Janet and I divorced last summer, ending a romance that began in junior high and a fabulous twenty-five-year marriage that produced two wonderful children. At the end, something happened and I didn't know what. All I knew was she insisted we divorce and I had no choice except to agree.

She kept the big house in the suburbs and I bought a swinging bachelor pad in the city, which seemed appropriate since I was forty-seven, reasonably good looking, in excellent condition and health, and made damn good money. The guy who sold me the house was about thirty and getting married. He needed to buy a house in the suburbs with his new bride. Ironic, isn't it?

The place was small and on a small lot, but it had a private oasis perfect for romance in the backyard. The grass and shrubbery had been removed and the yard covered in a wood deck with a gas barbeque grill and glass-topped wrought-iron table in a near corner, a stately live oak tree in a far corner, and a remote controlled sound system to bathe the backyard in music for ambiance or for dancing. A six-person hot tub with a soft rubber, radiantly-heated mat on one side dominated the yard.

My favorite place for sex is outdoors and I bought that house for its backyard. I'd chill some wine, play some soft music, and serve an appropriate dinner. If the lady preferred something stronger than wine, I kept a supply of quality liquor and top-grade grass on hand. A beautiful night, rich ambiance, and fine food and wine usually got the ball rolling. If the lady said she didn't have proper attire for the hot tub, I provided her a bikini from the stock I kept. We'd have some good conversation and nature would take its course.

Each lady I entertained was unique and interesting. They knew the dinner invitation included sex when they accepted and they were looking forward to it, but most of them wanted to be romanced and play the seduction game. That's not a problem because getting there is half the fun. When they realized sex was outdoors, a few readily accepted. Most reactions ranged from embarrassed giggles and red faces to a flat "no fucking way," although she, too, gave in before the night was over.

All of them checked out the situation. Some did it openly, prowling the backyard like a bloodhound. Others were more circumspect. They all discovered what I knew. Despite the proximity of other houses, no one could see in my yard.

Like most newly divorced men, I began a sexual odyssey pursuing everything in a skirt, seeking quantity rather than quality. Any day without a woman in my house, I'd feel was unsuccessful. But I quickly found two ladies to enjoy on a regular basis.

One of them was Connie Simpson. Connie was a tall, thirty-eight-year-old childless divorcee and professional woman, a business friend who asked me out when she heard I was getting a divorce. She wanted what I wanted - great sex without commitment. Sex with Connie was excellent. She lost herself in it and told me that it flushed away the worries of her world. She wanted something else, too, and she brought it up one evening as we were sitting in the hot tub sipping wine. She sat her glass on the side and slipped into my lap with her legs outside mine.

She put her arms around my neck and whispered, "I like it when you hold me down."

"I noticed," I said as I stroked her back.

She blushed brightly and looked away shyly. I don't think I'd seen shyness in Connie before. She hemmed and hawed, getting out a few words only to blush and start over again. I put my thumb in the point of her jaw and lifted her head until her eyes were bound to mine. I held her that way until she relaxed and her expression said she surrendered.

"You want me to put you in bondage?" I asked.

"Yes, but I can't risk anyone knowing, Mike. It would destroy my career," she gasped.

"If you didn't trust me completely, you never would have mentioned it."

"I do trust you, but I'm frightened. I've never done anything like this, but I want to."

"And discipline?"

"Oh, God, yes."

"I'll discipline you, too-as much as you want."

"That's what scares me. I know I want a lot."

"I have some bondage equipment in the house. Do you want to start now?"

"Yes, Mike."

My ex-wife Janet and I played bondage games and she enjoyed it even more than I did. Being restrained was her favorite part. We didn't do public humiliation and no one but me knew we played those games. Connie made me realize I deeply missed sexual domination of a woman, so I planned to take Connie as far as she would go. That first night with her was simple. I used leather restraints to bind her wrists to the headboard and played with her body until she begged me to let her orgasm. We progressed rapidly after that. In her professional world, she managed a staff of fifty and held a high-paying and responsible position, but in the little world of my house and yard, she craved abject submission, which I provided.

I was trolling in a local hot spot one night when I found Becky Ashford. She was a twenty-six-year-old school teacher out for a night with the girls. She told me she was single, but a few dates later told me she was married, her husband traveled, and he didn't mind if she stepped out a few nights a week. The three of us met. Becky's husband was relieved that I was an older guy with no intention of stealing her away from him. At his request, she limited her stepping out to me. We even arranged for a threesome a few times.

By April, my routine was Connie and Becky once or twice a week each, someone else a night or two, and a night or two by myself. I enjoyed spending some quiet evenings alone. I'd make a light dinner before relaxing nude in the hot tub listening to the classics, sipping wine, and reading a good book. That's what I was doing one night in late April when the phone rang.

"Hi, Mike. How are you?" She tried to make her voice light and happy, but I knew that voice only too well and I heard the tension there.

"Fine, Janet. How are you?" Did she hear the tension in mine?

