When we saw Sharon in the terminal baggage claim, she ran to us and hugged Mom first. They cried. I retrieved the bags and went back to them. Sharon's...striking blue eyes were puffy red and still shedding tears, but her long brown hair nicely surrounded her face; a well-crafted backdrop to her full red lips.I hugged her like I did Mom and she seemed pleased. Her shape had grown nicely. She whispered, "I am glad you're here, dude."At her home, Sharon put Mom downstairs, and then told me to follow. “Do you like?” she asked, halfway through each song. “Yeah. Fun.” I picked out a couple of smooth, sensual electronica tunes for her to groove with. We were using music to tell each other our moods, then acted them out through dance. She pulled me up from my chair and encouraged me to sway with her in the small open space between my bed and the table. Normally I would think that two people dancing in a tiny apartment room like this was awkward and forced, but for us it happened naturally.. “The thing’s on a half hour loop, but you should be on in about two minutes.”She’s gesturing towards a screen mounted on what I assume is a supporting pillar. The suggestion, the implication of what she’s said isn’t lost on me, but I can’t quite bring myself to believe it. Catherine stands right up close, smiling at me, taking my hand. I’m about to see something, but exactly what, I don’t know.For the moment, a woman is on screen, holding up various dildos and talking. The sound is down so low. The wedding was a small event, only family and our closest friends were invited. Eric and I didn’t want, or have the money, to spend on anything larger. We didn’t want to cater to any guests we barely knew or hadn’t even seen in years. I think there is some old saying about the reception being for the guests. Why should it be? This is OUR day, to celebrate OUR union, the only people that needed to be there were the ones we loved the most and would celebrate with us, not simply pretend to join.
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