.
This was his Tuesday e-mail:
Dear J:
Here I am, still safe and sound in the city of Big Ben, London Bridge, Abbey Road, Kensington Palace, the Tower of London, Wembley Arena, Scotland Yard, Harrod's ... places I can't see because I'm too busy working! Wish you were here so we could see them together. Maybe we will see them together someday?
Bless you, my love. B.
P.S. Can't wait to see you again. I'll be back on Saturday. Will you meet my flight home? Northwest Flight 730, arriving from New York at 2:30 p.m.?
On Wednesday, you met your stepmother for dinner and told her about your new beau. "I'm happy for you, Jo. Your father used to worry you'd never find anyone, even though he never told you that. I thought you would eventually be with that other fellow you know," she tells you in her blunt -- but well-meaning -- manner. "When do I get to meet him?" You made plans to have her over for dinner after B's return. She also invited the two of you over for your birthday in August. After you got home, you immediately e-mailed B to tell him of her invitations.
Between your two jobs and things happening so fast, so often with B, you hadn't seen your old friends in weeks. So you make a call and find out what your old singles group is up to on Friday night. They're meeting at the movies. You drive way, way, way out to the 30-screen movie theater they all love -- and you wish were closer to your house.
Your friend Eric is there. He smiles and embraces you. Eric has always carried a little torch for you, always will. However, he's the goofy, sort of shy type who will never truly act on his feelings. Eric works at the same auto company as B. The thought crosses your mind: Would they know each other? It's one of the world's largest companies, with layers of burecracy which surpass the government'a. The two of them knowing each other would be like suddenly finding your lost car keys in a huge haystack. Still, it's worth a try.
"Eric, do you know ..." and you tell him B's full, real name. "He works in the international marketing department, I think that's in or near your building. He goes to the Dales Library, and we've gone out a few times. I somehow thought you might have heard of him." Eric truly does not need to know any more at this point. No need to break his heart.
"I do know him. He's Irish, new in town, has worked and traveled in Europe and Africa. He transferred here from Johannesburg. He's been going to one of our lunchtime Bible studies. He has some interesting insights on scripture, and he's very funny. And he's single. I approve."
*Bible studies?* The man with whom you're exploring the Deadly Sin of Lust? The man who, on your first Sunday together, when you casually told him you went to church just before your date, told you that living in a Catholic-Protestant family in Dublin during The Troubles almost made him reject organized religion? You hope you're not blushing and your jaw is still in place.
Yet, this aspect of B is not a total surprise. You've seen him always pause and bow his head over his food before his meals. Listened in agreement as he told you how he believes all people must be treated with compassion and justice. And he's urged you to pray, told you how prayer and faith helped him make some sense out of the deaths of his parents. Even though he questions religion, and he doubts he could ever totally follow Christ's example, B has faith in God, and a deep respect for Christianity.
"Thanks, Eric. It's nice to know that about him."
"Okay, everybody, what movie are we going to see?" Even though it's directed to everyone, your friend Margaret walks up to you and asks you the question of the moment. You and Chris, your best platonic male friend and fellow movie buff, are usually the ones who influence the others as to which movie to see. Chris tells you he hates always being the one to choose the movie. But you know Chris can't stand what he considers to be everyone else's lightweight choices, and you agree with his taste.
"War of the Worlds"? you suggest. Tom Cruise's anti-psychiatry diatribes make you think he needs a shrink. Even so, you want to see how "War of the Worlds" tells the classic sci-fi story. Your group gets in line, buys your tickets, and enter the theatre.
You can't concentrate on the movie. You miss B. You're still worried about B. You feel you can't talk to your friends about him: Except for Eric, they don't know him. And Eric would be shocked if he knew how well you'd like to know B. Chris would want to die of jealousy. The two of you, B and yourself, have yet to sleep together -- B has been true to his first-date words about not wanting to rush things -- but you keep getting closer and closer to sleeping together.
Using the screen violence as an excuse, you close your eyes for a moment. You open them again, and eventually watch the end of the world as Steven Spielberg and Tom Cruise know it. Unlike Michael Stipe in his set-to-manic-music dream of famous LB's and birthday party cheesecake jellybean boom, you don't feel fine.
