My friends and family tell me a woman my age -- 25 -- is too young to be so cynical about “romance.” They tell me I have a lot of life ahead of me, and I should be more open to finding real love. But my luck with men so far hasn’t been good, and I find it hard sometimes to stay optimistic about the future.  

Part of the problem was, of course, my disastrous marriage. My parents warned me about getting married right out of high school, especially to someone with so little direction in my life, but I didn’t listen. My easy-going boyfriend turned into a lazy husband, and after three years of supporting him -- working two jobs while he stayed home playing video games and supposedly hunting for work -- I moved out and divorced his sorry ass. Thank God there were no kids.

My late start to college -- when I was 21 -- meant I was three years older than most other freshmen, and the age difference with most men I met seemed just great enough to keep me from really clicking with them. Sure, there were many men my age around, in college and out of it, but I never seemed to find a good match. 

Not that I was looking to marry again -- far from it -- but I couldn’t seem to find even one guy worth dating for more than a few weeks. The truth is, I didn’t seem to click with anyone sexually.

Here again I blame my ex-husband. He had his faults, God knows, but he had been great in bed -- a considerate and thoughtful lover -- and I was surprised to find out later how rare that actually is. Once I went to college, most of the men I slept with were in a big hurry, more interested in getting off themselves than in taking care of me in a way I thought I deserved -- that any person deserves. 

So beyond a few ‘relationships’ that lasted a few weeks or a couple of months at most, my first three years of college had been unsatisfying, sex-wise. Hence my “cynical” attitude.

So here I am, a “rising senior” at 25, spending yet another summer at my parents’ place.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my parents and we get along great, and all things considered I’m happy here. They give me lots of space and don’t nag me about dating, or anything else for that matter.

I’m just a little bored, that’s all. And horny. 

God, am I horny. 

Now might be a good time to describe myself. I’m medium height, a true blonde with green eyes and a nice smile, except for a slight gap in my front teeth. (My ex used to say he actually found it attractive, and I think he meant it.) 

My ex and a couple of other men have told me I’m beautiful, but when I’m being honest with myself I don’t think I rate better than “nice-looking.” I’m on the curvy side, with nice round tits and an butt that gets me admiring looks, but like a lot of people I could stand to lose a few  pounds. 

I’ve put on most of those pounds since I came home for the summer, partly because I’m eating Mom’s wonderful cooking. And while I run and ride my bike, and work in a coffee shop to keep busy and save money, I spend too much of my time lounging by the backyard pool.

The pool isn’t huge -- I can cross it in four strokes -- but I love sunning myself there in the afternoons after I get home from the coffee shop and before my parents get home from work. I’m not much for drugs but sometimes I’ll smoke a little pot and let my mind drift, enjoying the warmth and the quiet. 

Sometimes, if it seems particularly quiet, I’ll take the top off my swimming suit and let the girls get some air. And if it seems particularly quiet and I’m a little high, I’ll even take off the bottoms and let the sun kiss me all over. Our back yard is fenced all around and trees block all the neighbor’s windows on the pool side of the house, so I don’t worry much about being seen.

Once, though, when I was more stoned than usual, I went a little further. 

It started when I was putting on sunscreen. When I apply it to my tits it’s hard not to start caressing them, running my fingers around the areolas and lightly pinching the nipples, which are extremely sensitive. (I don’t think it’s possible, but it’s like there’s one nerve that runs straight from my nipples to my crotch, because when I pinch them I feel a twinge in my clit and the juices start flowing.)

On this occasion, stoned as I was, lying there naked in the sun, I opened my legs slightly and slid a hand between them. I took my time, circling my clit with one finger and occasionally slipping two or three fingers between the exposed lips of my pussy to touch my G-spot. 

The chance that I might be seen -- slim as it was -- lent an extra tinge of excitement to the act.

It was a good 15 minutes before I came, in a rush of feeling that built slowly and washed over me like a wave on a tropical beach. It left me panting and gasping, and it took another 15 minutes for me to fully recover. I had to slip into the pool to cool myself off. 

It’s too bad by the way that masturbation doesn’t burn more calories; I’d have lost three pounds by now instead of gaining them. I play with myself when I wake up, I play with myself in the shower, and I play with myself in bed at night. It’s a wonder I haven’t rubbed myself raw. Like I said, I’m really horny these days.

Reading that over again, I sound reckless and a little sex-crazed. I’m not, really; I’m just a healthy young woman with a strong sexual appetite.

