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His friends call him Jake.

Sometimes Jack. Or JC.

Never Junior. Never JJ. And never, ever, ever, John. That was just what his birth records called him. And all the people that knew him best, an amount of souls he could count on one hand, knew, that this was a matter beyond contention. Even his driver's license attested to this, after his eighteenth birthday. It was the day his last name changed, to his mother's maiden name, too.

You see, the man, who had given him those easily discarded names, was an arrogant sod. One who thought himself too good to stick around with the plain-looking likes of Jake's mother. He left both of them behind, without even an address or a contact, when the boy was only two.

And by Jake's own conclusions, not that his mother had ever said a word about the man, disparagingly or otherwise, he was better off without him. He'd heard the neighbors talk and that had lead him to believe, that leaving him to be raised outside his influence was the only good thing the man had ever done in his life.

Through the years, somewhat fortuitously, the newspapers confirmed Jake's suspicions. Especially on the day of his death, when Jake was fifteen. The string of offenses, deals swindled, bribes taken, money skimmed off the top, the womanizing, and the sexual misconduct allegations, just to name a few, were all there, in black and slightly off-white.

Jake just knew he had a whole bunch of half-brothers and half-sisters out there and he prayed every night. that they too had grown up out of the influence of that man.

Still, he had no desire to ever meet them. That was a hornet's nest of emotions he'd rather not kick. But he wished them all well. And he knew that if, by some twist of fate, he ever found out one of them needed a hand or a blood transfusion he'd be there to lend it.

That's just who he was. Who he had forged himself to be.

He was also the type of person who would skim through the local news rags, just to give fate a place to do its twisting. Which, was how he found out, at age fifty-five, that he'd had a half-brother, named John, who died the previous day in an accident.

He was fifty-two.

He died a hero, pushing a coworker out of the way of a crumbling scaffold.

Jake thought he would have liked him.

From what he read. They had similar features, similar hobbies, and professions. And according to the papers, he was a well-liked man. And judging by the amount of candles and flowers at the accident site, they weren't lying.

It got him thinking.

And thinking... meant walking.

And walking... always brought him to this place. A park, by a lake. with a pool and a playground and a hardly ever-used walk-around trail.

It wasn't the most crowded of places. Especially this early in the day. I mean even at its most jam-packed it had a calmness to it.

It was also near his house so he didn't have to drive. He hated thinking and driving. That was its biggest draw. Thinking and driving was just as bad as drinking and driving in his mind.

A close second, among reasons this was one of his favorite thinking spots, was that there were plenty of secluded spaces, along its board-walked path, to find a place to sit and not be bothered by anyone. A natural, quiet little cloister or two, from where to whittle away a worry or untangle an intangible thought.

He purposefully crossed through the parking lot, put his empty coffee cup in a can next to the break in the fence, and followed the asphalt path up.

Passed the playground.

Under the heavily leaved tree branches.

Finally, coming to an all too familiar clearing on top of a low-rising hill.

That's where he stopped. Its where he always stopped.

What followed next had become something of a ritual. Whenever he was in this frame of mind anyway.

He watched the water sparkling, under the light of the late morning sun. He took a minute to just catch his breath. Not that he was winded, he was in pretty decent shape, it was more just to clear the cobwebs, get a feel for the breeze, and sense the direction it wanted him to go.

Times like these he liked to follow the signs life offered.

Even if those signs seemed to have no meaning to discern.

But the signs always had meaning. He knew that. He also knew that sometimes they had two, or more, and, if you forced the portents to fit, that you could read them wrong. Yet, in his recollections, even if you read them wrong they still took you to the place that you needed to be. Or, where they needed you to be. For your or someone else's purpose.

That had been his experience, for the most part.

The wind picked up, pushing the leaves from west to east. From left to right, as he was facing. He heeded its coaxing and let it steer him that way.

He had barely taken three steps when something gave him pause.

