Peter called home to tell his wife Annie he would be working late again. “We’re finally making progress on this beastly Foxberry project. This new girl they brought in from the west coast really knows her stuff.”

After a pause, Annie said, “You work so hard. Don’t forget to eat something.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m a big boy,” Peter assured her. Then, turning away from the new girl, Beryl, he whispered into the phone, “Maybe when I get home I could eat you.”

Late that evening when Peter came home, he found Annie packing a suitcase. “My grandmother in Florida is sick,” she explained.

“Oh, dear,” Peter said. “I didn’t even know you had a grandmother in Florida. Should I come with?” In the three years they’d been married, in fact, from the time they’d met in college almost five years ago, Peter and Annie had never spent a night apart.

“No, no,” Annie said hastily. “You have that big project at work. That big bad beastly project.” She closed the lid of her suitcase. She closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes and gave Peter a wide smile. “I’ll be okay. I’m a big girl.”

“Are you mad at me for working late?” Peter asked while Annie zipped her suitcase and buttoned her nightgown.

“What gives you that idea?” Annie asked. She frowned. “I’m just worried about my grandma.” She began toying with the top button. “She was so sweet to me when I was little. With my mom working, it was up to Granny to teach me stuff.”

“Like what?” Peter plumped Annie’s pillows. A ritual. Peter never slept on pillows.

“Oh, all the basics.” Annie ticked them off while tweaking open one nightgown button after another. “Life. Love. How to walk like a woman; how to bake a cherry pie. How to take the bull by the horns.” ‘Life isn’t a fairytale,’ my grandma always used to say.” The front of Annie’s nightgown drifted open. “But then she told me some wonderful bedtime stories.”

Peter laughed. “I like your cherry pie.”

“Are you still hungry for me?” Annie asked.

“As hungry as ever.” His mouth moved to her bared breasts.

“But what about all those other flavors? All those other hot juicy women? All those other peach and pumpkin and pussy pies?”

Peter buried his face between Annie’s breasts as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

“You’re impossible,” Annie declared, pushing him away.

Peter frowned. “I didn’t really know my grandparents too well, but I remember my grandpa a little. He taught me a few things, too.”

“What sort of things?” Annie asked. She turned her attention to the unbuckling of Peter’s belt. “How to slide a trombone? How to juggle baseballs and skewer fat worms on sharp fishhooks?” Reaching inside Peter’s fly, Annie smoothed her palm along the bowed front of Peter’s underwear.

Peter scratched his head. “He told me not to watch too much TV. That and to be nice.”

“You hardly ever watch TV. And you’re about the nicest person I know.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed Peter’s lips, nibbling top and bottom before letting her tongue slip between. Breaking the kiss, she said, “So your grandpa liked TV?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “There was this guy on TV named Chester. Grandpa said he was a sidekick and he walked with a limp. Grandpa said the show went on for years and years, but then it went off the air, and Chester traded in his limp for some nice boots and a warm sheepskin coat. Grandpa said that’s all you need to know about TV.”

Annie laughed. “I’m sorry I never met your grandpa.” She took Peter’s hand and led him to their bed. “Tell me a bedtime story.”

“What kind of bedtime story?”

“Something sexy and scary,” Annie said while slipping off her panties. “Make it very sexy and very very scary.”

“Once upon a time,” Peter started, while Annie’s cool palm roamed his chest hairs.

“Go on.”

“Um, once upon a time, there was a, uh, there was a little bear. He was supposed to do something, but he forgot. And so his grandma and grandpa did something that taught him a lesson he would never forget.”

“Is that it?” Annie asked. Her forefinger and thumb looped just below the head of Peter’s penis. Slowly, carefully, she shucked down the ruffle of skin.

“I guess so.”

“That’s the most pathetic bedtime story I’ve ever heard,” Annie said, her head dipping toward the crown of Peter’s cock. A moment later Annie’s tongue licked lazily at the slit. When she lifted her mouth, a gleaming strand of moonbeam followed her lips.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. “I guess I just don’t have the right kind of imagination for bedtime stories.”

