We teased and flirted and kept the whole thing at arms’ length well into November. She drew her legs up responsively and I eased inside her until fully engulfed by her. Reading the notice, I was saddened; this was my last chance of the year to get free, if only for a while, from the prison of my home life. Vinyl records, remember? Across her shoulders and down both arms, kissing her palms and tasting fingers, across her chest just skimming her breasts, then returning to encircle each nipple and nibble it gently, taking each one in my mouth like a starving infant, then down around her navel in odd lazy circles, and past the pale lines that were her badges of childbirth to the delta of fur between her thighs, I wrote the manifesto of our passion and pain. It was the kind of thing that gets noticed for the incongruity more than anything else. We spent long hours together taking slides and sorting slides and copying lyrics and timing the slide changes to the music.