A body. Backed up against a tree. Knees up, tucked under the chin, tenting a long black and green skirt. Head down. Staring at the grass. With a white button-down sleeveless shirt.

Even at this distance, he could tell her eyes were dim.

He could feel that from her posture and mire. She was draped in shadow. Thick, dark, swampy and heavy. It weighed upon her like a blanket.

The wind whispered passed his ear, seeming to edge him closer. So, closer he went.

He got close enough that he could scent her. 'Hmm. Green Apples.'

"Hi."

She looked up. Her eyes were glossy. Two pools almost to the point of overflowing. Green, surrounded by white. Sparkling. Penetrating.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I d-d-don't kn-n-n-knnnow," she replied, slowly turning her head back down.

"Ha," he laughed, completely surprised by her answer.

She turned back up and what he saw in her look made him realize she had taken his outburst completely the wrong way. He smiled, shook his head, and explained, "That's probably the most honest answer I've ever gotten to that question." He held out his left hand, palm up. She looked at it blankly.

"Sitting in wallow doesn't help, walking does. A little. The dirt has no answers. The water doesn't either, but at least it tries to give you hints. I know," he paused. Then confessed, "From experience."

She reached up and, tentatively, took hold of his offering. He turned his hand sideways but didn't pull. 'Everyone should pull themselves up. It's the first step,' he pondered. And just as if she had read his mind, she did, just that.

He didn't let go when she was standing. He just adjusted his hold and started to walk towards the shoreline.

She thought it odd. But she didn't try to free herself from his grip. The thoughts she had, recently running in her brain, were darker than odd. Odd, at this point in her life, was... asylum.

They walked hand in hand, in silence, down toward the dock, making a right on that wood-planked walkway. Keeping an easy pace. She felt the warmth of his hand and found herself clinging to it. Step by step they kept moving. Without words. Until they came around a bend and he walked to the left, off the main path. Stopping at a lookout on the smaller side of the lake.

It was built like any other boardwalk, jutting over the water and surrounded by trees on both sides. A bench looked out, away from the path, to the west. The forest behind them, on the other side of the path they just came from, was thick. So thick, that the passing of cars. on the main road, was lost and forgotten to the wood.

The only noises they could hear were their footsteps, the lapping of the water, the occasional duck, and the rustling of the leaves. He still didn't let go of her hand, he just sat down. She didn't even hesitate, she just followed suit.

Their hands, still together, rested between them. The back of her hand touching his thigh, the back of his touching hers. It was an intimacy. A connection. An anxious but comfortable intonation against her skin.

"I'm Jake."

"S-s-sely."

"Sely?"

"Y-yes."

"Hm." He arched his back and relaxed, just staring at the waves. He played the name on his tongue, "Sely. It's got an old world poetry to it. I like it."

She fidgeted, both mentally and physically, practicing the words of a question she wanted to ask. So they would come out as she wanted. Not broken. It was an exercise a therapist had insisted she try. "Think before you speak," the woman, that Sely quickly referred to as Bitch, demanded. It didn't work for her. Nothing really worked for her.

But she had become used to it. Had it verbally beaten into her so much it was pavlovian. So she did it with out thought. Even though she felt like people thought she was making up lies, from the pause between their query and her reply.

"W-what di-did yoooou mm-mean a-b-bout th-the d-d-d-dirt and-d theeewater?"

"Just what I said," he humored, "Most people don't realize it, but dirt, is death. It's quite literally everything that ever died on this planet. Every plant. Every bird. Every Animal. Every human. Although, humans not so much over the last few hundred years, because we've thought of ourselves too highly to return to it. Think we should be preserved for future generations to marvel at. In the past we were way more in touch with it. Still, without this essence of death at our feet, there would be no life. The resources to support it would have dried up long ago. Water, on the other hand, is life. It's the source of all that crawled up on land to die and make way for the new."

"Hmm."

He felt her shoulder brush against his.

