The moans were getting louder as I rushed down the companionway. The door was closed. But I was in no mood. So, I barged in. She had been riding him. Now she was in the process of scrambling off him and ducking under the covers. I looked at that perfect little body with its tear drop tits, tiny waist, and round muscular ass. It was the same one I’d loved for so long and it gave me a pang.

Her gorgeous face registered embarrassment and something else as she said, cooley, “What the fuck Erik!??” My buddy Steve, chimed in, “Yeah? What the fuck!!? I just plowed ahead, “Jenny’s been killed!” They both stared at me incredulously.

I was barely holding it together as I added, “The Italian Police contacted me as soon as I arrived back in Naples. She was out working the dive site, and some incredible motherfucker ran her over with a jet ski.”

Jane gasped. Steve just looked at me goggle-eyed. I added, sorrow laden, “It messed up her head so badly that they had to identify her by the boat ID and contact information on the diving gear.” They continued to look at me like a pair of sheep.

I had been in Rome all day discussing that very matter with the Praetor. The idiots in the Bay of Naples had been getting increasingly out of control as the summer progressed, which had hampered our work on the sunken city of Baiae.

Baiae was a rocking place in Roman times. It was where the uber-wealthy kept their summer homes ... the Roman equivalent of Palm Springs or Vegas. Nero and Tiberius had villas there as did Hadrian. Hadrian even died in his. It was also the place where the Romans perfected the orgy. Or, as some Roman wag put it, “Baiae was where girls went to play at being girls, old women as girls and some men as girls.”

Unfortunately, though, Baiae was located in a geologically unstable area called the Phlegraean Fields and bradyseism over the centuries sank it under the Bay of Naples. Now, most of that fabulous city lies ten to thirty feet underwater.

Jenny and I had been doing EU-funded research on the underwater part of the old city through an ANA partnership at the Parco Sommerso di Baia. Since Jenny never went anywhere without her sister, we lived with Jane and her husband Steve on Lagoon 42. The Lagoon is a lovely fractional-rigged sloop catamaran, configured with separate sleeping cabins in each of the hulls and luxurious common living quarters in between. Weather permitting, we would normally anchor above the ancient city. But the Tramontane winds had been blowing for the past week, so we were tied up at the marina, a quarter mile away.

Anchoring at the dive site was preferable because we didn’t have to use a RIB. We would simply surface and dump our gear onto the landing step of the catamaran. The cat also kept the insufferable idiots and their jet skis away from where we were working. Those assholes had gotten so out of control that I had made the hour-long trip up to Rome to talk about it. Meanwhile, we were docked at the Ormeggio Day Dream Mare marina.

Jenny and I were the licensed archaeologists. Jane and Steve were both cinematographers. Their role was to document our conservation work for the Italian government and then turn it into content for our internet channel. The four of us were partners and we made big money off the history nuts who couldn’t get enough of famous underwater sites ... like Thonis-Heraklion and Cleopatra’s tomb in Egypt, or the Antikythera shipwreck, and of course Baiae.

Jenny and I were the stars of the underwater show. We would fin our way over the abandoned streets and tumbled down villas of ancient Baiae, with its intricate statuary and frescos, and Jane and Steve would film it.

Naturally, any small thing we removed from the site had to be GPS-located, photographed, and tagged for the ANA. The Italians are downright medieval about souvenir gathering, so we meticulously logged anything we brought up.

Jenny must have been working on the coordinates of the next part of the project, which was the exploration of the remains of Caligula’s famous bridge from Baiae to Puteoli. We were going to start work there tomorrow.

My wife had surfaced next to the dive flag ... which was good diver safety protocol. The flag warned people that there were divers in the area. But some drunken fool decided to use it to slalom his jet ski around and Jenny’s appearance on the surface coincided with the cocksucker’s arrival on a Seadoo.

Shit happens. There’s no rhyme or reason for it. A loved one gets hit by a car, or they have a heart attack, or they slip and fall down icy steps and, in an instant, a vital human life just evaporates. In Jenny’s case, it was a matter of horrible timing. Five seconds earlier and the idiot would have passed harmlessly over her, five seconds later and Jenny would have been able to dive back down under him.

