One and Only

Chapter 1 - Grooming

"So how is my little kitten doing?" Zack said, with a smirk followed by a lascivious look, that seemed more suited for a night club, then at three in the afternoon in his apartment.

"Oh, I'm purring all right," I said, stretching out for the last time on the floor, after another one of our intense dance work outs. "Honestly, it hurts to sit a little bit, I think I might be bruised, or some shit down there. Is there such a thing as too much sex?"

Zack looked off into the distance, contemplatively, as though we were having a deep philosophical discussion on the merits of democracy or the nature of existence itself.

"I know that you expect me to say, 'no' because you think I'm some sort of Caligula, but, in fact, I think that, yes, under the right circumstances, there can be such a thing as too much sex," he said, rolling over to his side and then elegantly rising to his feet. He took several steps towards the kitchen and reached down to a large reusable water bottle on the floor, picking it up by the handle and taking an enormous drink. He wiped his lips, handing me the jug, "I just don't think you're anywhere close to 'too much sex,' you probably just have a bruised hoo-hah or something."

"Do you know, I've never seen Caligula, but I've always wanted to, I just love Helen Mirren," I said, taking a long drink from the bottle myself. "It feels like I've been on a horse for the past five days, or rather, riding on the fucking pommel. Seriously, my lady parts need a spa day." I took one more sip of the water, offered it back to him, but he shook his head.

"You could do one of those vaginal steam baths," he suggested helpfully, "I'm sure that'll loosen you up."

"I just hate it when patients tell me they're doing shit like that... I don't know how many times I've had to tell young women that vaginas don't need to be douched or steamed or to incubate jade eggs. They are self-cleaning ovens, people."

Zack laughed, "I wish I had my phone right now, I would take a video of you saying that and we could make our own PSA."

"Hey, 'The More You Know....' about your vagina the better, right?" I took another sip of water and laughed with him.

"But seriously, it sounds like you two are really hitting it off, and I'm happy for you," he said, and turned to the middle of his living room where our yoga mats were laid out on the hard wood floor, bending over to pick up the purple one closest to him, and then rolling it up methodically.

"Zack, honestly, I feel like a fucking teenager. Like this can't be real. He's perfect in every way, I don't understand how he was single and more importantly why he's interested in me." I walked over to the remaining mat on the floor, and rolled it up, not quite as expertly as Zack, but with decent proficiency.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa there Lady Cowgirl, I'm going to stop you right there," his gaze was serious, and it was clear all jokes were aside. "First of all, don't put that on him, ok, no one is perfect. Everybody poops, all right? Second of all, I am not down with your little self-deprecating pity party there that you just tacked on at the end. Why is he with you? Because you're amazing, you are a goddess, and don't you forget it. But keep in mind, you poop too, so don't forget that either." He reached for the yoga mat in my hand and placed both of them under the table near the door.

"I guess we're just lucky then, to have found each other and that we both have toilets for all the shitting we apparently do," I said, laughing at the ridiculous turn of the conversation. "And what about you? What's going on with Michael? Has there been any movement in that direction?"

"Actually, there has been a... development," he said, with another cock to his eyebrow that hinted devilishly at intrigue. "He wants me to come out to New York for a few weeks to hang out and see where things might be going."