Billy and Martina
On the south side of my bedroom, there's a large window box, easily big enough for two friendly people to sleep or to play. The blinds allowed thin strips of late afternoon sun to lace across Martina's nude body as I traced feather-soft, random lines across the swell of her breasts, almost, but not quite touching the sensitive nipples. "Oh, you tease, you," she murmured in slight protest, pushing her breast at my retreating finger tip. "You ever read anything by Nancy Friday?" I asked,...