Early on, even before we were officially together, we used to play music together on my back porch. But things didn't work out, and she ended it. It was one of those messy breakups, where maybe she's right about it not working out in the long run but you still want to see each other. So, summertime, the next year: She's over for breakfast on the same back porch. It's hot. We're eating, talking, then hugging. Playful. She sits on my lap, her skirt over my legs. I am straining against my pants, and she knows it. "Do you want to, out here?" she asks. "Let me go in you and just stay there," I respond. I'm excited to feel her around me, but I have to keep movement to a secretive minimum. Now she's the one straining, biting her tongue for silence, trying not to rise up and down too quickly. After a few enthralling, agonizing minutes, she tells me to pull out, to close up. Then with her eyes she directs me back inside, to my bedroom, then back inside her. "JORDAN"