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excitement. We held hands and hurried up the stairs. At my doorway, we parted.

"Have a much-needed night's rest," she mimicked. I laughed, took a deep breath, and entered my bedroom.

For a moment I stood there staring at the window. Do I dare? Should I just leave it down and forget this idea? Was it worth the risk?

As I approached the window, I felt a tingling start at the base of my stomach. I wanted Chandler. I wanted him to hold me and kiss me and comfort me. I wanted to be loved like I had never been loved. What right had that woman to demand I take off his expression of affection, my beautiful ring? Why should we let her control our very heartbeats, our every quickened breath, our laughter and our tears? No one should have such authority over another.

I slipped the ring back onto my finger and held it up in the moonlight. Its glitter reassured me.

Partly out of defiance and partly out of the longing I had for him. I lifted that window and slowly brought it to a position halfway open. Excitement seemed to explode in my heart, sending a thunderous beat and reverberation through every nerve, dousing me in a warmth that cupped my breasts and made my lips wet with anticipation.

I turned from the window and went into the bathroom. where I stared at myself in the mirror for a few moments. Then. I unbuttoned my blouse and peeled it off. I lowered my skirt and stood there in my bra and panties for a moment. I brushed down my hair and then, after a deep sigh, stepped back into my room.

Chandler was already standing there,

silhouetted in the moonlight that poured through my window. He did not speak. I flipped off the bathroom light and crossed to my closet without speaking either. My heart was pounding. I was playing out my own fantasy, imagining he wasn't really there. He was a dream instead. I hung up my blouse and my skirt and then turned back to him. He hadn't moved. His face was still in dark shadows.

I went to my dresser and, with my back to him. I undid my bra and slipped it down my arms. I put it in the drawer and closed my eyes. My body was tingling all over, my nipples so hard, they ached.

"Honey," he whispered. "I do love you so much."

I stood there. waiting. First. I felt his lips on my neck and then he kissed my shoulders and pressed his face against my hair. He wrapped his arms about my waist and held me against him. I let my head fall back and his kisses climbed up my neck again. Then his hands moved over my breasts, cupping them, strumming my nipples, washing wave after wave of excitement up and into my face, which felt so hot, I thought I could cook an egg on my cheek.

Slowly I turned around and we kissed, long and hard, both of us breathing very fast.

"I want you so much, my whole body is in pain," he said. How wonderful that made me feel.

When I was a little girl, my Grandad made me believe that desire was the road to hell. He had me terrified of myself, my dreams, my urges and feelings. There was a time when I thought I was the most sinful of people, feeling guilty because I had developed into a woman.

It wasn't until I met Chandler that I began to look at myself differently, and when I learned about Grandad's own sinful acts. I realized why Mommy often chastised him by throwing back at him the Biblical quotes he often whipped at me.

"He without sin cast the first stone." Mommy would tell him. and Grandad would shift his eyes quickly and walk off mumbling to himself.

"Pay him no heed." Mommy would urge me. "He's all twisted up inside,"

When all these thoughts battled within my dizzy brain, I heard a voice inside me whispering, telling me that what I felt was not evil, but beautiful. Two people who truly cared for each other, who loved each other dearly, made the most beautiful music in the rhythm of their hearts. The ability to love each other wholly and purely was truly a blessing, not a sin. I longed to bury Grandad's warnings and threats with him, once and for all, now and forever.

And there was only one way to do it.

Chandler and I did not speak. We moved to my bed so quietly, gracefully, it almost seemed not to be happening. He stood beside the bed, gazing down at me. The moonlight played on his eyes, his lips, whitening his face. His slow, deliberate

movements combined with that made me feel as if we were both performing an ancient love scene in some Kabuki theater. His clothing fell from him like a curtain. He slipped off my panties. Moments later we were both naked, holding and kissing each other with an increasing desperation.

"We've got to be careful,' the sensible side of me managed to say.

"Don't worry. I'm prepared," he whispered.

Grandad had made the act of love into something bestial, ugly, raw, and violent in my mind. He knew nothing of tenderness. He knew nothing about bringing one heart into another, turning two separate people into one. We were both reaching so deeply into each other, we surely touched each other's very souls. I thought. In my musical mind. I felt our lovemaking building to a crescendo. It took my breath away. I clung to him as if I believed I would fall forever and ever if I didn't hold on to him. I was squeezing him so hard. I was sure he was in some pain, but it was an exquisite pain. He did all he could to keep me from stopping, crying. "No, no, not yet," as if his lingering within me would keep us bonded forever.

And then, both spent, we released each other and lay there side by side, catching our breaths, falling back to earth, dropping into our separate bodies.

"I don't see how it's possible to love anyone more than I love you. Honey," he said after a few moments of just listening to each other breathe.

I smiled, turned, and kissed him first on the tip of his nose and then his lips.

"Nor can I, Chandler."

"Why didn't you have the ring on your finger before?" he asked, touching it now and holding my fingers in his hand.