“You silly boy,” Annie whispered, snuggling close to Peter. “I’ll be your bedtime story this once.” She covered his body with hers and began the slow loving they favored, the languid sort of sex they’d had nearly every night since the day they’d met. Working steadily above Peter, Annie brought them both to orgasm.

“What a nice story,” Peter said with a sigh.

“That was just the first chapter,” Annie said. She curled her way down Peter’s torso, nuzzled his balls with her nose, bathed and batted his cock with her tongue, expertly sucked him into a fresh erection. Then she fitted her body over Peter’s and fucked him with a ferocity he’d never seen in her before. Peter’s hands floated the curves of Annie’s bottom, his fingers whispered to her spine and feathered her ribs, his teeth tickled the plush flesh surrounding her nipples, while his pubis absorbed the bullying bounce and ever-more-urgent rhythm of her thrusts. It took Peter a long time to come; meanwhile Annie climaxed countless times, some sharp and swift and almost silent, some punctuated by fluttery yips and yelps, some long and deep and drawn out, full of swollen howls of smothering pleasure. Afterwards, after Peter bucked and buckled into Annie’s relentless grip and gulp, they cuddled together far into the night, and at last, still joined, they fell asleep in either other’s arms.

Peter awakened late the next morning, alone, and as he shuffled off to the shower, he realized that Annie hadn’t said goodbye. Or maybe she had, and he had been too sleepy to notice. Or maybe her “bedtime story” had been a sweet goodbye. In a bit of a daze, Peter dried off and dressed and dreamily set off to work, only upon entering his office remembering that he’d forgotten to eat his usual bowl of cereal which Annie always fixed him for breakfast.

All morning Peter thought of Annie. He found it impossible to concentrate on work. Around noon, sure that her plane must have arrived in Florida, he tried calling Annie on her cell, but he got the message that she was out of the service area. Apparently Annie’s grandma lived in the middle of nowhere. Peter left a voice mail message: I’m so hot for you. I miss you so much. I can’t wait for you to get back. I can’t wait to taste your cherry pie. I can’t wait for our next bedtime story.

He kept expecting his cell phone to ring, but it never did. He thought, I should have gone with her. He paced the office and forgot to go to lunch. He thought, Maybe her plane was delayed, maybe that’s why she hasn’t called.

Midafternoon, still no word from Annie, Peter went to his laptop, thinking he’d check the airline website to make sure her plane had landed. But he realized he didn’t know her flight number; he didn’t even know her airline. How many flights to Florida could there be? he asked himself. He stared into his laptop screen, but glare from the wide office windows made it difficult for him to see. He picked up the laptop, thinking he’d take it across the room, but then he was not sure where to plug it in. The outlets were behind the credenza.

“Earth to Peter, Earth to Peter,” said Beryl, the perky assistant who was helping him wrap up this vexing Foxberry project. “You seem a little spacey this afternoon. Is something wrong?”

“It’s just that I don’t know where to plug in this stupid thing,” Peter said, waving the laptop in his right hand.

“Why do you have to plug it in anywhere? It’s a laptop.”

“Oh. That’s right. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I was just trying to check the flight schedule and I can’t see.” He went on to explain that Annie was out of town.

“And you miss her already ... that’s so sweet!” Beryl set her hand on Peter’s shoulder, then ran her fingers all the way down Peter’s arm. Her touch was electric. Peter’s hard-on was instantaneous. “Oh, my,” said Beryl, noticing. “Should we do something about that?”

Peter had never been unfaithful to Annie. He had never even been tempted. The hand that had run down Peter’s arm was holding his wrist, the wrist of the hand holding the laptop. It was as if she was feeling his pulse. Beryl’s other hand was stroking Peter’s tented groin, slow, steady strokes, base to tip. Peter knew he should turn away, but he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be polite.

