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I looked at him, blinking. It was the first time I had really taken a look at his face. I would try to remember it, I decided.And I was walking again. I saw Terry, bleary-eyed and confused, and without his pants, an angular bulge in the crotch of his Jockey shorts. Too late! The music had stopped while my mind was busy elsewhere. I tried to jump on the nearest lap before hiking up my dress, and I tripped and tumbled back, my newest male partner reaching out and grabbing both of my hands before I could fall. A cheer went up at my obvious distress.The man was standing with me in an attempt to steady my still-swaying body, and he looked tenderly down at me. He seemed nice. Sweet. “I’ll let you decide,” he told me. “Your dress or your panties?”“What?!” I gasped. I stood, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, completely unable to make such an impossible decision.He laughed, letting me know with his lingering smile that he would gently relieve me of that terrible choice.. As happy as I was at that moment, I could still see the writing on the wall. The clock was ticking. So why not end it then while we were ahead, you ask? For the same reason that alcoholics drink or crack heads smoke. I was addicted. I couldn’t walk away from my incestuous relationship with my sister any more than I could cut out my own living, beating heart.(I wanted you the readers to know that by that point, two weeks into the best relationship that I would ever have, I knew the disaster headed our way. If we were to avoid it, it would take a miracle).I biked home eager for a swim, and I felt great. A good work out always left me with a natural high. I was super excited for Monday; I had sketched a basic plan of how I wanted to romanticize the evening. I was determined to make it a night that Amber would never forget. A part of me also knew that the path we had chosen was so filled with perils and pitfalls that we had to make the beautiful moments as memorable as possible. To make.
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