For the weekend Emma and I visited a winery a few hours away, and it was fun, though the wine wasn’t really very good, and we only bought four bottles. Rather than drive all the way home we’d arranged for a room at a nearby B&B. “What are we going to do with all this dreadful wine?” Emma asked as we parked in the B&B lot. “Leave it in the car, maybe someone will steal it,” I suggested. In good spirits we took our bags up to the Rose Room on the second floor.

“Nice bed,” I said.

“Strange picture,” Emma said.

“Be that as it may,” I said.

“What does that mean?” Emma asked.

“It means I want to fuck you. Right now.”

“May that as it be,” Emma said.

Strange picture or not, it was a glorious night.

In the morning Emma hurried to the bathroom while I made up the bed.

A moment later she called for me.

“There’s a little problem,” she said, standing on one leg.

“What is it? The floor too cold?” I said, more or less mimicking Emma’s one-footed pose.

“No, I have to pee really bad, but the problem is the drain is clogged.”

“You weren’t planning on peeing in the sink?” I asked.

A laugh spurted from Emma. She sat quickly on the toilet and I checked in the towel cupboard. No Drano, but there was a piece of wire. Evidently, they’d had this problem before. I jiggled the wire in the drain, and lickety-split the water emptied from the sink.

“My Roto-Rooter Man,” Emma said endearingly. “I’m just going to wash up a little and then we can—” She gave a meaningfully impish look.

I went back to the bedroom and lay atop the more or less made up bed. Emma was back in the bedroom almost before I’d fallen asleep.

“You’re not sleepy, are you?” Emma said. “Because there’s a little problem.”

“Oh?” I inquired.

“Yeah, something else is clogged and needs your attention.”

“What is it? The toilet? The bathtub drain?”

“No.” Emma shook her head. Then that meaningful impish grin again. “My pussy.”