There's nothing less exciting than planning a wedding.

Barb did all the work, occasionally asking if I liked this invitation

card or that, this flower arrangement, this dress pattern, or

this little chapel.

The more she talked, the more I realized that there was no way in

hell I was going to marry her.

I'd rather be dead.

*****

My calm amid her storm made her anxious and angry. So, one day, she

decided to give me the silent treatment.

I have no aversion to NOT talking to people. I don't like most people

and enjoy my solitude. It gives me a chance to catch up on my reading

and not have to listen to some twit pattering about the weather.

That in mind, it drives me to distraction when somebody decides not

to talk to me. I hate the feeling of being invisible. As Glenn

Close said in "Fatal Attraction," "I won't be ignored."

"Babs, honey. What's the matter?" I asked.

"You don't care." she pouted. "You don't really want to get married,

do you?"

There was no way that Barbra could read my mind, so I chalked up her

perfect guess to accident.

"I don't want to have a big wedding. I just want it to be the two

of us. And a Justice of the Peace." I moved into her body warmth,

put my face into the pulse point of her neck, and got a whiff of

the lousy perfume she wore-- a cheap knock-off of Calvin Klein.

"You do want to get married, don't you?" She said this in an irritating

little girl voice that she resorted to when I was starting to get my way.

"Of course." I lifted her face up to mine and pressed my tongue into

her mouth.

"I just don't want to be a repeat of my Mom and Dad's marriage," she said,

pulling away from me and looking into my eyes.

"How many times do we have to talk about this?" I asked, fighting the

fantasy to shove her away from me, throw her down on the bed and do a

Desdemona on her so that I wouldn't have to hear that question again.

"You said you were bi to Jenn and Hugo."

"When I said I was bi-sexual I was LYING! Can't you understand that,

Barbra?

Intimidated, she quieted down immediately, her hands on the but-

tons of my shirt. It took her awhile but she was learning her

place. "I'm sorry. I just don't want you mad at me. I just need to

be sure. I don't like mistakes."

I pulled open her blouse and massaged her breasts. "Would I do

this if I was gay?" I flicked my tongue across her neck, feeling her arousal

as I took off my shirt.

She moaned a soft "no" and let me strip off her clothes until she stood

naked in front of me.

"Would I do this?" I moved my hand between her legs.

I opened up the front of my jeans.

She shook her head no. I sat on the bed and pulled her forward, her thighs

clamped over mine.

We rocked back and forth and I closed my eyes and thought of her

brother, Peter, down on his knees in front of me. Or Greg bent over

the couch telling me he wanted it.

With that image in mind, it didn't take me very long.