I. Guilt and Grief

April 1, 1988, McKinley, Ohio

Samantha had, from everything she'd said, clearly thought through what she wanted to do. This was the third time she'd visited with the intent of having sex, though she had changed her mind the previous two times. This time, though, she seemed determined to go through with it and I wondered what, exactly, it was that made it 'not right' the previous times, and if she still felt that way.

"My concern is that you've said it doesn't 'feel right'," I said, keeping my voice as friendly and caring as I could without sounding condescending.

"Jacqui suggested that's a product of twenty-one years of being a reasonably devout practicing Catholic. I think she's right. I was told over and over and over that sex was only for marriage and only for making babies and it was my 'wifely duty'. I honestly think it's just a mental block. I want to, Mike; I really want to. Deflower me, Mike. Be my first."

She was absolutely determined, and I could think of no good reason to refuse her request, despite Doctor Mercer's warnings to both of us. That actually worked in Samantha's favor, as both Doctor Mercer's advice and opinions had been wrong in the past. In fact, they'd been wrong often enough that I no longer felt her advice was good, and that doing the opposite might be the best course of action. That had been true with regard to both Angie and Elizaveta, though in different ways. In my revised judgment, there was nothing actually wrong with Samantha, and that it truly was a disconnect between what she'd been taught and what she wanted.

The only question that fleetingly went through my mind was whether I was out of control, but I didn't feel as if that were the case, and was, as Clarissa had put it, enjoying the journey from the depths of despair to a new future. There had been many wonderful stops along the path, and I continued to marvel at the sheer number of young women who made themselves available to me,

Dale and I had tried for nearly four years in High School to get laid, with no success, only to find what amounted to limitless opportunities once we'd started college. And one such opportunity was sitting in my lap, waiting for me to make the next move. With no reason not to, I slipped an arm under Samantha's legs, tightened my arm around her waist, then stood up.

She was small, light, and compact, and it was easy for me to carry her upstairs to the bedroom. As determined as Samantha seemed to be, I knew there was a chance she'd change her mind at some point. An idea formed in my mind of how to ensure she would be comfortable and in control. When we reached the bedroom, I set Samantha down, turned on the lights, then held out my arms. She melted into them and we exchanged a soft French kiss.

We kissed for a minute, then I began pulling Samantha's polo shirt up. She raised her arms, allowing me to pull it over her head, revealing her small, perfectly formed breasts. As I dropped the polo on the desk, Samantha untucked my rugby shirt and carefully pulled it over my head, dropping it on the desk on top of her polo shirt.

We embraced again and exchanged another soft French kiss. As we kissed, I moved my hands to the button of her jeans, deftly slipped the button through the buttonhole, then drew down the zipper. I moved my hands to her back, then slipped them inside her jeans and panties, enjoying the soft feel of the skin of Samantha's firm butt. Twenty seconds later, I broke the kiss and pushed her jeans and panties down.

I knelt to help her step out of them and, with my nose just inches from her mons, inhaled her wonderful womanly scent which wafted from her glistening labia. I removed Samantha's socks, then stood up, depositing her jeans, panties, and socks on the desk, continuing to build the pile of clothes.

Samantha's hands moved to the waistband of my sweatpants, and she slipped them inside and under my briefs to cup my butt, then followed my lead in how she drew them down, releasing my semi-erect member. My sweats, briefs, and socks joined the pile of clothes, and then Samantha and I embraced and French kissed with our thighs, groins, stomachs, and chests pressed together. As we kissed, I ran my hand over her back and butt, and she did the same for me.

I broke the kiss about three minutes later, then pulled down the comforter. I got into bed, but rather than lie down, I sat cross-legged and encouraged Samantha to sit in my lap, which she did with her legs around me. We kissed for a few minutes, then I reached over and picked up the tube of lubricant from the nightstand.

"Hold out your hand," I requested.

"What's that?"

"Lubricant. It'll make your first time easier."

I removed the cap and squirted a moderate amount into Samantha's palm, then restored the cap and put the tube on the nightstand.

"What do I do?"

"Stroke me and cover my shaft and glans with lube."

Samantha looked directly into my eyes, lowered her hand, and grasped my shaft. She began stroking gently, spreading the lube along my rock-hard shaft, then running her hand over my glans.

