I could feel it, feel it in the office where me and she worked together, feel it when we came close together for discussing work related issues, where...involuntarily our topics would divert from technical to personal. She used to discuss with me all her happiness and all her problems. Slowly we came closer together, emotionally but not physically, yet. From her side, the desire could only be felt, through her eyes, staring with a look of want towards me, through her body, which would invariably. “But I don’t know if I can,” she admitted.“Wait, you want to but you can’t?” I asked, puzzled.”It’s my mom, Bertha,” she sad, crestfallen. “She would go bonkers if I told her we were going out together.”Stunned, I could only sit there with my jaw open. “What’s her problem with me?” I asked.”It’s not you, it’s that you’re... Catholic,” she finally admitted, looking down at her lap.Now small Kansas towns are mostly Methodist or Baptist, but maybe a fifth of our little town were Catholic and to be. More

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