Up at the lake

Michael's son went back to his mother on Saturday afternoon. Michael and Eric drove out of the city and up the valley to a lake resort an hour away. They rented a suite, then strolled along the beachfront, all but abandoned this early in the year, holding hands.

"It's good," she said. "Us, I mean. This was a good thing to do."

"Coming up here?"

"No you moron, getting together," she laughed, slapping his arm lightly.

"It was. I'm glad you feel the same way." They walked down a pier, looking out over the lake.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm getting more out of this than you are," he said.

"Why? Because you get to fuck someone half your age?

"That's part of it."

"I'll send you a bill," she laughed, turning to lean against a railing, staring out at the lake. After a long pause she spoke again, still looking at the dark water. "Michael, I don't know that I can explain this, but I'll try. It's only been a short time, but I feel like I've learned a lot. About men, about you, about me. I knew there had to be more, not just sexually but in trust and respect. You said once that the most erotic part of us was our mind, and you're right. I've never felt so alive."

She turned back to him, taking his hand and holding it against her face, turning her head to kiss his palm.

"You treat me like a lady, and a woman, and a girl, and a whore, and I love all of it."

They ate in a small German restaurant, one of only three tables of diners. After dinner they strolled back to the hotel in the chilling darkness. In their suite Erica kissed him, saying she needed to change.

"I have a surprise for you. Go buy a newspaper or something. I need about fifteen minutes."