Her thoughts stuck on that last one. Dates. Men. Young men. The ones she had been seeing in the last year. Ah! That alone would make a book. She resolved to write it someday. After she had been celibate for a number of years. That is what she was planning.

To cut herself completely off from sex. To go without it. It had been so ever-loving disappointing this last year. And, often, before that, too. Not that the guys she had been with were animals. That was just the problem. They weren't animal enough.

There hadn't been a risk-taker, a devilishly daring one, a really energetic one, a truly macho one in the bunch. There had been some incredibly good fucks, though, she had to admit. And a couple of them had been superior. But no tingle as far as she was concerned.

There had been Gary Fulton. He had been a lot of fun. A super guy, really. Captain of the swimming team. A body like an Olympic star. Not handsome, but then, she never really saw the use of handsome men. They were just so stuck on themselves.

But he had been rugged and outdoorsy. Not like little darling Owen who sat across from her now, trying to flirt with her. Owen was two years older than her, but she always felt she was babysitting him whenever they were alone.

Their one and only date had been a disaster epic. He had taken her to a remote beach for a quiet, private swim. At least that's what he said. And she had gone there, to get just that.

She had ridden all the way out to the ocean cliffs with him and they had skipped across the sand together. That part had been fun. She even dared to hope that they might be friends if they could have a bit of fun together. But then, the shit hit the fan.

When she stood up and threw her towel down and peeled off her sweat shirt, Owen had gasped.