When my father called on Monday and invited me to lunch on Wednesday, I knew some of what it was about. So it wasn't that I was at all nervous. But afterwards, I just knew that things were going to change for Johnny and me.

Either it was the next logical step...or Johnny would be another guy who didn't find meeting my family to be worth the effort.

Well, I say meeting my family as if that's very innocuous. Actually, I should have said 'undergoing the intense scrutiny of my family's inspection.'

I got to the restaurant before my father did. He chose this place on purpose. It was refined, professional, upscale. Like my dad.

I watched him enter, talk to the maitre d' and then follow the hostess over to where I sat waiting on him. He's a good-looking man, my dad. Refined. Oh, I already said that. Well, it's the one word that does him justice. He is balding already, not a lot; it's very attractive on him. He hates it; I like it.

There are many things I like about my father. He's dignified. He's measured in how he reacts. He's smart as blazes. He never acts like that's a big deal, but it is because he's razor smart and, when he thinks you deserve it, he can use his mind to cut you down at the knees. He makes a great living; nonetheless, he maintains a touch of the every man. Do I admire him? Yes. I truly do. Do I love him? Even when he's driving me crazy! Can I stand up to him? I'm my father's daughter.

The biggest thing I don't like about him is that I'm always going to be his little girl. When push really comes to shove, I'll always be about five or six years old, running to greet him when he comes home from work and talking a mile a minute about my dolls and my puppy and my latest scraped knee.

One thing important to say about my father's wit and intelligence: he has cut more than one of my boyfriends to little shreds and it's taken him no more than one or two well-delivered questions. It's the whole thing about being his little girl, you see? My mom says that Dad just wants to be able to respect whoever it is I choose and then we'll be fine. We have had our share of bloody fights over this concept.

"We missed you on Sunday," my father said, after we'd given our orders and the salads had been placed before us. I sipped at the chardonnay he'd ordered me; he refused to remember that I now liked pinot grigio. He said it was a fad wine for me, so he didn't feel obligated to remember.

He said that to me, about Sunday, while he was spearing a baby carrot on his salad fork. His eyes were down, concentrating on his fork. His voice was soft, modulated.

"I wasn't feeling well. I did call Mom and tell her, Dad," I said. My voice was also modulated.

He smiled at me as he swallowed his bite. I smiled back.

"And you're recovered now?"

"Yes. Quite."

"Excellent."

We talked about what I'd missed on Sunday. About my brothers Brent and Charlie, their families, their doings. About my mother's latest volunteer board appointment. About the case my firm had just put won. About his new assistant director of development and what a fine career he had ahead of him and how my sister-in-law said he was such good marriage material.

I gulped down a slug of wine at that one. "How did she come to meet him to form this opinion?" I asked my father.

"He was an invited guest for Sunday's dinner. If you had not been too ill to attend, you'd have also met him and undoubtedly also have formed a high opinion of him."

I flashed on what I was doing Sunday...on joking with Johnny that they were probably serving dessert about the time he was deciding that he wanted an encore.

"You were setting me up to meet someone?" I asked softly.

"I was." He just looked at me.  His eyes, so sharp and sweetly blue under eyebrows so perfectly groomed. "You've always liked the young gentlemen to whom I've introduced you, Erycina."

"Well...um...I appreciate it, Dad. It's nice you care so much about me."

"Oh, I do care about you, my darling girl." He smiled at me, patted my hand. "Now, when am I going to meet him?"

I took in a sharp breath. "Him? Him who? When are you going to meet whom?"

"The young man giving you the free tonsillectomy on Saturday night at the wine tasting."

"Um..."

"Shall I tell your mother to set an extra plate for Sunday's dinner?"

"Um..."

"I'll take that as a 'yes.' I'll be looking forward to it. Now, would you care for some dessert today or must you get back to the office so soon?"

Johnny. Oh.

Go Johnny go. Go go go Johnny go.

He came up for breath. I told him the song I'd been keeping rhythm to...it thrilled him no end. He liked Chuck Berry.

We lay there, sprawled on my bed, sweating. Eventually I strolled into the kitchen and grabbed us each a glass of water from the bottle I kept in the refrigerator. I sat on my bed and watched him drink his down in one go. His Adam's apple bobbled as he drank. His eyes were closed. His head back. His hair stuck to his face.

His chest glistened.

It beckoned.

I reached out to stroke it as he finished drinking and swallowing. He breathed deeply as I touched him and then licked his nipples.

