Afterward, each of them would remember their first sighting of the boys as the moment the change occurred. They shared this perception though they didn't later discuss it, and in fact both were wrong. It was a silly memory on the face of it, because it treated the boys as though they had some strange power to transform when in fact they were just youths. The true power lay elsewhere, and the change wasn't as quick as all that.

Perhaps the Jardin Botanique itself played a role. Who knows what affects our desires? The gardens didn't necessarily conspire, but they were so awash in flowers and so filled with plants exotic to their eyes, even the grasses different from those back home, that the ordinary state of the world was undone. It may have made a difference that they were in Montreal, exploring the city without any knowledge of French and together only because of the unbelievable coincidence that had brought their meetings here simultaneously. It had to have helped that they could play for four days with no chance of discovery. When her husband had let her know he wasn't interested in seeing Quebec with her, she had thought both 'of course' and 'thank goodness.' Her lover's chore had been larger -- convincing his wife they should travel together some other time when he wouldn't be in meetings all day. Both were becoming practiced liars.

When they first saw the boys, their sun was rising bright and pure and they were simply happy. They were nothing special, just ordinary lovers, ordinary adulterers, sweet, affectionate, still unused to living across the line from faithfulness. Their relationship surely would have wound down from the early intensity toward routine and comfort. The process had already begun, though they didn't recognize it.

They had, to that moment, done all the ordinary things lovers do, walking everywhere hand-in-hand, stopping to kiss boldly at street corners, feeling each other under the table when they ate at sidewalk cafes. They did that afterwards, too, but it was different.

Because it was cooler than in the Carolinas, cool enough for her to wear sweaters in the mornings when they walked down to the old town for breakfast, he had gotten to hold her close often. They'd been separated only when each had called home and the few times each absolutely had to attend a session. They'd rush back to the little place she'd found on St. Denis, just outside the Latin Quarter and far from his room downtown, for romance.

Such nice sex they'd shared. The first evening they had played until he was close to orgasm. He wasn't a fool about how often he could come, and so he'd interfered when she wanted to bring him over too early, the better to pleasure her properly afterwards. They had stopped to take a hot shower together, soaping one another and keeping each other bothered. After that she had stood under the heat lamp while he spread lotion all over her, ostensibly against the drying of Canada's winds, but really to extend her desire until they retired to the bed and crawled under the covers to continue their tryst.

The second day there had been soft love early in the morning, before breakfast, then separation for meetings in the afternoon. In the evening they had lain in bed kissing in front of the TV for a long time before she climbed on top of him so they could sixty-nine and then fuck. He'd awakened around three a.m., surprised to find he was erect and horny again, but when he had tried to rouse her she hadn't even opened her eyes before saying, "Not now, darling, I'm so sleepy," and turning away.

Morning brought their last full day in the city.

They were not actually boys, at least not young ones though not yet adults, slim like boys, dark clothed and eyed, one appearing almost a man, the other little more than a child. When he first saw them the boys were walking side-by-side along the roadway that circles inside the gardens, their hands so close they touched every few steps but not so close that they couldn't deny their sexuality. He pointed them out and whispered that she should be worried they'd steal him away from her.

He said that because the sun had just slipped out after a cloudy early morning, and her delight with the gardens crowded out her delight in his contact. He wanted to stop and kiss her, holding her from behind, but she would stand only for a moment before saying, "Come on, darling," and pulling him away to the next shrub or herb or flower. She did that in the tulip garden first, then in the others as they came to them. Not in the rose garden, since the roses weren't yet blooming, but there she broke away from him to run through some long, soft, grass filled with dandelions. No one in her neighborhood would suffer a dandelion to live, but she loved them, and here they were legion.

When he threatened her with boys, she had just run to a row of lilacs that followed the perimeter fence and was smelling the flowers to pass the time while she waited for him to catch up. She glanced at the boys, but they couldn't compete for attention with that pink scent.

Oh, she wasn't unloving, just distracted by other things. It was, after all, their third day, and the edge had been blunted enough to let her be drawn to other passions.

In the Chinese Garden they saw the boys again. It was hardly a coincidence worth mentioning except that the couple had climbed the rock tower in the middle of the garden and, looking down, she saw them kiss.

She looked, and then she looked again more slowly. She drew in a massive gulp of sweet air, grabbed the rail, and leaned outward. She knew gay men did that, but she'd never seen it, not really. She'd seen actors deep kissing once, in "Angels in America," and had been embarrassed by it. The boys' mouths were open and she could see everything. She had never really thought about it, not once, but now she could imagine the feel of mouth on mouth. She was possessed by the thought that each must taste like her lover.

So that's what it's like.

She turned away, paused, turned back. Their tongues must be caressing each other. Did they feel to each other like her lover? Were their tongues like his?

"Look," she whispered, pulling him by his hand.

The boys had stepped behind some yews and self-consciously looked around until the older-looking one again pulled the other's face to his. No one would have been able to see them from any direction except up. No one but the couple could see that the younger, slighter, more hesitant boy tried to pull away, and that the older one pulled him back and made him -- made him! -- kiss open-mouthed, while rubbing a palm slowly over his fly.

