“Mmmm…honey, that feels good,” said Bette.

    “Yeah, are you going to make me scream later?”

    Bette gave a start and banged her knee against the yellow linoleum table.        “Tina!”

    “What!”

    Bette rolled her eyes and chuckled, ever since she had snared this bi-sexual, hippy, crunchy girlfriend and had shown her the, ahem, ways of the world and the joy of a girlfriend, Tina had become…well, Bette paused, scrunching up her face…her girlfriend had become…well a…well to put it nicely a Sex Crazed Fiend. “Yup,” Bette thought there was no way around it. I mean Bette had had her fair share, she had been quite the little prowler in college but Tina’s stamina…

    “Bette! What are you thinking about?”

    Bette blushed a deep red, hard to do with her amazing tan. “It must be all the wheat gluten,” thought Bette. She looked over at Tina as her girlfriend got up from the cramped table and lifted the ironing board into the cupboard so that she could maneuver around the table to reach the stove, there was barely room for her to squeeze by and get some cups and plates. She had to put the laundry in the bathtub next to the table and put the extra pans back in the oven. Then Bette had to shift the table to reach the extra bookshelf under the table to find the arts section. They would usually flip through the paper, find something interesting to debate as a little friendly banter before desert and before talking about their days. Bette smiled at the little tea candles on the table that Tina had placed in some funny see through Christmas glasses to make a very festive place setting.     
    The problem was that Bette and Tina adored reading and discussing the world. They were now swamped with books, magazines, articles, paintings, they were swimming in literature. Every month they would give much of their books way but all of their artist, bohemian friends always managed to give them or loan them or shove at them more things to read or think about. Bette noticed a tattered copy of “In Style” peeking from behind a copy of Salman Rushdie’s “Midnight’s Children.” That meant that Alice had been here and judging from the zine, Tina had been reading in the bath again. Bette had even caught her reading in the shower.