“Well, Darling…” Helena began.

“Wait! Wait!” I interrupted. “Before you proceed, please tell me what you think about what I just told you! Do you think the words I just spoke were an accurate synopsis of how things have developed between us over the course of the last couple of months?”

I snuggled in close to Bette. Our breasts pressed together. I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her closer to me. I kissed her with love and compassion, slowly, and not withholding an ounce or an iota of feeling.

Bette moaned.

“Oh, I so love hearing that rapturous sound, Darling,” I confessed. “An intonation that confirms for me the delight I bring to you.”

“My moans?” Bette asked softly.

“Yes, your delectable, musical moans,” I said, brushing my nose back and forth across the tip of hers.

“Well, if you’d like, I’ll moan all night for you. I’ll moan all the way to Rome. I’ll moan all the way to the moon for you,” Bette teased. “How does that sound? Hmmm? I mean, ‘Mmmm?’”

“That sounds like divine madness over the miles, my madcap sex maven,” I smiled, while massaging the side of her breast, my lips still close to hers.

Bette grinned, and I’m sure I detected a flutter, as she moved in with her mouth and kissed me tenderly, emphasizing a lengthy moan for affect.

When she pulled away slowly, Bette’s heavy eyelids revealed her ongoing desire for me.

“Mmmm. You distracted me from our conversation, sexy handmaiden,” Bette playfully whispered her reproof.

“So I did,” I grinned.

“You are so bad!” Bette quietly declared.

“Because you’re so mischievous,” I retorted.

Laughing, we lay back on the pillows and Bette reached to hold my hand as she had so many times that evening.

When our laughter dissipated, Bette turned to me and caressed my face. “So was I accurate? The description of our brief but rocky road together? You said you’d tell me if I was right.”

I rubbed my thumb soothingly over the back of Bette’s hand which I tightly clasped.

I attempted a consolation. “Bette, you’re being too hard on yourself. You’re trying to blame yourself for the all of it. And it simply isn’t so. It takes two to ride a tandem. And you weren’t on the bicycle alone, my dearest.”

“Fuck the bike, Helena. I’ve been a major horse’s ass,” Bette censured herself.

“And now you’re trying to apply a sharp, punitive riding strap to your sexy, sweet bum,” I smiled.

“Well, yes, I …”

“No, Bette. Stop it, my darling. We simply haven’t been pedaling in sync. That’s all there is to it. Perhaps we hit a few bumps. But we’re still on the bike. Together!” I leaned in and smiled and kissed her.

“Helena, you are just too good to be true. You’re perfect. You’re…you’re…”

“A saint?” I grinned.

Bette looked at me quizzically, seemingly unable to decide how to respond.

“Alright then,” I corrected, jesting. “I’m a fucking saint.”

Bette laughed hysterically. “Yes, that I will buy! You are a fucking saint. My fucking saint. And mine alone!”

“Yes, Darling, I’m yours alone. Through heaven and hell. For all eternity.”