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He takes me dancing. He takes me to the movies. He rents a sailboat and captains it himself. We visit art galleries and museums, we listen to a jazz trio at a bar overlooking the ocean, we stuff ourselves on lobster and crab. We do all the silly tourist things any normal couple would do on vacation. And, everywhere, we make love. On a dock at night. On a merry-go-round in a park. In the motel jacuzzi. Down a dimly lit, secluded back hallway of a restaurant. In a high school auditorium we snuck into after dark. It’s always frantic and almost always wordless. We’ll be walking hand in hand down the street or standing at a beachside railing watching the sea birds circle overhead, and suddenly we’ll look at each other and be overcome. That’s the only way I can describe it: overcome. Overwhe
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