One of the favorite things Martin and I used to do was drive out of the city and stay at one of the quaint bed and breakfasts in the little towns along the river. We liked the old-fashionedness, and we’d dress in period costumes, which we’d bought at secondhand shops or on-line. We liked strolling through the little towns, stopping for lunch at a diner, browsing the various shops. We seldom bought anything, although once at a hardware store Martin bought a hammer and I bought a nail. We giggled all the way back to the bed and breakfast about our purchases. In the evening, we’d call for room service.

Bed and Breakfasts don’t actually provide room service. It was pretend. We’d think up elaborate, slightly naughty meals to order, Pheasant Odalisque with Champagne sauce, for example, or Stuffed Quim of Pork, and while we waited for the bellboy to deliver our feast, I would slowly shed more and more of my finery, until I was completely naked, then I’d kneel before Martin, undo the buttons of his breeches, and suck his cock. “Come in!” Martin would gasp, just before he’d spurt into my mouth.