"Now what?" she asked.

I put my hands under her butt and pulled her closer.

"Put your hands on my shoulders, and lift up," I instructed.

Samantha nodded, and when she had raised herself with my help, I moved one hand from her butt to my shaft and rubbed my glans along her labia. I split them with the tip of my dick and located the entrance to her tunnel.

"Slowly lower yourself," I said. "You're in complete control."

Samantha nodded, bit her lower lip, and carefully pushed down onto my dick as I held it steady. I easily slipped past Samantha's labia, my glans popping into her warm, silky tunnel. She paused for a second, then allowed her weight to cause her to slowly slide down my shaft.

"I feel like I'm being split in two," she gasped as her extremely tight pussy enveloped my rock-hard dick.

When her dark brown pubic hair meshed with my slightly lighter brown pubic hair, Samantha groaned and blew out a long breath. I regulated my breathing as well, because the pleasure was intense. Her short, compact frame and muscle tone meant she fit me like a surgical glove, though it was FAR more pleasurable than any surgical glove I'd ever worn!

"Rock your hips a bit," I said, "until you're comfortable, then move, however feels good."

She nodded and moved her lips to mine for a kiss as she flexed her hips and squeezed her muscles, intensifying the pressure on my shaft. As I'd hoped, Samantha had an orgasm a few minutes later, groaning into my mouth as her pussy tightened vise-like around my shaft. When it passed, Samantha began experimenting with movements, eventually settling into a pattern of moving her hips back and forth, rising up, lowering herself, and grinding against me before repeating the pattern.

As Samantha discovered how to pleasure herself, her orgasms intensified, with the second one squeezing me even tighter, the strong spasms threatening to cause me to cum before I was ready. I managed to hold back, and survived her third orgasm, though just barely.

Samantha's fourth orgasm was tremendous, and I could no longer resist the strong spasms along my shaft, and Samantha tightening her muscles to increase her own pleasure. I broke our kiss, groaned loudly, and blasted cum deep into her tight pussy, the intense orgasm threatening to cause me to pass out. Samantha put her head on my shoulder and ground against me, prolonging her own orgasm.

"Wow!" she gasped when both our orgasms had run their course.

"Yeah," I breathed.

"How long can I stay?" she asked a minute later, still breathing hard.

"That's up to you," I replied. "How long did you want to stay?"

"Sixty or seventy years."

I was reasonably sure she was joking, and even if there was some shred of truth to the statement, she, like Becka, was pre-law, and a Junior, and that meant the same exact challenges.

"I was thinking in more immediate terms," I replied lightly. "Lara will be here in about twenty minutes because I have to leave for the hospital at 4:30am."

"I want to stay the night, and don't mind getting up early. Will there be a problem with Lara?"

"No."

"Then I want to. We can do this as many times as you want, or other stuff, too."

"So long as I get four hours of sleep, I'll be fine, because I can nap for a few hours when I get home."

"Teach me?" she requested.

I was more than happy to oblige.

April 2, 1988, Lazarus Saturday, McKinley, Ohio

"Thank you," Samantha said when we got out of the shower very early on Saturday morning. "It was wonderful."

I'd taught her how to orally pleasure me, I'd orally pleasured her, and we'd repeated the slow, sensual lovemaking with her in my lap facing me, then fallen asleep in each other's arms. Lara had arrived, but I'd left a note for her, and she hadn't disturbed us.

"It was wonderful," I agreed. "How are you feeling? Emotionally, I mean."

"Guilty, but I think that's exactly why I said it didn't feel right before. But I don't regret it. Does that make sense?"

"It does," I said, taking a towel from the rack to dry her sexy body. "Are you going to go to confession?"

Samantha shook her head, "No, I don't think so. Do you confess having sex?"

"I do, but like you, I don't regret it. The thing is, our churches have somewhat different views of sin, so I think that might explain the different decisions."

"Would I be able to see you again?" she asked.

I smiled, "That would be necessary if you stayed for sixty years!"

Samantha laughed softly, "I felt so good with you inside me, filling me up, with your warm cum dripping down, that I just wanted to stay like that for ever and ever."

"Physiology kind of limits that," I replied as I dropped the towel into the hamper.

"Unfortunately!" Samantha said sillily, taking a towel from the rack to dry me. "But fortunately, it only takes a bit of encouragement to get you hard again!"