The utter inanity of the thing was impossible to comprehend. But trust me ... it’s better to be the victim than the survivor. I know ... because that was me. Jenny was at peace at age twenty-nine. While I had a lifetime to suffer and grieve. It was a chilling prospect.

The shock numbs you ... at first. Then you get pissed at whatever fucked up deity would allow something like that to happen. I mean, seriously! I was finished! - done! - with the platitudes that organized religion uses to put lipstick on that butt-ugly pig. Now, I was barricaded behind the adamantine walls of my island fortress. While rage at the cosmic injustice burned inside me with the white heat of a thousand suns.

The Italian police told me that - for the sake of honoring my recollection of my wife - I didn’t want to see the body. But they still needed a DNA sample from Jane, just to confirm that it was indeed Jenny. They had the offender in custody, but he claimed it was an accident. So, the worst they could charge him with was involuntary manslaughter. The police encouraged me to go after the guy civilly. But I wanted to see the cockroach burn in hell, not sue him.

I was utterly dead in the water, now ... lost at sea, adrift ... you know ... all those trite phrases that lazy writers use to convey utter misery. I knew that there was no coming back from Jenny’s death, and I was unredeemable.

I met Jenny at Stanford. She was a captain and long stick defender on the women’s championship lacrosse team. I played the same role for the men. So, the Athletic Department’s PR people did an article about us.

I had watched Jenny play, and I knew she took no prisoners, especially close to the goalie arc. But it was hard to judge how incredibly beautiful the woman was while she enthusiastically disemboweled unwary middies with her four-foot hickory d-pole.

Up close ... Jenny was a genuine contradiction. Watching her on the field, I could tell she was exceptionally strong, supple, and athletic. But I had no idea how womanly her body was. Lacrosse uniforms are loose and baggy to allow maximum freedom of movement, but the PR people knew what they had.

Hence, they, or perhaps Jenny herself, had put her in a skin tight Cardinal jersey and white booty shorts that showed off a bubble butt that belonged in a church – so I could worship it. And instead of wearing her defender’s chest pad, Jenny had hoisted her marvelous tits to stun. I was in lust.

I looked like a complete doofus when I saw the outtakes. Which wasn’t because I was that “special” – well, honestly, I’m generally a half bubble out of plumb – but that’s irrelevant. I knew in that instant that it was either Jenny, or nobody. Ask any ten of your friends and I will bet a third of them will tell you they know what I’m talking about.

Your predisposition toward a member of the opposite sex is a strange brew of nature and nurture. Hence, you might not know that you have the potential to feel that way. But if the stars align properly ... you will get a jolt of lightning in your cerebellum, and in an organ a bit further south, that screams, “This is the one.” That was what happened to me.

So, I asked Jenny if she would like to grab a Jamba, up Saint Theresa from the Roble Gym - where our picture session was held. I’m taller than average and a typical backline lacrosse player, meaning solid, not bulky, not a pretty boy, not handsome, more like rugged. But I had my share of admirers. So, I expected Jenny to accept the offer. Instead, she said, genuinely surprised, “Why?”

Okay ... answer that question – I mean, in a way that she doesn’t cause the woman to run screaming for help. I could have said, “Because I want to get in your pants” – nope ... maybe, “Because I want you to bear my children.” That would have been honest, but stupid – at least if I ever wanted to see her again. So, I tried, “I’ve watched you play, and I was curious about what made a fierce little critter like you tick.”

I mean, there’s much less physical contact allowed in women’s lacrosse. It’s why the girls don’t wear helmets. But Jenny was a literal killer in the slot. Anybody from the other team who was foolish enough to venture in there had to know exactly where Jenny was, or they would get their stick broken ... or maybe something more personal.

Jenny looked like that was the last thing she expected me to say, and said flippantly, “Okay – lead on.” She was almost exactly a foot shorter than me. So, we were decidedly the odd couple when we walked into Jamba Juice. We didn’t talk much until after we’d ordered our smoothies, Aloha Pineapple for me, with a big shot of protein, and Caribbean Passion for her... 3G energy ... could I love her more?

Jenny was one of those women who is personality first and looks second. Nevertheless, she was simply stunning sitting there, legs dangling off the stool. She had huge wide set blue eyes and perfectly proportioned features under that thick mop of ash blonde hair. I couldn’t take my eyes off her wide, sexy mouth.