"Dirt, like I said, is death. And even though it may carry the memories of all the lives it's made of, it's still death. It's seen so many things that a single question could have a thousandfold amount of answers. But even if there was just one, it's still death. And death doesn't speak. Water is pretty much the same, in the vastness of its memories. But it also has no voice. What it does have is imagery. Random mementos of the past visually offered upon the reflections of the waves. Dirt absorbs. Pulls you deeper into the malaise, the wallow. Water, offers the brain the ability to gleam what it gleams by itself. Unpersuaded by the liquid's own perceptions and prejudices. Ironically though, it's not a fluid process. It's more pops and sporadic flashes, than flows or fluent waves."

She turned herself a bit sideways. The back of her shoulder to the front of his. She pulled her hand over her thigh.

It was a simple, innocuous gesture. It had no meaning. Just a comfortable position for her hand to be.

But she still held his hand in her grasp.

And his hand, well, it could feel the subtle change of the heat. The warmth and the humidity.

The flesh.

He shifted his fingers between hers and squeezed. She flexed hers and closed them. Both of their hands became one fist. Intertwined.

After a while, the water brought a thought to his synapses. He never was one to keep his thoughts to himself. So, he brushed his forehead up against the back of her head. Brought his mouth to her ear and softly spoke, "If we're going to have sex, we're going to have sex. We are not going to do that crap they do in porn. It's going to have meaning. Emotion. Not ego. Not just going through the motions. No acting, no faking. Just honesty, and passion."

She felt her face flush. And wondered what would have prompted him to utter those words so nonchalantly. So bluntly. From out of nowhere. Then she noticed the placement of their hands. And the warmth she felt where his fingers touched the bare flesh under her crumpled-up skirt. So close to the edge of that last piece of cloth. The last barrier between their fingers and her sex.

She saw the pale of her skin, from the inside of her thighs to her ankles, tinting red. A light blue swatch under the black and green, of the long fabric that cascaded down the sides of her legs. A slightly darker shade of blue curving under and away into the shadows. Starting a little bit higher than the angle of the sun should have allowed.

She knew she should adjust her skirt to be more modest. But she didn't. She knew she should move her hand away and, in turn, move his too. But she kept them there.

Under her acknowledging eyes the shadow grew. Ever so slightly. A little darker. A little glossier.

She felt like squirming but she couldn't.

"Yo-you wawould wannt ta-to have sa-sex with mmmm-me?'

"I think I'd like that very much."

"Ba-but why?'

"Your eyes. They're full of sadness. But beyond that sadness is a warmth, like home. A mirrored depth of even deeper feelings and substance."

"Ba-but I'mmmmm na-not p-p-pretty."

"Pretty has nothing to do with it. Pretty is just a facade. Pretty is fleeting. Trivial."

She had been warned of people like him. People who'd exploit on your emotions and say what you needed to hear, to get their way. The sweetness, that dripped from their tongues, feeding an addiction to their lies. Using them to twist your will for their pleasure. Using your insecurities and pain to seduce and control. 'But.. he didn't do that, did he,' she thought to herself, 'He didn't say I was pretty. He... Was he agreeing with me?'

She just had to ask, and if he could be so blunt, so could she, "Are y-you b-being ca-cruel?"

"I can be, yes, if the situation arises for me to be. Most people can. If there's a need. Some, just because they thrive on it. To them, I can be cruel. But to you, I can only be cruel in my honesty. You are not pretty, in a commercially viable way. Your body is not going to drive men to lust for a purchase. That being said, there is a charm to you. A disarming display of sensuality in your shape and the way you move. I can see myself being very comfortable with you pressing up against me in the morning."

"I du-du-don't nnnknow..." she started, pausing in uncertainty at how to phrase what she wanted to say.

He took it as a no. "That's fine. If you want we can just stay here like this and talk about that look in your eyes."

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She shook her head. She hadn't meant to imply... well, anything, she just needed a bit of time to let it all sink in and sort it. "J-jjjust s-s-sex?"