"I'm fine, too. Thanks for asking." She started talking about the children. I knew that wasn't the reason she called but as her words tumbled out I replied appropriately, letting her run down rather than building the conversation. "So," she finally said and there was a pregnant pause. "Are you dating anyone special?"

"They're all special, but I'm not dating anyone exclusively," I replied.

"Good," she said. "How about coming to dinner?"

"You mean like a date?"

"Yes. No. Well, something like that."

"Why?" I wasn't being coy or combative. I hadn't seen or talked to Janet since July and I tried to get her out of my mind. Why, in the name of hell, did she want to see me now? More cogently, after she dumped me so brutally, why did I want to see her?

"I miss you," she whispered.

"Oh?"

"God, Mike, say something besides 'oh'."

"You've caught me off guard and, frankly, I don't know what to say. It's been a long time since I talked to you."

"I know and I'm sorry. So terribly sorry. I'm not asking you to forgive me, but can we talk? Please."

"And say what?"

"Anything that comes to mind. I'd like to know about your life and I want to tell you about mine. I want to tell you why I divorced you."

I didn't answer, but I did want to know why she threw away a quarter century of married bliss. And I did want to see her in spite of part of me screaming to keep her out of my life.

"Please, Mike, I need to see you," she begged.

"I'd like to see you, too," I replied.

I heard a sob as she murmured my name. "Then you'll come?" she asked hopefully.

"I want you to come here and I'll cook for us. And bring your swim suit. I've got a hut tub in the back yard."

She emitted her husky, sexy chuckle that I hadn't heard in years. "Oh, Mike. Outdoor sex?"

"If you like."

"Like? You know I love outdoor sex. I love sex with you anywhere. When do you want me there?"

Two days later, my stomach was in a knot like a teenager on his first date. Juanita, my maid, had told me I was crazy and I probably was a little off-center, but I wanted everything to be perfect. Dinner was simple: cold lobster and shrimp salad with Louie sauce, freshly made bread and real butter, thirty-dollar-a-bottle chardonnay, soft music.

I told her to dress casually. I wore a pair of loose nylon shorts, a white tee-shirt outside my shorts, and Docksiders with no socks. When the doorbell rang, my anxiety level went sky-high. My hand shook as I turned the knob.

When I saw her, my heart stopped and my mouth fell open. She looked terrified, but when she saw my expression, a wide, sexy leer flashed on her face. Quivering with excitement, she stepped into me, gave me a quick peck on the cheek, and pranced into the living room to pose and let her new appearance sink in to my addled brain.

I'd known Janet all my life. I could close my eyes and see exactly what she looked like at any age. Flat chested and pigtailed in the third grade. In her first two-piece suit after she entered puberty. On my parents' bed when I took her virginity. Groaning and sweating as our children came from her into this world. My brain held a million pictures of her, but I'd never seen her like this.

Janet's hair had been various colors over the years from raven black to medium blonde, but it had always been long. Now it was short, sassy, and white blonde. She wore a black patent leather micro mini-skirt that covered about ten inches from her hip bone, matching halter top, and matching knee high boots with very high heels. She wouldn't have gone to a costume party dressed like that when she was married to me.

But the biggest change was in her body. Her belly was flat and hard, her waist narrow, her ass high and firm, and her breasts were huge. Obviously, a plastic surgeon had worked his magic in a lot of places. And a piercing artist had been busy, too. There was a diamond in her navel. She was a forty-four-year-old mother of two, but she looked like a thirty-year-old sex-pot ready for action.

"Like what you see, handsome?" she asked glibly.

"Yes, I do indeed."

"If you see something you want, don't ask. Just help yourself." Her blatant sexual offer was accompanied by a wanton legs-open, breasts-out stance. In the blink of an eye, her expression was honest and open. "God, it's good to see you," burst from her. She blushed from belt line to forehead. Face anguished, she turned away and her hand brushed her cheek.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"Sure. Could I have a drink?"

"Is chardonnay all right?"

"Don't you remember?"

"I remember, but I thought that might have changed," I said defensively.

"It's still wine."

"The wine is cooling out back. Come on. Let me show you."

"Oh my, Mike, this is lovely," she said as she walked into my little paradise. "Do you use it much?"

"Every day if the weather's good."

"For sex?"

"Almost every day."

"You've been busy," she said. I shrugged and busied myself with opening the wine. "Can any of the neighbors see you?"

"Not unless they bore a hole through a fence," I said.

"Remember Colorado?' she said.

"Of course."

"My God but I was humiliated when they caught us. And aroused."

I stopped short. She never admitted that being caught "in the act" aroused her, but I always thought it had. I handed her the wine glass.

"To life and love," I said, touching my glass to hers.

"To love," she whispered and her big blue eyes shone up at me with love and desire.

My secret wish, the one held deep in my heart to be nourished and treasured, was that she would come back to me. Now she was here, but for how long? And why?