. more about her later. She was wiping her hands on a kitchen towel as she came into the front room into which the front doorway opened."I don't know ...et ... Sweetheart," I said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. As she came up beside me, she had a frown on her face."Are you Mrs. Joyce Franklin?" asked the woman at the door, shifting her attention from me to my wife. The man with her still had not said anything and looked bored--if anything--with the whole situation."Look," I said,. With each pass I moved a little closer to her abdomen. After several minutes of what I call ‘sweet torture’ where my touches were ‘there’ but not quite…I stopped moving my hands and simply marveled at the feel of her warmth. This is what I call ‘sweeter torture’. Our mutual goal, the destination of where we each want my hands to be, met but not quite. When I felt I couldn’t take it any longer I waited still. Her body seemed to be in constant motion as she tried to move under my hands pressing. More

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