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Husband learns, while wife moans.

I am glad that I had chosen not to wear a lot of make-up that evening as eye make-up would be a lot harder to clean up than my unexplained expression of sorrow. My mascara and eye-liner were waterproof so there were no worries. I did not need to feel guilty about ruining her expensive jacket in addition to the other guilt monsters that were nibbling at my insides.

Oddly that thought dried up my tears and my sobbing gradually subsided.

She set me down gently and the sat down herself. I said humbly. "I hope I didn't ruin your clothes." As I took the back of my hand and wiped my eyes, I checked to see if my eye make-up had run. Nope. Good.

She looked at me and said, "Being allowed to express grief is priceless. Clothes are replaceable. I may even never wear this again anyway. Don't beat yourself up for letting your feelings out."

I excused myself to go freshen up in the powder room, and perhaps to stall. I didn't know where to begin or what to say. I looked in the mirror at myself. The young red-haired lady in the mirror had red-rimmed eyes that were a little swollen. Her nose was red and running. Eeww! I took some tissue, wiped my nose and wet the available towel and did my best to return my appearance to normal so that it didn't look like I had been recently pepper-sprayed.

I exited the lavatory and saw that the chairs were in the same configuration. Dr. Beauchamp was sitting in her chair poised, with a look of empathy and concern on her nobly-lined face. She really was beautiful. She stood as I entered the room. She had removed her jacket and was dressed in an exquisite silk earth-toned floral print wrap camisole and cr__me slacks. From the spaghetti straps depended sheer pointelle-lace cups that did little to conceal her pert buoyant breasts that appeared to have never heard of gravity. They were not huge, but they were perfect heavy teardrop shapes that looked like someone was holding them up by an invisible thread attached to each pointy nipple. Two swathes of cr__me-colored lace were situated wrap-style to conceal a direct view of her cleavage, rather suggesting just the hint of perfection. She had a leopard print tie wrapped around her waist and the camisole was bordered on the bottom by more cr__me lace.

Not making this easy.

"Dr. Beecham, ..." she instantly grabbed my hands. My eyes had dropped to the floor again and her sudden movement startled me.

"Please call me Anya, now and forever." This time there was actual panic in her voice. I realized that I was unconsciously distancing her from me by formally addressing her. Another guilt monster.

I looked her directly in the eyes and swallowed before I spoke.

"Anya, I haven't been fair or honest with you tonight. I am so sorry. I don't know what I am doing and I did not mean to lead you on. Your attention is exciting but I don't deserve it.

I need to sit for this."

We sat down and I continued. She still had both of my hands in hers and was sitting with an expectant look on her face and she followed every word.

"Haley, the pretty blonde wasn't my girlfriend. We were just silly girls that kissed each other for attention in bars so boys would like us. Or so I thought: apparently Haley had feelings for me; I never knew that she visited me. I had cruelly cut her off when she revealed to me that she wanted more than our casual social friendship. I have done some very bad things. I have destroyed the feelings of almost everyone that has had romantic feelings for me without realizing it." She wrinkled her eyebrows at that.

"I have been so numb ever since my accident that I am not even sure that I have true feelings anymore. Tonight is the first time that I have had a good cry since I can remember, and I have a lot to be sorrowful for."

I readjusted my grip on her hand so we were equally hand in hand.

"I cannot explain what happened when you kissed me.

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