I might’ve tried the usual getting to know you gambit of, “So, what are you majoring in?” But I could see that a person as smart as Jenny would think I was a dork if I used an opening line that moldy. So, I said, “How did you get into lacrosse – especially as a defender?” Now THAT was something she wanted to talk about.

She gave me a kittenish smile and said, “I like the challenge. You might eventually be lucky enough to discover that I’m all woman. But I’m as tough as any guy. I’ve always been that way. You can’t look like I do...” and she gestured down that incredible body, “and not have men try to dominate you. So, I spent my teen years learning how to control the space ... so to speak.”

She was using a lacrosse analogy. It told me everything I needed to know about Jenny’s indomitable soul. You have to be strong and courageous enough to enforce your will in the space that you are defending. I could see that I wasn’t going to be able to pull my normal hijinks with a woman who was that tough and intelligent. So, I said, “Nobody understands what you just said better than I do, and I respect that.”

Jenny got an odd look, like I had surprised her. I added tentatively because there was an alternative theory, “So do you date?” She nearly fell off her stool laughing. She finally recovered enough to say, “Are you asking me if I’m a dyke because I play lacrosse?” I was too shamefaced to say anything. Which set off another round of hilarity. Jenny finally, wiped her eyes and said, with challenge in her voice, “Why don’t you ask me out and see?”

Scholarship athletes lived in the dorms in those days. The price of Stanford tuition made the triple that I was stuck in, worth the inconvenience. The other two guys were there to play football. One roommate, Darren, was a caricature of the college linebacker. He would have probably been locked up for assault a long time ago if he hadn’t found an acceptable outlet for all that testosterone. His side of the suite was more like a den than a human habitation.

Steve was a lot more serious about his academics. Just like I was. So, the two of us took the room with the bunk. Steve was the polar opposite of his Neanderthal brethren, smart, well dressed and an earnest student. We got along great. He was one of the Cardinal’s wide receivers, four inches shorter and perhaps thirty pounds lighter than I was. But he was the fastest whiteboy I’ve ever seen. Meaning, he occasionally got the ball thrown in his direction in games.

Steve was also one of those guys blessed with a California-surfer, pretty boy good looks. But he was a very tough guy. I had seen him get absolutely leveled and pop up with a smile on his face, like, “Is that the best you’ve got?”

I was serious about archaeology, and Steve was in film school. In fact, both of us were at Stanford because it was one of the few places that emphasized arcane studies like ours. Why was I in something as career limiting as archaeology? Well, I might have had a predisposition toward digging up ancient things. But mainly, my dad and mom were both in the field, and I naturally followed them down the same path. That’s how a lot of weird professions get their next generation. Jobs are easy to find if your parents are already doing them.

Archaeology isn’t so much about learning history as it is immersing yourself in the culture that you plan to work in. That’s why the classicalists on campus are as different from the medievalists as each of us is from the engineers. So, I was constantly immersed in the details of life in ancient Rome ... Whut? And you don’t believe that a guy whose raison d’etre was keeping the Stanford goalmouth uncluttered could be sensitive?

The jocks had to live in the dorms. But Steve was also a member of Sigma Phi Epsilon, more fittingly called the Sig Apes ... that was a social fraternity over on Campus Drive. And once in a while he would bring me along to one of their parties. Hey! I’m an archaeologist ... primitive mating rituals are part of the curriculum.

Hence, that Saturday ... Steve and I were holding up the wainscotting in the common area where dancing and other unspeakable acts were taking place. Each of us had a ubiquitous red cup in hand, just perusing that evening’s livestock. That was when I saw Jenny out in the middle of the floor dancing with some species of preppy swine. I mean, who wears a blazer to a keg party?

It was unmistakably Jenny. She had her arms around the dude’s pencil neck and her boobs hoisted into his chest, head resting dreamily on his shoulder. He was gripping her magnificent, buns like he was sizing a pair of cantaloupe. Man plans and God laughs his ass off. I hadn’t even been out with the woman yet. But my jealousy meter spiked off the end of the scale.

