The down pillows that encircled her head were no guarantee of dream filled nights without his warm body beside her and the clock hands moved agonizing...y slowly ( so slowly in fact that she would be tempted to buy fresh batteries the next day). And as she lay there surrounded by the night sounds of tree frogs and distant waves, how many times did she swear she could hear the tires as they turned up the long driveway? But each time she would roll over to the window and there peacefully snuggled. Then planting her firm bottom on one of the old bar stools against the bench, we would spend ten to fifteen minutes or so chatting about whatever was on her mind, mostly questions about sex. As she talked she would swivel in her seat, allowing brief glimpses up her short skirt and a view of the dark triangle that was barley visible through the shiny pantyhose. She would eventually stub out her cigarette, walk over to me, straddle me and then lower herself onto my lap. Time seemed to stop as her. More

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