"True!"

"Would you be willing to do this again?" Samantha asked.

"I would."

"For sixty or seventy years?" she asked impishly.

"If you're not teasing, that would require overcoming a significant set of obstacles."

"Becka actually explained it all to me. I proposed a possible solution to her, but she didn't think it would work or be a good idea."

"What was that?" I asked.

"That she transfers to Taft to finish her degree, then delay law school for a year or two."

"I'd never ask her to do something like that," I replied. "I mean, ask her to delay law school. And to get a degree from Taft, you have to complete some minimum number of courses for your major 'in residence', as they call it. Transfer credits are limited for 300 level courses and above, which could mean taking an extra year, and retaking some courses."

"But had she offered that, you would have agreed, right? I mean, freely offering, not you asking her?"

"I'd say that would have tipped the balance in her favor for sure. Did she tell you I was seeing other girls?"

"Yes, but she was confident you'd choose her if the two of you could find a way to overcome the challenges," Samantha said as she finished drying me.

As we dressed, a thought formed in the back of my mind that Samantha's comment about spending sixty or seventy years together hadn't been teasing, or even spur of the moment. If that were true, the hypothetical solution she had proposed to Becka was actually feeling me out for how I'd respond to something like that. If that were true, it put a very different spin on our interactions and on her desire to talk and visit.

That raised a further question of when she'd had the conversation with Becka, or perhaps a series of conversations. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that Becka had, in effect, rehearsed what she was going to say to me in advance, and that Samantha had been the friendly ear she'd needed to sort out a way forward, if one were possible.

The question before me now was how to respond. If I simply took what Samantha said at face value, and let the concept drop, I suspected we might see each other again, but that would be the end of it. On the other hand, if I asked the question that had formed in my mind, it might start things down a path that I wasn't sure was wise.

It was one thing for Maryam to delay her Residency by a year; it was a very different thing for Samantha or Becka to add a year of college and delay going to law school for several years. I wasn't sure that was something I should encourage, even if it was Samantha who proposed it. It would, of course, be her decision, but I wasn't sure I would be comfortable with it.

The other concern was that I didn't know Samantha very well, and it was already April, making the timeline for what she was proposing difficult. And if it wasn't achievable, then we'd face the same exact challenges that existed with Becka. And if it was achievable, what was Samantha's motivation? Did she view having sex as some kind of bond? I had no idea, and that might present a problem if I didn't explore a future with her.

The thought that our encounter might not have been as casual in Samantha's mind as it had in my mind was a sobering thought. That said, she wasn't a sixteen-year-old High School Sophomore like April Nash, and hopefully had a more mature view of sex. But her use of the word 'guilt' made it entirely possible that she had similar thoughts to the ones April had had before my Senior Prom.

The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Samantha, but in the end, that would depend on her reaction to the events of the previous night. In the end, only she could deal with the mental, emotional, and spiritual ramifications of having sex with me. I'd been supremely confident she'd be OK, but now I wasn't so sure. As we went downstairs to make breakfast, I elected to broach the subject.

"Would you answer a question for me?" I asked after we walked into the kitchen.

"Sure," Samantha agreed.

"When did you and Becka talk about her concerns about our future?"

"A few times, starting not long after her birthday deflowering."

"And when did you suggest the alternate course of action?"

"About two weeks ago, I think. But we talked about it after that a few times."

I felt I did have to say something about the inferences I'd drawn.

"I have the impression that you're not speaking solely about Becka," I said gently. "Would you tell me what you're thinking?"

"That I wanted my first time to be like last night. I thought it would be my wedding night and felt guilty about doing it simply because of the pact. In hindsight, I'm sure that's why I didn't do it on my birthday. That was still true when Becka, Jo, and I were here, that's why I didn't want to do it with Becka and Jo watching."

"And it was true last night, too," I replied. "And this morning."

"Yes, but I don't regret it. I would have regretted fulfilling the pact and probably regretted being deflowered in front of my friends. But I don't regret last night at all."

"Sorry that I interrupted."

"It's OK," she said with a smile. "You were the first person to ever speak to me the way you did, openly and honestly, even if you misunderstood my thinking. The thing is, I misunderstood my own thinking. What I told you just now about being guilty, I didn't realize until I said it this morning.