Steve noticed where I was looking and said enviously. “I’d like to get me some of that myself, but she’s been stuck on that arrogant asshole since the beginning of the semester. He’s the fraternity’s president but the only thing impressive about him is his bank account. He takes her to all kinds of places that I can’t afford. Like they just spent a weekend in Cozumel – flew down on Friday and back on Monday.”

Precisely one day late and one dollar short! That was the story of my life. I’ll bet that every one of you has been where I was. I was seriously invested in a woman who was with another guy. Depression vied with jealousy and the winner got to say, “I told you so!”

It upset me so much that I chugged my Solo cup. Hey! waste not want not - and said, abruptly, “I’m leaving.” Steve called after me, “Faint heart, buddy ... I’m going to stay and take my shot at that hot little piece.” Did I mention that Steve was a world class pussy hound. Oh my God!!! What if he succeeded?! He did play football after all. That only added to the anguish.

I walked back to the dorm, hands in pockets and head hanging down, thinking about my unfortunate lot. When you’re a kid, you ricochet around the dating pool like a bunch of random billiard balls. And unless you want nothing more than just sex, you are always hoping that you will connect with somebody. I thought that I’d done that with Jenny. Now, I could see that the object of my obsession wanted to fuck around. That knowledge was eating my soul from the inside out.

My rational brain kept telling me to “forget about the bitch and move on.” But my heart didn’t buy it. My attraction to Jenny was so intense that I couldn’t imagine life without her, even though we had had exactly one conversation. That was how nuts I’d gotten. Even so, I couldn’t imagine what could be worse than what I had just witnessed ... silly me.

Steve was gone from that Saturday night until the following Monday morning. When he did show up, he looked - to coin an old Texas phrase - ridden hard and put up wet. The first words out of his mouth were, “On my God!! Can that woman ever fuck.”

I said, heart in throat, dreading what he would say next, “What woman?” Steve said, “Jane Greenwood, you know ... the hot little piece both of us were admiring.”

I was in the final stages of dying from a thousand cuts when something registered. I said, “Her name is Jenny, not Jane. I know that because the two of us did a cover for the Cardinal.” Steve looked at me and said, “Dude! It’s definitely Jane. I ought to know. I just spent the past forty-eight hours in bed with her.”

I looked at Steve totally bewildered ... hating his guts and calling myself a weenie because that was really unfair - but he was fucking my woman ... even if it was in my dreams. Finally, he snapped his fingers and said, “I think she has a sister named Jenny. That has to be the girl you’re thinking of.”

I said, astonished, “Sister!!? That WAS Jenny. I ought to know what she looks like. I spent most of Friday afternoon with her and we have a date for next Friday - which I’m calling off, I might add.”

Steve whipped out his phone, dialed, and said, “Hey babe!” There was a pause. He chuckled lecherously and said, “Me too, and thanks.” Then he added, “You have a sister named Jenny, right.”

There was a short period of uh-huh-ing and head nodding. Then he said, “My nerd roomie – he didn’t mean that, it was just Steve’s unsubtle way of reminding me that I played a “minor” sport – says he has a date with her for next Friday.”

A period of silence ensued while Jane apparently checked with Jenny. Then Steve said, “Okay, the Axe and Palm at five on Friday.” He turned to me lopsided grin on his face and said, “Mystery solved, dude, they’re twins.

The Axe and Palm is an unrepentant student hangout in the Old Union – burgers, fries, smoothies, and everything in the typical coed diet. They even take Stanford Meal plan cards.

The axe refers to the Cal-Stanford rivalry, and if you walk across the square in front of the building, you will know where the palm comes from.

Steve and I had a serious problem as we approached the booth. Twins come in two varieties. There are the ones who dress completely differently to emphasize their individuality and there are the ones who dress exactly alike to fuck with the rest of humanity. Jenny and Jane were in the second category.

There are usually some distinguishing features that allow you to tell those twins apart. But these two looked like you’d been crosschecked in the head, and you were seeing double. The same gorgeous round face, perfectly symmetric features, abundant hair and heartstoppingly sexy body. Both were precisely the same height and had the same posture. It was like you were looking at a woman and her reflection.

