We'd been chatting online for several months, talking on the phone almost nightly for several weeks, when I asked whether she'd consider driving out to see me during her spring break. She answered immediately, "I'd love to. Send me directions." So I did. The next few weeks were interminable, and on the day she called and gave me the room number at her hotel in town, I entered a state of fearful euphoria that made my ears ring.

I parked in the rear parking lot -- we were having an affair, afterall -- and found her room.

She opened the door after a single knock, like she'd been standing there waiting, then stood back and smiled. "Here I am, " she said.

"This is me, just like I told you." Her photos didn't prepare me for standing in her presence. She wore a tube top and cutoffs, her tanned legs ending in bare feet. Her hair was blonde, her eyes were bright, her smile was broad.

She was nearly 21, and ohmigod, she was a knockout. My stunned expression must have made me look pretty silly, as she laughed when she came forward and hugged me. "You're even cuter in person! Wow!" And that was her in a nutshell. Everything she said built me up, made me feel better about myself and the world.

She was young and optimistic, and she loved me.

We drove around and I showed her the area, being careful to stay clear of places where I might be recognized. We were having an affair, afterall.

And that evening, in the rear parking lot, as I prepared to leave her and go back home to my wife, she pressed her body against mine and kissed me long and deep, and I swear steam rose from my ears.

Then she laughed and twirled back up to her room. She stayed in town the entire week, but I don't remember the specific day we first had actual sex, as opposed to the constant touching and teasing, stolen kisses and passing nudges, but when it happened it was like the first time any man made love to a woman, all giddy exploration and discovery. Her body was firm, her skin was smooth, and we danced a horizontal tango-bossa-nova that seemed to go on for an hour. Then we cleaned each other up at the sink, then stood beside each other in front of the full length mirror. "Look, " she said.

"That's us." Aphrodite and Hephaestus, I thought. It wasn't that I was crippled or ugly, but next to her clean, glowing lines, I was like a tramp steamer beside a schooner. And she loved me. We had sex again, and afterward, as she lay on her stomach, purring, I ran my hands down her back, over the gentle rise of her hips, down the backs of her thighs and up again, between her legs, letting my fingers rest in the folds of her still moist lips. She parted her legs further to give me better access.

After a few minutes of stroking and probing in her warm dampness, I slid my index finger into her soft place.

I'd never done that to a lover before.

"No one's ever done that to me before, " she said, still smiling. I moved my finger in and out a few times and asked her what she thought. "I want to try anal sex with you, " she replied. "I want to try everything with you. Everything." She had a way of saying things that, even now, makes me smile.

"But right now, I have to pee." I sat on the end of the bed and switched on the television. There was an old black and white movie of a giant octopus menacing a fishing village.

She came out of the bathroom, sat on the floor between my legs, and took my semi-hard length in her hand.

Then, eyes on the television, she began to suck on me, as naturally and as unselfconsciously as that. She was clearly in no hurry for me to cum, and I was in no hurry to get there, so we chatted about this or that, watched the octopus ravage the countryside, her mouth on my length, her hand on my balls. When I neared climax, she took my whole length down her throat and held it there until I came, pulsing as she swallowed, gasping until spent, then she slowly squeezed every last drop of semen from me, toying the tip of my head until I was soft in her fingers again. "I did that because I knew you liked it, " she said through a sticky grin.

"Any time you want me to do it again, just say so. Doesn't matter where we are or what we're doing, I'll suck your thingy and drink your cum. Okay?" "Okay, " I croaked.

Then she stood up before me and hugged my face to her belly, her smooth, flat, tanned, young belly. I was 35. "I'm all yours..." she whispered, and she meant it. She loved me.

She was a gift. My reward for, I don't know, working hard, playing fair, wishing hard enough for someone just like her. And if there were truly a kind and benevolent god in heaven, or even justice in the world, I would be with her still. But that's not how it was to be, for, as I said, we were having an affair, afterall.