“You need to relax,” Beryl said. “You’re all stiff and tight.” She continued to hold his wrist. The laptop grew heavier and heavier. And then it came crashing down on his Peter’s toes.

In bed in Beryl’s hotel room, Beryl was like a relentless machine, all hard steel and hot oil and endless motion. Peter kept up as best he could. By midnight he was exhausted. “That was fun,” Beryl said, as she prodded the bruise on Peter’s breastbone. Peter sighed. Beryl said, “You’re good, but you really don’t like fucking very much, do you? I bet you’re more a make love kind of guy.”

Despite the sex, Peter couldn’t sleep. Something was wrong with the way his body fit against Beryl’s. “Relax, honey,” Beryl said, “just relax,” but it was her breathing that slowed.

Peter stroked Beryl’s back, wishing she were Annie. He thought about the time they went on vacation and it had rained and rained. Annie was looking out the window, and she had this strange smile, so he asked her what she was looking at. “See out there, way out, in that little sailboat?” There wasn’t a sailboat, there wasn’t even a lake, just the hotel parking lot and the rain battering the roofs of all the cars and splattering the oily puddles in parking spaces where there were no cars. “What about the sailboat?” he’d asked, and Annie said, “Don’t you see me, all splashed with sunshine, my little white bikini practically glowing?” Peter said no, he didn’t see her, and she said, “Oh, that’s too bad. Maybe if I took off my top so you could see my titties—there, is that better?” Peter stared hard into the rain. “No?” Annie said. “What if I pulled down my bottoms? How’s that?” Then she shook her head in this way she had, and she said, “Oh, Peter, the breeze feels so good on my bare skin, the way it whispers between my legs, the way it licks and laps, with the boat rocking in the waves, sailing me serenely to...” She left off without naming wherever the sailboat was sailing her.

In Beryl’s bedroom by early morning light, Peter fished his cell phone from his pants’ pocket, and with more than a little trepidation he checked the screen for messages. Nothing. The screen was blank. The battery had run down, and Peter was miles from his charger.

“What’s the matter?” Beryl asked, sitting up in bed.

“Nothing,” Peter said, snapping the cell phone closed.

“Good,” said Beryl. “I guess we’d better shower. Can’t go into the office reeking of sex.”

“Right,” Peter said. “Have you ever been on a sailboat?”

“Huh?” Beryl said. “I don’t think there’s room in the shower for a sailboat. You want to go first, or should I?”

Before Peter could answer, Beryl said, “I know, why don’t we go together? Save time. Save water.”

It turned out they didn’t save time or water. In the shower Beryl said, “You have a really cute wangle, you know?” She fondled Peter’s wangle. “How about I clean him for you? No extra charge.” Without waiting for a reply, Beryl went to her knees and took Peter’s penis in her mouth. It was only a few seconds before the organ was too big to fit. “Mmmm, yummy,” Beryl said, looking up at Peter with big brown eyes, her hair dripping in the shower’s spray. “I wish I could have such a fine breakfast every morning. Cock with cream. There will be some cream, won’t there?” And with that she resumed stroking and sucking Peter’s cock. But she stopped before the cream. “Maybe you should get my back first,” she said, and she stood, and facing away from Peter, she bent forward, bracing her hands on the side of the tub. With the shower raining over her back, Peter soaped her up. He reached around and soaped her breasts, which hung like little pears. “Oh my, that’s good,” Beryl moaned. “Soap up my butt hole, too. Get it good and slippery and then clean it out with your big hard butt hole cleaner.”

Peter had never had anal sex before. He’d touched Annie there; he’d even kissed her a time or two, but she’d always giggled and slithered away, saying “naughty naughty.” Dutifully, Peter lathered Beryl’s firm little bottom, making sure the suds covered the slippery crinkle. “That’s enough,” Beryl said. “Stick it in. Stick it in all the way.” She banged herself back, impaling herself on Peter’s cock. The grip and suction was so thrilling that Peter couldn’t last long. His cream mixed with the soap bubbles inside Beryl’s clenching ass.