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Ellie and Becky, White and Black, and a long dildo.

Laughed when I used the word romance. "For a while it hasn't really been one." He'd had time to consider his options, come to terms, he said. When I crossed his path, he was ready.

It troubled me that he could talk so coldly about another woman, somebody who ostensibly had meant a lot to him and might still care for him. I wondered if he would discuss me in the same terms some day.

"Black cat. Only good, not bad luck."

Maneki neko. The cat who beckons. Do you know that one, friendly, with paw up?

I also learned I wasn't the only woman to stir his interest while Pam and he were a couple. He'd pursued a few, with mixed results.

He told me about meeting and becoming attracted to someone at the outdoor course he uses. They didn't actually meet but often ran at the same time and once in a while were alone there. The absence of others brought a sense of affinity, if not connection, closeness. So Mitchell claimed, at least. She was Swedish, he said, in her late thirties or early forties, and in shape.

(Mitchell had exercised hard then too, worked to stay in shape, mostly just running. The upper body "resistance training" started later, because he felt middle age creeping up, I'm sure- he even said so).

One late afternoon their sessions ended at the same time and he thought they might finally speak, but before that could happen there appeared on the scene a friend of hers, also a Swedish woman (the two spoke their language together). He got that she- the friend- had arrived at a set time. She wasn't a runner. The two had a plan to meet and go out together. Both feeling awkward and not ready to leave, still hoping for contact, Mitchell did the first thing that came to mind, resumed running, even though he'd already finished for the day. That strange behavior was what finally prompted the woman with whom he'd never communicated beyond an exchange of waves to finally address him directly. As he passed her and her friend at a jogging pace, she said with a wicked smile, "Are you never going to stop?"

Mitchell acknowledged her point and surprise. Too much exercise was bad for the body. But, having started, he continued, would for a while, at least until the Swedish acquaintance and partner departed (chatting, they seemed content to hang around a while).

She'd spoken in a friendly tone, with humor, but Mitchell recognized he'd been indulging wistful fantasies. His thought of involvement with her had been a pipe dream.

"The point," he said to me, "was that incidents like that showed me I wasn't getting what I needed from Pam."

I thought that sounded selfish, wanted to ask, "Have you considered her needs?" but didn't.

"Don't misunderstand," he implored. Pushy, as if denying my right to form my own judgments, feel my own emotions.

I don't know why I remembered this then, I mean in bed.

Recalling Mitchell's description of the poignant scene, his rejection by the " blonde Amazon" he had a crush on (that's what he called her), I wanted to take care of him- yes, in bed- and really did feel a little bad about flirting with the French man before.

Knowing Will was on the other side of the door inhibited us some at first.

Mitchell had gone on a run with his brother too and told me about it afterward.

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