"There's no such thing as just sex. What people call just sex is nothing more than fucking. Unfortunately, for most, by the time they realize it, it's way too late. They've already tarnished what made it truly special. And there's no way to bring the shine of it back. Me! I'd rather make love or make like. Share it, rather than just do it."

"Hm!" was all she replied.

He pulled the hand, that was together with hers, away from her lap and up to his lips. He kissed her thumb. Traded his left hand with his right and put it between them.

She stared at the waves, watching the sunlight spark and ebb on their crests. Seeing each vision it shared in her mind. A shiver ran through her. Not from a chill, or a precognition of harm, but a thrill. A joy. A thought.

Feeling her shake and thinking she was cold, his right arm went around her a pulled her tight.

She laid her head back and sighed.

Then she cried.

First a single tear, one that had been building just before he took her attention. It broke free. Then the damn broke and they all poured forth. There were no sobs. No sniffles. No sounds. Just a long fluid release of pain down her face.

Melancholy, made manifest and welled up from the soul.

She had never experienced such a thing before.

When it was over she felt lighter, more lucent. Like her heart had said, "Enough," and forceably pushed out years of anguish.

She took in a slow, deep, long breath and let it flow, just as slow.

"Better?"

"Y-yes."

He rolled a sleeve down and gathered it in his hand then he dried the rivulets of pain from her cheeks.

She watched his eyes as he gently, purposefully, brushed the cloth on her face. There was a tenderness in them. And in his touch. A weathered warmth. A stubborn gentleness. And a cold, almost calculated, caring. Like people had tried to force him not to care and he forced back, willing himself even harder to.

When he was done he gave her a half-sad smile. A knowing expression.

She turned to look back to the water, melting back into his chest. A breeze tickled on her skin. She caught sight of all the bare flesh, still exposed by her crumpled up skirt. Her legs were parted, slightly. The same amount of space from when their hands had been between them. The light blue fabric creased in vertical lines of a darker tell-tale shade. Giving a not so subtle shape to the folds that lay beyond it. She had a memory of the touch of his hand there. the way his fingers grazed her skin. Unwittingly circling and soothing the inside of her thigh. The way those same digits were now softly, slowly, stroking up and down her arm.

The goosebumps were welcome. The touch, comforting.

She took in a deep staggered breath. Let it out in one unbroken exhale. Turned her head, kissed his cheek and stood up. Her skirt fell down along her legs in a graceful motion. Her face turned red as she walked to the edge.

'Where had that come from?' she thought, 'I kissed his cheek. Such boldness.'

He watched her walk to the railing and lean on it. The way her shirt smoothed tightly on her frame. The slightest of curves, from under her arms to her waist. The breadth of her back. And the way the sun glowed off the fullness of her shoulders.

"You know?" he started, "I may have misspoken before."

She turned her head just enough to see his face.

"Your body," he smiled, "it may have an affect to drive at least one man to lust for a purchase."

She saw a humor in his eyes. But also a truth. His truth.

She just smiled and turned back to the bay. Turning redder than when she realized how close his hand had been to her sex. And how much he could have seen, or ascertained by what he saw. 'And he wouldn't have been wrong,' she mused.

She stared out to the mirrored sky below her. The water mesmerized. Breaking the sunlight into a spectrum of flashing colors. Blues and reds and yellows, and all the tones in between, danced and sparkled like pixels on a screen. Painting images in the bewildered concentration of her gaze.

A breeze picked up the essences of lilac and lavender, and drifted them her way. It filled her head, willing her body to life. She closed her eyes and breathed it in. The scent enticing, the flow of air across her skin stimulating.

"Hmmm," she sighed.

'Not an hour ago I had been courting death, maybe not death but solitude. Emptiness,' she resigned, 'but now, a perfume and a single breeze will always remind me of, life.' She looked out at the water and spoke two words, "Th-Thank you." They were meant for him.

He didn't respond.

But before she could turn and repeat it, she felt him against her back, his arms embracing around her, his chin beside her ear.