Her lover made a move to draw her away but she shook her head and held the rail tightly.

"Just a minute, sweetheart. Wait."

She continued to watch them. Her mouth was slightly open but she was almost holding her breath. Had the boys looked upward they would have seen her peering into their little sanctuary. Just how much would they have seen? Her lips forming an oval? Her eyes fixed? Her sex pushed into the rail?

The entire scene couldn't have lasted more than a minute or two. The boys parted and left the Chinese garden, walking northward, but not before the older boy had put the younger one's hand on his fly and said something that brought out a look on the other's face that was not exactly excitement but not exactly anxiety either. From the distance and the angle she couldn't tell.

"Okay, we can go," she said brightly, as though she were finished looking at an interesting specimen of iris. But her eyes had changed.

They left the tower and walked this trail and that, pretending to still explore the gardens, but her lover noticed how she no longer lingered at novel plants and that she always led him northward. She tried to cover her new preoccupation, a valiant, losing effort. She couldn't keep her attention on what she was saying, and she started to lose her sentences half way through.

The man found the boys first. They were off to the left, hand-in-hand, walking a path between hedges, looking around to see if other people were anywhere nearby. It was obvious what they wanted to do. He whispered, "There they are, love" in a tone that let her know he knew she was hunting. That brought her up short. She blushed exquisitely and turned away, taking a red that was brighter than the windburn on her cheeks.

After a moment: "Was I that transparent?"

"You were that transparent."

"Oh God." Then, "Oh God," again.

She looked around to him shyly, shy for the first time since they had broken their vows a month back. He was looking at her, then in the direction of the boys, then back at her, and she was so afraid of what he was thinking that she asked, "Do you think I'm disgusting?"

"I think if we're going to stalk them, it's best that we move ahead and beside them, not trail behind."

He made a soft smile and she jumped him, circling his neck with her arms, laughing in her relief and excitement, and making him stagger.

"Thank you, darling. Oh I love you so much! I don't know what it is, what's going to happen, but I have to see it. It's so... I don't know exactly. I've never seen anything like that."

"Well come on then."

So it was that they circled ahead of the boys, hurrying forward, finding protected spots to spy from, as the boys walked further north into the area of the gardens devoted to trees and forests, the area that would be all but deserted. They spoke in whispers, waiting for an opening before sprinting hand-in-hand to the next hiding place. She was laughing under her breath at the wickedness of it all, and gasping from the running and from the odd passion sweeping through her. At each stopping point she hugged him and kissed his neck or all over his face or his chest. One time she knelt to mouth his penis through his slacks, then they were off again.

They had gotten far enough ahead that it was time to stop again, but there was no more cover, not for a distance. The trees were scattered, the earth between filled mostly with grasses and more dandelions. They couldn't go further and watch unobserved, so they stopped at the last really good bit of cover, a boulder of some sort with two enveloping junipers. He leaned back against the rock to wait, and she leaned back against him.

He had his left arm around her waist and his right over her smooth chest. He enjoyed feeling her hard breathing and her heart pounding through her nipple. She lay her head back on his shoulder and he kissed her neck. He didn't give a damn if the boys came all the way up here, but something special was going to happen in any case. He lowered his left hand to the front of her pants and massaged her vagina through the cloth. She spread her legs, melted further back into him and leaned her cheek to his head, as close as they could be without fucking.

Finally there they were, the boys, still walking northward, still hand-in-hand, the older almost continually reaching down to touch the crotch of the younger, now and again pulling the other's hand back to his crotch.

She pushed back into him harder. It had to happen soon.

A sudden fear. She turned her head to his ear and whispered, "There aren't any other hiding places! What if they come to ours?"

"If they do, turn to me and we'll pretend we're making out. They should appreciate that. I know I will."

On they came, ever closer to the couple, while she whispered to herself: Don't come here, not here, not to our place. Don't ruin this. Her lover's hand was steady in its massage, palm and fingers rubbing past her fulcrum, down and up.

The boys didn't invade the lovers' nest. They walked past, and she whispered to herself: Stop now, do it now. Don't walk away from us! Her pleasure was rising. She wanted it to coincide with watching whatever the boys would do.

And they did stop. It almost seemed that her thoughts commanded them. She felt her neck hairs rise, those lovely, fine, downy hairs her lover enjoyed nuzzling. They stopped at some kind of small tree, a birch or something, with branches that shot from the trunk about five feet up. The older boy grabbed the shoulders of the younger and twisted, twirled, pushed him to the tree, so his back was against it and he was facing the older one. This was where it would happen.

"But they're out in the open! Anyone can see them!" She was so excited it was hard to whisper. Her words were almost masked by her breathlessness.

"Yes. I think that's part of the thrill, that they could be caught. Not that there's anyone way out here to catch them. "

No one but them. He moved his left hand back down to her vagina again and began fiddling. Not just rubbing, no, but feeling for lips, for a crease, for her slit, and massaging with two fingers and a thumb. She spread her legs a bit farther open and moved her hips just a little, but in a minute she whispered, "No. Not there."

She grabbed his hand and positioned it better, over her clitoris, and pushed his fingers down to where she wanted him to rub.