They sat opposite each other in a booth waiting for us to join them – smirks all over their sadistic little faces. The dilemma was ... who’s your date? Steve’s problem was compounded by the fact that he and his woman had spent a debauched weekend in bed. I mean ... it it’s never a good idea to ask a girl if she was the one you’d been fucking and the two cruel little bitches weren’t giving us any hints.

Steve finally sat down next to the closest one, and she said, laughing, “I’m Jenny.” Embarrassed, Steve scrambled to his feet, hitting his knee on the table as he did, and we do-si-do’d so that we were sitting next to the right twin.

It was weird talking to the same person on both sides of the table. Identical twins form from a mono-fertilized zygote. The zygote splits into two parts after conception, resulting in two separate embryos. Because the two embryos are the same egg/sperm combination, they have the same genetic origins and thus the same DNA, which makes all identical twins look eerily alike.

Nature and nurture and minor differences at the genetic level can build in enough difference that you can tell most twins apart. But the truly identical ones, meaning the conditions of their development are exactly the same, can produce what Steve and I were sitting with – two people who were so eerily similar that they had to tell you who they were.

Even so, the personality of each twin was as different as night and day. My Jenny – and I was beginning to think of her that way, since I planned to move heaven and earth to make her mine – was an old soul ... a tough, no nonsense, woman with a highly refined sense of humor. She found life amusing. While Jane was a light hearted party girl, who thought that life was far too short to waste it following rules.

Both of them were smart, bordering on geniuses. But Jane was a free spirit, and Jenny was always so serious. Since that more or less described the difference between Steve and me, it was fortunate that we had each found the right sister.

The four of us laughed and talked for quite a while. Then the ladies left for the inevitable visit to the little girl’s room. As soon as they did, Steve said, “Hey man, can you find something to do for a while.” I fixed him with a baleful stare and said, “Just make sure you use your bunk, or the floor. I don’t want to come back to anything nasty in my bed.”

I watched the girls returning, smiling secretively. They were barely suppressing their glee as they slid back into the booth. I said sternly, “Driver’s licenses.” Steve gave me a WTF look and the two of them turned red and began to giggle. I just sat there with my hand out and the stare that I normally reserve for the other team’s attackmen. The twin sitting next to Steve said, “It was her idea.”

I said, “Respect for the other person is an important part of being together. So, you two had better stop messing with us.” Jenny, who was clearly the enforcer of the two, said, “Get a life ... it was just a little joke. We do it all the time. We were going to tell you as soon as we got ready to leave.” Aha ... the twin mindset, self and other self ... both of you against the world. It must be nice.

Steve, who wasn’t that deep, could care less about the twins’ little trick. All he was interested in was getting laid. So, he and Jane vanished shortly thereafter, leaving Jenny and me to take a romantic walk around the Lag, which is the alleged lake that sometimes exists in the middle of campus.

I went right to the point, as we strolled along in the soft night of that idyllic place. I knew it was insane. But as the Brits say, in for a penny, in for a pound and the way that I felt about Jenny was too important to not ... at least ... get the face-off out of the way. I said, “It’s probably fatally early and I don’t know what your current situation is. I also don’t know whether you feel it, or not. But I can’t let this linger.”

Jenny looked wary, like I was about to announce that I liked my women tied up in a rubber suit. So, I quickly added, “There is something about you that is so special that I want to explore a real relationship – I mean, like exclusive. Nobody says that on a first date but that’s how much you’ve affected me.”

Jenny tensed for a second. Then she nodded her head affirmatively.

I added, “We’re both serious people who seem to share the same world view, and I would like to find out whether we have a future together. I’m hoping that we do ... nothing more than that.”

Jenny got an odd look. She seemed to be saying to herself, “There is a God.” Then she said, “I haven’t dated much. It’s not like I couldn’t. But I’m sick of the spoiled rich kids, narcissists and frat rats who keep asking me out.” She grimaced and added, “By the way, your friend Steve is a perfect example of that kind of self-involved turd. He and Jane make a perfect couple.”

Then Jenny stopped, turned to face me, and said, as if it was something she had thought about – a lot! “You, on the other hand, are different. I mean, archaeology ... seriously?! You are as much of a thug as I am, and I respect that. Plus, you’re a hunka-hunka burning love. So yes ... I would like to find out what, in your inimitable words, makes you tick.” My heart soared as a relationship was born.

