I'm not going to tell the story the way it happened. I'm going to tell it the way I remember it.

He was trying out his wings in so many different ways. In a crowded room full of people he looked at me knowingly and in a low voice said, "Take your panties off right now." He didn't even blink an eye. A touch of adrenaline rushed through my body, head to toe. And I proceeded with the only thing I knew how to do- oblige him.

Later that evening he took inventory with his gaze of every inch of the white skin, soft curves, the delicate overlay of the sheer lilac lace against the anticipatory energy that was contained in the nakedness below as I lay on the bed alone. Waiting for him.

He took his place beside me and slowly and ever so lightly traced every inch of me with his fingertips from my toes up to the long strands of my hair. Then he put his lips to mine. And his tongue. And I lost myself. His breath on my lips brought tears to my eyes. Everything in me wanted to completely immerse my being into his, to completely obliterate the boundaries created by skin and bone and actually be inside of him and combine my passion with his and savor the commencing spontaneous combustion.

I invited him in and he pushed his whole self into me. And then pushed further. And even a bit more. Legs and arms desperately clinging and encircling his body, I held on for dear life, feeling that my last shred of separateness was stretched to the breaking point. And in one quivering breath, I let go. And I became part of him.

And for the next hour I saw what it looked like to love me. And to want me. And I came crashing back into myself in one spiraling fireball of ecstasy.

And we lay together, naked and satisfied, laughing at the lanky British boys who squeal like girls and have mangled teeth and who remind me of Queen.