Take, for a change. I’m not very good at being passive. Arms are next. As she works, I recall how I once hated my upper arms, how I wouldn’t wear ...leeveless tops even on sweltering summer days. She somehow senses this and asks, ‘Did I trigger a memory?’ ‘Baggage,’ I admit. ‘Good riddance.’ ‘Gotcha. This isn’t easy for you. I can tell.’ Is it that obvious? I don’tknow how to respond, so I do what I typically do in those situations: I retreat. I tiptoe away, leaving my body to enjoy her touch. Just relax and let me be good to you. You will let me be good to you, won't you?" "Oh, yes!" I breathed, and she cupped my face between her hands and kissed me again, more urgently now. Her tongue flickered against my lips and I parted them to allow its entry, and then yielded into her embrace as she thrust it deep into my mouth. She released me, still kissing, and fumbled with my belt, unfastening the buckle, and then undid the buttons on my tunic one by one. Slipping the tunic over my. More

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