Mr Catholic.

He'd have been some kind of an angel or a saint if he had even tried to resist although the Catholic in him nagged at him some to hold on just for a second. But with a handful of breast in his hand feeling all that soft flesh and the rest of her body overpowering all his senses, it just wouldn't be human to thwart nature's drive in each of them.


Ms Have-It-All.

Driving back home to Virginia from the class reunion in that uppity Southern New England hometown, she did a re-calibrating of some of her life strategies. She could gloat and continue to soak in the exultation at seeing many of them come down to earth and sink in to lower grounds below her, or she could learn from what she saw in them and remember, for instance:

not to let yourself so deep in a relationship and be driven to obesity by it when he suddenly dumps you;

how not to get pregnant and let the sonofabitch simply skip town;

not to be sexually repressed and miserable, and horny all the time, just because there's nobody out there for a meaningful relationship;

never to completely trust anybody; be very selective and careful when making friends, men or women;

if nothing else, go for the money and pleasure; don't let yourself get so stressed out over anything and start getting wrinkles and grays; very very important - keep up the good looks, the sex appeal; enjoy life even by using people, especially men; use them for sex and all the pleasure you can get out of them, with their money; screw them.


Mr Practical.

The man is the way he is, Helen thought. Unemotional, mostly brain, reason, logic. No visible display of feelings. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have any, especially for those he cares about, including her.

That's his way, she now resolved. That's his way of being, not just with her but with everybody. She shouldn't try to change him or even expect him to. Thus, she should accept him as he is. Accept his way of touching your heart no matter how impersonal it may be, accept his way of kindness towards you, no matter how secretive it might be, accept his way of being happy or sad no matter how unemotional it might be, and accept his way of loving you no matter how bashful and distant, how subtle and simply practical it may seem.


Ms Biological Clock

I'm sorry, ms," said the mother, taking her baby from Karen. "Somehow, she's just so full of energy today. I don't know where she gets it."

"My pleasure, ma'am," Karen said, handing back the runaway little girl. "Bye bye baby."

Inside, she was tearing apart, her heart which ached for the baby wouldn't let her take in all the air she needed to breathe, only small whiffs with just enough oxygen to feed her brain and live. Outside, she had to smile at dumb Jack across the restaurant table as she sat back down and squeezed out the hot picante into her taco supreme, pretend nothing tumultuous was going on within her being.

"You know, if I didn't know you," Jack said innocently through a mouthful of burrito, "you could've fooled me. You looked real natural with that cute little baby."

That was it! Whatever was left of her indecision about how to deal with her biological clock, Jack just creamed it with his dumb remark. The thing to do now was allow his flirtation to continue...


She recalled the end of her last cycle. From that time, she was positive that the four days starting yesterday through the next two days was her ovulation timespan when that one little itty-bitty egg cell, or ovum they call it, will be floating around from her fallopian tube to her uterus looking to meet some nice-looking fellow, a good swimmer hopefully, and right now millions and millions of them, sperm cells from the vasa deferentia of her good friend Jack, were doing breast strokes and freestyles coming upstream.

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