Second Acts

My name is Abigale Young, and for me, the news hits close to home. Too close. A college girl (who shall go nameless) is being bombarded with hate-filled texts and emails regarding an alleged affair she had with her boyfriend's dad. Social media lights up with this story, much of it directed at the college student, telling her what a horrible person she is, that she deserves to die for what she did.

The girl and her family go public with vehement denials. She has no idea how the rumor started. She says her "life is destroyed."

Ohmygod, I sure hope not. Hopefully, this terrible rumor will blow over, and she will be able to live a normal life, free of the stigma that never should have been pinned on her in the first place.

It hits home for me because, well, because I'm becoming involved with Gary Brogan, father to Ken Brogan, my boyfriend. I should say ex-boyfriend. We broke up weeks ago. Like the college girl, I'm a nineteen-year-old college student. We even look somewhat alike. Petite. Straight blond hair, parted in the middle. Tawney complexion. I just hope that my life doesn't follow a parallel course with hers. I watch the video where she goes public to tell the world what the rumor has done to her life. It infuriates me. The girl doesn't deserve this.

You might be wondering how and why I'm about to hook up with a divorced man in his early forties, an ex-boyfriend's dad, no less.

It began with his son Ken. We met last year at a college fraternity party. We were both eighteen-year-old freshmen at different colleges, just a crosstown away from one another. He came up to me, beer in hand, telling me I was the "hottest" girl there. "This isn't false flattery," he said, "you really are."

The chemistry worked both ways. I like guys who are athletic, and Ken is. He plays lacrosse for Hopkins, one of the leading lacrosse colleges in the nation. He liked the fact that I'm an athlete also. I run cross-country in the fall and track in the spring. I'm no Parker Valby but I usually finish my running events in the top ten. We clicked, as they say, and began dating.

I met his dad Gary a few weeks later when Ken brought me over to his house, a large, older home with brown shingle siding, a slate roof, wrap-around porch and big lawns in a neighborhood of big lawns. Looks-wise, I could see that when it came to father and son, the apple did not fall far from the tree. Both have broad shoulders and stand a shade over six feet. Both are quite good-looking. I can see them as actors on a TV soap opera. Gary's a businessman, owns a GM automobile dealership and invests in commercial real estate. The family is well off, as anybody would know from the house and those expensive cars in the driveway. They also belong to a country club called Velvet Acres.

The summer when we were still together, Ken invited me swimming there. Gary was there also, sitting by the pool next to a woman he was seeing, someone around his age. Not to be conceited, but I look pretty good in a bikini. Some girls have the right figure for bikini wear and some don't. I do, and guys notice. Guys at the pool that day noticed, including Gary. He tried to be discreet as most guys would in the presence of their girlfriend. Later, I asked him if he had noticed me checking him out as well. He said he didn't. I thought he looked sexy in that Speedo swimsuit, all tanned and hirsute. He reminded me of an aging but still agile lion with plenty left in the tank. If you know what I mean.

Ken and I broke up over another girl, someone he wanted to date while he was seeing me. I'd have been okay with it had we been in more of a casual relationship. But it was more than that. It was intense. We were sleeping together. I was falling in love with the guy. To his credit, he was up front with everything. He didn't go behind my back. But it was either me or her, and he chose the latter.

*****

Exit Ken. Enter Gary.

It's not this spontaneous thing that just happened. Talk about chemistry; it was there when I first met him. I could see the way he looked at me, and I sensed that he could see that the attraction worked both ways. We even flirted. Ken noticed it. In fact, he joked about it. I harbored fantasies that I kept to myself, fantasies of seducing this hot, older guy. Not that I tried anything. I'm not that crass. But feelings are feelings. I felt what I felt. But I shied away from fully expressing myself in front of Ken. "Your dad's very good-looking," was as far as I went.

Some of my sorority sisters know how I feel about him. With them, I can express myself freely. Some laugh about it. Others tell me to be "careful." I'm still upset over the breakup with Ken, upset enough to where I seek solace in Gary's wise counsel. Not to start an affair, but to be comforted. He gives me insight into why Ken chose someone else over me.

Gary is supportive and soothing. "Affairs of the heart don't lend themselves to objective explanations," he says. "You shouldn't think that this girl is better than you in any way. Don't ask yourself, what does she have that I don't. You're a beautiful girl, Abigale, smart and a fine athlete. I know you're hurting. But in time, you'll pick yourself up, brush yourself off and move on. It's something that Ken's mom and I had to do when we divorced."

I keep calling and emailing. I don't feel like a pest because he encourages it. He asks me how I'm doing emotionally with the breakup. We also get into other things. I talk about my classes (I'm an economics major) and he talks about his business. We discuss movies we've seen, the music we listen to. I almost flip when he reveals that he's into classic rock. Boston is one of his favorite groups. Mine, too. Imagine that.

"Abigale, you're the kind of young lady that makes me wish I were a couple decades younger," he says.

"Oh, what's twenty years or so between people that communicate well," I say. "Besides, you don't look your age."

Then he says, "If I took you out to lunch, would you feel like my daughter?"

I laugh. "Not if you didn't feel like my dad. I hope that's an invitation."

