..) because that hurt her feelings. I know, this sounds incredibly masochistic, but those were the rules, and I stood by them and tried to quell the little flutter in my heart and the twisting knot of agonizing pain in my gut I felt every time Dana started dating someone new. That's not even mentioning the times I'd call her first thing in the morning and some man's voice would answer. Those times absolutely fucking sucked.Or the times she would regale with me tales of her sexual activity. Like the time she and one boyfriend flooded out the bathroom because of some bathtub gymnastics. Or the weekend she spent in front of a fireplace with another guy, twisting their bodies into impossible positions for hours on end.I know.Love's a bitch.So here I was, Christmas shopping for the most important woman in my life, and there were still rules I had to follow: Nothing too personal. Nothing even vaguely sexual. Safe things, like sweaters and books and videos. Possibly a CD or two. But nothing. She shook her head. “Make me horny, please?”“What?”“Like you did in the car. Use that color on me,” she said.I remembered those berries and I got one hand wet with their juice. I stroked her brain, like I was simply stroking her hair. She relaxed immediately.“Okay, that’s enough,” she said.I stopped and just looked at her. We knew each other pretty well, by now, so she knew I was waiting to hear what she’d learned. It took her a while and I saw colors of embarrassment and fear dart around her head like butterflies.“When I was a girl, I had a friend come to my house for a sleepover,” she said. “Her name was Annie.” She stopped.“Okay,” I said.She closed her eyes, but went on.“Annie and I were very close. We felt things for each other we weren’t supposed to feel.”“Sexual things,” I guessed.She opened her eyes and looked at me.“You’re getting very good at this.” She gave a little shake, like a shiver, but then her colors firmed up to be ‘normal’ Tiffany colors. “Yes, we were sexually.
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