What’s up?””Hey Az. Not much.”“I made coffee if you want some.” He sat back on the end of the couch and lite a cigarette.“No thanks. I d...n’t drink coffee.” I plopped on the other end of the sectional sofa. We talked for about 10 minutes.“So, Az, are you done with that cigarette yet? Because I really want to tackle you.”He chuckled a little at this. “By all means, do what ever you want to me.”I lunged at him and straddled his lap. He ran his hands up and down my back as I kissed him deep and. Uh .. make love to me, your dying son? I was struggling with both the mental image of my son in a hospital bed, and me astride him; a vision filled with grieving, and yes - pity, and . . was that a little bit of lust?He evidently had been putting some considerable thought to the subject, since he was prepared with another scenario. "Or what if," he continued, "I had to go to war, and it was very uncertain if I was coming back. Would you let your son die a virgin? NO! Better yet, let's say. More

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