It is. He picks me up in front of my dorm after my only class for the day. We both like sushi, so he takes me to the Azumi Grille. I'm dressed as I normally do for class, jeans, college logo sweatshirt and sneakers. Hair tied back in a ponytail. He's dressed business casual, long-sleeved, light blue shirt and khaki pants.

The sushi places I'd been to look more like glorified take-out joints: a few token tables and chairs that few customers use; dirty linoleum floor. The Azumi is a very different place, with well-appointed tables and chairs of leather and stainless steel, wood beams across the ceiling, hardwood flooring and picture windows. No surprise, the food is more expensive.

As soon as we take a booth, I ask if Ken knows about our lunch date. "No, I thought it best not to say anything," he says. "He does know we've talked on the phone."

"Is he okay with that?"

"Seems to be. He knows how upset you were. 'If Abigale feels better talking with you, then so be it,' is what he said to me."

"I'm not angry at Ken. Well, I was at first. But not now."

Gary smiles at me. "I'm glad you feel that way. Ken just needs to sew some wild oats."

Nodding, I say, "Yeah, that's the way I see it now." I peruse the menu for a few moments, then look up and say, "So how about you? Do you have any wild oats to sew?"

He looks up and grins. We both laugh. Then he says, "I didn't think so. But sitting across the table from a girl like you makes me rethink that."

I let that sink in. Then I say, "I'm not sure what to call you. I've been calling you Mr. Brogen. But somehow, given what we've shared so far, that doesn't seem quite right. And Gary... I don't know, I'm not quite there yet. If that makes any sense."

He nods. "I get it. To you, I was always Ken's dad and therefore, Mr. Brogan. But since you and Ken are no longer an item, and given these circumstances, as you said, you're not sure which way to go."

"These circumstances... Care to explain?" I flash him a teasing smile.

Hands folded on the table, he takes a deep breath. "Truthfully, I'm not sure. We have a good rapport. Plus, I'm madly attracted to you. And I get the feeling that you feel drawn to me too in that way. True?"

I raise my right arm. "True enough. No sense denying it. And I think I could be comfortable calling you Gary if these circumstances went further. Know what I mean?"

Chuckling, he says, "I think I do, Abigale.

We order California Roll along with other Sushi. Between eating and the small talk, I think about what sort of relationship we have and where it might be going. There's something paradoxical about all this. I feel comfortable and weird at the same time. I mean, I never dreamed I'd ever have a sexual relationship with an ex-boyfriend's dad. Do I even want that? Um, yes, kind of. Okay, more than kind of. The man looks like he stepped out of a clothing ad in some upscale magazine. Strong chin and jaw. Eyes, engaging and seductive. A complexion akin to someone who spends lots of time on the golf course. He has this sexy air of sophistication about him, with a touch of bad boy lurking just below the surface. I feel turned on just looking at him. I think of Breezy, this old movie I watched on TV about a girl my age who becomes involved with a middle-aged man. Maybe Gary's seen it also.

"Gary, ever see the movie Breezy?" I ask.

He nods. "Sure have. Great film. William Holden and Kay Lenz." He grins. "Why, do you feel that could be us?"

"Maybe. I'd play Kay Lenz to your William Holden. Just a thought."

He pauses in thought while his right hand is gripped around a glass of iced tea. "Hmm... That would be something."

"Something to think about or something to actually pursue? Or, like William Holden's character, are you conflicted because of our age difference?"

He raises his eyebrows, then takes a sip. "It's not just the age difference. In the movie, Breezy is a free spirit who didn't have a relationship with her lover's son."

I nod. "Yeah, I can see where that might pose a problem for you."

"Not for you?"

"Yes and no. It's a weird situation, one that goes against my usual conventional way of thinking. On the other hand, I find you so damn hot."

He chuckles. "Well, thanks for that. You say it like you mean it."

"Because I do. Look, it's not just that. It's the way you helped and comforted me after the breakup. It's the cross-generation communication we have. And speaking of cliches', age is just a number."

"You saw what happened to that college girl. Doesn't that give you pause? You know how mean social media can get."

"Of course. But that girl was a victim of a random attack that started with a rumor that spiraled out of control. The whole thing was made up. Influencers picked it up and ran with it. I don't expect that what happened to her will be repeated with me. I mean, I'm not going to post our business online and I'm sure you're not either."

"No, of course not." He pauses to give me one of his admiring looks. "Not to change the subject, but you're so pretty, Abigale. Those beautiful green eyes of yours could seduce any guy. And yes, we have good cross-generational communication as you put it."

"But..."

"No buts. Except the butt that's your adorable derriere. If you don't mind me saying so."

"No, I don't mind. After all, I checked out your butt at the pool. As well as other parts of your well-preserved anatomy."

I'm still not sure what he's going to do. He knows I want to take things further. I think he does also but might think it too risky. "Gary, I understand your approach-avoidance," I tell him. "If you think it best not to take things further, I hope we can at least stay in touch."

"We'll see," he says, then hands our server the bill along with his credit card.

That's the way things stand until we climb into his silver GMC SUV for the ride back to my college. Except he doesn't turn the ignition. Instead, he reaches out to me over the center console. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. I get the message when he begins to kiss me. Such tender kisses and so tender does he hold my face between his hands, and so erotic is the scent of his aftershave and so wet do I get. I dare not tell him. He'll find out if we ever get naked together.

