He was fast asleep beside her as she stared into the darkness of the night through his bedroom window. She thought to herself that for every star that she could see through that space in the wall was a hollow place in her soul, longing to be completed by something she had yet to figure out.Although he had made love to her per the norm just an hour ago, she had never felt more alone and untouched in all of her womanhood. The soft tear trickling down her left cheek onto the pillow covered in her golden ringlets was the ever familiar reminder of just how miserable she felt inside.She closed her eyes as if to stop her tears, to stop her useless crying. What good does crying do? What good comes from the emotions unseen by the man who needed to know them the most? Unable to hold back her quivering chin and rising chest dying to let out her sobs, she released that built-up silent scream into the night.She turned to look at the man beside her, wondering which was valid: the way he made her. Wait...that’s a lie...I hadn’t been this drunk since...umh...the Custer Shoot...and suddenly I missed David. That set me off. I sobbed. The father of Beck’s sweat-shirted student commiserated, responding with a hug. I soaked his shirt.That resulted in apologies. The apologies led to a suggestion. The suggestion soon led to the idea that maybe sex would help. We had an executive suite at the Boxer; two big bedrooms with a fancy living/dining area between. It was less than four blocks but we took separate vehicles. Beck and I took a taxi and they...the gentleman and his son...took their car...a newish Lincoln.It did.Help...the sex.Although...the shower and the sleep probably had something to do with it. My handsome and debonair elderly gentleman dissolved into a puddle and was resurrected as a rather fat greying slob in soiled underwear and a wifebeater shirt. I managed to get my arm out from under his greasy body...and I didn’t have to chew it off at my shoulder...nor did I wake him.
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