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I tookoff the coat as the padding in the shoulders made it made me sweat likea pig.I prepared myself for my weekly ritual.The shaving cream felt chillyagainst my skin.The blade of the razor felt liberating.It was funny. I wondered if men who had a real stubble felt anydiscomfort while shaving? I imagined myself having a coarse stubble andthe joy of having to shave it. For me, it was the epitome of manhood.I spoke a few words forcing myself to speak a few octaves lower then Iusually do when I am stressed so that my gender became unambiguous.As I went through the ritual, I couldn't help but to think about theyoung lady's breasts and her apparent naievete. I wanted her. Bad.Boyish good looks? That's right. My jawline was round rather thensquare, my lips were full, my nose small was and dainty. My eyes werebigger and my eyebrows naturally narrow. We were the perfect couple.My lust gave way to fright as I remember that faithful night where I meta childhood friend in a Moscow. Her degree was in business so she got her MBA and wanted to open her own restaurant. We kept putting it off because we each had loans to pay off and then she got pregnant. Her face would light up whenever we talked about the restaurant, though."The far-off look in his eyes returned. "She knew what she wanted everything to look like. How the kitchen would be set up. She was so excited about it, that she got me to want it to happen, too."A flash of sadness came across Alan's face. "When Brianne died, my one regret was that she never got her dream to come true. She gave up so much for me—for us—that I want to make it work. I guess it's my way of holding on to her."Marissa reached across the table and took Alan's hand in hers. They didn't speak for a long time.They finished their meal and skipped dessert. They walked around the Venetian, holding hands while working off dinner."Let's take a gondola ride," Marissa said.They headed back to the Grand Canal and found a gondolier bringing his.
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