There's at least two sizzling hot minutes of this. Then he says, "You're irresistible, Abigale."

"I'm so glad you feel that way." I comb my fingers through his hair. "So let's make plans."

"Call my secretary," he says, flashing a wide grin.

I go along with the joke. "I will, and I'll be sure to tell her to clear your calendar for an afternoon delight with me, a college girl you can't resist."

In fact, I do get his secretary when I call Gary at his GM dealership. Then she puts me through. "Gary, I hope you didn't change your mind," I say.

"Not at all," he says. "Are you free this weekend?"

"I am. And I'm excited."

"Good. Then I'll pick you up like last time. I'll make dinner."

"Sounds wonderful."

"I hope you can say that during the meal." He chuckles.

*****

I get a strange feeling when I enter Gary's house. I've been here quite a few times, but it was with Ken or to see Ken. It's now to have dinner with his dad and, presumably, to share his bed. It's a big house, with four bedrooms, and three baths. Gary already told me that when Ken is out of college and gets his own place, he plans to sell and then buy something smaller. Jill, Ken's older sister, is married, with two young children, and there's been talk of Jill's family buying the house.

When I called him at work, he joked that he'd change into silk pajamas, the way Hugh Heffner had dressed in the Playboy mansion. But no, he's wearing a pair of casual slacks, short-sleeved sports shirt and loafers. I'm in tight, off-white slacks and a tight-fitting blue top. I thought of wearing something more suggestive, then thought better of it, least I appear too presumptuous.

Most of the meal is done. "I smell something good," I say, standing by the kitchen entrance.

"I hope you like salmon, with eggplant, squash and baked potato," he says.

"I sure do. Can I help with anything?"

"Just tell me what wine you like."

"Something semi-sweet. White or red, it doesn't matter." At age nineteen, I'm under the drinking age of twenty-one, which is the reason he didn't order wine in the Azumi.

I wander into the den. It hasn't changed at all since I was last here. There's the built-in bookshelves that hold a library of eclectic material, a medium-sized TV, sofa and rocking chair. There's another bookshelf on another wall that holds more books, vinyl records and golf trophies that Gary won over the years in club tournaments. Ken and I spent lots of time in here, even making love on the sofa when his parents were out. A sudden sadness passes over me like a dark cloud from being in this room and thinking back to those good times we shared.

I blink back a few tears, and then hear Gary call me from the dining room: "Get it while it's hot."

Gary lights two white candles when I step into the dining room. The big china cabinet is half-empty, perhaps because his ex got half the dishes. There's the classy wood table and four cushioned chairs, your standard dining setup.

"I haven't eaten by candlelight in years," he says.

"Very nice," I say. "This is a first for me. I've never eaten by candlelight." I find Gary's effort to create a romantic atmosphere endearing. Had it been years since he's done this mean he hasn't been romantic with anyone else since his divorce? "Garry, not to pry, but have you been involved with anyone else since getting divorced?"

He nods. "Involved but not deeply involved. I dated a gal I met through Parents Without Partners for a while. She's the one you saw at my club pool."

"But no candlelight dinners?"

"Nope. Haven't done that since my wife and I were on good terms."

"You make me feel special."

"You are special. So pretty and smart. Personally, I think Ken made a big mistake choosing someone else over you. Just my two cents."

I lower my eyes. "As long as he's happy. As you know, I was pretty upset for a while. But not anymore. Thanks to you, I've moved on."

"Glad to hear it. Life's too short to sit and mope. There's so much to enjoy in life, like salmon and eggplant, for instance."

We smile at each other. Then I say, "And enjoying it with a special guy who looks as sexy in street clothes as he does in Speedo swimwear." He comically points to himself as if he doubts my reference. "Yes you, Gary Brogan."

I compliment him on the meal. He cooked everything just right, especially the veggies which some people tend to overcook. The salmon has a crispy edge to it, just like I like it. The red Merlot gives me a slight buzz because I haven't imbibed for a while. He serves a medley of fruit for dessert. "Gotta watch my weight," he says. "I love cheesecake, but it doesn't do much for the waistline except expand it."

I mention the golf trophies in the den. "Do you still compete?"

"I do. Can't say I'm getting any better but it's still fun. And frustrating at the same time. Golf is a game of close calls, near misses and what could have been if only. It's my chief form of exercise, which is why I don't use a golf cart. All that walking and watching the calories keeps my weight steady."

So far, there's been no talk about what might happen after the meal. Not even a hint, at least verbally. Maybe he changed his mind about becoming intimate with me, though you'd never know it from the romantic setting. I hope this doesn't turn out to be like what he said about golf, a game of 'near misses and what could have been.'

He puts the dishes in the dishwasher, then we take our wine over to the sofa to listen to music. The stereo equipment belongs to Ken. "He plans to take it when he gets his own place," Gary reveals.

"Yeah, so he's told me."

"The thing is, I hated those big, tall speakers when he first got them. I mean, who wants speakers that look like cubicle dividers in their living room? But they sound so good, I might even buy a pair for myself." He stoops down to a shelf that holds CDs. "We both like Boston but I was thinking of something else entirely."