You feel your phone vibrate, startling you. Then again, the signal came during a scary on-screen moment which made half the audience jump out of its seats, so no one noticed you jump out of yours. You pull the phone out of your pocket, look at the screen.
BOARDING PLANE
MISS YOU J
LOVE B
is all the screen says. It's enough.
You were so nervous, then so relieved, you hardly realize he said "love."
After the movie, you all go out for dinner at a nearby pizza place.
"So how are you doing, Jo? We haven't seen you in so long. Library keeping you busy?" Margaret asks you.
"It is -- and so is my new boyfriend," You happily begin to tell her about B. Chris starts to overhear, then quickly turns his attention to other conversations at the table.
The next day, B safely returned. After a Saturday morning at the library, you picked him up at Metro Airport, and happily took him to his home.
As he took you to his bedroom with him, you saw a Bible on his nightstand. With side-by-side texts of the King James Version and The Message modern translation. There is also a small book of the Psalms. You sit on the edge of his bed.
"Aye, I knew I left my favorite Bible here! Luckily for me there are Bibles in hotel rooms. It's my bedside reading," he matter-of-factly said to you when you saw the Bible. "Do you read the Bible, love?"
"Yes, I've read and studied parts of it. I see you also have a book of the Psalms. I like the Psalms, especially Psalm 23 and the first verses of Psalm 40. I do enjoy hearing the Bible read during Mass and other religious services. I don't read it as regularly as I ought to, though. Must be part of my Catholic guilt and upbringing."
"Hmmm ... you enjoy hearing the Bible read to you." B lies on his side. You lie down next to him. He spoons your back to his chest, reaches for the Bible on his nightstand, opens it in front of both of your heads, holds it with one hand while wrapping one arm around your waist, and turns to the Song of Solomon.
"Don't let them tell you this book of the Bible is about God's longing for his church. It's about two lovers and their longings for each other, my love." B reads, softly, from Song of Solomon 7, The Message:
"Shapely and graceful your sandaled feet, and queenly your movement -- Your limbs are lithe and elegant, the work of a master artist. Your body is a chalice, wine-filled. Your skin is silken and tawny like a field of wheat touched by the breeze. Your breasts are like fawns, twins of a gazelle. Your neck is carved ivory, curved and slender. Your eyes are wells of light, deep with mystery. Quintessentially feminine! Your profile turns all heads, commanding attention. The feelings I get when I see the high mountain ranges -- stirrings of desire, longings for the heights -- Remind me of you, and I'm spoiled for anyone else! Your beauty, within and without, is absolute, dear lover, close companion."
You sigh. You can hear B laugh, practically feel his broad grin. He rubs his unshaved cheek against your neck, then speaks.
"Shall I continue? Yes? You'll especially like verse 7. It's like it was written about you, my love."
"You are tall and supple, like the palm tree, and your full breasts are like sweet clusters of dates. I say, "I'm going to climb that palm tree! I'm going to caress its fruit!" Oh yes! Your breasts will be clusters of sweet fruit to me, Your breath clean and cool like fresh mint, your tongue and lips like the best wine. Yes, and yours are, too -- my love's kisses flow from his lips to mine."
B stops reading, puts his Bible down on the bed, turns you around in his arms to face him, and kisses you deeply. Your lips and tongues flow together. When the kiss ends, he turns you back around. You begin to protest. "It's lovely, very moving, B. Can we do something else now?" you say as you try to turn around to continue kissing him.
But he wraps one of his strong arms around your waist and retrieves the Bible with his other hand.
"Look, there's a woman's part! Your turn! I love your voice. I want to hear you read to me." He points to "The Woman: verse 10" with his thick index finger.
How can you say no to this man? You really haven't so far. Why start now? You take a breath, focus your eyes and will yourself to look at the page. You read Song of Solomon 7:10 to B.
"I am my lover's. I'm all he wants. I'm all the world to him!"
Dear God. Could B really feel anything even close to that depth of feeling for you?
You've started to cry. With tears in your eyes, you turn to face him. Hesitantly, softly, you ask him what you have been longing to ask him.
