The Between Years

step with your best friend felt so odd, I didn't know if I could do it at first. When he cupped my breasts for the first time, I could hardly believe his hands could be so firm yet so yielding. Then my finger traced the ridge that ran alongside his pants and longed to relieve our suspense. He flicked his trouser button open and unzipped his fly. I helped him out of his pants, and eased his boxers to his knees, to let his erect penis spring up. Then I gazed at the swollen, uncircumcised member, standing amid a patch of pubic hair, like I couldn't believe it was an extension of Randy. His length and girth were impressive for a man whose mind I had fallen in love with.

    I helped lift his shirt over his head and arms and beheld his chest. He was almost fatless, with stubble sprouting where he had shaved his body hair. I ran my fingers up and down his chest and kissed him, starting with his pecs and worked my way down his stomach.

    Randy fumbled the condom first, uncertain which side to roll it on. I helped him by turning the rubber over, and rolled it down the length of his member. Then he burrowed between my legs and slid into me inch by inch. When I gasped and held my breath, he paused, waited, but seemed to sense when he should continue. He thrust into me slowly, gently, at a measured pace. I took his hand, placed his fingers on my sex, and walked him through the motions.

    Seeing his face contort, his chest heave, his body greased with sweat as he tore the condom off and shot a rope of semen onto my pubis made me regard him differently. He was passionate, yes, but that moment taught me much more about him. I had now seen him in his most vulnerable moment, at the height of ecstasy, and he had seen me in mine. Our shared vulnerability cemented our partnership.

    After, we lay in one another's arms, our eyes closed, slipped into a half-sleep, neither of us speaking a word to each other, but that was unimportant to me. What mattered was that he and I had shared ourselves with each other. I had forced a bond with Randy that I could never have had with another man.

    While we were never one of those joined-at-the-hip couples, constantly flirting our P.D.A., we managed to stay together happily until we finished our undergrad. Randy was satisfied with his Honors B.A., though I urged him to take his education to the next level. But he was happy with the library job it earned him. I went on to grad school, which landed me a teaching job at Niagara College, and reason and compromise saw us through separation and busy schedules.

    Where we were headed, I was uncertain. Randy said he was committed to me, and I believed him, but I wasn't sure what that really meant. Was he the marrying kind of guy? I sure thought so. Our heart-to-heart talks and pre-naming of our children sure suggested it, but I wasn't sure if my instincts had been correct, or if I was about to peel back another layer of Randy Fuller.

    Then came the day that Randy dropped to one knee, fished the tiny black box from his pocket, and opened it. Inside was a diamond ring that he pinched between his thumb and forefinger and held up to me. How he had afforded a ring like that, I'll never know, but you've got to give the sly dog credit for being a romantic.

    He made a day of it, first taking me for a ride along the Niagara River, and then for a picnic along the waterfront. Sandwiches, pudding and ginger ale had been packed in his basket instead of wine, cheese and chocolate-covered strawberries, sure, but I didn't care. The thought meant the most to me.

    When he must have decided the moment was perfect, Randy popped the questions. Of course, the only answer I could think to give was a resounding 'yes'. So the promise was made, but the plans awaited us. I didn't know what to do first, between booking a church, to hiring a photographer, picking out my wedding dress, and deciding which of my friends would be bridesmaids (choosing a maid of honor was excruciating) and whose feelings I could afford to hurt.

    Both our families were utterly thrilled by the news. And naturally both our mothers started on baby talk before we could get our nuptials out of the way. I told both of them to expect children, and that a little boy would be named Kenny, and a little girl would be named Martha. How soon they would arrive was beyond me and I evaded any and all promise-making. Randy and I knew what we wanted from life, and planned to do so on our own terms.

    Now that years have