"Something more romantic, I'd guess."

"Exactly. Tchaikovsky's serenade for strings isn't Ken's speed, but I like it. Ever hear it?"

"I've heard Swann Lake and the Nutcracker, but nothing else by Tchaikovsky."

He pops the recording into the CD player, then joins me on the sofa and kicks off his shoes onto the beige carpet. I do the same, then slide closer to him. "The music is beautiful," I tell him, absorbing the lush sounds from the strings coming from those 'cubicle dividers.' "You picked the right one."

He sets his glass down on the coffee table. Then he says, "Speaking of beautiful and picking the right one, you are and I have."

I place my glass next to his, then we start to neck. Like father like son? Well, yes and no. I love the affectionate way Gary kisses me as Ken did. But doing this with an older man that looks like Gary somehow feels sexier, more erotic. He pulls away and says my pigtails look "adorable" on me. I hadn't planned to craft the image of some younger schoolgirl. At least that's not what I had in mind--it was just more convenient setting my hair this way.

"I pictured myself letting my hair down for you," I say. "Literally."

"In the bedroom?"

I chuckle. "In the bedroom, on this sofa or on the carpet. Gary, I'm so hot right now, there are no words that would do it justice."

We neck for a few more minutes. Then he says, "Come on, follow me." He cuts off the stereo, then we can take our wine upstairs.

I follow him up the winding staircase, then into his bedroom, where we place our glasses atop the night table. I've seen his bed before. King-sized and equipped with four posts and a heavy oak headboard, it sits on a large Oriental scatter rug. Never did I think that one day I'd be in it, making love, not with my boyfriend but with his dad. The strange turns that life takes... Amazing, isn't it?"

I make good on what I said, pulling on the green pigtail ribbons to let my hair down, letting it drop just below my shoulders. I've never worn it longer, though I might let it grow to the middle of my back. "You're so adorably cute," Gary says, sliding his hand across my face. "Such pretty skin. No tattoos, I hope. I don't remember any when you were at our pool."

"Never touch the stuff," I say. "Here, I'll show you." I pull off my blouse, then take one spin around. "No tats on my legs either."

He nods. "Let's get naked."

"Good idea," I say. Then we both begin to disrobe.

Moments later, I stand face to face with this man. Well, more like my face to his upper chest. He embraces me, and we begin to kiss. I get the feeling that he sees me as this sexy, adorable young girl that he's madly attracted to but also one he feels protective of. I'm young enough to be his daughter, yet old enough to be legal. Which is okay because we're sort of flip sides of the same coin. For me, there's this strong sexual attraction, and also the safe feeling I get when I'm with him, especially now when I'm in his arms and he's kissing me and holding me the way I like to be held, tender and secure. My nipples get hard, and his copious chest hair against my breasts makes me tingle.

We climb into bed, with Gary on top. As we kiss, I can feel his fully erect cock rub against my legs and pussy, wet and getting wetter. He licks my chest and tummy at the same time he slips his fingers over my pussy. We're both ready but I wait, letting the hunger build, waiting until I can't tolerate another second of not doing what I came here to do. "Tell me when, honey," he says.

"You're a patient man," I say.

"I'm savoring every second that I'm with you," he says. "I'm enamored with you."

"Enamored... Gary, you're the only guy who ever said that word to me."

"It's the truth."

"I know, I can feel it. And speaking of patience, mine is wearing thin. Make love to me."

I take him inside me, an act of culmination of all that went before--the flirtations, those long phone conversations and that sushi date. There's an inevitability with some things you experience in life, and making love with Gary is one of them in my life. He looks down on me, his face a picture of affection and joy, as if he's thinking the same thing. We can't resist one another. It feels so good and so right and yes, naughty at the same time, but a good kind of naughty, I think. Oh, those rhythmic, steady thrusts of his, his thick cock hitting me in just the right places, his tender kisses and words of affection, sweet and sincere.

Instead of coming right away, which I sense he can, he waits for me before climaxing. Then we cuddle and talk. He says, "Abigale, the way I feel about you, I want this to be more than just a casual fling."

"As in girlfriend and boyfriend?"

"Okay, that's one way to put it."

We retrieve our wine glasses, then lean against the headboard, imbibing and chatting. Then I say, "That's very sweet, Gary. I want this to be more than just a casual fling also. But aren't you afraid of ridicule, people laughing behind our backs, being judgmental? I'm thinking of Ken also and how he might react, especially if his friends get wind of our romance."

"Ken's reaction does concern me. Everybody else, I don't really care. It's not that unusual these days. President Trump's press secretary and her husband are more than thirty years apart. There's Dick Van Dyke and his relatively young wife. The late Tony Bennett married a woman forty years his junior. And look at all the male rock stars who married women decades younger. Don't forget, we're only twenty years apart."

"You have a point but as far as I know, the women of those celebs you mentioned didn't carry on with their ex-boyfriend's dad. That's what was so disturbing about the rumor that swirled around the college girl. You know I want to keep seeing you. What I don't want is to become the topic of a social media firestorm or someone's podcast."

"Neither do I, but the only sure way that might happen--and it's only a MIGHT-- is for some busybody we know to see us out in public and then start running their mouth."

"Or keyboard."