"Is ... is that ... last verse ... possibly ... true?"
"You are mine. I want you. Even in the short time we've known each other, you've come to mean a great deal to me. It is true,"
He wipes your tears away with his fingers, kisses your face, and holds you to him. "Oh, love, have you worried about us?"
"Yes ... I haven't had a relationship like ours ... one that became ... so close ... so quickly before. And I'm afraid I don't really know how to please someone like you."
"That can be taught and learned, love. I find you quite pleasing." He smiles to try to make you smile. You know you should probably stop talking, yet you go on.
"I've never kept a boyfriend or a lover for more than a year, usually less. It's not that I didn't want those things. I've had platonic friendships with members of the opposite sex. One of them has lasted for ten years."
"Don't discount a long friendship, my love," B tells you. "Being a friend is an accomplishment."
"But everyone who sees Chris -- that's his name -- and me together, eventually asks me 'so, what about you two?' I can't take hearing that question anymore."
"So, what about you two?" B immediately asks.
You free your arm, reach for a pillow and gently swat him with it.
"Our first pillow fight!" he yells, reaching for another pillow. You throw up your arms as he aims his pillow at your head.
"Sorry, B, it was fair for you to ask me that question. Chris is like a brother to me. We have the same tastes in movies, music, politics, TV shows, we have a lot of mutual friends, we get along well. There was a time when we could have become romantically involved. But I was shy and scared about men when I first met Chris. I know Chris has strong feelings for me. But he's always been very shy about expressing them, to the point of never really expressing them. I want someone who isn't shy, who will tell me and show me how he feels, who wants a sexual, romantic relationship with me. That's you.
"B, you don't have anything to worry about from Chris. You are mine." You punctuate your words with a kiss. "You are all I want." Another kiss. "You mean a great deal to me." Another kiss, the deepest and longest one you've ever given him. It makes him dizzy. It makes you dizzy and happy.
Then, you begin to give yourself to him, your love to his love.
A few days later, there's an Amazon.com package at your front door when you come home. You haven't ordered anything.
Curious, you open it to find a copy of The Message. There's a gift message on the receipt.
Dear J.: Read this. Remember Song of Solomon 7:10. God bless you. He blessed me when I met you. With agape (and some eros), B.
Chapter 4: The Good Book.
Disclaimer: Father, forgive me. I first plotted this chapter on my way to -- and during -- a Sunday Mass. I may have received divine inspiration, for which I thank You. I also may have found one reason why Bono likes The Message so much. BibleGateway.com is excellent. Bono still doesn't belong to me (but I'm very close to my 500 pounds worth of U2 CDs, DVDs, and concert tickets). Bono belongs to God and Jesus, Ali, his children, U2, Ireland, Africa, and himself. He is and he isn't himself here (in Midwestern America during the summer of 2005). Important Reminder: There is no U2 in this alternate universe, so our heroine and many others would, sadly, never see or hear "40." On the other hand, she wouldn't have to hesitate to say "you two" to B. On with our story, which I need to post so I can do some real life writing today:
It's been the most wonderful -- the most romantic, the sexiest -- month of your life.
B's been a frequent patron. Makes it a point to come in, call, or e-mail you whenever you're at the library (or sometimes he'll call or e-mail you at home or your day job). He often comes to get you from work after your night and weekend shifts. You go for little walks or drives. To the movies on a Saturday night. Sunday brunch. Sometimes to dinner after work. Or you have drinks at the Irish pub B says is as authentic as any he's seen in America. He bought you your first pint of Guiness there, although he insists Guiness tastes best in Dublin.
You invite him to your house, or he invites you to his apartment. Either way, you almost always ... okay, always ... end up making out. When you sit on a couch and talk about your days or your lives, or read together, or watch a movie in one of your DVD players, the two of you can't seem to keep your hands (or lips) off each other.
What started in the library and his living room quickly moved on to other locations. Both of your living room floors. Making more food jokes in your kitchens. Kisses and a little more on his balcony. Looking at the stars and the curve of the moon together while lying on a blanket in your back yard.
And when you and B think no one's looking, kisses and hugs inside and outside of the library.
