Minutes transform into hours as we ride the wave, crashing into a crescendo of pure bliss. Songs and poems fail to portray the rapture of this bliss, ...lthough many have tried. We fall into the bed, our minds and bodies soaring through the heavens. I bask in the sweet relief unwilling to return to the cold empty world. But life is not a fairy tale.The following minutes pass in the awkward state that always follows. Thanks for the ride but this is where I get off. Should I be polite? Should I. "She stood up, went to get another cup of coffee for both of us, and her hands were visibly shaking as she poured it. "I don't know what to say. He still does?" She sat down again at the kitchen table, looked down, and said nothing. Maybe I had pushed it too far, too soon. I was on the precipice, and if she got really mad, called me a pervert, and called my Mom, everything was over. I couldn't let that happen.I stood up and moved to stand beside her as she was sitting. I put my arm around her. More

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