She rested her head against his, sharing the view.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nnn-not ha-here, nnn-not n-now. T-too nnnn-nice."

"It's always helped me, too."

"I wa-was thhh-anking y-you be-eefore, b-by the way."

"For what?"

"Sh-Showingggg m-me a wa-way t-t-to..." she tensed up, then exploded, "Nnnnnnnnnnnnn... I-i hhhhhate sp-sp-speaking br-brokenwords."

He put his mouth next to her ear and whispered, "I don't mind hearing them." She turned her head to the side with a quizzical look. "It's like listening to an exotic language," he continued, "One that I don't have to learn to understand. Just listen. The only time it bothers me is when you try and force them. And only then because I can feel your frustration. So take your time and just speak your words. Speak your way."

"Mm-my ww-way?"

She thought about what exactly her way was. Her way in her mind was, annoying, she'd seen it on the faces of others. Very few people could stand to listen to her. Their hackles would rise. She could feel their backs tighten, their patience get lost. Their pity. Their disgust. But.. he didn't mind. She could tell. He listened. He asked and listened and just, understood, her. 'My way... is broken and...' She turned in his arms, ran her hands up his back and put her lips to his. The kiss was endearing and honest. 'This... This is my way too now. With him.'

When she finally pulled away he put his forehead to hers. She was smiling.

So was he.

"Your welcome."

She laughed, then rested her head on his shoulder.

"I don't know if you're hungry but I'm starving. I live right over there. We could barbecue or go to The Americain and have lunch. Staring out at the water like this, leaves me..."

"F-f-famished."

"That's the word."

"Mmhmm. D-did yy-you f-find yy-your annn-answer?"

"I think I did."

"Hmmm."

"Hmmm indeed."

He walked her to her car. She had tucked up under his arm and wrapped hers around him. He put his around her and she held it, just under her breast. Across her stomach. She noticed the way his finger's played upon the fabric.

When they got to the car she handed him the keys. Explaining that she still had a mindful of stuff running through her brain. She was distracted. He opened the passenger door and watched her settle in. He understood.

No thinking and driving.

The drive to his house was short and quiet. He caught glimpses of her staring out the window. He saw her smile and the tear streak that glistened around it. It was antithetical. Unless it wasn't. The honesty in that smile against the sadness in her eyes. It was melancholy and it was not.

It was just like her.

The duality of her. Her existence. Very akin to his.

The words she had were broken and yet, poignant, intelligent. She was aloof but warm. Shy yet brash. Distant but perfectly here.

Much like he was, edgy but soft.

When they got to his house he led her out to the patio. Fired up the grill, excused himself and went to the kitchen. She took off her shoes and walked around the yard, to take in the scene. She dipped her toes in the pool and tested the water. It was warm so she hiked up her skirt and let her legs soak.

He walked out the door a couple of minutes later with two steaks and some corn. He saw her sitting by the pool with her face to the sun. "If you want to go for a swim we can run into town and get you a suit. The pool is heated. That's salt water by the way not chlorine. Helps to ease the stress of the day."

"Th-that's o-k-kay," she shied. Then she stood up, gathered her will and unzipped her skirt. Letting it fall, to pool in a circle around her feet. She dove in and swam to his side. Pulling herself up on the edge to look at him. Her chin on her hands. Her legs paddling slowly below. "Itt-t's n-nice, ssilky."

"Yeah. It's better than the astringent harshness of the chemical pools."

She watched him with curiosity, taking him in as he walked around the pool to what she thought was a shed. He came out in a pair of shorts. It was not what she expected to see. She'd felt his embrace. She expected to see muscles on muscles. What she saw was healthy but not ripped. Still the way he walked she could see the power in every step. Like he walked with his whole body not just his legs. Every muscle and tendon flexed. Like a wolf running through the mountains.

He picked up her skirt, walked back to the deck and put it on the back of the lounge chair with a couple of towels.