"Do it there, like this," and she moved his fingers to show him.

During all of this her eyes stayed on the boys. There was nothing else in all the world.

When the older boy grabbed the younger one's arms and pulled them up to two branches, she leaned forward, pushing against her lover's arms. She would have pushed forward further if he hadn't held her, but he helped by leaning forward himself. The boys weren't more than forty feet away. The older leaned his face to the younger and spoke, and they were so close that the woman could hear them. She cursed herself for not learning French. The boys were as intimate as the adults, whose faces touched, cheek to cheek, while his fingers played with her sex.

What was the older one saying? She was trying to pick out words, watching the younger boy grab the branches and hold them tightly, arms over his head, while the older one used a hand to pull his mouth open and lick him all the way around inside his lips. She saw them kiss wide-mouthed and the older pinch the child's nipples. He made a cry she could scarcely hear because it went into the other's mouth.

Her lover pinched her pants, catching her labia, then moved the bundle about in a circle. She grunted, a whispered grunt. She felt pleasure, and heat from the friction of cloth moving against cloth, cloth moving over flesh.

The older boy unfastened the little one's pants, baggy American-style pants, and yanked them down to his knees, letting his erection spring out. Such a sweet thing, not brown and red like her lover's but pale, without many hairs at the base. Not small, though, not as she'd imagined, a little boy's penis. No, he could fuck her with it. That knowledge added to her store of excitement and unloosed a quiver that was new to her, one that began far down inside her, beneath her labia, and spread across her underbelly. Oh God, she thought, oh please.

Her lover unfastened her pants and pulled them down from behind. She shifted her hips to make it easier for him. He had to take his hand away from her sex for a moment to push her pants all the way past her knees so she could spread her thighs for him. She was cooled by the air from hips to knees, open to the world. When his hand returned he moved it down to find her slit and began masturbating her directly, his fingers moving through her lips, slipping smoothly as though oiled. She was panting and trying not to moan, afraid she'd give them away.

The older boy looked different to her now. He seemed almost a man, and for a second as she forced her eyes from the boy's penis to the young man's face, she wondered how she ever had considered him anything else. It was a man masturbating the boy, kissing him deeply and whispering something intimate. She couldn't, wouldn't look away as the man's hand grabbed the penis just behind the head and pulled it out and back. The boy's eyes were almost closed and his hips twitched. Her hips were twitching to her lover's hand. She thought: We're the same, we two, being done by our men.

She was still trying not to groan, breathing fast, shallow breaths, and was close to coming when she turned her face back to her lover's again and whispered, with luxurious breaths and squeaks for punctuation, "Darling, I wish that were you. I'd like it... oh!... I'd like it if you did that to a boy and let me watch. Oh! Oh! Don't make me come yet. Please! Not yet. Oh God. It isn't what I expected. I know I'll dream of it later. I'd get so excited if I saw you doing a boy."

He didn't respond at first, not verbally, but he slowed his hand almost to a stop. Then, in her ear, "You are a perverted slut, aren't you? My slut."

He took her earlobe in his lips and bit it softly, circled her ear with his tongue, then probed his tongue into her ear canal, all the while watching the boys and moving his penis up and down, feeling her ass through his pants. He was almost as close as she was, as the boy was.

At exactly that moment there was a change in key. The sky didn't change, or the colors, or the bird songs. Only their private world changed. The almost-man moved the hand that had been holding the boy's face, all the way down below the hand he was using for masturbation, to his scrotum. The couple both knew what he was going to do before it happened. The woman didn't trust her insight, but she knew. The young man grabbed the boy's testicles and squeezed them hard.

She jerked straight upward, almost dislodging the fingers her lover had been pushing up into her vagina. He jerked too, and forgot to stroke her. His penis pressed hard against his clothes. He thought: My God! Domination! Then: Oh goddamn it! This will disgust her. Don't get turned off honey.

He needn't have worried.

The boy writhed, stamping his feet on the ground, twisting, screaming aloud, then he let go of the branches and tried to free his balls. He was no match. The other let go of the erection and used that hand to slap his face, two, three times, fast, first one side then the other, then back. He put his face right up to the boy's and said something in the most intimate and conspiratorial tone she had ever heard, and the boy grabbed the branches again.

"What's he doing? What's he doing?" She could hardly talk.

Her lover couldn't answer right away. Finally, "He's hurting him, love, making him submit." He had trouble saying it because he was short of breath too.

She looked at the boys, then to her lover, then back. She squirmed for a minute, pulled her arms tightly to her chest, and pushed herself even closer to him, as though shielding herself, after which she had eyes only for the boys. She tried to control her breathing, to slow it, but it came out in staccato bursts.

Only a month before she couldn't have thought she would ever take a lover, couldn't have guessed her guilt would evaporate, that she would be at peace with herself. Now the maw yawned for her and she let herself slip down easily, like an oyster, hypnotized by the sight of the larger young man squeezing and now twisting the balls of the boy, his arm tensing and turning, the muscles and tendons in his hand and wrist showing the strength of the grip, the boy jerking his face back and forth, moaning but holding onto the branches, his face red and shining with tears, grimacing, trying to cry quietly.