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Twists and turns get the better of Gia.


I was still wearing the old New York Marathon tee shirt and sweat pants in which I started the day. "Wow! Never gave that a thought. I stuck my head into the tee shirt. "Whew! How the hell do we stand each other?"

We both laughed.

"Well," I gestured, "Umm...the towels are already in the closet. I think you put the soap in the stall shower, right?"

She nodded.

"Well then," I shrugged, "umm...go take a shower. I'll open a box or two, okay?"

She gave me a sweet look with her head cocked to the side and stood. "So, you're not going to send me home all dirty and sweaty?"

"Not unless you want to leave."

She gave me the throaty laugh and headed for the master bathroom.


I had just unpacked the first office box and began to load my desk when I felt the presence behind me. I stood and turned around. She was wrapped in a large white towel. Somehow she looked smaller, although in bare feet she couldn't have been much shorter than in running shoes.

She smiled and I swear a little pink began to show on her cheeks. "I didn't bring any other clothes."

I realized I was staring at her. "Umm...I don't really have any..."

She came a little closer. "I'm really comfortable this way, but if it makes you..."

I shook my head and began to smile. "Well no, I don't think uncomfortable gets it, quite."

She moved a step closer. "Well then, Mr. Kraft, what does 'get it'"?

Now I have to tell you. Like I said. I'm fifty seven. I like, make that love, sex - well, more lovemaking, really. But once in a while it is tough to get it up. I mean even the last time June and I tried before she got too sick and tired to even think of sex, I couldn't. Tried but couldn't. And now, standing here in an office packed with boxes, with a woman with whom I have worked for five years with no physical reaction of any kind - I am getting a fucking hard on!

She stopped about a foot away. Her hands were folded in front of her. "Ya know? I stammered. "I think I better get a shower myself. Mind?"

She tilted her head like she always did when thinking over a question I would ask. "If that does it for you - go! Did we put the wine in the cabinet?"

"If it's there, it is because you did," I said, walking around her and into the short hall to the bathroom. I went in, closed the door and took a deep breath, There, piled neatly on the floor were Lisa's clothes. Shoes on the bottom, then shorts, then damp tee shirt, then bra and panties. Now, for God sake, don't ask me why! I picked up the bra and held it out. About a thirty four C. I picked up the lace panties. And then, Goddam it! I put them up to my face and took a deep breath in. I did!

I slid out of my stuff and jumped in the shower. The soap was still wet. Yeah, it felt funny washing my crotch with soap so recently doing the same thing to Lisa. The thought started to give me half a heavy. God! Maybe I'm not dead after all!


When I came out of the bathroom, wearing a pullover sports shirt and some baggy shorts, I heard soft music coming from the television set which had been set up in the madness of moving in by the local cable guys. I stopped at the new washer and dryer and dropped Lisa's sweaty clothes in with mine. I turned on the washer and moved the few steps into the living room.

She was curled up on one end of the couch, head back, holding a glass of red wine. The Merlot bottle was on the black lacquer cocktail table and a full wine glass was on the table at the other end of the couch. She opened her eyes when I sat down and smiled. "Feeling better?" She asked in a low voice.

I smiled at her and nodded. I don't know why, but it just did not seem awkward sitting her with Lisa Melnick, my executive assistant with whom all of our relationship, while friendly, was strictly business. Until today. But there she was, curled up on my couch, wine glass in hand, wearing nothing more than an oversized towel.

She leaned over just a bit and touched my wrist.

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