He checked the steaks and the corn, flipped them over, then dove into the pool. He swam one quick lap, to the end and back. Then got out and went back to the grill.

She traced the water as it flowed off his long brown hair and slicked down his back. Then she followed.

Her shirt had ridden up and clung to her skin. She didn't notice. Or she didn't care.

He did.

Notice.

Her stomach was smooth and sturdy. She wasn't a thick girl, but she also wasn't lean. Womanly. Her breasts were small and firm. A subtle curve of flesh exposed on one side. Her nipples protruded through the now gossamer cloth. The darker circles of flesh, teasingly visible, their bumps and edges clearly molded by the shadow and light. Her light blue panties fading back and away between the gap of her thighs. Stalwart and sensual.

He met her half way with a towel opened wide. She turned her back and was wrapped up in it. She pulled his arms around her. "D-do yyou ha-have a pp-paper annd ppen?"

"Yeah. Let me flip these over and grab em."

"Mmmhmm."

He handed her her request and then held out a bottle of wine and soda, one in each arm. She chose the wine. So did he. While he finished the cooking on the sweet scented apple-wood fire. She sat and wrote. Sipped the wine and wrote some more. Sometimes crossing things out and starting over again. She had five pages spread out before her when she was done.

She fidgeted when he brought the food. Plucking at the still damp shirt at her sides.

"May I?" He asked, pointing his hands at her ribs.

"MMhm," she nodded, holding her arms out wide.

He undid the lower three buttons, "Is this a man's shirt? If I remember buttons on blouses are on the other side?"

"M-my d-dad's. I h-had to c-cut off th-the sleeves and al-lter theshoulders."

"It looks amazing on you," he said, as he rolled up from the bottom then tied it off, just under her chest.

She wiggled and smiled. Then gave him a kiss.

"Your welcome. Although, I always loved that look. It looks great on you."

They ate, quietly, side by side.

When they were done she finished her glass. Picked up one of the pages she'd written and eyed it over. Then she spoke the words it said. "Wwhen I was three I got an ear in-nfection. It swelled my brain. Ss-ince then the words d-don't come out rright. Reading them helps. A little." She looked up from the paper glancing at the bottle on the table, "I th-think the wine is too. Hmm?"

"Do you want a little more? I don't drink often. Barely ever. I don't like the feeling of being drunk."

"N-neither do I. B-but yes, may I have a l-little more, please."

He poured himself, and her, half a glass. "Have you ever tried weed?"

"Nnnhn."

"Maybe next time you come over you'd like to try. I have friends who indulge, I can get some. If you'd like to come over a next time that is."

"I think I-d like too. And m-maybe. I know y-you said it doesnn-nt bother you. But..." 'it bothered everybody else I ever met,' she continued to herself.

"I find it... rhythmic," he interrupted, "It's like flashes on the water. Sporadic with a flow and a spark. Like I said before it only bothered me when you got frustrated. I could feel that. Now. That you're not worrying about it. I can feel that too. And the fact that you are trying to make me comfortable with it... You don't need to, but the sentiment is appreciated."

She nod her head in understanding. One more sip, she caught up to her place on the pages and continued reading. "Schools had mme do s-speech therapy, but it's physical d-damage not mental or psycholog-gical. One of th-em mmade it w-worse. My mmom died when I wwas eight. My dad died l-last y-year. Today. I visited th-them both and got l-lost. In darkness. I dd-don't even remember driving t-to the ppark."

"I'd like to be able to tell you that it gets easier. But it doesn't. It just gets a little less intense."

She put the paper down, "I th-think the same. With my m-mother it was f-feeling like th-that. I gguess with my dad it just b-brought it all back."

"I can see that happening. When my dad died it was almost a relief. Actually it wasn't anything. He was a certified egotistical piece of shit. If it was anything it was envy. Envy at people that had dads that they could feel loss for. When my mom died. Then I felt loss."

"H-how old are you?"

"Fifty -five."

