I tug at my dresser and pull out his favorite black lace boy shorts, slithering them up my legs and covering my already wet mound. I stop slightly to brush my fingertips across my swollen clit, stopping quickly with a shiver knowing he would not want me to begin without him. Finally I finish the look with the strappy heels he has laid out, a slate grey with ribbon like straps, delicate but smoldering. Reaching for the diamond strand, daggling and tantalizing at my breasts, teasing my nipples when it brushes against them. As I finish getting ready I hear the garage door open with a hum, knowing he is finally home, I dab a spritz of my grapefruit perfume on my nape and right in between my breasts. I then sit patiently at the foot of the bed, waiting for his entrance into the room. Silently and masculine he walks into the room, looking worn from the day but ready to take me out. No words are spoken as I dip my head blushing, embarrassed at the thoughts racing through my mind in. He kept passing doors staggered on his right and left. Each one was dark, but behind each door, he could hear couples having sex. Behind one would be a squeaking spring bed, and behind another, moaning. Behind one of the doors, he heard a headboard rhythmically slamming against the wall. It was in the same tempo and keeping time with the polka music being played on a calliope in the room at the end of the hallway. He walked and walked, but got no nearer the end, and passed more and more doors on either side. George woke up. He was soaking wet with perspiration, and he had to pee again. He looked at his watch, but it was too dark to tell what time it was. He knew it must have been very late, because the late night sounds had stopped, and the early ones had not begun yet. He got out of bed and walked over to the open window, and looked out into the night. The moon was far to the west and very low, so he figured it must have been about 4:30. Actually, he wasn’t far wrong. It was four.
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