What in God's name did James say to Jerry to make him explode like that? I didn't think I was going to be able to get him home without him stomping James to a pulp. Judging from what Jerry said to him when he calmed down enough for Ron to release him, it had to do with me. I think Jerry was defending me, on some level.

That's an odd feeling. I'm not used to being protected, not since I moved out when I was eighteen. Okay, honestly, not since before that. Mom was involved with my stepdad and didn't have a whole lot of attention to spare. I learned to deal with things on my own.

This is different. You expect your parents to protect and defend you: it's their job, after all, and it's more or less bred into most of humanity. But Jerry chooses to protect me. To him, I'm worthy of defense, and not just against physical danger.

Things have changed since he brought me here. I believed then I was just property. I don't know when the change happened, or how it happened, because I certainly didn't do anything to encourage it. I've even told him that I hate him, more than once, but he fell in love with me.

He tells me he loves me, often, and he'll pause after he does. I know what he's doing. He's waiting for me to say, "I love you, too." I haven't. I care about him, I'll admit that, but I don't want to label the feeling, and I don't want to just say the words. Saying I love you, to me, is like a profession of faith. You shouldn't do it just to make someone happy. If it isn't true in your heart, it doesn't mean a damn thing.

That's one reason why I was so upset when Lally thought I might be pregnant. I can't see having a baby with a man unless I'm sure I love him.

I'm almost guilty about feeling so relieved about getting my monthly. I got a glimpse of Jerry's face when Lally brought me the napkins. The disappointment was so deep that it amounted to sorrow. I know he wants children, but I wasn't really sure until then that he had been trying to impregnate me.

I should be outraged, I suppose. Even horror struck. But I'm not. I guess it's because I know he isn't seeing me as just an incubator. He doesn't just want children, he wants children with me.

That's a hard concept for me to deal with, because I know enough now about Jerry to realize that he'd make a definite distinction between wanting to bed a woman and wanting to breed her. It isn't all that rare these days for young men to have several babies by different girls. I don't approve of that, but it's not uncommon. If Jerry just wanted children, he could have had a half dozen by now, but he wants a family.

Why does that frighten me? I gave up on having a family of my own a long time ago. I've always figured I was destined to hover around the edges of other families, perhaps being gathered in occasionally for a short period of time at holidays. But you always have to go home, sooner or later.

God.

I just realized something. When I was thinking about bringing Jerry back here from Lally and Ron's, I thought about bringing him home. Home.

Home has always been back in Texas. I've thought of this place as 'the cabin', 'Jerry's cabin', even 'our cabin.' This is the first time I've thought of it as home.

Oh, this is dangerous. This is very dangerous. Because home means permanence, it means forever. Home is where you are supposed to be. Home is where your family is. Home is the center of your world. If I accept this as home, I have to accept...

I don't want to think of this. I won't think of this. I'll give him my body, but I have to hold on to my heart, because when I leave, I can't leave my heart behind. It would hurt too much.

I won't think about that anymore. I don't want to deal with the emotions.

Damn hormonal emotions. Why am I worrying? I'm having my period, I'm not pregnant. That's all I have to worry about right now.

Well, that, and the fact that Jerry is horny again. It's gotten so I can tell from the way he looks at me, and the tone of his voice, before he even makes a move. I'm curious as to what he intends to do, since we can't have sex the usual way.

He doesn't really do anything when we get back to the cabin. I had rather expected him to push me to my knees the minute we got back inside, but instead he pulls me into his arms and gives me a deep, searching kiss. Then he let lets go and walks away, leaving me with his taste in my mouth.

It's the first of many incidents through the day. When I sit reading, he stops by my chair and puts one big hand over my breast, squeezing gently till my nipple begins to stiffen, but there he stops. While I stand at the sink, washing dishes, he embraces me from behind. Again one hand fondles my bosom, while the other slides down between my legs, rubbing. He grinds slowly against the cushion of my buttocks, all without speaking a word. I feel his teeth lightly scrape the nape of my neck, and I let my head fall back with a sigh. Then I'm released to stand alone, swaying.

What in God's name is the man doing?

When bedtime comes I'm almost crying with frustration, but I haven't approached him, I haven't asked for his touch. My pride won't let me. I crawl to my place by the wall, wearing one of his soft old T-shirts and my panties. He gave them back, for the duration of my period, anyway. I needed something for the sticky backed pads to cling to.

I changed pads just before bed. There was hardly any blood in evidence, only something like a faint brush stroke of crimson. Odd, I usually flowed heavily for a couple of days. I was too agitated to think about it much, though. I only noticed vaguely because I looked like I wouldn't have to worry about soiling my single pair of underwear.

I stretched out on my side, waiting for him. He'd stripped down to his briefs, but now he just stood beside the bed, watching me as he'd done most of the day. I said hesitantly, "Jerry, are you mad at me?" I touched the front of my panties. "About this?"

He shakes his head. "Baby, how could I be mad about that? It's just nature. You don't have a say in it."

Then if you're not mad, why aren't you making love to me? God, I can't say that. What's wrong, Jerry? What do you want? Looking at him, his beautiful body gilded by the firelight that is our only illumination, I know.

He wants me to be more than compliant: he wants me to be willing. He knows now that I crave his touch, but he wants me to participate fully. He wants me to come to him, to be willing to be the initiator.

I haven't done that before. I didn't try to attract or seduce men in my former life: the possibility of rejection was too likely. I felt rejected by most of the world without even asking, so why seek more pain? But I knew Jerry wouldn't turn me away. The heated invitation in his eyes promised me that.

What should I do? How did you seduce someone?

I slid over to the edge of the bed, sitting up. Reaching out, I laid my hands on his flat belly, then scratched lightly. It was the first time I'd really touched him without direction, or the blinding heat of mid-coital lust. I leaned down and nuzzled the front of his jockeys, mouthing the cotton.

He sighed, putting his hands in my hair. I felt him stir under my lips, his flesh separated from me only by that one thin layer of cloth. He tugged my head back, looking down at me. I whispered, "Please, Jerry."

"We can't do a straight fuck with your condition, baby," he murmured. I pushed his shorts down and bent to lick him. He groaned, letting me continue for a moment, swelling under my tongue. But then he pulled me back again. I stared up at him in confusion. "Not like that."

"I don't understand."

He bent and kissed me, deep and wet. Kissed me till I was whimpering and sucking on his tongue. Then he pulled back a little and breathed, "Baby, do you remember out first night together, what I told you?" My brow wrinkles in concentration, trying to remember. "I told you a woman has three cherries. I've had two of yours."

He opens the night stand and removes a tube of lubricant. I look at it, then back up at him. He stares back, without comment. Now I know what he wants.

I wonder why I'm not shocked? I wonder why I'm not horrified, or disgusted. I'm none of those things. What I am is curious.

And I'm aching for him, any way I can have him. "I need a towel." While he's gone to the bathroom I slide off my panties, wrapping them to hide the near pristine pad. He comes back with a small hand towel, giving it to me. I remove my T-shirt, fold the towel, and place it tightly between my legs, to keep the sheets clean, though it begins to look as if I didn't need it. Then I stretch out on my stomach and pull a pillow up under my arms, hugging it.

Jerry reaches out and passes his hand over my ass caressingly. "Are you sure?"

I turn my head to look at him, and say, simply, "Yes."