He muttered so lightlyin my mouth, "I can't resist you in these anymore. You're so fucking hot,you know that."I couldn't have been more surprised. I moaned in response. The guy who wasthe center of my every emotional need, of my every sexual craving, was hererubbing my crotch on his living room couch.I wanted to tell him he was beautiful. I wanted to express how the thoughtof him kept me up at night. The thought of him distracted me from mystudies, from anything relatively important to my future. He inspired me towrite music about him - or something he did or said or acted like orfeelings he conjured inside of me - emotionally and sexually. And here hewas, and here I was, giving into him.He slowly climbed on top as we both moved into more comfortable lyingpositions on the couch. I opened my legs a little wider as his handcontinued to rub my mound; I had never experienced anything like thisbefore. It was purely electric.He started kissing down the nape of my neck, his second. But who knows? Maybe I blurted it out early on."I am," I laughed. "A little village in Cambridgeshire. Near the Fens."He smiled. "Cambridgeshire. I love British names. So, what's it like?" It's lovely." Lovely? When did I ever say lovely? "I mean, it's great.It's wetlands." Like swamps?" He looked confused."No, not like swamps. Waterways and land reclaimed from the sea. Like inthe Netherlands." I know. I looked it up. So what did little Allie like to do in theFens?"Not be sick. Not be small. Not be alone. "All sorts of things. Football,the real kind of football. With a ball you actually kick with yourfoot." Which got a smile and a look of surprise. "And anything on thewater. Rowing. Kayaking. I hate that I can't do it here that much,except when I get myself invited to my friend Tom's parents' house."He said, "In the summer, they have free kayaks on the Hudson."My eyes brightened. "Really?"He said, "Yeah, we should go." And then he caught himself. "I mean wecould go. As friends. Or.
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