The door of Jenny and Jane’s apartment banged open as we practically fell into the room. What we’d been doing in the hall was more like wrestling than making out. I had told Jenny that I had to kill a couple of hours while her sister and my roommate made the two-backed-beast in our dorm room, and she had casually suggested that we spend it in her apartment in Escondido village.

That residence was for grad students only, but Jenny’s family were big donors, so exceptions were made. Yes, the love of my life was filthy rich, not that that mattered to either of us. But it did explain her sister Jane.

We started kissing as Jenny fumbled for her key card. It was like both of us had touched a 48,000-volt wire. Her mouth opened and she moaned loudly. Then, without breaking the kiss, she handed me the card, threw her arms around my neck, climbed me like an agile little monkey, and wrapped those strong shapely legs around my waist. I had the presence of mind to kick the door shut. Otherwise, we would have put on a live sex show for the entire complex. That was my last rational act.

We stumbled across the room, not managing to knock anything over, Jenny still clinging to me like a marmoset. I dumped her on the couch, legs spraddled, while I cleared the decks below. Jenny writhed frantically, shucking her clothes. Her hard little body with its long legs, nubile hips and gorgeous round breasts were like something chiseled up by Botticelli. The predatory stare she was giving me told me that she wasn’t afraid of anything in the sexual realm. How could I BE so lucky?!!

I dropped between her wide-spread legs, and we kissed again. Her mouth opened wide, and she gave a deep groan of pure lust. Jenny was like a woman on a mission, now. She momentarily fumbled between us. Then she let out a loud gasp and a cry. I felt something hot and slick envelop me. I slid up her passage as we stared into each other’s eyes. Then, her eyes rolled up, and her mouth fell open.

What followed was that fabled moment when you both realized this was the beginning of a lifetime of passion. There would be no going back from that. We finished the act with me standing up, holding Jenny by her rock-hard butt, her naked back forced against the wall, arms and legs wrapped around me like an octopus. In the meantime, I was pounding myself toward the metaphoric light.

Jenny had already come so many times that my only goal was getting to the finish line. When that moment arrived, she crooned in my ear, “Come in me, baby!! Please Come!!” Then the entire universe shrank to the singularity that preceded the Big Bang - only to expand outward in a cataclysmic release.

Jenny made a loud cry of surprise and then went limp. I crushed her dead body to me as I finished off the unavoidable. I’d sort out later whether I’d killed her or not. I transferred Jenny back to the couch, with her head lolling. She was perhaps a hundred and twenty pounds, so it was easy to lay her there gently.

Her eyes popped open, and she looked confused. Then I saw her powerful mind take control, and she said with a mischievous smile, “I’m never letting you go.” And that was the long and short of it. We would be together forever.

Our courtship was immaterial. Getting to the stage where we truly knew and trusted each other took a long time. But we enjoyed every minute of the journey, and we were inseparable. Neither of us ever doubted the value and benefit of our choice. We had found each other.

Jenny was a complex woman, brilliant, motivated, and passionate. At the same time, she could be soft, loving, and kittenish. I never questioned her devotion to me, and I tried hard to justify her gift. The sex was spectacular. But that was the least of our relationship. We sustained ourselves by our friendship. Life isn’t easy. But having a capable and trustworthy companion makes it a whole lot easier.

Jane and Steve had gone a different route. They were both less serious about life – they called it, “more spontaneous” – so they had no idea what they would do after graduation. But they both knew it would be together, which was good enough for me.

I got us established with the ANA through my folks. I’m a classical archaeologist, which naturally means Europe, specifically Italy and Greece. Jenny, meanwhile, had passed the archaeology certification courses at Stanford, so we were a team. Our move raised an immediate problem, however, because Jenny never went anywhere without Jane. The idea for the boat sprang from that fact.

Since I worked on ANA digs all over the Italian peninsula, it seemed a lot more convenient to base myself on a boat. It also gave me the flexibility to work underwater. So, in addition to the required licensing, Jenny and I got a Technical Scuba Diving cert from the PADI, so we could work below 130 feet. Those were the shipwrecks that the folks who only mixed gasses could reach.