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He asked if there was room to turn around by the house. I said probably not, wanting to be out of sight in case he kissed me. When he kissed me. He drove a big back BMW SUV of some kind. I had to look it up. It is an X-3. It has a 300 hp engine. My son's car does, too.

We talked about cars, the things that brought us together. Again, I recall snippets here and there. He's been racing since he was 10. He beat big time drivers in Karts. I thought about Dad's cars, now sold. I teared up, but caught it quickly enough that I think he didn't notice.

I couldn't stand it any more. I told him to look at me. I asked if he had any interest whatsoever in getting to know me. I think he heard the any interest part. Yes, he said decisively, almost sternly, before I could finish talking. And then he didn't touch me. At all. Not a brush on the arm, or a hug, or heaven forbid any more. It wasn't awkward any more, but did it have to be, well, so nothing?

I need to run away right away. On the road. In my woody wagon. Now.

Now if only I could find my IBF again.