“Zo,” he says, “I don’t think I can do it again.”

I move my fingers and touch the tip of my tongue to his.

“Mmmm, oh, I can do it again,” he says.

I’m nothing if not a motivational lover.

We’re naked, on the bed, watching the rain.

“I’m no artist,” I say.

“Well that tongue of yours is,” Jesse says.

I have to say I don’t like the word cocksucker or its variations. Don’t get me wrong, I like the act. I just don’t like the words. They don’t sound right. They sound like it’s something bad or unpleasant, which, of course, it isn’t.

“It was fun,” I say, “but I’m probably not going to buy any of their music anytime soon.

“That’s okay,” he says, “I get that classical music isn’t for everyone. I just wanted you to try it.”

“I liked the getting dressed-up part,” I say.

“You’re so easy,” he says.

“Have you been up here before?” I ask, looking over the edge.

He hesitates.

“Ah, with Cassandra,” I say. “Did she like it?”

“No, she said it was scary,” he says.

“Well, yah, like, you know, this wind might, like, blow my hair,” I say in my best Cassandra voice.

He laughs.

“Did you fuck?” I ask.

“No,” he laughs, “She wouldn’t do it outside.”

“Poor girl,” I say, “She didn’t know what she was missing.”

I put my arms around him. We kiss.

“I’m a big fan of outdoor recreation,” I tell him.

It’s hot in the apartment when the thunderstorm wakes me. I always leave the window open if it’s not just pouring in.

Jesse is asleep. The sheet is around his feet and there are little drops of rain on his back and bottom.

I’m a cat. I stretch out over him, on all fours. I slowly lick the drops in long strokes. I stop as he purrs like a kitten and turns on his belly. Then I start again.

“Umm, what? Zoey,” he says sleepily.

“I’m a cat,” I say and keep licking.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” he says.

“Turn over,” I say.

I keep licking.

“Oh, Zo,” he says when he cums.

And I keep licking, like a cat.

The boy with the blue in his hair brings us lattes and we sit outside the cafe watching people walk by.

A blond boy with beautiful blue eyes sits at the table across from us.

“He’s a cute one,” I say.

“Those Nordic ones always are,” he says.

“You said that a little wistfully,” I say.

“So did you,” he says.

“Yeah, but he smiled at you,” I say.

“He must like the Germanic-dark-haired-medieval literature-type,” he says.

He’s shirtless on his belly on the bed, reading.

He’d made us mofongo and beans and rice, which we ate on the balcony.

Then we’d gone to the park to watch some little kids play soccer. Jesse helps coach them. A little girl kept almost making a goal, but not quite. Jess took her aside and I watched as showed her how to turn her foot. He’d roll the ball to her and show her how to make little adjustments.

She ran back out onto the field and immediately scored a goal. She came running back shouting: “Jesse, Jesse, you fixed me. You fixed me.”

It was funny and touching. And it’s the first time I’ve thought about having kids, having them with him.

I closed the computer and sat next to him on the bed.

I rolled him onto his side and unsnapped the jeans. Then I got up and pulled them off from the bottom.

I put my hand on the small of his back and down his bottom feeling the soft hair.

“You’re thinking about something,” he says.

“Yeah,” I said.

“It’s not this, though,” he says.

I ran my finger up his back.

“Mmmm, tell me Zo,” he says.

“It’s just, well, watching you in the park today, with that little girl…”

“Francis,” he says, “she could really play if she sticks with it.”

“It’s just…”

“Oh, it made you think about having kids?” he says.

“Well, yeah. I just don’t see myself as a mother,” I say.

“Zo, we rarely see ourselves as what we really are, let alone what we might become,” he says.

“What the fuck,” I say, “did you just turn thirty overnight or something? That seems fairly wise.”

“It’s why you love me,” he says. “Besides, I like kids.”

I run my hand down his back, my palm on his bottom.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I say.