"Rrreally? You l-look better than my da-dad di-did at forty. Hm," she burst, feeling the blood rush to her face.

"How about you?"

"Twenty th-three."

"Seriously?"

"Mmmhmm."

He looked up, "God! I'll understand it if you strike me down, right now."

She laughed, long and hard. Bringing him down the same road with her. When she caught her breath she stood up from her chair and straddled herself across his lap. It was a very unladylike display in her eyes but she didn't care. She was trying out her new way. She put her forehead next to his. Her cheeks grew flush. She felt liberated and free.

And wanted.

"T-that was m-my first k-kiss."

He looked confused and then... "On the bench?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Huh."

"W-would y-"

"Yes. I very much wou..."

Before he could finish his sentence her lips met his. Just as innocent at first. She was finding her way and learning. Once her tongue tested out and met his it was over. Their bodies pressed together. The heat between her legs became fervent. She could feel him growing against her. The honesty of it excited her more. Her chest became warm and so sensitive. She began to shake.

When she gathered enough will to pull away, she saw his expression and she gasped, "Please."

"Oh. It would be my pleasure."

He stood up and she wrapped her legs around him. He had to navigate by feel of feet. Looking past her in between the kisses. When he stopped and she let her feet touch the ground they were met with the cool smoothness of tiles. She heard the water start to flow. Her shirt was unbuttoned and removed one arm at a time. Then she heard the water turn to spray. His hands were at her hips and she shivered under his touch as her panties fell to the floor. She felt his fingers grab her butt and lift. She shrieked at the sudden grasp and found herself standing under a very warm flow. She arched her back into it. Letting the water soak into her hair. She felt his lips on her neck and nearly buckled. She reached to his hips and pushed his pants down. He wiggled himself out of them when she gripped him. Shamelessly she held onto him. Feeling his heat in her palm.

He turned her around and grabbed the shampoo.

When the morning sun broke through the blinds, pulling Jake from a dream, he kept his eyes closed. Not wanting to see that the day had been just that. Then he felt her warmth. And only then did he dare to open them.

She was awake. Tracing circles over his heart with her fingers. With a look on her face he could only describe as thoughtful. He ran a finger down her side.

She perked, "M-morning."

"I can see that. Morning to you, too." He kissed the top of her head. "What do you have planned for the day."

"I th-think I n-need to ggo to work."

"I probably should too. But I really don't want to."

She laughed and rose up, just enough to look in his eyes. He pulled her on top of him, "Hmmm. I knew I'd be comfortable with you pressed up against me in the morning."

"Hmmm ind-deed," she chuckled. Then she kissed him deep.

Three months later, almost to the day, Jake and Sely stood on an old wooden porch, in the back of an old log cabin. Bare naked in the morning sun. Staring out at the sun-speckled waters.

She had picked the place out. He sold his house and bought it outright. With quite a few dollars to spare. They had moved in two days before, and they hadn't gotten dressed since he carried her over the threshold. But now it was time.

"Guess it's time to finally put some clothes on."

"Wwhat time w-will they b-be here."

"Two of my sisters said they'd be here around noon, to help with the setup, the other three said they'd be here by four. They want to carpool to get to know each other.

One of my brothers said he couldn't get here until eight the other five will trickle in after work."

"I c-can't be-lieve all your b-brothers are're all n-named John."

"I told you my dad was a piece of work."

"Mmmhmm. I'm g-glad you're Jake."

"Me too. Speaking of names,": he queried, looking out at the view, "What do you think we should call this place?"

She looked to the lake, a single spark of light caught her eye, she smiled, turned to face him, and spoke her vision, "W-waterborne."

"Hmmph," he acknowledged, it just seemed... perfect.

He kissed her his agreement. His hands curved over the flesh above her legs and gave a squeeze, "You know. We could maybe sneak in a little more fun in bed before we really need to take a shower and dress."

Her hands returned the favor, "Mmmmm." She looked up, with the pretense of thought in her eyes, then she broke into a run, "R-race you.