Friends Are The Support Bras Of Life.

He's A Fascinating Gentleman. Old-school. I Tried To Talk Him Into Attending One Of My Services, But He Said He Wasn't Finished Sinning Yet, And He'd Let Me Know When He Was.

Alone-sex Didn't Count. It's Like The Difference Between Thinking To Yourself Or Having A Good Conversation With Someone--the Pleasure Is In The Exchange.

What You Should Really Be Sorry For," He Continued, "is That For The Rest Of My Life, I'll Have To Avoid Wine Cellars To Keep From Thinking About You." "why? Was Kissing Me That Bad?" A Devil-solf Whisper. "no Sweetheart. It Was That Good.

You Know," I Told Him On Our Wedding Night, "i'm Just As Much Me When I'm With You, As I Am Without You." And Because Hardy Understood What I Meant, He Pulled Me Into His Arms, Against His Heart.

The Freedom Of Saying Anything To Him, Telling All, Relieved A Burden I Hadn't Even Realized I'd Been Carrying. In My Relentless Push To Keep Moving Forward, There Had Been So Many Emotions I Hadn't Let Myself Inhabit Fully, So Many Things I Hadn't Talked About. Now I Couldn't Quite Catch Up To Myself.