Hopefully this is not just a summer love. Something in you feels there's a possibility of a deeper, longer-lasting relationship between you. How can that be? You wonder. We still barely even know each other. And does he feel it too?
Friday night, you didn't have to work. B was sent to London on business on Monday. After the July 7 subway bombings and the second wave of attempted bombings, you really didn't want him to go. You knew it was no use to argue or object, however. You gave him an order anyway.
"Don't you even *think* about going near a subway station or getting on a double-decker bus while you're in London. Please, B. I'm not kidding, I mean it," you told him when he told you he had to go. "It's dangerous there now." I just met you, and I don't want to lose you already to a terrorist, is what you didn't tell him.
"J, I don't know if my saying this will make you feel better or worse, but terrorism, sadly, is nothing new in the UK. I lived in London while it was being bombed by the IRA. I grew up in Ireland while the IRA was at its worst. Over the years, I've learned how to watch out for myself, love. There are many security measures in place in London. I'll be fine. And my company has asked us to do the same thing you just asked of me: Avoid the Tube and buses while in London."
You still made him promise to text your cell phone or e-mail you as soon as he could if there was another attack. You made him promise to send text messages in an emergency because you had read that on July 7, texts went through the London cellular telephone system when calls didn't. Or e-mail, because your computer classes taught you that U. S. Army researchers designed the Internet to withstand wartime attacks.
You kept busy while B was away. You worked at both your jobs, caught up on your housework, bought and read the new Harry Potter.
You also searched B's car company's Internet site for new car information. Your little red sporty car is, sadly, on its last legs, and you plan to buy a new car as your graduation present to yourself. You remind yourself to ask B to get you his "friends and family" employee discount when he's back in Detroit. He can give the discount to anyone, a few times a year, and you know he'd give it to you. Would he also go car shopping with you?
While B was gone, he e-mailed, text messaged, or called you at least once a day to let you know he was fine and thinking of you.
This was his Tuesday e-mail:
Dear J:
Here I am, still safe and sound in the city of Big Ben, London Bridge, Abbey Road, Kensington Palace, the Tower of London, Wembley Arena, Scotland Yard, Harrod's ... places I can't see because I'm too busy working! Wish you were here so we could see them together. Maybe we will see them together someday?
Bless you, my love. B.
P.S. Can't wait to see you again. I'll be back on Saturday. Will you meet my flight home? Northwest Flight 730, arriving from New York at 2:30 p.m.?
On Wednesday, you met your stepmother for dinner and told her about your new beau. "I'm happy for you, Jo. Your father used to worry you'd never find anyone, even though he never told you that. I thought you would eventually be with that other fellow you know," she tells you in her blunt -- but well-meaning -- manner. "When do I get to meet him?" You made plans to have her over for dinner after B's return. She also invited the two of you over for your birthday in August. After you got home, you immediately e-mailed B to tell him of her invitations.
Between your two jobs and things happening so fast, so often with B, you hadn't seen your old friends in weeks. So you make a call and find out what your old singles group is up to on Friday night. They're meeting at the movies. You drive way, way, way out to the 30-screen movie theater they all love -- and you wish were closer to your house.
Your friend Eric is there. He smiles and embraces you. Eric has always carried a little torch for you, always will. However, he's the goofy, sort of shy type who will never truly act on his feelings. Eric works at the same auto company as B. The thought crosses your mind: Would they know each other? It's one of the world's largest companies, with layers of burecracy which surpass the government'a. The two of them knowing each other would be like suddenly finding your lost car keys in a huge haystack. Still, it's worth a try.
"Eric, do you know ..." and you tell him B's full, real name. "He works in the international marketing department, I think that's in or near your building. He goes to the Dales Library, and we've gone out a few times. I somehow thought you might have heard of him." Eric truly does not need to know any more at this point. No need to break his heart.
"I do know him. He's Irish, new in town, has worked and traveled in Europe and Africa. He transferred here from Johannesburg. He's been going to one of our lunchtime Bible studies. He has some interesting insights on scripture, and he's very funny. And he's single. I approve."
