The next Saturday Afternoon, finally, we fucked.

Let's just say that there was no vagina-phobia.  Or penis-phobia.  We fucked for a long time, and pretty much wore one another out. And the more we did it the more we seemed to want to do it, and (and this was rather scarey) the more reasons (some of which reasons were quite bereft of pleasure) we found for doing it--simply because it became a necessary form of communication between us.

Grown up stuff, like I wasn't into in 1968.  So I called it quits, and I acknowledge that that was an act of cowardice.