I remember the feel of her body against mine, how we fitted together in sleep, my protective arm over her, my hand cupping her breast. I remember the ...mpulsiveness of our youth, when we didn’t sleep, when the hunger of our bodies required an urgent coupling; and the intensity of our love, when we tenderly explored each other’s bodies and discovered the needs and gratifications of the flesh. I remember that the impulsiveness settled into contentment, the hunger became less urgent but our love. She wore the shortest skirt she had, the tightest tank top that was in her drawer. Her movements were fluid. I had turned on the music she liked to make love to. She wore the outfit she was sure would tempt me. I pushed off the frame, silently stepping behind her. Her breath caught, the pulse in her neck fluttering wildly. My hands gripped her hips, my erection tight against her ass. I slid my hands up her sides and over her shoulders. My right hand slid down her right arm, pulling the spoon. More

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