Tension slowly eased from Megan’s body. Already her brain had moved on to her regular fantasy of the past few weeks, unreeling the images before her eyes in a mental videotape. There was Mr. Davis coming home early from a meeting. There were his wife and another woman, sprawled on the bed. The women’s actions were vague and indistinct. Mr. Davis’s reaction was not.

He ran out of his house into the comfort of the night and stumbled to his car. He drove for hours, aimlessly, then parked on a small, secluded back street. His head was full of the scene at home, the women writhing on the bed, the sounds and smells. He was getting big. He fought his desires, then broke down and unzipped his fly. Tears leaked from behind his closed eyelids.

Megan, facedown and panting, let the movie work its magic once again.

“Dear Mr. Davis,” Megan typed, “I look forward to having you in my mouth. In the mailbox at 47 Grove Street you will find a token of my seriousness. If you too are serious, please accept the item with my good wishes. Leave in its place a letter stating your desires. ME”

She reread it twice. It sounded a bit Victorian, but she consoled herself that the Victorians were pretty kinky underneath it all. She spell-checked the file, sent it to the printer, and took off her jeans.

All through the school day she’d been aware of the panties against her skin. They were hot pink, cut bikini-style, and unlike anything she’d ever worn. They were also two sizes too big. Mr. Davis, she was sure, would want a woman with hips.

Megan wondered if she’d left her scent. Images appeared unbidden: Mr. Davis examining the panties, running his fingers over the silky material, holding them up to his face. Something thrummed inside her. She wanted to lie on the bed in the late-afternoon sun and touch her suddenly wet self slowly, melting into the day.

She checked her watch. There wasn’t enough time to also deliver the panties and letter before dinner. “Maturity is the willingness to postpone pleasure,” she reminded herself as she stripped off the panties. Then she giggled. He’d certainly smell her now.

That night, Megan lay in bed and struggled to recapture the excitement of the afternoon. But that still, sweet moment was gone, lost somewhere in the day’s nonstop activity. It had taken her forty-five minutes to get to Grove Street and back, about what she’d estimated. But it had taken a full hour to drop off the letter at Mr. Davis’s house, and that was just ridiculous.