"Right. But like I said, I want this to be more than just a casual fling. I want us to appear in public without worrying what anyone else thinks. Can you see yourself taking a trip with me?"

This is exciting stuff. "Ohmygod, yes! When do we leave and where?"

He laughs and pats my knee. "We'll need to get together on that. But I'm glad we're on the same page."

*****

Some busybody does see us out in public. It's on Saturday at a Mahoney Brothers concert. The Mahoneys are a popular Beatles interpreter band. A local winery hosts the concert. We sit on a blanket, grooving to the music, while holding hands and kissing. Afterwards, Gary takes me back to his house, where we make love, totally unaware that someone who knows us and Ken, saw us at the concert. Not only did he see us, but he managed to sneak video of us on his phone.

Ken shatters my blissful ignorance when he calls days later. Seemingly, on the edge of freaking out, he asks, "Have you been on You Tube lately?!"

"No... why?"

"Because some shithead who managed to remain anonymous, captured you and my dad all lovey-dovey at a Mahoney Brothers concert. I didn't know you two were so involved."

"Wait a minute, Ken, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Just go to your laptop and scroll to where I tell you."

With Ken holding on, I pop open my laptop and do as Ken instructs. Ohmygod! The video isn't so offensive next to what this bastard posted underneath:

"The college girl accused of having an affair with her boyfriend's dad was just an unfounded rumor. What you see here is the real deal! The chick is making it with her boyfriend's dad! This ain't no rumor -- I know who they are. Gary and a girl named Abigale. Her boyfriend is a guy named Ken."

Outrageous! Our only saving grace is that he didn't post our last names. "Ken, do you have any idea who posted this?"

"It could be any number of people we both know. You and my dad. I never would have believed it."

"You didn't have a problem when we flirted," I say. "In fact, you laughed it off."

"Abby, flirting is one thing. Taking it to this level... It's embarrassing, okay? How would you feel if your parents were divorced and I took up with your mom?"

"I'd feel weird. Look, I'm sorry you're embarrassed. I'm embarrassed too. But you should know that it isn't all sex between your dad and me. We're genuinely fond of one another."

No surprise, he's not appeased. "Oh, great. Thanks for that, I feel so much better."

I chuckle at his sarcasm.

"There's nothing funny about it, Abby."

"Sorry. Listen, I think this belongs between you and your dad more than you and me. Afterall, you live with him when you're not in school. He's family. I'm just an ex-girlfriend."

"Yeah, an ex-girlfriend who's now sleeping with my father. So how do you feel about what this poster did?"

"It makes me sick."

"Yeah, it makes me sick, too. Only it's you who will be shamed the most. Women are always more victimized by sex scandals."

Sex scandal? That irks me. "This isn't a sex scandal, Ken. It's a relationship involving two people who happen to be a couple decades apart in age. There's been no sneaking around. Your parents are divorced, and I was a girl who got dumped by my boyfriend for another girl. I was hurting and needy and your dad stepped in to comfort me. And yes, that includes sex and romance. Neither of us mean to cause you any pain. Deal with it."

There's a long pause. Then I hear this: "I miss you, Abby."

"Excuse me?"

"I miss you. The girl I'm seeing isn't working out."

"Really? And why is that?"

"Let's just say that I'm seeing things about her that turn me off."

"The girl you dumped me for, you mean."

"Um, yeah."

"So what are you saying, that you want us to get back together?"

"I made a mistake."

"Yeah, that's what your dad said. Not to be harsh, but mistakes have consequences."

Another long pause. "Are you over me? I mean, totally over me?"

I sigh and begin to tear up. "I don't know if I'll ever be TOTALLY over you. But I'm doing okay and involved with someone else."

"And how long do you think this so-called romance is going to last?"

"I have no idea, Ken. We haven't set a timeline for it. Like I said, you need to take this up with your dad. Has he seen the video?"

"Not that I know of. I haven't talked to him about it yet. Are you in love with him, Abby?"

A good question, I must admit, and it's been one I've asked myself. "Maybe not in the way I was falling in love with you. I'm very fond of him, for sure. Look, it's complicated. I see him as sort of a father figure but also as this sexy older man that I adore."

"Ohmygod... unbelievable."

"Ken, we're going around in circles with this. You need to take this up with your dad. And we both need to find out who posted the video."

*****

No surprise, nobody comes forward to claim the video. As in true crime, when there's no one suspect then everyone is suspect. Names pop into my head, but that's as far as I get; no one stands out. Ken tells me the same thing. Lots of names but no standouts.

Gary sees the video. "It doesn't embarrass me," he says, "but I'm sorry for what it must be doing to you. Boys will be boys, as they say, but girls and women are held to another standard."

He's right. As the days pass, some posters weigh in with hate speech directed mostly at me. "Dirty old man" is the worst that Gary gets. Me, I'm a "whore who should rot in hell." Some comments are amusing--or would be if I wasn't the butt of the jokes.

Meanwhile, Gary and Ken have a "long, man-to-man talk," as Gary tells me afterward. "He misses you."

"So he told me."

"Do you miss him?"

I pause, then say, "Yes, for all the good times we had. Obviously, I don't miss being hurt."

