I LEAVE MY FAMILY, PROMISING TO JOIN THEM downtown in an hour. I know as I speak the words that I'll not be staying for the celebratory dinner. Once again, too many ways to give away the fact that I'm no longer human. I can fake it when I eat with them at home by taking small helpings and spreading the food around my plate. I've been known to sneak into the kitchen and dump a napkin full down the garbage disposal.

Can't do that in a restaurant. Especially one famous for large quantities of food, to say nothing of platter-size steaks. It'll be impossible to pretend. I've used the late lunch excuse too many times already to have it sound credible, especially since my mother specifically asked me for dinner tonight. No, better to come up with another reason for leaving before dinner.

Damn it, David. If you were home the way you should be, I could ask you to call me and say there's a fugitive who needs apprehending. Give me an excuse.

Makes me realize how completely I've cut myself off from the few friends I had before the change. I can think of no one else to call and ask the favor. No one to rescue me.

Shit.

When I get back to the cottage, I shower and fluff dry my hair, then stand naked in front of my closet to decide what to wear. My wardrobe is limited. Jeans. Black, navy, tan. A few pairs of linen slacks with matching blazers (court attire). A few skirts, assorted blouses. One simple silk sheath, black, V-neck, narrow waist accented by a wide belt.

I choose the dress and slip it over my head. It's body hugging and soft against my skin. I have no way of knowing how I look in the dress, I bought it after becoming, but I know how it makes me feel. Slinky. Sexy. The skirt is midthigh length. I pair it with a pair of three-inch strappy Jimmy Choos. I bought them because the lady at the shoe store said I had pretty feet and trim ankles and they show them off. The skirt is short and the heels high.

All this for an evening with my folks?

Of course not.

I can't fool myself any more than I can change what I'm feeling. My blood is on fire. This prolonged anticipation is almost unbearable. The incongruity of what I'm thinking does nothing to mollify the mounting passion.

I make no attempt to understand or explain it. In fact, I can let myself enjoy it. It's been a long time since I've felt this kind of anticipation.

My hands skim the contours of my body, the silk cool and liquid and sensuous beneath my fingers.

This dress is for what happens after the evening with my folks.

This is for my evening with Sandra.

And since after tonight it will be over, why not enjoy it?

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