”“What’s he like?” Karen asked. Karen was always curious about people.“Sweet. Tall enough to justify heels. Fit, though he’s a decade olde... than I am. With a good sense of humor, self-deprecating, generous, careful, successful. Norman’s picture of a gold-digger couldn’t be more wrong.”“Good in bed?”“Great in bed,” she told Karen. “Guy could have written the Kama Sutra. He is, though, awfully possessive.”“Yeah, guys are. Fun, though, isn’t it?” No, it wasn’t. She was afraid of being swallowed up. I nodded what little my collar would allow. The officer left the roomagain.The emotions were overwhelming me. I began to cry. A lot of timepassed. My tears had stopped but my guilt and regret remained.The door opened. My wife came back into the room."Hi," I managed softly."Why?" she asked. "Why you, why? Why did you let this happen? Why areyou keeping those terrible clothes on? Why are you wearing make-up likea slut? Why are you dressed like one too? Do you know how terrible thelast several. More

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