We were on our first vacation together.  Over the course of a few days, she
taught me how to ride a horse and I taught her how to rollerblade, and on our
last day there, our bodies sweaty and bruised, we made feverish love in our cabin
in the woods.  That was the night I told her I loved her.

It took weeks to convince her to go, but that was her nature, reticent and
cautious.  I was the reckless one, willing to risk the destruction of our new
relationship by moving too quickly.

"We'd never find a cabin we could afford," she said, and we searched for weeks
for a cabin in the price range she suggested.

"I won't be able to find food there," she said.  She had a complicated diet
arising from food allergies and stomach problems and too many doctors.

After a few weeks, her stomach problems subsided and we finally went.

The cabin was near a lake and mountains, and during the days we'd hike and fish
and rollerblade and tell each other stories.

Some of the stories I'd heard before.  Those were the stories about growing up
with an alcoholic mother, and a father who left while she was in her teens, and
how she used to go to bars and drink herself into oblivion every night when she
lived in New York.

But for the first time, she told me the good stories as well. She told me stories
of her grandmother and how she admired her and how her grandmother taught her how
to ride horses when she was a little girl.

She showed me, then, how to ride a horse.  I took a photograph of her as she
rode, and I realized at that moment there was a something in her expression that
I never saw before -- she was happy, deliriously so.

"I haven't ridden a horse since I was a kid," she told me as she dismounted.  And
she kissed me for long minutes with what seemed like hunger. That was when I told
her I loved her.

She was giddy for the rest of the day.  For the first time since we'd started out
on our trip, her stomach didn't bother her at all and she wanted to have sex.

When we got back to the cabin, we peeled off each others dirty clothes and went
straight to bed.  She let me tease her clit with my tongue for long, sweet
minutes, her breathing heavy, gasping as she sucked on my cock with her mouth.

She was very wet when I entered her, and it felt like we were melting into each
other.  I thrust deeply, slowly, and her fingers raked across my back and she bit
into my neck.

I imagined that she was an innocent virgin and I was forcing myself on her,
forcing her to feel pleasure against her will.

I buried my tongue into her ear, and I felt her rhythmic contractions around my
cock, her arms and legs squeezing me against her, and I came inside her.

"I love you," I whispered in her ear.

There were tears in her eyes, and she brushed them away, but then she started
crying but trying not to.  I held her tenderly.

"That happens sometimes, and when I do I cry," she said.

She reached for a tissue and blew her nose.  After a while she stopped crying.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come," she said.

I was stunned.  I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"I'm sorry," she repeated.  She got up to take a bath.



The next time we made love, we were in my apartment in the city. We'd just
finished eating dinner.  I ate an East African dish made of raw beef.  She ate
dried rice cake and fat free noodles. We brushed our teeth, flossed, and went to
bed.

She pushed my head away when I tried to kiss her clit.  She wanted me to enter
her immediately.

She was dry and sex was painful for both of us.  I came quickly.

"That's the way I like it," she said.

I woke up in the middle of the night.  She was lying on her back with her arms
folded across her chest.  Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be asleep.  I
was on my side with my arm across her protectively.

On impulse, I kissed my fingertip and gently caressed her stomach with it.  A
tear came to my eye, and I brushed it away.

"I love you," she whispered.