"Tickles," he said with this little giggle that makes me feel funny. He upended me, tossing me effortlessly on my back and then half-crawled over me.

He touched and caressed my breasts. A half-smile lingered on his lips.

"I'm in love with your breasts," he said.

"In love with my boobs? Really, Johnny?" I chuckled.

"Yeah, Ery. You got nice ones."

"Thanks."

"Each one's a bit different. This one's got the little bump...right here...one the colored part."

"You've studied them that close?"

"My tongue has," he said, looking up at me with this big grin. "You like my tongue, don't you, Ery?"

"Oh, yeah. You got a great tongue."

He looked back down at my breasts, rounding a nipple between his fingers. "I'm gonna call this one Alinga."

"You what?"

"Alinga. It's what I'll call her. And this other one? I'll call her...Gidja."

"You're naming my breasts?"

"I like 'em that much."

I started laughing. He joined me. We rolled around a bit, tickling and teasing. Finally we came to rest. I looked in his eyes. He was so sweet to me in these moments. I wished I could bottle it...I'd make a fortune. "Alinga and Gidja? How in God's name did you come up with those names? Are you making up words for my boobs?"

"No, love. They're the names of Aboriginal goddesses. Alinga...she's the Sun Goddess. Gidja...she's the Moon Goddess."

"Oh, Johnny. That's adorable."

"You like that, d'ya?"

"Yesssssss..." Go Johnny go go go. "Johnny. You're so good."

"Ery?"

"Yeah?"

"Slow now, girl. You with me?"

"With you..."

"You should see your face."

"Slow..."

"Yeah...you like that, don't you now?"

 I fixed him scrambled eggs, sausage patties and bagels for dinner. Honestly, I could fix him anything as long as it was food and hot...he didn't care as long as he was eating. I served him beer with his dinner. I served him a beer after dinner. We cuddled on the couch and watched a movie I'd ordered.

It was right at the part where the hero first starts making eyes at the girl when Johnny got bored and began touching me.

"Are you busy Sunday?" I said, very breezy, in between smooches.

"You wanna do something together?" he said, addressing Gidja's nipple.

"Remember me telling you that my family gets together on Sundays for dinner at my parents? Well, it's more like supper in that it's pretty early in the evening."

He let Gidja go. Looked up at me. This tiny frown. I smoothed the lines out on his forehead.

"My parents have invited you to attend with me. This Sunday. Would you like to come?"

He gave me this slow grin. "You told your folks about us?"

"Um. Not exactly. Remember my parent's neighbor who saw us at the wine tasting? Well, they mentioned to my father about seeing us making out...and he wants to meet you."

"To meet me so he can tell me to keep my fucking hands off his daughter?" he asked softly.

"To meet you because I told him you were someone special."

Johnny blushes so sexy. I tossed him on the floor and had at him. 

Later, I told him that the next time he was so rude as to be that sexy in front of me, that I'd get some handcuffs and chain him to my bed so I could simply take total and perverted freedom with his body.

He said he'd like that.

I raised my head up, shoved my hair back from my eyes. Looked at him for a moment. "Would you really?" I asked him.

He blinked a few times. Bit his lower lip. Ran his hand through his hair. And then said, "You ever do anything wild with a guy? In bed, I mean."

"Um..."

"Something you both want, I mean."

"Um..." I sat up. "Like what? Like just messing around?"

"I dunno, love. Just that..."

"You're blushing, Johnny Ryan. What evil thoughts are lurking there in your mind?" I whispered, crawling back toward him, snuggling in. "You know what? If you're asking what I think you're asking, all I can say...if you can get around to asking me for something specific, I'll consider it."

"Yeah?" He didn't say anything; his breathing got a little shallow.

"I know you'd not hurt me, Johnny. Would you?"

His voice was deep, all man. "I'd never hurt you, Ery. Never."

Is this where I admit that the idea of him tying me up or handcuffing me to a bed was a lot more arousing than I felt like bluntly telling him? But just imagine that for one second......being tied to a bedpost and it all up to him what would happen?

On the other hand, it quickened my entire body when I went from that idea to it corresponding idea...of picturing him, lashed to the bedpost...the things I'd do to him!

This is the thing, to me. It may seem like it was just an errant fantasy, but it had me instantly aware that I trusted him in an exciting way I never had trusted before.