"I thought there was something wrong with me, and I think that's why you thought I might be lesbian or possibly frigid. I think we proved neither of those true last night, and that's when I figured out that the problem was simply Catholic guilt. I actually tried to ask Doctor Mercer about it, but she didn't want to talk about religion."

"There are potential ethical problems with that for secular counselors, but I disagree with her on not discussing it. Did she tell you what she thought?"

"No. She asked a lot of questions, but didn't give me any specific answers. She did warn me multiple times about having sex, and especially about having sex for the first time, when I was confused. And, as I said, she was unhappy I'd experimented with Jacqui."

"How do you feel about that?"

"Guilty, but as I told you before, I wasn't grossed out, it just did nothing for me. Kissing last night made me excited for the first time. By the time we were sitting in your bed and you were about to enter me, it felt right for the first time. And then it felt VERY right!"

"That all makes sense," I said. "What do you want to do?"

"See you again. What about two weeks from today? I think you have more to teach me before we discuss the future."

"I have a shift at the hospital which runs until 5:00pm, so 6:00pm? And then I have to be in Columbus on Sunday morning, so we'll need to be up early."

"Not as early as today, right?"

"Right."

"That's fine, then."

"If your suggestion earlier was about you, not Becka, then there isn't much time."

"I have two weeks to find out what's possible. When we see each other in two weeks, we can discuss it while I'm sitting in your lap the way I did last night in bed!"

"How do you feel about me?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," Samantha replied. "That's why I need two weeks."

Samantha and I ate breakfast, then we left the house together, with Samantha heading home, while I headed for Moore Memorial.

I spent the drive to the hospital thinking about Samantha and the curve ball she'd thrown with her oblique suggestion that we spend the rest of our lives together. I was somewhat relieved that she was taking two weeks to think about how she felt, rather than saying what I had feared she might say -- that our physical union had a much deeper meaning.

I wasn't happy about missing the Saturday morning Divine Liturgy, but there really wasn't an option, just as there wasn't for the mornings of Holy Thursday and Holy Friday. I was happy that my schedule had worked out so that I could at least attend all the evening services, including Pascha.

"Morning, Mike!" Nurse Anna said when I walked up to the nurses' station.

"Morning, Anna! May I have the charts for today, please?"

"You may have them and anything else you need!"

"Just the charts for now, please."

"For now," she agreed, with a twinkle in her eye.

Five minutes later, I was sitting in the lounge with a stack of charts. For most of them, there were simply minor updates, but the patient with inflammatory symptoms had a tentative diagnosis which had been proposed after I had left -- Lyme disease. I didn't have my notes with me, so once I finished my summaries for rounds, I went to the medical library on the fourth floor to read up on it.

"Rounds summaries, please, Petrovich," Clarissa said when she came into the lounge just before 8:00am.

"Hello to you, too, Lissa!"

I handed her my notebook so she could read the summaries.

"Where did you get the information on Lyme disease?"

"The medical library. I remembered almost nothing about it except that it's extremely difficult to diagnose and that it's often missed. Who proposed the diagnosis?"

"Doctor Breedlove, the PGY3. She went to medical school in New Jersey and saw a case there. This one was more difficult because the patient was one of the twenty percent who don't have the signature rash, or if he did, he hasn't told us about it."

"Nothing more on the patient with the autoimmune problem? The chart had no updates except revised vitals and updated blood work."

"It's a complete stumper. The logical conclusion is AIDS, but there's no sign of HIV. Doctor Collins put in a call to a former classmate at Mayo and we'll probably be sending the patient to Rochester."

"After ten days here with no answer, that doesn't surprise me. How will they get him there?"

"Helicopter to Port Columbus, then a direct flight to Rochester."

"Hmm..." I grinned. "I think I'll have a word with Doctor Collins."

Clarissa rolled her eyes, "Your second flight to qualify as a flight surgeon."

"They don't happen that often and I can make a solid argument that I'm the perfect person for it, given my plans for Residency."

"Go on," she said, shaking her head.

I left the lounge and went to Doctor Collins' office.

"Do you have a moment, Doctor Collins?" I asked.

"Sure, Mike. What can I do for you?"

