A soft shudder courses through my body as I feel once again the sweet bliss of his arms enclosing me. ‘This is where I long to always be’… I say...to myself. Curling my body against his, I can smell the ocean and the cold in his skin and hair. Such and intoxicating smell it is. Slowly as the embrace deepens, as my body melds with his… His hands begin to travel my body,… Each touch eliciting a small gasp or moan. He knows what he can do to me with the simplest of touches. I feel his hands… His. She should be somehow transported to the higher plane that Franz Schubert had prepared for listeners to his String Quartet No. 14 in D minor: otherwise known as Death and the Maiden. Instead, her thoughts were chiefly focused on the huge bald spot in the middle of the cellist's pate. On the fringe and at the back his brown hair was abundant, but in the midst of this luxuriance was an obscene expanse of pink baldness His head was bowed while he scraped his bow back and forth across the cello's. More

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