"Understandable. Abby, I think he'd like to go back with you. He didn't say so directly, but it wasn't hard to read between the lines. I think he's too proud to beg for another chance. Do you still have feelings for him?"

I picture myself tearing up when I stood in the den before Gary served dinner. "Yes. But I also have plenty of feelings for you, and they're all good. You've never hurt me, nor can I picture you ever hurting me the way he did. I trust you. Ken? Not so much. How could any girl after being dumped for someone else?"

"I get it. Look, I have plenty of feelings for you also. And no, I wouldn't dump you for another woman. But I wouldn't put up a fuss if you ever decided to make another go of it with my son. I love you both in different ways."

"Gary, I'm so confused about everything right now, I don't know what to do. And mad as hell at whoever posted that video of us."

"Maybe it's best if you give yourself space to think things over."

I nod while holding the cell to my ear. "Space... Yeah, maybe so."

*****

Cyber posters who don't know me are most of the people who give me hateful feedback from the video. My sorority sisters already know about Gary; other friends think it's "cute." At least one podcaster picks it up. "If you're out there, Gary and Abigale," he says, "we implore you to come forward and explain yourselves." Of course, that's the last thing we're going to do. I'm relieved when he drops the matter because it fails to generate much interest. More good news, unlike that college girl, I don't become the target of national outrage. I figure that whoever posted the video, he or she must be mighty disappointed that I'm not subjected to the kind of massive shaming that that college girl was forced to endure.

Meanwhile, it's been a week since my talk with Gary. I miss him, but I also miss Ken as well. Yes, I still have feelings for him, feelings but little trust. If he wants me back so bad, why doesn't he just come out and say so? Maybe he was on the rebound from that girl. Or maybe he's reconsidered, and what bothered him about her no longer does. Either that or he's learned to tolerate it.

I'm in my dorm room thinking about all this while trying to focus on my studies in the twilight of the evening, when I get a buzz from downstairs that a Ken Brogan is here to see me. "Talk about distractions," I whisper. "Okay, I'll be right down," I tell dorm security.

In white shorts and a maroon hoodie, I greet him in the lobby. He's wearing shorts and a blue and white lacrosse jersey looking like the handsome scholar-jock he is. It's been weeks since we've seen each other. "Your hair is longer," I say.

"Yeah, I never liked the sight of my ears."

I can't help but laugh, even though I'm anxious. He looks anxious himself, brushing his hair back several times and wiggling his fingers. We're standing about twenty feet apart, as if there's this red line between us that we dare not cross. He says, "I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"I was studying."

He nods. "Look, I just had to see you. I really miss you, like I said. Mind if we go outside and talk?"

I don't know if I should do this. But I can't say no either.

We walk out and take seats at one of the tables on a patio surrounded by a flagstone wall. It's my kind of night, lovely and balmy, and I wish I wasn't so tense. "So, you just had to see me, you said."

He nods. "Yeah. Look, I know you're angry with me."

"I WAS angry with you. Now? Not really."

"Okay, you don't trust me."

"You're right, I don't."

"And I can't blame you."

After moments of finger-tapping silence, I say, "Ken, I'm kind of confused why you came here. I mean, where do you want this to go?"

"I was hoping for another chance."

"Another chance for what? To meet another girl and then dump me again?"

"You know that's not what I mean."

I do know that's not what he means. "Sorry. Look, maybe I am still angry. Not like before, but remnants of it sticks around like glue I can't scrape off."

"I made a huge mistake."

"So you've said. But I don't see it as a mistake. It was a willful decision on your part to break up with me. Apparently, your feelings for me weren't strong enough for you to resist the pull of someone else. You had wild oats to sew, your dad said. And that's fine, except we were heavily involved. We were sleeping together, I was falling in love with you, and I thought that nothing could come between us." I struggle not to get emotional, but it's no use. The tears flow, and I almost hate myself for it.

I look up to see Ken brushing his hand across his eyes. "It hurts me too, Abby," he says. "I was selfish and I regret that, and all I can hope for is that it's not too late for you to forgive me and trust me."

He reaches for my hand and then squeezes it, just like he did when we'd stroll along the boardwalk in Ocean City. The warmth and contour of his hand feels almost electric, something so familiar and so missed, and I can feel my defenses melting like ice cream on a hot day.

He brushes away more tears. Then he says, "Would it be too much trouble to let me hug you? I could use one myself right now."

I don't even think about it. The next thing I know, we're standing by our table, locked in a tight embrace, and then kissing in the balmy breeze on a night where I should be studying instead of making out with an ex-boyfriend who had dumped me, yet one I can't seem to resist. He appears sincere in wanting me back, said with passionate kisses and hugging me as if he'll never let me go.

When we part, he says, "Doing this with you makes me miss you even more."

We're holding each other's hands while I struggle not to totally break down. I feel my anger, like my defenses, disintegrating. "We did have some great times, didn't we?"

"We did and we can have them again."

"Maybe you're right. But it won't be the same, not for me. I'll always feel guarded. It's not that I don't forgive you, it's that there's that element of trust that's missing because of what happened."

He sighs. "Trust is earned, I know, so I'm not asking you to fully trust me as you once did. All I'm asking for is another chance. Look, I'm not demanding that you see only me. If there's another guy you'd like to see, so be it."