"I understand that our patient with an unknown autoimmune disorder might be sent to Mayo. If that's true, I'd like to volunteer for transport duty. I have one qualifying flight and a second one would help tremendously in my goal of qualifying as a flight surgeon. I believe I'm the most appropriate medical student, given my Residency plans. Doctor Williams suggested I get my four trainee flights done before Residency, if possible, and then he'll sign off once I've completed PGY1."

"I'll let Doctor Vega know; she's the only one on our service who's qualified."

"Thank you, Doctor."

I left his office and went back to the lounge.

"I'm in!" I grinned.

"I really should have volunteered!" Clarissa declared. "But it makes more sense for you to have the qualification."

"Before we go to rounds, Nurse Anna was exceedingly clear this morning," I grinned. "When I asked for the charts, she said I could have them and anything else I wanted!"

Clarissa laughed, "I'm totally not surprised. Kasey, the nursing student, was asking about you, too! Most eligible bachelor med student at Moore Memorial!"

"I still don't believe it."

"You've been playing your cards much closer to your vest. Body count?"

"I'll answer you, but this stays between you and me."

"Of course."

"Eighteen, though you and one other I was with before."

"Damn, Petrovich!"

"As you said, I'm enjoying the journey, but I think it's time to rein things in a bit."

"Because you're ready to choose?"

"No, because I need to focus more on my relationships and less on casual sex. I think the end of April is probably the time to reset after I see Annette."

"Can't get enough of the sexy blonde tennis player?"

"She's fun," I replied.

"Then there's time for Nurse Anna to get her turn," Clarissa smirked. "And you don't supervise her."

"I will make one exception to the end of April," I replied.

"Oh?"

"You and Tessa, if you want."

Clarissa smirked, "I'm going to say 'yes', and you know why!"

"Me and my big mouth! Let's go meet for rounds!"

The day was busy, and Clarissa and I divided the twenty-one patients between us. The details for transferring the patient to Mayo were worked out during the morning, and late in the afternoon I made my second training flight, flying to Port Columbus Airport with Doctor Vega, returning to Moore Memorial a few minutes after 5:00pm. I quickly gathered my things, checked out at the nurses' station, and headed home.

"Your dinner date turned into a sleepover, huh?" Lara asked when I arrived home.

"Yes."

"OK to hang out with you tomorrow and spend the night after Bridegroom Matins?"

"Yes. I have no plans for any nights next week because of church. Stay every night, if you like."

"I like!" Lara exclaimed. "Dinner is ready, and Rachel is dressed for church."

"Thanks."

Lara and I ate dinner, then she, Rachel, and I drove to Saint Michael for Vespers for Palm Sunday. We were early enough that I could speak to Father Nicholas about Danika.

"Father, you remember I discussed the student at Taft I'm mentoring, right?"

"Yes. The African American kid from Cleveland."

"One of the members of his study group is Oriental Orthodox. She's a member of the Malankara Church, and her bishop gave her permission to attend Pascha here at Saint Michael after I invited her. I'll give her a ride to and from church, but, and I want to make this clear, we're just friends."

"I'd suggest she not stand with you unless you want tongues to wag, the bishop's command to the contrary notwithstanding."

"A number of my friends will be attending, including Peter, Clarissa, and Tessa, so I don't think it'll be a problem to add one more. But I'll be careful."

"How serious are you and Sara Wright?" Father Nicholas asked.

"We're dating," I replied. "And I'm seeing Danijela Dimitrijevic from Columbus once a week."

"I haven't seen the tall strawberry blonde recently."

"It turns out that my life is too complicated for that to have worked."

"That, Mike, is an understatement if there ever was one! Thanks for the heads up."

When the service concluded, Rachel and I headed home, with Sara following behind us. At home, Rachel had a snack, and we said evening prayers a bit earlier than usual. I put her down, and then Sara dragged me to the bedroom, where we spent three hours doing our best to fuck each other unconscious.

"What would you think of me going to Prom?" Sara asked as we showered to rinse off our sweat and our combined sticky juices.

"Someone asked you?"

"Yes. Jim Peters, a Senior. I told him I'd let him know on Monday. If you're OK with it, I want to say 'yes', but I promise he won't get more than a kiss on the cheek."

"It's up to you," I replied. "I'm busy that night!"

