Two nights later, Carol and I were in bed. We were both tired, but had still reached for each other and made love slowly and sweetly. She was working a lot, and I missed her.

She was spooned against me, her bare bottom nestled comfortably against my softening cock while I cupped both breasts. Even after 10 years of marriage, she overwhelmed me. When I was with her, I didn't think of anything else.

Unless she talked, of course.

"I have to tell you something."

Uh oh. She's fucking the senior partner at her law firm. She has cancer. She's accepted Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior. Her mother's moving in.

"It's about Stephanie."

My mind went blank. I heard myself say "Hmmmmm?"

"You know I gave her the basic birds and bees."

"Ummmmmhmmmmm." I was afraid that if I opened my mouth I'd scream.

"So tonight as I'm tucking her in, she says 'Can people have sex with themselves?' Just like that, out of the blue."

"Hmmmmmm!"

"Exactly." Carol misinterpreted the panic in my humming. "So I said 'Where did you hear about that?'"

"Ummmmmmm?"

"Stephanie said 'Andrea told me.'" Oxygen returned to my brain.

"Oh. That's good." I actually said that. Andrea was Stephanie's best friend, and was potentially better informed, being 9 and all.

She laughed. "Exactly." Fortunately, I was often ironic. Sometimes on purpose.

"So then she asked, 'Is it true?' I didn't really know how to answer her."

"I can imagine." I really could imagine. "What did you say?"

"Well, I told her the truth."

"What do you mean?" I was genuinely curious now.

"I told her about masturbation."

"Hmmmmm."

"Exactly. Do you think I did the right thing?"

Life is strange sometimes. I embraced the strangeness.

"What did you tell her, exactly?"

"I told her that people touch themselves because it feels nice. And that people do it when they want to have sex but don't have anybody that they love right then."

"That was a nice way to say it, I guess."

"Thanks. Then she said, 'Or if they love somebody but they can't have sex with them.' She's so smart, sometimes, don't you think?"

"Mmmmmm. Ummmhmmmmm."

A long pause. "She asked me how to do it."

"Hmmmm?"

"She asked me how to do it."

"I heard you. That was more of a shock and concern noise."

"Exactly." She turned to face me.

"You didn't tell her, did you?" I asked.

"No. Well. Not exactly."

"Not exactly?"

"I told her that she's too young. And she got that look in her eyes."

"Which look?"

"The 'I'm not a baby' look." I knew it well. "And she said 'I guess I can ask Andrea.'"

"Oh God." We both laughed.

Her face turned sad. "It's too early for this, Rick. I want her to be a little girl for a few more years. Like 10 years."

"Then we'll have to send Andrea to boarding school."

She smiled. "Exactly. CATHOLIC boarding school. With ugly nuns."

I nodded. "So?"

A pause. "I told her that she can only do it in her room, by herself."

"So you told her. How to do it."

"No. Well. A little."

"Hmmm?"

She sighed. Her voice was resigned. "OK. I told her to find the bump and rub. And to not put anything inside, because it could hurt her."

"The bump." I giggled.

"Don't tease me. This was hard. I bet I screwed her up for life."

I held her tight. "She would have asked Andrea and probably gotten some ridiculous ideas. Or become a lesbian. You're the best mother in the world. Dr. Ruth would be proud of you."

"Thanks. I think. What are you doing?"

"I'm finding your bump."

End of Part VIII.

To be continued.