“Hey there, birthday boy,” Carolyn said behind me. I turned around. She stood in the doorway with tousled hair wearing white lace panties with a small black bow over her pubis, matching stockings attached with garter straps to a bustier, the ankle bracelet I had bought her for Christmas around her right ankle. In all our time together I had never once seen her take the bracelet off, and in its own way, it had become a symbol not unlike an engagement ring. I was always happy to see her wearing it, and I hoped she always would.

She walked across the apartment—long, sexy runway-model type steps—and sat in my lap facing me. She grabbed my head and buried my face between her breasts. I breathed her in, the smell of perfume and fresh skin. I began kissing her, moving my hands up her spine. She moaned and arched her back, mouth open, looking down at me seductively. Then she stood and led me to the bed. She dropped my hand when we reached it, and I could still feel the warmth of her fingers between mine and I nearly wished there was someplace else for her to guide me. Instead she pushed me backward, and then, while still standing, she slowly ran her hands up both legs. She reached my hips, took a firm grasp on my shorts, and pulled them off. I removed my shirt myself. She started at the top of my right foot, kissing, licking, moving slowly and tenderly up with her wet tongue. By the time she reached my knee I was rock hard. She took me in her mouth, slow and sensual without using her hands. I moaned. It had been a few days since we had last made love. She looked up at me, using her hand now, then she removed her lips and used only her tongue.