It's not that I haven't experimented with things others may think kinky. But I figure that if it's something you both want and it turns out to be something you both like, well, it's not kinky anymore to you, is it?

Sunday rolled around like it always does. Johnny showed up early to get me for going to my parent's home. He was dressed so nice. They would like that he was dressed this way.

He was wearing dark brown slacks and an olive green, button-down shirt. He even had on a tie. It was brown, like his slacks, with little nubby flecks of black and olive green. He had shaved close. His hair was neat. His shoes were shined. He smelled incredible. I wondered if Chili had helped get him dressed and had selected the cologne. But I didn't ask Johnny about that. I didn't want to offend him.

On the drive over, he ran through the list of my family's names. My parents, my brothers, their wives, kids. I had written all the names down for him, just like he asked me. He wanted to make a good impression and figured knowing their names would be something easy he could do.

I had called my brothers and begged them to be at the dinner that week. I told them Johnny was important to me and that I needed them there to make sure Dad didn't take him apart.

It's not that my father would necessarily mean to slice and dice Johnny. But I guess he can't help it, being my dad and all. My brother Brent said that any man I was bringing home better be able to stand up for himself. Besides, he said, if he can't stand up to your Dad, who loves you, how's he going to ever stand up for you when it counts like a man should for a woman?

On the drive over to my parents' house, I thought about how my dad used to intimidate every boy who ever took me out in high school and college. It wasn't that he was physically intimidating; it was just something about his presence, the gravity of him; the way I think people always knew that behind that gentle carriage was another man when provoked.

He'd always made the boys I dated in high school come over early, sit and talk with him. He had this little speech about treating me with respect, not touching me in an inappropriate way, reminding them I had two older brothers who knew where they lived, and alerting them that they'd be the one held responsible if I wasn't returned to my home by my curfew.

There weren't too many boys from college that I took home to meet my folks. I think by the time I was a senior, if I took a boy home, it was acknowledged that it meant something. In truth, it was that they were the ones I thought were acceptable to my parents.

It's funny. Those always turned out to be the ones who ended up being real shits to me.

Since then, I haven't brought a man home to meet my parents. The only men I date that they've met are men they've set me up to meet. Friends of their circle of friends, usually. Or guys who work where my dad does so he's already screened them for me.

So this was going to be interesting.

I'd already warned my dad...as much as a girl can ever warn her father...that I was an adult and didn't need his approval to date someone. He just nodded, smiled and said he was looking forward to meeting Mr. Ryan.

Before we walked in the house, I gave Johnny a hug and told him how much it meant to me that he was there. He told me it meant a lot to him that I wanted him to meet my parents.

My dad opened the door without warning and caught us deep in the midst of a kiss. He cleared his throat; I jumped away. I introduced them; he gave Johnny a tough once over before shaking his hand. Johnny just took it all in; he was unmoved by my father's opening gambit.

Johnny has this natural way of being a gentleman. I know his mom probably instilled that in him. He motioned me in, then put a hand on my elbow until I'd stepped up into the house. My dad took this in.

When he met my mom, he handed her the bouquet of flowers he'd brought to her. My mother, being a woman, was naturally rather taken with both the man and the gesture. My sisters-in-law and my three nieces were similarly inclined to be in Johnny's court based on nothing more than his looks, his shy grace and his quiet courtesy.

So we had a very pleasant bit of conversation before dinner. I gave my mom a hand in the kitchen to finish the meal off while my brothers and two nephews said they'd take Johnny on a tour of my dad's yard and workshop. I was looking out the window, peeling carrots for the salad, and I saw my dad heading for the workshop.

I wanted to run out there and protect Johnny. But my mom just handed me the potatoes and told me to get to mashing them.

We sat next to each other at dinner. The kids were in the kitchen at the table there, so it was just us grownups in the dining room.

The conversation was on spring training and the latest news in Florida that was causing headlines around the world. We had this long, involved discussion on living wills, the balance of power between the legislature and judiciary and the like. Johnny didn't say too much. He tried to agree, as much as he could, with my brothers. Unfortunately, they...and I...were on opposing sides with my dad.

My dad suddenly turned to Johnny. "My daughter tells me you're from Australia. What city?"

It was such an abrupt change of subject. I figured that my dad hadn't expected the dinner to be about anything but grilling this man that he could probably tell meant more to me than he wanted to realize.

"Junee," Johnny said, clearing his throat. "Junee, New South Wales."

