Her face flushed, Sylvia leans back into the fluffy pillows on our bed. Though we�ve been married twenty-five years, making love to her is still as delicious as ever, an incomparable pleasure. The very sight of her by my side stirs within me�as always�both desire and an overwhelming sense of good fortune.

Her breathing accelerates, as it does when we wrestle naked on the plush carpet, until exhausted and laughing we finally stop and embrace. Her soft moans excite me. I struggle to control my passion. She�s not quite ready.

I kiss the base of her neck and she quivers, like I knew she would. But then she presses her ear against her shoulder, to ward off my lips and tongue. She needs more time.

I hold back. I don�t want to rush her, especially tonight. For the past week, she hasn�t been the eager lover I previously took for granted. She�s been distracted, obsessed with another man�a sensitive guy who charmed her through her mind, a romantic hero. Even now, under our own satin sheets, I suspect the film of sweat on her forehead and the womanly smells that fill my head and heat my loins have materialized because she is thinking of him�not me. Still, I forgive her. In time, I know my patience will be rewarded�or, at least, I want to believe it will.

Like a child savouring something sweet, I draw her earlobe into my mouth. She pulls free again and her dilated pupils shift onto me.

�Later, dear,� she says, breathlessly. �After I finish this chapter.�

Vilnis Muiznieks
Copyright � 2003