I wasn’t quite getting there with my erotic story for the Summer Romance Story Festival, so I thought I’d see what Laura was up to. I found her in the dining room. Spread out over the table were the birthday flowers from the bouquet our daughter Annie had given her last month, and Laura was snipping with the big shears. Scattered everywhere were stems and stalks and bits of brittle leaf. I watched as Laura selected a few of the dried plants and arranged them in a glass vase with a bed of glassy pebbles on the bottom. A tweak and a touch and she was done.

“That’s beautiful,” I told her. “You’re so talented.”

She smiled. “That’s me. Talented and beautiful.”

“Really, it’s nice. What do you call it, a still life?”

Laura laughed. “I don’t know. ‘Still Life’ is more of a painting term. But I’m glad you like it.”

“Mm,” I said. Moving close behind her, I put my arms around her and whispered, “It makes me want to fuck you.”

Half-turning, she said, “Everything makes you want to fuck me.” But she had that naughty look in her eyes.

“Not everything,” I protested.

“Dead puppies on the highway make you want to fuck me.”

“That’s not because ... I mean it’s just ... I don’t know ... sometimes sad things...”

“Sad things like these dried up flowers?”

“No, no, not just sad things. Happy things, too. Beautiful things. Ordinary things.”

“Everything,” Laura said. She smiled at me. A triumphant, mischievous sort of smile, but there was a little touch of sadness in it, too, and it was that touch of sadness that made me want to be fucking her right that instant. I couldn’t help it. My hands found their way under her tee shirt and up to her breasts. My fingers and thumbs caressed her nipples. Light pinches fattened them fast. My middle began pushing against her bottom. But she brushed me off. “Your mom and dad are coming over soon, and there’s too much to do. Not even time for a quickie.”

The way Laura said quickie made me want to fuck her, too. We hadn’t had a quickie in far too long. “Not even a really quick quickie?” I pleaded.

“Nope,” Laura said. “I’m way way behind as it is. You clean up these scraps.” But she kissed me. It was a nice kiss. It left me wanting more. A lot more.

The dinner with my parents went well enough, except that Laura’s flower arrangement was in the center of the table, and whenever I looked at it, I couldn’t help thinking about having sex with Laura. As soon as my parents left, we’d do it—maybe right there on the table. Such thoughts made it a little hard to concentrate on food or conversation. I was really glad that my parents always like to leave early to get a jump on traffic. By six-thirty they were out the door.

“You get to clean up,” Laura said. “Don’t forget I have that Shakespeare class.”

I was at the desk with my laptop when she got home. I had made some progress on the erotic story. I knew the start and I knew the middle. Getting to the end was the problem.