Soft swishes of rags across wood lulled Lynn into a meditative state. The muted sunlight of February glowed on the warm brown and tan grain. ‘Lynn?�...� ‘Yes?’ ‘Would you take you shirt off?’ Lynn jerked up from her rubbing. ‘My shirt?’ she repeated dumbly. She stared at her husband’s face. Open, vulnerable. A little boy who had asked for the cherry lollipop. Asked for his favorite and too scared to say anything more. ‘Well, sure, Henry.’ She reached for the bottom edge of the grubby sweatshirt. " I said while my eyes drunk up the wonderful expanse ofhis body. His eyes did the same with me. I might teach, but I did keepmyself in shape. There was a slight little pudgy belly, but that gaveit a rounded shape that didn't dissuade from my appearance."So you seem rather lonely over here." He said, our conversation goingthe way of so many bar greetings. Neither of us really cared what theother was saying. So many women blame men for that, and yet we have thesame kind of ideas when we looked. More

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