fear). I sobbed into his arms after becoming fully awake and aware - but still, the warmth of his embrace soothed me. Is Shae only my refuge, or something genuine? It's nothing I can rationalize, this I know.

This afternoon, Shae and I alone in his bedroom. We make love at times when no one's home, but today, his father listened to talk radio in the next room. Not to say that sex in an empty house is any less intimate - but making love with someone present - someone who would feel betrayed to find out that his son was being sexual with a girl in the room adjoining his brings about an entirely different way of love making. It's slow, and caution brings us to the most basic of positions - the quietest, the least-bed-shaking, the least-bump-on-the-walls producing. Ironically, it seems to me the safest, silentest way of intercourse is also the most intrinsic. Shae's body, pressed heavy on mine, the only way to keep the bed from knocking against the walls. The only options here are to look the other in the eyes, or curl the head into the shoulder nook, the same place one seeks refuge of grief. Missionary is still the most amazing way to love someone to me (not saying that it's the most effective when it comes to coming, or the most raunchily expressive), because you are forced into one of two things - confrontation, or submission.

I relish the feeling of Shae moving deep into me, and slowly back out. I feel every inch of him, and I know he enjoys this molasses, tantric motion as much as I do.