*Bible studies?* The man with whom you're exploring the Deadly Sin of Lust? The man who, on your first Sunday together, when you casually told him you went to church just before your date, told you that living in a Catholic-Protestant family in Dublin during The Troubles almost made him reject organized religion? You hope you're not blushing and your jaw is still in place.
Yet, this aspect of B is not a total surprise. You've seen him always pause and bow his head over his food before his meals. Listened in agreement as he told you how he believes all people must be treated with compassion and justice. And he's urged you to pray, told you how prayer and faith helped him make some sense out of the deaths of his parents. Even though he questions religion, and he doubts he could ever totally follow Christ's example, B has faith in God, and a deep respect for Christianity.
"Thanks, Eric. It's nice to know that about him."
"Okay, everybody, what movie are we going to see?" Even though it's directed to everyone, your friend Margaret walks up to you and asks you the question of the moment. You and Chris, your best platonic male friend and fellow movie buff, are usually the ones who influence the others as to which movie to see. Chris tells you he hates always being the one to choose the movie. But you know Chris can't stand what he considers to be everyone else's lightweight choices, and you agree with his taste.
"War of the Worlds"? you suggest. Tom Cruise's anti-psychiatry diatribes make you think he needs a shrink. Even so, you want to see how "War of the Worlds" tells the classic sci-fi story. Your group gets in line, buys your tickets, and enter the theatre.
You can't concentrate on the movie. You miss B. You're still worried about B. You feel you can't talk to your friends about him: Except for Eric, they don't know him. And Eric would be shocked if he knew how well you'd like to know B. Chris would want to die of jealousy. The two of you, B and yourself, have yet to sleep together -- B has been true to his first-date words about not wanting to rush things -- but you keep getting closer and closer to sleeping together.
Using the screen violence as an excuse, you close your eyes for a moment. You open them again, and eventually watch the end of the world as Steven Spielberg and Tom Cruise know it. Unlike Michael Stipe in his set-to-manic-music dream of famous LB's and birthday party cheesecake jellybean boom, you don't feel fine.
You feel your phone vibrate, startling you. Then again, the signal came during a scary on-screen moment which made half the audience jump out of its seats, so no one noticed you jump out of yours. You pull the phone out of your pocket, look at the screen.
BOARDING PLANE
MISS YOU J
LOVE B
is all the screen says. It's enough.
You were so nervous, then so relieved, you hardly realize he said "love."
After the movie, you all go out for dinner at a nearby pizza place.
"So how are you doing, Jo? We haven't seen you in so long. Library keeping you busy?" Margaret asks you.
"It is -- and so is my new boyfriend," You happily begin to tell her about B. Chris starts to overhear, then quickly turns his attention to other conversations at the table.
The next day, B safely returned. After a Saturday morning at the library, you picked him up at Metro Airport, and happily took him to his home.
As he took you to his bedroom with him, you saw a Bible on his nightstand. With side-by-side texts of the King James Version and The Message modern translation. There is also a small book of the Psalms. You sit on the edge of his bed.
"Aye, I knew I left my favorite Bible here! Luckily for me there are Bibles in hotel rooms. It's my bedside reading," he matter-of-factly said to you when you saw the Bible. "Do you read the Bible, love?"
"Yes, I've read and studied parts of it. I see you also have a book of the Psalms. I like the Psalms, especially Psalm 23 and the first verses of Psalm 40. I do enjoy hearing the Bible read during Mass and other religious services. I don't read it as regularly as I ought to, though. Must be part of my Catholic guilt and upbringing."
"Hmmm ... you enjoy hearing the Bible read to you." B lies on his side. You lie down next to him. He spoons your back to his chest, reaches for the Bible on his nightstand, opens it in front of both of your heads, holds it with one hand while wrapping one arm around your waist, and turns to the Song of Solomon.
"Don't let them tell you this book of the Bible is about God's longing for his church. It's about two lovers and their longings for each other, my love." B reads, softly, from Song of Solomon 7, The Message:
"Shapely and graceful your sandaled feet, and queenly your movement -- Your limbs are lithe and elegant, the work of a master artist. Your body is a chalice, wine-filled. Your skin is silken and tawny like a field of wheat touched by the breeze. Your breasts are like fawns, twins of a gazelle. Your neck is carved ivory, curved and slender. Your eyes are wells of light, deep with mystery. Quintessentially feminine! Your profile turns all heads, commanding attention. The feelings I get when I see the high mountain ranges -- stirrings of desire, longings for the heights -- Remind me of you, and I'm spoiled for anyone else! Your beauty, within and without, is absolute, dear lover, close companion."
