Another First Time drabble, just under the wire. Susan inspired to use characters from the book I'm working on now, which was interesting -- I've never done that before. In the book, Maggie and Tyler have met unexpectedly at a party, five years after they shared a hot, sweaty, no-strings weekend. ---

The first time, he was nearly naked. Jogging shorts and a beat-up pair of Nikes didn’t amount to much on six feet of lean, muscled man.

She’d turned the corner and smacked into him, a wall of hard flesh still slightly damp from exercise. He circled her waist as she stumbled, and she breathed in salt air, sweat, and man.

“S-sorry,” she stammered, looking up into eyes as dark blue as the water at dusk.

“No problem.” His mouth slanted into a smile so purely male, she tingled. In a gut-punch of lust, there were only two thoughts: Yum and want.

Susan, just out of curiosity I skimmed through the conference site -- if you have a chance to sit in on any of Laurie Brown's workshops, you'll love them -- she's a riot, completely down to earth and funny as hell. We actually met in Wisconsin in the teeny tiny smoker's contingent that hung out in the front lobby, before she ever submitted to me.

Wish I was going. I love conferences, and I missed being at RWA this year. I'm going to Reno even if I have to crawl there.

I'm already planning to go to her Friday workshop (The Last 16 Things I Learned Before Being Published), and for one of the Sunday hours I'm torn between her (How to Write Great Sex Scenes) and agent Elaine English (Contracts).

I'm hoping to go to Reno. All depends on if I've got my finances a little better sorted by then!

"First time" drabble - just made it, whew.

- - -

"Of course I can read." I'm offended. Can't the doctor see I'm a big girl?

"E, R, um, D…?" I squint harder, as always, but it still doesn't work.

He goes to the table by the window, humming to himself as his hand hovers over rows of little magnifying glasses. "This one," he grunts, and passes it to me. "Hold it over your right eye and tell me what you see."

The world jumps out at me. Things that are supposed to melt fuzzily into each other have edges now.

"The tree across the street – I can see its leaves."

Dani that was lovely! I can remember so vividly walking out of the optometrist's office wearing my first pair of glasses and the world being instantly unfuzzed.

Dani, me too. I especially love "things that are supposed to melt fuzzily into each other," which is the way my house still looks every morning when I get out of bed.

Susan, Laurie writes som good sex scenes -- they're steamy, but honest and funny, too. You'll like her no matter what workshop you attend.

"The tree across the street – I can see its leaves."

Dani, this is exactly how my mother puts it, when she tells her story about getting her first pair of glasses. She didn't know you were supposed to be able to see the individual leaves, either.

My father got a hearing aid when he was in his 60s. I remember him snapping at my mother, because he could hear her zipper up her jacket. We had to say, "Um, that's a sound people hear." He eventually stopped wearing it. I think he liked the quiet.

She didn't know you were supposed to be able to see the individual leaves, either.

Me either. Or individual bricks on buildings you weren't especially close to. I was 14, and I'd thought the stars I remembered from being 8 or 9 had disappeared due to increasing light pollution as Birmingham expanded. Seeing the night sky again was the best part. OK, at that age, being able to see from the back of the room and sit with the cool kids helped, too.

We interrupt this broadcast to bring you your weekly DRABBLE CHALLENGE!

Drabble #24 ("first time") is now closed.

Drabble #25 was suggested by Susan -- drums.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled thread, already in progress.

Who knew that seeing the leaves on trees for the first time was such a universal experience for the nearsighted! I, too, was about to jump in and say that I remember that, too. Nice drabble.

Oo! Drums. Must ponder. Back later.