A minute ago she was peacefully reading a book, when she heard her doorbell ringing. He didn’t even stop to say hello as she opened the door to him,...his mouth immediately covered hers as his body pressed against her. Now she was pushed with her back against the wall as his hands and mouth tried to touch her everywhere. Her light summer dress pushed up her thighs, his strong, long fingers kneading her soft flesh. She was already soaking; she could feel her moisture creating a wet spot on her. It begins as it always begins and somehow I take the moment of flight as the starting point, although no circle has a starting point. Round and around. I don’t remember where the circle came from but it exists and gives an unwanted structure to our days. The same week. The same tentative relationship, the too-loud laughter, the how-was-your-day, the meals and the phone calls and the texts and the television and it goes around and around like a perfect loop, each week, every week.The circle is. More

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