He offered to help. How could I refuse? I sent him a writing sample. He loved it. His message to me, ‘I woke with a woody for you.’ Was there ever...any higher praise? By now we were emailing one another. A daily affair we started with encouraging messages to each other, a sexual innuendo here and there. He became a mentor, a motivator, and a muse. We shared our histories, our loneliness. I was a widow of four years, he a divorcée, both of us still alone, neither of us finding someone special. “no… no… I understand. I… I … made a mistake… I made some really bad decisions…”“Bloody well right, old boy, I see you’re starting to see the things our way.” Alan smiles and lights a thin, long cigarette. I always have to resist the urge to tell him that those look too feminine for someone in his line of work. “I can only hope you’ll put your money where your, admittedly smashed mouth is and are not just saying these pretty things to make us happy. Because it’s not us who you want to make. More

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