Ask her, Dad, and don't leave it too long."As we lay in bed together that night, I thought about how right she felt in my arms. I fell asleep wonderin... how to broach the subject of our future (if any) with her.Saturday dawned bright. I made a couple of phone calls and found a hotel in Felixstowe with some vacancies, though I had to settle for two twin rooms. We drove to Woodbridge, but instead of stopping in the town we carried on and visited Sutton Hoo.Sutton Hoo is quite famous. An. “You ... you’re an artist,” was all she could think of as a reply. “Ah bullshit,” I laughed. “I write porn. It has nothing to do with art. It’s an outlet, and it’s fun, but it’s not art.” She seemed thoughtful and serious when she replied. “I think writing is an art,” she said quietly. “At least not less than any other art.”“Well, alright,” I said. “If you think of my writing as art, then it’s very, very dirty art.” I laughed. “So, I guess your ... characters, then, are ... unconventional. More

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