I shoot him a smug smile. "I'm already seeing another guy."

He rolls his eyes. "Right, I almost forgot. So you'd take my dad over me?"

"Ken, it's not like that. Had you not dumped me, your dad and I wouldn't be romantically involved. In fact, I wouldn't be involved with anyone except you. And no, there's no way I'm seeing father and son at the same time. That would be too weird."

He nods. "I couldn't deal with that either and neither would my dad. We're all agreed."

"Look, I've got to get back upstairs and hit the books. It was nice seeing you again, even though we didn't really resolve anything." Little does he know that I can barely resist asking him up to my room--and it isn't to help me study.

He looks so disappointed that I can't help but give him another hug and kiss. Then I say, "Don't look so sad, Ken. Maybe there is a future for us. But I need more time to think things through. Meanwhile, like what you said about seeing other people, you know you're free to do that also."

He shakes his head. "Abby, you might not believe this, but I don't want to see anyone else. I'll give you all the time you need."

I stand there, struggling not to get emotional again. It isn't easy, especially after a few farewell kisses that a part of me wishes were the beginning of a second chapter in our relationship.

Later that week I call Gary for solace and advice. After telling him what transpired, he says, "Well, you obviously still have strong feelings for him. You don't fully trust him, I know, but I wouldn't fight the good feelings. Go with your heart, as they say. Ken's told me how much he misses you, how he hopes that you two could be a couple again."

"What about us?"

"Think of us as this wonderful interlude that we both needed but that we both know, realistically, can't last forever given the age gap and our special circumstances."

"What about that trip you mentioned? Going away together?"

"That sounds great except I still see great potential for you and Ken to make another go of things. I'd like to see you get back together. Maybe you two can take a trip when the semester ends. I remember how happy you were before he met that other girl. A big mistake, he now knows. He was never happy with her, not even close. I'll admit, we men too often think with our penis instead of our head and heart. Anyway, it might be time for me to step aside and let you kids work things out. And remember, any time you need to talk, I'm here for you."

I can't dispute anything Gary says. If no longer a lover, I see him as a good friend. Ken, I still see as an ex-boyfriend whose charm and other qualities won't let me rest, won't let me reject the idea of giving him that chance he says he wants so badly. "Just be careful," Candice, a sorority sister, warns me. She's one of the sorority sisters who had warned me about Gary. "Take it slow," she says

She's right, I should. But I don't because I can't wait to satisfy the longing I felt when Ken came to my dorm. Damn right I still have strong feelings for him, emotionally and physically. And yes, feeling that way leaves me vulnerable to the sewing wild oats thing. Boys will be boys, but girls will also be girls--girls who still love their ex-boyfriends and will do things that might be unwise but do it anyway.

*****

Ken answers right away when I call. "Hi."

"Hi. Look, my roommate will be away this weekend. So, if you're not busy, I was thinking we could have dinner somewhere and then we could repair up to my room and see what happens." He doesn't answer. "Ken, you still there?"

"Ah, yeah, I'm still here. I just didn't expect--"

"I know you didn't. So, is it a date?"

"Are you kidding? You're fucking right it's a date! What changed your mind?"

"I miss you, okay? I just fucking miss you. It's not that complicated. Well, it is, in a way, but that's the main reason." I hear him sniffling. "Are you okay?"

"I'm just over-joyed to see you again. Guys get emotional too, you know. I'm not afraid to show it."

"I know you're not, which is one of the things I always found so endearing about you."

*****

He picks me up from my dorm in an aging, hand-me-down, blue Honda Civic. "My dad doesn't want to spoil me with anything new and fancy," he had explained when I first saw the car. He's wearing a stripped, green and white, button-down long-sleeved shirt over his bare body, jeans and cross-trainers. I'm wearing a one-piece denim shorts outfit over a short-sleeved stripped blouse and light brown, glorified canvas slippers.

"I was kind of shocked when you called," he says after driving off. "I figured you needed more time."

"I thought I did too. But who was I kidding? I didn't realize how much I missed you until we got physical outside the dorm."

"My dad sounded very happy that we're going out."

"Yeah, he told me how happy we looked when we were together before the breakup. I can't disagree."

Ken turns sideways, nods, and then faces the road. "So now you trust me?"

I grin. "Not at all!"

He laughs. "What?!"

"Just kidding. Well, sort of. Look, right now, it really doesn't matter because I had an attitude adjustment. Before we ever get serious again (air quotes), if we ever do, I just want us to relax and have fun. And that includes going out for a meal and sex."

"We did that a lot. Sometimes it was sex before the meal. Remember?"

"Of course I remember. We'd work up an appetite in bed and then pig out at Carrabba's or the Double-T. Great times."

*****

I'm beginning to think that Ken was right about once again enjoying good times together. We're sitting in a bistro near his college campus, munching on a grilled chicken meal, washed down with iced tea and lots of laughter. Our conversation includes the times we trained together, doing roadwork around the track of a local high school. "Bet I can still run your butt into the ground," I say. Ken, being a lacrosse player, doesn't have to run the distances I do.

He admits as much. "Yeah, I bet you can too. But you'll never beat me in the one hundred."

He sprints faster, so I can't argue. "I'll concede that point," I say. "Probably in the two hundred also. Just don't try to chase me in the three thousand."