Never mind romance; all I really want is a good lay. 

Is that too much to ask? 

*** 

I had just returned from a bike ride one day in early June when I ran into our new neighbor, who had moved in while I was away at school. 

My parents had told me about him -- he was in his early 30s, divorced -- and very fit, my mom said suggestively -- but they didn’t know much else about him, other than that he worked long hours and traveled a lot. She had suggested inviting him over for drinks and dinner some night, but I got the idea she was playing matchmaker and put it off.

It was a hot day and I was a sweaty mess after my ride, so I wasn’t looking my best when he pulled into his driveway and saw me out front. He gave me a friendly wave, got out of his car and walked over.

He was about six feet tall, very fit as my mom had said, with dirty blond hair and the bluest eyes I have ever seen. I wouldn’t describe him as movie-star handsome, but he was good-looking in a boy-next-door kind of way. He was wearing an open-necked dress shirt and perfectly tailored slacks, and he carried himself with an air of quiet confidence. 

“Hi, I’m Tim,” he said. 

“Alex,” I said.

When we shook hands I apologized for being so sweaty, but he laughed it off. 

“I sweat like a pig when I work out,” he said, “so I’m kind of used to it.” 

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he winced; he seemed to think he’d implied I was sweating like a pig, too.

“Oh, I didn’t mean…” he said, blushing

“Oink,” I said, and laughed. 

“Oink,” he answered, and then made a snorting sound.

We both laughed. The ice now broken, we chatted for a few minutes about bikes, including good routes to ride in the area, and made a vague agreement to ride together some time.

“Well, I’d better go get cleaned up,” I finally said. 

We said goodbye and I went inside. I was conscious of Tim watching me as I walked away. 

I didn’t see him for several days after that. He must have been traveling. But I thought about him now and then --  including twice, I must admit, when I was masturbating. 

When I saw his car in the driveway one afternoon I decided it was time to invite him over.

He answered his door in loose-fitting shorts and flip-flops, no shirt. I thought he looked terrifically sexy, and I suddenly felt like a dork in my cutoffs and rag of a T-shirt.

“Dinner sounds great,” he said. “What can I bring?”

“A couple bottles of wine?” I said. 

“Red or white?”

“Good question. I don’t know what we’re having yet, so how about one of each?” 

“You got it,” he said.

He seemed to hesitate. 

“Would you like to come in for a bit? I was just finishing up some yard work, and was about to have a beer.”

“Sure,” I said. 

He led me through the house to the back. I had never seen the place before, but it was beautiful in a minimalist sort of way, with muted colors and lots of light. 

The only room that looked really lived in was the den, which lay between the kitchen and a bank of sliding glass doors giving on to the back deck. The furniture looked more comfortable and the room had a slightly cluttered look, with books piled on a coffee table and what looked like a small pipe on an end table.

Looking through the windows I saw a yard about the same size as ours but full of flowers. There was a small deck with a hot tub in the corner. 

Tim got two beers out of the fridge, opened them and handed me one. 

“What were you working on?” I asked.

“Come on out and I’ll show you.”

He picked up a T-shirt off the back of a chair and started to put it on. I came very close to telling him not to bother. 

He wasn’t muscular but he was certainly toned, and his chest was just hairy enough to give him a masculine look without making him look furry. A treasure trail led to the waistband of his shorts, and like the horny thing I was I couldn’t help but wonder what might be at the end of it. 

I just managed to avert my eyes from his midsection before his head popped through the collar of the shirt. Our eyes met, and he gave me a smile that was a bit more than just friendly. I allowed myself to think he was interested in me.

He showed me around the yard. It turned out he was replacing most of the old greenery with native grasses and shrubs. Few of them were blooming yet, but once they did he said the place would be full of butterflies. 

He also pointed out three or four bird-feeders around the yard, all swarming with birds of a sort I’d never noticed before.

“You some kind of tree-hugger?” I asked teasingly.

“Yes, and a proud one,” he said, smiling. “My family’s always been outdoorsy, and being an environmentalist came naturally. Besides, my job’s pretty high-pressure, and working out here is one of the few ways I can relax.”

“This is lovely,” I said.

“Let me show you around.”

As we walked the yard he identified each plant, noting when it would bloom and what sort of birds or butterflies it would attract. He really seemed to know his stuff, and his enthusiasm was cute in a nerdy kind of way.

