“Okay, smart girl,” she returned. “Tell me.”“You wanna be me. You’re fourteen, you’re obsessed with sex, and you’re horny!”“Am not...” she protested. She was straddling me, had my wrists pinned to the bed. “If I was horny I’d do THIS!” she giggled, and she bent over and kissed me.“Deena!” I gasped.“What?”“You KISSED me.”She got a wry smirk on her face. “That wasn’t a kiss. This is a kiss.” And she did it again, longer, softer, and heaven help me because while my mind was protesting, my lips. I was drinking coffee, the girls were on their second bottle of wine, getting loose and giggly. Beth's husband Frank was on a futon mattress upon the folded rear seats, sleeping on and off, rising to join in conversation now and then.It was June, the season of weddings and reunions, family get togethers. Beth and Joan found each other again on facebook. They were like reunited sisters, best friends forever, together again. They acted like preteens at a slumber party, whispering, giggling,. More

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