You are little ashamed of going weewee together?”My friend looked at me again, her look conveying that she wasn’t quite sure how far we wanted to ...ake this conversation. I gave her a reassuring look back.“Umm, actually that wasn’t the problem. We’ve done that, and more, before.” My friend giggled as I said this. I continued. “It was the other stuff, you know, that we hadn’t planned for.”“Ohhhhh”, the flatmate responded. “You mean number two?”I nodded, my face now as bright red as it had been. "Hi."She was still in my arms, smiling, her eyes bright. Her head was tilted back because of almost a foot difference in our heights. Her lips were naturally red, soft, still wet from the kiss. I sat back onto the sofa and pulled her toward me. With me now sitting, she was looking down at me and she put her hands on the sides of my face and kissed me again, then a shower of kisses."One more," I said between kisses, "and then homework..." I got, oh, two, or three, or half a dozen more. We spread. I don’t even know who the letters are from. They’re addressed to me, and there are no other John Bartletts on board, but the letters are not really mine – I don’t know this girl.” Pop’s eyes twinkled. “That is a very romantic mystery. Can I take a peek?” John shrugged, and pulled out the packet of letters. Thumbing through them quickly, he retrieved the third letter…one of the least sexually explicit but most romantic examples. He watched his grandfather’s face as he read the letter, and was. Tempest was the only child of Antoinette and Ezekiel Rush, a couple who had been forced to wait so long for a baby that they thoroughly appreciated the gift bestowed upon them. They unabashedly spoiled her, doting on her every whim, granting her every wish no matter how big. They hated to see her cry and felt like their world was off kilter whenever she was upset. She was their blessing, their miracle child, the baby that every doctor in town had told them they would never be able to have, so.