“What is it sweetie?” he said stretching and hiding the rise in his pants. Clarice hopped off the bed and stood there. She was still dressed in her work dress. It was a bit small and tight around the waist and breasts. The hem high towards her knees. Richard rolled off the bed and sat on the edge regaining his balance and senses. Clarice continued, “I didn't want to disturb you, but I'm just so excited about moving out and being with you. It's just... I'm hot and wet, and I don't know what to think of it.“ Richard knew what to think of it and he wanted to see if his dream would come true. But, first he had to pee. As hard as he was and as much as he didn't want to interrupt Clarice's needs, nature has a way of interrupting. He stood up and gave her a strong hug, kissed her on the top of her head and excused himself, “Sorry honey, I'll be right back. Promise.” A moment later he was back, Clarice hadn't moved. “Now why are you feeling so concerned?” he asked. He turned her around and. Their love had blossomed in the heady rush of independence that followed, and the first feelings of freedom either had ever really known had shaped the contours of their love for one another. They had just finished their clinical year when the civil war broke out, and that had been that. A sniper’s bullet put an end to all their dreams just when the future had seemed so limitless. On their arrival in California, Amila began working in the Pathology Department at the UCLA Medical Center in Westwood, that peculiar little academic enclave sandwiched between Beverly Hills and the Pacific Palisades, but her medical degree had not been recognized and she simply couldn’t take the time off from work to study for the exams. She had found, more a simple matter of inertia than anything else, steady work in the bowels of the medical center, in the labs that classified tissue samples send down from operating rooms. Being a de facto physician, the work came easily to her, and she enjoyed her.
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