When we got to the back I realized that the yard sloped gently upward in the corner bordering our yard, and at one point came within three feet of the top of our fence. He’d evidently been working there recently because a new plant with the nursery tag still attached was surrounded by fresh dirt. 

I looked around, shading my eyes from the afternoon sun, and realized with a shock that from where we stood you could see through a gap in the trees to our deck. I could even see the chaise longue where I’d masturbated just days before.

I felt my face getting hot. Had he seen me? Had he watched me?

Tim noticed my agitation.

“Something wrong?” he said. 

“I just noticed that you can see our deck from here,” I said. 

He came up the rise and stood beside me.

“So you can,” he said, neutrally, as if he hadn’t noticed before.

He looked at me intently.

“You’re afraid I’ve been watching you?” he said. 

I couldn’t think what to say. 

“Relax,” he said, smiling. “I haven’t. I promise.”

I took a deep breath, and decided to believe him.

“Why?” he continued, in a playful tone. “What would I have seen?”

I blushed again, even harder this time. I still couldn’t get my lips to form any words.

When I didn’t answer he looked around the yard and said, totally deadpan, “I’m thinking of installing a bench back here for birdwatching. No telling what I might see with a good pair of binoculars.”

He looked at me, his eyes dancing merrily, then burst out laughing. His laughter was so infectious I couldn’t help laughing myself.

“Look,” he said finally. “I really haven’t seen anything I shouldn’t. And I know it sounds old-fashioned, but I try to be a gentleman.”

I gave him a weak smile. He spoke again.

“Not that I always succeed,” he said, and laughed again. 

“OK, I believe you,” I said, recovering my composure at last. 

I took a last swallow of my beer and said goodbye. 

“See you tomorrow,” I said at the door. “Drinks are at 6.”

“I’ll be there.”

As I crossed the grass back to our house I felt myself blushing again. 

Either TIm had lied about seeing me naked -- or God forbid even masturbating -- and lied about it, or he hadn’t seen me and I’d basically told him myself what I’d been up to. 

What an ass.

But as I started getting dinner ready I thought about it some more, and decided, again, that he seemed like a truly nice guy and I had no reason to doubt his word. 

Perhaps inevitably, however, given my high state of horniness in those days, I started fantasizing about what it would have been like if Tim had been watching me. 

I have never had any exhibitionist tendencies, but it now seemed kind of hot to think of him watching while I took off my swimsuit and got myself off.

I felt myself getting wet. 

“Fuck,” I said aloud.

I dropped the head of lettuce I’d been tearing up for salad and hurried to my bedroom. Stripping off my clothes, I flung myself on the bed, twisting my nipples with one hand and rubbing my clit with the other. 

In my mind’s eye I pictured Tim standing naked at the foot of the bed, watching as my fingers penetrated my wet, swollen pussy, and slowly jacking his cock. I didn’t know what his cock looked like, of course, but what I imagined would have made most men proud to possess.

It took me barely two minutes to come, and when I did it was with a bang. I heard myself moaning much louder than usual, and for a second I was terrified someone might have heard me.

When it was over I lay quietly for a few minutes, catching my breath. Finally I got up, put my clothes back on and returned to the kitchen. 

“You are in baddddd shape,” I said aloud.

***

The next day I ended up working longer than usual at the coffee shop, and by the time I got home it was late enough that I had to scramble to get everything ready for our dinner with Tim. 

I tidied the house and prepped the ingredients for a big paella, then went to take a shower and get dressed. I chose and discarded half a dozen outfits, some because I thought they might seem too revealing to a neighbor I barely knew, others because they felt schoolmarmish. 

I finally settled on a light cotton sweater in a pale blue and the most comfortable pair of jeans I own. I don’t like wearing makeup but I decided a bit of mascara couldn’t hurt. 

As I looked in the mirror I hoped I would look good to Tim without looking like I was trying too hard to impress him, even though I hoped to impress him very much. 

I had just finished putting on my favorite perfume when my mom got home from work. 

“You look very nice,” she said, kissing me on the cheek. “And smell good, too.”

I knew she knew I was thinking about Tim, and she gave me a sly smile.

While she freshened up, I set the table and finished the dinner prep. My dad got home about 5:30, gave me a kiss -- commenting too on how good I smelled -- and went to take a quick shower. 

