With exaggerated patience, the lover’s hands continue their journey southwards along your wife’s taut stomach, still untouched by childbirth, ligh...ly stroking those ticklish, sensitive areas you know and love so well. Down and down those fingers travel, and with slow inevitability, they come to that holiest-of-holy’s; to the rose garden that you claim by right as her husband. These are not your fingers, and yet your wife finds herself responding as she does with you. The fingers rub the soft. She carefully pulled her shirt out and then lifted it to show me her belly button with the wavy lines circling around. After a second, she tucked her shirt back in.“Excellent, now the third.”She looked around nervously, “Here?”“Why not?” Her face blanched so I corrected myself, “Do you have somewhere you’d prefer to show it to me?”“Somewhere private if possible. My apartment is in four stops, or we could duck into a clothing store dressing room. Maybe a handicapped bathroom?”I was a little. More

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