last night a little dancer came dancin' to my door

She knows it is coming.

It’s late.

It’s dark.

I mean, she’s taken the precautions.

She’s done what she can.

But she knows.

She braces for it.

She’s ready.

And then…


“Hmmm,” she thinks.

False alarm?

She stays vigilant.

Then she stays slightlysleepyvigilant.

Maybe she got ready for nothing.

Tension leaves her shoulders.  They droop a little.

A little more.


It hits her.

She doesn’t see where it comes from, but feels it full force.

That’s kind of how pouncekisses are.

Like bears.


“I got dumped once for a guy with a goatee,” he said, pulling up the pillow on either side of his head to block his ears.

“Bummer,” she replies.

“And nobody ever looks better in a goatee.”


“Well, except for my brother-in-law.  His mug was made for one.”


“Oh and Spock.  Evil Spock looked badass.”

“Ever think that maybe she dumped you because you talk about Star Trek.”

He ponders for a few moments.

“That’s an interesting theory.”

“I know,” she says, while working on his pedicure.

“Hey, do you have one of those toe separator dealies?”


She models her new black dress.

He smiles, with the covers pulled up to his chin.

She spins in the mirror.

He’s clearly smitten.

“You look SO gorgeous.”

“Thaaaanks.  It’s the dress.  Anyone would look good in this,” she replies.


He models her new black dress.

“There goes your theory,” he points out.

“And my sex drive.”

“I think I just need the right shoes,” he explains, sticking one leg out.


She is curled up on her side, wearing only her underwear.

He moves his index finger on her back.

“I’m not sure…” she says.

“What do you mean?”

“Try it again.”

He writes something on her back with his finger.

“You have terrible handwriting.”

“Quiet, you.”

“Is it French?” she asks.

“Eww.  No.”

“Uhm… aren’t you part French?”

“What are you, taking a census?  I’ll try it again.”

He writes one more time.  Slower.

“Awwww.  That’s very sweet.  Thanks, baby,” she smiles.

“Oh!  I have another one,” he says excitedly.

He begins writing again.

“Uhm.  You better be trying to spell ANNALS…”

“Tee hee.”

He climbs on top of her, kissing her face.

She giggles.


He’s sitting on the foot of the bed, folding her laundry.

She’s leaning against the headboard, eating a banana.

He stares at her intently.

“What?” she asks with her mouthful.  Then sticks her tongue out to show him some food.

He leans in closer.

She swallows.

He picks up her t-shirt.

“Sorry… You have something… Right there…  You have a bunch of cuteness on your face,” he says.

He playful roughly wipes her face with the t-shirt.

“Does that work on women?” she asks.

“Probably women who think they’re cute.”

“I AM cute…” she notes.

“Mmmhmm,” he replies, with her pink thong on his head.

She leans in and grabs him by the collar.

“Weird… you seem to have a little pain in the ass in your shirt.”


They’re spooning in the dark.

His hand gently rubs her stomach.

Then it finds her hand on her hip, and gives it a squeeze.

Then his hand slowly travels up her arm.

It caresses her cheek gently.

It tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

His hand massages her shoulder.

He lightly rubs down her back.

Then he extends one finger.

He touches it to her back.

When he is half done the “I,” she breaks into a huge smile.


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