At five to 6 we were pretty much ready, and on the dot of 6 the bell rang. Dad went to answer it. I heard his friendly welcome and Tim’s equally friendly greeting, and felt a twinge of excitement. I hoped my antiperspirant would hold up. 

When Tim came in he greeted my mom first, then turned to me. He was wearing crisp-looking khakis and a comfortable-looking shirt of oxford cloth with pale green stripes. He looked like he hadn’t shaved, but I kind of like the rough look, and his hair was just tousled enough to make you think he wasn’t overly fussy about grooming. 

When he held out his hand I took it. He held it just a second more than absolutely necessary, looking at me with those piercing blue eyes. If he had made a move to hug or even kiss me I doubt I would have resisted. Something told me he would have loved to do just that.

“You look great,” he said, apparently unconcerned that it might sound odd with my parents standing there. I think I blushed a little. 

“One red and one white,” he said to my dad, putting a bag on the counter without taking his eyes off me. “The white’s been chilling all afternoon.”

“Let’s open that one first,” my dad said. “It won’t stand up to the paella.”

“Paella?” Tim said. “I love paella.”

“It’s Alex’s specialty,” my mom said. I reddened a little, thinking she was trying a bit too hard to help me. When Tim turned away I glared at her, but she just shrugged.

I put the paella on to simmer while Tim poured the wine. We took our wine glasses and a tray of snacks out to the deck and arranged ourselves in canvas chairs around a low table to talk.

Tim was a perfect guest. He asked my mom and dad about their jobs and showed real interest in the answers. He turned out to be a rabid Dodgers fan, which greatly endeared him to my dad, and he greatly impressed my mom by his knowledge of gardening. 

Yet somehow while talking to them he kept showing his interest in me, drawing me into the talk with occasional well-timed questions, and keeping his eyes on me when politeness didn’t dictate their looking at someone else. I won’t say he was undressing me with his eyes, but there was definitely an undercurrent of sexual interest. 

At 7 we moved back inside for dinner, which was a leisurely two-hour affair with plenty of enjoyable talk. At one point I thought, I’m on my first date with Tim and my parents are along, but we were all having such a good time I really didn’t mind. 

After dinner we moved back outside. The night air had grown cool, so my dad built a fire in the firepit and we sat down to talk some more. Finally, about 10, I caught Mom giving Dad a look.

He stood up, stretched and said, “Time for the old folks to head inside.” 

Tim stood up. My dad shook his hand, saying, “It’s going to be great having your for a neighbor.” Tim gave my mom a hug and soon we were alone. We sat down again, on opposite sides of the fire.

“Thanks for being so sweet to my parents,” I said. “You charmed the socks off them.”

“I’m glad,” he said. Then, quietly and seriously, “How am I doing with you?”

“Well, you had me at, ‘I sweat like a pig,’ ” I said.

For a second he looked disconcerted, then his face lit up as he remembered what he’d said when we first met. He laughed again.

“Hah! Well. That always was my best pickup line.”

I laughed, and then we just looked at each other for a long minute. He leaned forward in his chair, and for a second I thought he might make a move to kiss me. Instead he said, very quietly, “Would you like to try out my hot tub?”

 A little thrill went through me. I had little doubt I’d get that kiss soon enough.

“That sounds great,” I said.

“Let me help you clean up here and then we can go over,” he said.

“I think my mom and dad did most of it already,” I said. “I’ll just finish up and follow you in five minutes.”

“Great!” he said. “I’ll go get the tub ready. I’ll leave the front door open.”

He smiled and we went inside. He let himself out and I went into the kitchen. I was right; Mom and Dad had cleaned up, so I washed the last few glasses and put them away. 

I slipped into my room, being careful not to wake my parents, and changed into my skimpiest bathing suit -- one I never wear in front of them. The top is little more than two scraps of black cloth, and the bottom barely covers my pubes, which thankfully I had trimmed that morning. 

I picked up a gauzy beach covering and was about to put it on when I caught my reflection in my full-length mirror.

I don’t have the best body in the world -- like a lot of women I wish my tits were a bit bigger and my hips a little smaller -- but damn, I’d fuck me. I allowed myself a little hope that Tim would see things the same way .

Three minutes later I crossed the front yard and let myself into his front door. The lights inside were turned down low and soft music was playing in the den.

Tim looked up when I came into the kitchen. I have the very great pleasure to report that when he saw what I was wearing his jaw dropped open.

“Wow,” he said. 