"Duh!" Sara exclaimed. "One reason to say 'yes' is I get to hear you play! Another is I get to hang out with friends and have a good time. We'll probably go to a party at my friend Shelly's house afterwards. Does me going with him bother you?"

"I obviously can't take you, and if you want to go, I'm OK with it. And if you think about it, if you get your way, you won't be able to go to your Senior Prom because there is no way my wife is going on a date with anyone but me!"

"Obviously! Because you're OK with it, I'll tell him 'yes'."

"What will your parents say?"

"I'll tell them we're going as friends, that you can't take me because the age limit is nineteen for dates who aren't students at the High School, and that I want to hear you play. I'll make sure to say that you are OK with it because we're not a couple and because I'll miss my Senior Prom if we do become a couple."

"Your dad still doesn't know your plans?"

"No. He obviously knows we're dating and that I'm helping with Rachel, along with the other girls, though mostly that's ended now. Mom knows, obviously, and she's OK with my plans. Unfortunately, I'm not able to spend the night with you, but the last thing I want to do right now is upset my dad."

"I agree. I do need to let you know that one of the members of Antonne's study group is coming to Pascha. She's non-Chalcedonian, but the closest church for her is back home in Cleveland. She received permission from her bishop to attend Saint Michael."

"Where's she from? Originally, I mean."

"Her family is from India. She's a member of the Malankara Church, sometimes called the Saint Thomas Orthodox. She's pre-med and wants to be a cardiologist. Her plan is to go to Stanford Medical School, where her dad went."

Sara laughed, "If I can go to Prom with a guy as a friend, you can bring a female friend to church!"

"I do have one other thing to share. Becka and I are done."

"Called it!" Sara said triumphantly.

"Yes, yes, you're very smart!"

"Now I just need to put a hit out on Danijela Dimitrijevic and you're ALL MINE!"

"I'd prefer no blood was spilt!"

"If you insist..." Sara said, sighing theatrically.

"I insist," I chuckled.

We finished our shower, dried off, dressed, and I walked Sara out to her car. We hugged, kissed, and after she drove off, I went back into the house, read several pages of The Ladder of Divine Ascent, then went to bed.

April 3, 1988, Palm Sunday, McKinley, Ohio

Rachel and I attended Matins and the Divine Liturgy for Palm Sunday, joining the congregation for the procession around the outside of the church with pussy willows, the Russian tradition which resulted from a complete lack of palm trees in Russia. After a light meal, Rachel and I headed home, and Lara joined us about twenty minutes later.

As was tradition, I hung Rachel's pussy willow branch in her room, between the icons of Christ and the Theotokos, and above the icon of her patron, the matriarch Rachel. I hung mine in my icon corner in my study, where it joined several from previous years. Those important tasks completed, Lara and I spent time playing with Rachel, and when she went down for her nap, Lara and I decided to take a bubble bath.

"I let Clarissa know that I plan to wind down my escapades at the end of the month," I said. "But you have privileges right up until I ask someone to marry me."

"You're not close to deciding, right?" Lara asked.

"No. And actually, this week is good because I'm not seeing anyone at all besides you, and I'm going to church every day."

"What's bugging you?"

"If I knew, I'd tell you."

"I do think you know," Lara said, "and that you aren't admitting it."

"I'm missing something, obviously."

"You're grieving, Mike, and you're drowning your grief in casual sex. I'm not getting on your case about the sex, but about why you're having sex with so many partners."

"Let's assume for the moment that's the case," I allowed, "and assume it's self-medication. I'm caring for Rachel, who is healthy and happy, I'm receiving top marks for my clinical rotations, I'm going to church, and I'm fulfilling all my obligations. Physically and intellectually, I'm in good shape. Emotionally, I'm holding it together. The only truly roiled thing is my spirituality, and I'm working through that."

"I'd counter you aren't fine emotionally," Lara said. "You seem fine, but I know you well enough to know you can put up a very stoic front. The same thing that's a significant advantage in the ER or surgery is a problem outside the hospital. Ask Clarissa, because she knew you in your 'Doctor Mike' phase at Taft."

"I was obsessed with failure; That isn't the case now."

"But what are you masking? Anger? Depression?"

"If you're referring to the 'stages of grief', please don't. It's speculative, unproven, has no objective criteria, and hasn't been demonstrated to actually reflect reality. Let me ask you this -- did I ever, even once, deny that Elizaveta died?"