He throws his head back and laughs. "The three thousand? I wouldn't make it at your speed beyond the first mile. I always thought you might be able to give Parker Valby or Kaitlyn Towey a run for their money."

"Ha ha, I wish. Nah, I'm way out of their league. But thanks for the confidence."

When our server puts the check on the table, I stop Ken from reaching for his wallet. "I got this one. After all, I asked you out."

It's about eight and almost dark when Ken drives the twenty minutes or so to reach my dorm. The anticipation of making love with him again excites me. Better still, I'm no longer tempered by the reservations I felt during his surprise visit. You could say that I feel feel... liberated. It's amazing what a change in attitude will do, not to mention that I never stopped loving this guy.

We enter the lobby, walk past security and take the stairs to my floor. My great aunt who went to this college told me that during her student days, there were curfew restrictions regarding men in our dorm rooms. Now we have coed dorms, though mine is all female. The walls are cluttered with photos and posters. There's a grey and white, long rectangular scatter rug between the two beds, two desks and two dressers. In short, your typical cluttered college dorm room. Come senior year, I'm hoping to get single occupancy.

We sit on the edge of my bed. Ken says, "So, I remember you saying we'd come up here and see what happens."

"I did say that. What would you like to happen? As if I didn't know." I giggle.

"Well, we could watch TV," he says, eyeing the small TV on my dresser. "Or, we could do something more pro-active, hands on. And speaking of hands on, I'll make the first move." He slips the straps of my denim outfit off my shoulders.

I wrap my arms around him. "My kind of move. I think we're headed in the right direction. Literally and figuratively."

"I think we are too," he says, and then begins to kiss me. Like always, his kisses are sweet and tender, yet full of passion. Despite our breakup and the reasons for it, this feels so right to me.

"I hope you're protected," he says.

"I am. Just ask your dad." I slam my hand over my mouth. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

He laughs it off. "That's okay, so long as it's over between you and my dad."

"It is, Ken. I'm now with you and hope to be for the foreseeable future."

He nods, appears satisfied. If he isn't, I figure he wouldn't be kissing me in such an intense, lovable way.

He starts to undress me, lifting my blouse over my head and then pulling off my shorts outfit. After we both fully disrobe, we slip under my thin blanket. These single beds don't leave much room. But maybe that's good in a way, forces us into a closeness that we haven't had in a while, too long I now realize.

"That's my girl," he says, "smelling deliciously fruity, just as I remembered."

"The scent is me, most of me," I say, "with a little help from Dior."

His head is between my boobs, kissing and licking me while rubbing his cock over my thighs. He's getting harder, I'm getting wetter and all's right with the world, my little world that in this moment is a cluttered dorm room where I'm making love with Ken Brogen, my guy. He puts his lips to mine once again for an intense make out. I'm not sure how long it lasts, but when we part, he says, "I love you, Abigale Young. You might not believe that but I damn sure do."

"Yes, I believe it. I believe it because I feel it, and you should also know that I love you right back."

He embraces me again, and for the next few minutes, we speak more with our bodies and desires than with our voices. Yes, we've done this before, but never with quite the same intensity. His kisses shake me to my very core. His tongue darts and dances on my private parts, working a special magic in the pit of my gut. "Ohmygod, Ken, you're too much!" I cry. "What's gotten into you?"

"You, who else?" he answers. "I adore you, Abby."

He leans over to kiss me while slipping inside me. The bed squeaks from the motion of our bodies, hungry for each other and united once again in love and mutual pleasure. My trust issue goes on hiatus in this incendiary moment. I try to keep my moaning down to a minimum as there are other girls on this floor. But it isn't easy, not when I'm being made love to like this, not when I feel this hot, this connected, this absorbed, this pleasured, this loved. My voice ramps up a few decibels during climax. I can't help it. Control in this kind of situation... Well, if you've ever been there, you know what I mean.

Afterward, Ken laughs about it. "Your floor must know what's going on," he says.

"Yes, and it's all because of you." I prop up on my elbow, looking down on him. "How come girls are louder than guys when they climax? Here I'm practically screaming, and you let out this soft, 'ahhhhh.'"

"Probably because your orgasms are longer. Or so I've heard."

That does sound plausible. "Yeah, I've heard that too."

He sits up and throws an arm around me. "Well, there's more orgasms where that came from." He kisses me, then says, "Thanks for giving me another chance."

I still don't fully trust him. But I can't resist him either. Besides, if I don't give him that chance, I'll always wonder what could have been the second time around. If he should ever violate that trust, I'll know he's not the trustworthy guy he wants me to believe he is.

After dressing, I follow him out to his car in the parking lot. When we're kissing goodbye, I ask him if he could come cheer me on in a track meet next week. Last year, we supported each other that way. I'd show up at some of his lacrosse games and he'd show at a few of my track meets.

He nods. "You know I will." Then he says, "Abby, I see this as a new beginning for us. I hope you see it that way too or at least will in time."

I watch him drive away in the dark, thinking about what he just said. A new beginning... hmm. A fresh start, a second act, I guess he means. Honestly, I can't say. What I can say is that the curtain has already gone up on scene one, and I can't wait to get back on stage with him.