It was obvious he was using illicit drugs to cope with the pain of losing Nicki, and though we were growing annoyed with his inability to move forward, Alison and I gave him as much encouragement as we could.

Of course Michael made Jessie’s life miserable. Every few days he’d ask about Nicki and pump her with questions about where she was or what she was doing or who she was seeing. This, because Jessie’s the only family member Nicki has called since early April. But Jessie refused to tell him anything more than Nicki was fine, she had a secretarial job somewhere in Colorado, and wasn’t dating anyone yet, far as she knew.

Fridays with Nicki were the best times of my life, and saying goodbye was the worst. But this particular Friday I couldn’t wait to get home, knowing Michael would be there soon, knowing within hours I’d have a dozen pornographic photos of Nicki to sustain me for the six days I wasn’t able to see her each week.

That evening I offered to take Michael and Alison out to dinner. While they were getting ready I sneaked into Michael’s room, found his phone, and hoped he hadn’t changed the security code Nicki provided.

He hadn’t.

From there it was a simple matter of locating the photos and transferring them to my phone, then deleting them from his. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am! Unlike Michael, I protected Nicki’s photos with a separate security code: my date of birth.

The following Tuesday I was very proud to announce: “The photos you were worrying about have been removed forever.”

She couldn’t contain her happiness. “Thank you, David! This calls for a celebration. By the way, from now on I’d like us to meet at my place. But you can’t tell anyone where I live, okay?”

I nodded.

“I’m renting a house in Shelbyville, so it’s a bit of a drive for you.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll want you to rent a car each week, wear a ball cap and sunglasses, and arrive as close to noon as possible. When you turn into my driveway I’ll open the garage door so you can drive right in. Then I’ll close the door before you get out of the car. That way no one will see you.”

“I appreciate that.”

“It’s just a matter of protecting your privacy. This only works if it’s safe for you.”

Actually, it would have worked for me whether safe or not, because if Alison or Michael found out, I’d still want to see Nicki every week. If Alison wanted a divorce I’d buy a house and ask Nicki to move in with me. But yes, I did appreciate all the care she took to protect my marriage. As she said months earlier, she loves Alison. Yes, she’s fucking Alison’s husband, but she still considers her a friend.

Wait: did I just say Nicki and I were fucking?

It’s true. That was the celebration Nicki was referring to on Tuesday after I told her I erased the photos.

What was it like to finally make love to Nicki? Incredible? No, better than that: it was everything I dreamed it would be. And she was totally into it: no vomiting, no anger. Like a great dancing instructor, she led. Like an eager student, I followed. She showed me what she liked and didn’t like, and what worked for her; and guided me through the process with great care and affection. And after a few clumsy missteps on my part she made it clear I finally understood how to bring her the maximum pleasure possible.

But much as I enjoyed the lovemaking, nothing compared to the erotic stimulation she performed as I stood on the stool with the—are you ready for this? —hangman’s noose around my neck.

Until Nicki came along, I’d never even seen a hangman’s noose, much less held one. But she actually taught me how to tie one!

As she coiled the rope that first time she said, “There’s a long, storied history of hanging, and a proper rope is the product of numerous considerations.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“The victim’s height and weight, the height of the tree branch or beam, and the intended purpose.”

“Isn’t the purpose to kill the victim?”

“Ultimately, yes. But do you want him to experience a humane, instant death, or do you want him to suffer the torture of the damned for several excruciating minutes? Do you want to disembowel him as a lesson to others, or humiliate him by making him shit and piss himself in front of his friends and loved ones while gasping and flopping about like a fish on a stringer?”

“It’s a gruesome business,” I said.

“It can be.”

I resisted the urge to ask why we were tying a hangman’s noose and how she knew so much about them.

“The knot is placed under the left ear,” she said, “and your body weight, plus the force of the fall is usually sufficient to break the neck. The noose is designed not to jam, while being virtually impossible for the victim to loosen, even if he manages to get his hands free.”

As she wrapped the coils she said, “Each coil adds friction to the knot, which makes it that much harder to loosen. Six to eight loops on a sturdy, natural rope is sufficient to kill anyone.” She finished the knot, then tested it, and handed it to me.

“Impressive,” I said.

When I handed it back, she untied it, then handed me the rope and said, “Your turn.”

It took me several tries to win her approval, at which time she continued her lecture: “Long drops kill you instantly, breaking your neck, tearing your internal organs, causing them to leak through your lower…openings. Everyone urinates and defecates after a long drop hanging. Conversely, while the short drop also tends to cause involuntary shitting and pissing, it’s more likely to occur with women and girls.