"No."

"So much for stage one. Did I try to 'bargain'? Ever say I should have died instead of Elizaveta?"

"I don't believe so."

"So much for stage three. Did I accept reality? I mean basically immediately?"

"As soon as you held Rachel for the first time after Elizaveta's death."

"Stage five, the final one, on day one. Do you see any signs of depression?"

"I suppose the only thing I could point to is what you're calling 'self-medication'."

"I think we can dispense with the 'stages of grief' theories. Do you know the concept of 'psychological resilience'?"

"No."

"It's a relatively new idea, and it's basically a measure of someone's ability to cope with a crisis and return to normal. People with high levels of psychological resilience quickly develop and use strategies for dealing with stress and are able to move on from a stressful event without long-term negative consequences. Having a routine is an important way to help return to normal, and, as I've said, sex is a coping mechanism."

"Then why say you're going to phase it out?"

"Because my strategy for dealing with Elizaveta's repose long-term is marriage, and unless I start a «ḥarīm», I'm going to be in a monogamous marriage, intended to last for life."

"'Sheikh Michael'?" Lara teased.

"That does have a nice ring to it! The fundamental problem, setting aside religious considerations, is finding a group of women who'd go for it!"

"Oh, I'm sure they're out there! Hugh Hefner seems to have found plenty!"

"If I had his money, maybe, but I'd want love relationships, not ones based on money. I strongly suspect anything to do with Hefner is a combination of money and sex. More power to him, but that wouldn't work for me. In the end, just as I did when I was about to court Elizaveta, I need to change my behavior."

"Does that mean it's down to Sara or Dani? Well, and Maryam, given what you've said recently."

"My bedmate on Friday night suggested she'd like to stay sixty or seventy years."

"Becka's friend Samantha?"

"Yes. She was joking, but also not joking, if that makes sense."

"And you'd consider her?"

"Maybe, but she has the same set of challenges Becka had, given she's also pre-law. She had some outside-the-box ideas, but, honestly, if I'm going that route, and if I'm going to take on significant challenges relating to my future wife's career, then Maryam wins easily. The choice between a wife with a career and a wife who wants to stay home with the kids and then later have a job is what's really holding me back at the moment.

"Sara and Dani are both interested in being stay-at-home moms, having kids right away, and eventually going to college and working. Dani plans to be a teacher like her mom, while Sara is still uncertain, which is not a problem. With Maryam, Samantha, or anyone who wants to be a doctor or lawyer, that would mean delaying having kids, most likely only one more, and there would be significant challenges."

"What's your bottom line for how many kids?"

"I'd like more, obviously, but the number was never something I fixated on. Two or three always seemed right, but even with Elizaveta, we never came to a set number, just at least two. I guess the bottom line is I could accept, and be happy, with one more."

"Just out of curiosity, why not consider your Orthodox nursing student?"

"Because she doesn't want kids before she's thirty," I replied. "And she's not interested in marriage any time soon. A ten-year timeframe simply doesn't work for me any more than Susana's timeframe of four to six years worked for me."

The tub was full of warm, sudsy water, so I shut off the tap.

"What's stopping you from choosing one of those futures? I mean, in general?"

"Being unsure which is the best for Rachel and me. The simplest answer would be to take the easy way out -- marry Dani and, in effect, duplicate what I had with Elizaveta, albeit with some differences, as Dani is a unique person and our relationship wouldn't be identical to mine with Kitten."

"So why not do that?"

"When's the last time you knew me to take the easy way out?! Not to mention the Scriptural warnings that the road to Hell is wide, paved, and clear. I think, by the way, what that's trying to say is that there are no shortcuts, and no detours around the unimproved stretches, on the road to theosis. And you know that I believe marriage is part of the path to theosis."

"Or at least to seeing God!" Lara smirked.

"I believe I've demonstrated to you, over and over, that marriage is not a requirement for 'seeing God' with that meaning!"

"I'd be very happy to have another demonstration as soon as we get out of the tub!"

Lara and I stayed in the tub until the water cooled, then after rinsing off in the shower, we went to bed, enjoying each other's bodies until Rachel woke up and demanded attention.

Later that evening, we attended the first Bridegroom Matins service of Holy Week, and, as we'd planned, Lara spent the night.