You sigh. You can hear B laugh, practically feel his broad grin. He rubs his unshaved cheek against your neck, then speaks.
"Shall I continue? Yes? You'll especially like verse 7. It's like it was written about you, my love."
"You are tall and supple, like the palm tree, and your full breasts are like sweet clusters of dates. I say, "I'm going to climb that palm tree! I'm going to caress its fruit!" Oh yes! Your breasts will be clusters of sweet fruit to me, Your breath clean and cool like fresh mint, your tongue and lips like the best wine. Yes, and yours are, too -- my love's kisses flow from his lips to mine."
B stops reading, puts his Bible down on the bed, turns you around in his arms to face him, and kisses you deeply. Your lips and tongues flow together. When the kiss ends, he turns you back around. You begin to protest. "It's lovely, very moving, B. Can we do something else now?" you say as you try to turn around to continue kissing him.
But he wraps one of his strong arms around your waist and retrieves the Bible with his other hand.
"Look, there's a woman's part! Your turn! I love your voice. I want to hear you read to me." He points to "The Woman: verse 10" with his thick index finger.
How can you say no to this man? You really haven't so far. Why start now? You take a breath, focus your eyes and will yourself to look at the page. You read Song of Solomon 7:10 to B.
"I am my lover's. I'm all he wants. I'm all the world to him!"
Dear God. Could B really feel anything even close to that depth of feeling for you?
You've started to cry. With tears in your eyes, you turn to face him. Hesitantly, softly, you ask him what you have been longing to ask him.
"Is ... is that ... last verse ... possibly ... true?"
"You are mine. I want you. Even in the short time we've known each other, you've come to mean a great deal to me. It is true,"
He wipes your tears away with his fingers, kisses your face, and holds you to him. "Oh, love, have you worried about us?"
"Yes ... I haven't had a relationship like ours ... one that became ... so close ... so quickly before. And I'm afraid I don't really know how to please someone like you."
"That can be taught and learned, love. I find you quite pleasing." He smiles to try to make you smile. You know you should probably stop talking, yet you go on.
"I've never kept a boyfriend or a lover for more than a year, usually less. It's not that I didn't want those things. I've had platonic friendships with members of the opposite sex. One of them has lasted for ten years."
"Don't discount a long friendship, my love," B tells you. "Being a friend is an accomplishment."
"But everyone who sees Chris -- that's his name -- and me together, eventually asks me 'so, what about you two?' I can't take hearing that question anymore."
"So, what about you two?" B immediately asks.
You free your arm, reach for a pillow and gently swat him with it.
"Our first pillow fight!" he yells, reaching for another pillow. You throw up your arms as he aims his pillow at your head.
"Sorry, B, it was fair for you to ask me that question. Chris is like a brother to me. We have the same tastes in movies, music, politics, TV shows, we have a lot of mutual friends, we get along well. There was a time when we could have become romantically involved. But I was shy and scared about men when I first met Chris. I know Chris has strong feelings for me. But he's always been very shy about expressing them, to the point of never really expressing them. I want someone who isn't shy, who will tell me and show me how he feels, who wants a sexual, romantic relationship with me. That's you.
"B, you don't have anything to worry about from Chris. You are mine." You punctuate your words with a kiss. "You are all I want." Another kiss. "You mean a great deal to me." Another kiss, the deepest and longest one you've ever given him. It makes him dizzy. It makes you dizzy and happy.
Then, you begin to give yourself to him, your love to his love.
A few days later, there's an Amazon.com package at your front door when you come home. You haven't ordered anything.
Curious, you open it to find a copy of The Message. There's a gift message on the receipt.
Dear J.: Read this. Remember Song of Solomon 7:10. God bless you. He blessed me when I met you. With agape (and some eros), B.