I glanced at Johnny because it was only then I realized that I'd never asked him a question like that. We'd talked about his family, but I'd never asked him that question before. I don't know why it surprised me...I just never had. I put my hand on his thigh, gave him a little squeeze of support. He put his hand over mine and pressed down.

"I'm not familiar with Junee," my dad said.

"Not surprised, sir. Closest town of any size is Wagga Wagga, which isn't really big enough for Americans to know, either. Junee's about midway between Melbourne and Sydney. Not much of a town to be from but it's where my family lived."

"Lived?" my mom asked. "They moved?"

"They died, ma'am," he said.

"All of them?"

Johnny glanced into my eyes. "All of them."

His dad was dead at the beginning of his film. His mom dead at the end. I thought about his two older brothers.

"What brought you to the U.S.?" Brent asked him.

"Is this some kind of inquisition?" I said with a little laugh. "Let the poor man eat in peace, eh?"

"'Sokay, Ery," Johnny said, squeezing my hand under the table and giving me a somber smile.

"What do you do for living?" my dad asked.

"Mechanic. Cars."

I saw my dad exchange a long glance with my mom. So did Johnny. He sat up taller in his chair. His jaw tightened. I got this instant image of Johnny, facing down Meg's dad when he'd come in to find them rutting in the barn.

"He fixed my car for me," I said. "It's never run better."

"That's how you met? He fixed your car?" Charlie asked me.

I frowned at him. "No, that isn't how we met. I was just commenting on how talented he is. Because he is."

"And that's what you're planning to make your career, young man? Fixing cars?" my dad asked.

"And if I was?" Johnny said, staring right in my dad's eyes.

My dad ran his tongue over his teeth. He does that when he's just realized he's got to consider his words carefully. Finally, he cocked an eyebrow and considered Johnny. "So what is it you really want to do?"

I frowned. I looked between them. Something had happened here. My dad knew something just looking at Johnny. And Johnny knew he did.

"I was in the military. An officer. Took some college courses when I got out. I had plans...but life recently took off on me. Haven't really decided what's next. Yet," Johnny said. His voice was very firm. I liked it. I liked that he might not have necessarily known, but he wasn't ashamed of that. And he wasn't ever going to apologize.

My dad nodded slowly. I actually thought he might have respected Johnny's honesty...and his slight bit of irritation. "What are your intentions with Erycina?"

"Dad!" There was a bit of nervous coughing around the table. "That is absolutely none of your business!"

In the moment that my father turned to look at me, and looked at me for a full few slow seconds, many things flashed before my memory's eyes. Every single one of those things was illicit...sexual...positions...his sounds...my moans...us sweating...and me having ideas about Johnny, handcuffs and feathers.

"What's between me and Ery...is just that," Johnny said. His tone of voice was soft but it gave no quarter. "Between us."

"I take by that answer that you have no serious intentions toward her?" my dad zeroed in.

"That's between us, sir."

Something about that last word...'sir.' My dad just looked between us.

"That's fair then," he said. And then he smiled at my mom. "Did I see that you'd made strawberry shortcake for dessert?"

On the drive home, I turned sideways in my seat and just watched Johnny Ryan drive. At the third traffic light, he pursed his lips and then looked over at me.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

I laughed. "Nothing bad."

"Your family..."

"You're not dating my family," I said softly. "Tell me about your family. Tell me about leaving them; about leaving Junee. Tell me about what you did, where you went, who you became. Tell me about why you came back. About why you left again..."

"You so sure I left again?"

"Yes. I'm positive. Too many things had changed about you, about the way you held yourself. About how you looked at her like a man, not a boy. How you felt sorry for her that she'd never left."

"Got it all figured out, Ery, do ya?"

"I got nothing figured out. Nothing important."

"It wasn't pretty."

"I expect it wasn't."

"Wish you'd been there."

I couldn't even answer when he said that.

And then the light changed.

He reached for my hand; we didn't let go the whole way up to the lake. Our lake. The one we'd gone to that one night where we'd come close...but nowhere near as close as we were coming.

This night, we sat on the hood of his truck. He leaned back against the windshield; I leaned back against him, with his arms around me and his chin tucked in over my shoulder.

The stars played hide and go seek with the clouds. It wasn't nearly as cold as that first night.

Johnny Ryan doesn't like to talk about himself. But if I stayed really still and if I let him hold me tight, he talked about what had happened to him.

I'm falling and falling. Who'll catch me?