“We’re never buying any seafood again from wherever you bought that lobster though, I can tell you that!”

For as lousy as I felt and how sick I just was, the fact that he just said “we” sent a wave of elation through my soul.

Ryan was curled up in a ball and I could hear him start to breathe heavier. He had fallen asleep, so I turned the television off and closed my eyes.

After that marathon session of nastiness, it wouldn’t take me long to fall asleep either.

I knew I was dreaming when I couldn’t see the ground that my feet were supposedly running on. I was trying to get through one of those mazes that are made out of tall hedges that you see sometimes in movies, and every turn I took was a dead end. I’d have to turn around and run down the same path that I just came from, all the while hearing Ryan calling my name and asking me to “come here, come here.” I had to find him.

I ran down a long row of hedges and turned to the left where I thought his voice was coming from. As soon as I turned the corner, there was a mob of women, all wearing a picture of his face on their shirts, blocking my path. They started to laugh at me; some of them were cackling like witches.

Photographers stepped out of the shrubs and were taking pictures of me as I started to cry. I felt the twang of terror set in as one girl in the front row morphed into the likeness of Suzanne Strass. She grabbed me by the hair and pulled fiercely, bending me backwards.

“He’s mine, bitch!” she screamed in my face. “Not even in your dreams.”

My eyes shot open from the sensation. Part of my long hair was trapped under Ryan’s head. The sun was bright so I assumed it was sometime after eight o’clock.

A shot of pain hit my ribs when I started to crawl out of bed; my stomach muscles were sore from throwing up so many times.

I went out to the living room and grabbed my bag so I could get freshened up. I desperately needed a shower; my hair was a mess and I looked like I spent the night vomiting.

The hot water felt good, and I noticed that I was feeling much better. I brushed my teeth to rid my mouth of the nasty taste and washed my body twice to rid my pores of illness. I couldn’t get clean enough.

I put my jeans and a shirt on so I could go out to the living room again; my hairbrush was stuffed in my purse. Ryan came to the bedroom door and stopped to lean on the doorframe.

“Are you finished in there?” he asked as a big yawn broke from his lips.

As he spoke, my eyes took in the sight of him. Sometime throughout the night he took his jeans off. He was standing there in a white Tee and gray boxer briefs, and oh my, there it was, extreme morning wood.

HELLO! My brain shouted as my eyes traced the large bulge pushing out in his shorts.

He tilted his head and smirked at me when he realized that my eyes and thoughts were completely distracted. I think he actually meant for me to see that because he didn’t even attempt to move or hide it.

“Um, yeah, all yours,” I muttered, slightly embarrassed from being busted ogling his underwear. I turned and hurried out of his way, ignoring him when he chuckled.

While my brain was still tracing the outline of his morning friend, I grabbed my pack of birth control pills out of my purse and popped Monday’s pill in my mouth. Even though it was only a placebo today, I still wanted to keep up with my daily routine. I couldn’t have had sex this weekend even if I wanted to; that was probably another reason why I was feeling drained.

I had been on the pill since my first year of college, and the erotic vision that was in my mind right now was the exact reason why. Better to be safe than sorry, for I didn’t want to have children without first being married, but I certainly wasn’t going to keep my virginity intact until that happened.

“Taryn? Do you have an extra towel?” Ryan yelled from the bathroom.

“Yeah, hang on a sec.” I pulled a fresh, white towel out from one of my bags.

He was partially hidden behind the bathroom door, although I could see that his shirt was now off. I tried not to look at him at all when I handed him the bath towel. I already had one huge image of him that was repeating in my mind.

I walked back to the living room wondering how many women have gotten an up close and personal look at his package. I knew how many men I had sex with – I was still in the single digits for my total – high single digits, but nine is still under ten.

I figured with a body and a package like his, combined with endless opportunities from women throwing themselves at him, he probably took that thing out of his pants and showed it to as many women as possible. It was a frightening thought and I secretly wished my assumption was wrong.