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She was reevaluating. When I got there, and sat on her couch-she didn't just sit at the opposite end of the couch. No, she didn't even sit on the couch at all-she went right for the desk chair, which was practically across the room.I suppose I should've been irritated. And I guess I was, a little. Hell, she had taken a huge couple of steps the day before-but she was also judging me based on those other asshole guys. That didn't thrill me. But, yeah, I did understand, a little. I especially understood the significance of the number. She'd had her heart broken by three guys. We were both baseball nuts, remember? Three strikes and you're out.And I got that. What I needed to convince her to get was that-even when you strike out, you get back to the plate for your next at-bat. Because that next at-bat could be the game-winning homer.So, there I was, in her room, with her clear on the other side of it. Looking at me warily. I shrugged that off and we talked about everything except 'us.'. Me: Heh, this too is a kind of massage.Amy: Last time you said you took some classes. When did it happen?Me: Yeah. I was very young, just a couple of years older than you. You won’t believe it.Amy: Oh, tell me.Me: In college, there were these special courses offered by the Students Union. They would pay yoga masters, dance instructors. And also professional masseurs to teach their craft to whoever was interested.Amy: Oh.Me: They even had a traditional Japanese drummer!Amy: Really?Amy seems relaxed. I wonder if I can venture lower than her back. I mean, now she feels comfortable when I touch her tits. I guess she won’t mind if I smear some lotion on her buttocks too…Me: Yeah, he had these HUGE drums, they were taller than him!I kept my hands on her buttocks and started applying some lotion there. Good, she doesn’t seem to mind my hands on her butts. I slowly started massaging them with both my hands. I stopped after a few seconds. I got a hard-on while massaging her buttocks!Me: Okay.
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There were funeral announcements to make, a coffin to choose, relatives visiting from out of town. On one level, that time was good for them. It kept them busy, focused and gave them something to do other than let the empty place in their hearts occupy them. But all too soon the visitors were gone, the tasks completed and they were alone once more. After the funeral, the heartbroken parents fell into each other’s arms and cried themselves to sleep. That night they both had the same dream. They were together at the funeral home, standing over their son’s casket. After a while they realised they were not alone. God was there, too. ‘Why have you done this to us?’ Anger took hold of them and they cried out. ‘Why have you taken our son? You didn’t even let us say goodbye.’ God didn’t answer. Instead He took the two in His arms and held them close. The funeral home faded away and was replaced by scenes from their lives, and from the life of their son. At first, all of the scenes were.

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