He seemed unable to say more. 

“Just wow?” I said, teasing him. “C’mon, use your words.”

“Absolutely perfect,” he finally said.

Meanwhile I noticed that he had changed into a pair of trunks that, loose though they were, did not conceal a slight erection. I felt myself getting wet.

He picked up the wine and two glasses. 

“Ready?”

We walked out on the deck. Now that we were no longer near the firepit, the night air seemed even cooler. I shivered slightly. I looked up and, there being no moon, the stars seemed brighter than ever, and I could almost feel their warmth. The lights inside the hot tub gave off a cool blue glow.

I crossed the deck, laid my thin wrap on a table and climbed into the tub, pausing at the top to give Tim a full view of my backside. I heard him draw a sharp breath.

I slid into the swirling water. The heat felt good after the cool air, and I loved the way the water caressed my skin.

I stood in the middle of the tub, arms at my side, hoping he was getting a good view of my breasts. He stood there, holding the two glasses and the bottle of wine, transfixed.

 “Aren’t you coming in?”

He shook himself out of his trance and put the glasses and wine on a shelf next to the tub. 

I slid into the warm water and lay back against the far side. The water churned around my breasts, and it was obvious even in the dim light that my nipples were fully erect. 

The very air seemed charged with sexual electricity.

Tim climbed in the tub and sat close to me but not touching. He poured two glasses and handed one to me.

He stared intently at me for several seconds while we sipped the wine. 

“You never answered my question yesterday,” he said.

“What question?”

“What I would have seen if I’d been watching you from my yard.”

Yesterday the question had made me blush, but the warmth I suddenly felt was not from embarrassment. I decided to play along.

“What do you think I was doing?”

“Well,” he said, “I’m guessing you took your top off to get a little extra sun.”

“I might have,” I said. 

I don’t know what made me do it, but I put my glass on the ledge, undid my top and let it fall. The churning water caught it and carried it away. 

Tim drank in the sight of my tits.

“I thought so,” he said, leaning a bit closer, “And I’m guessing you got a little carried away when putting sunblock on, and started caressing your breasts.”

“I might have,” I said, beginning to stroke them.

“And I’m guessing you gave extra attention to your nipples.”

“I might have,” I said, giving them both a pinch I felt in my crotch.

“And I’m guessing you got carried away and….” 

“I might have done that, too,” I said. 

I moved my hands to my hips, slid the bottom of the suit off and let it float away.

It felt absolutely wonderful to be naked in front of him. 

He moved a bit closer and whispered, “I’m guessing you might have played with yourself a little.”

Wow, I thought. But in for a penny, in for a pound. 

I slipped a hand between my legs and began rubbing myself. It felt a little nasty to be doing it in front of him, but I was so keyed up I didn’t care.

“I wish I had been there to see it,” Tim said quietly. 

Two can play this game.

“Now I have a question for you,” I said. “What would you have done if you’d seen me?” 

“What do you think I would have done?”

“I’m guessing you would have gotten hard instantly,” I said. 

“I might have.”

No doubt about that. There was already a big tent in his trunks.

“And I’m guessing you would have slipped your hand into your shorts and taken hold of your cock.” 

“I might have,” he said. 

He drank the last of his wine, put the glass on the ledge and slipped a hand under the waistband. I imagined him wrapping his hand around the shaft of a very nice cock.

“And I’m guessing you would have pulled them off and started playing with yourself.”

“I might have done that, too,” he said. He lowered his other hand into the water and pulled off his trunks. He threw them over the side, caught the top and bottom of my suit as they floated by him and threw them out, too. 

Then he slid next to me so our thighs were touching. I looked down, and his cock was standing straight up in his lap.

It’s odd -- a penis is an awkward thing to look at most of the time, flopping around as it does, but when it is erect and pointing at you, it is a beautiful thing indeed. 

Tim’s certainly was. It wasn’t that long -- a bit over the average penis of my experience -- but it was very thick and curved slightly upward. The sight of it, and of his hand wrapped around it, aroused something feverish in me. 

I leaned back, opened my legs slightly and slid a finger into my pussy. 

We watched each other for nearly a minute, he slowly stroking his cock, me slowly stroking my pussy. I don’t know when I have ever been so turned on.

“Where are we going with this?” I asked.

He took my face in his hands and began kissing me -- on my eyes, behind my ears, up and down my neck, then finally on my mouth, slipping his tongue gently between my lips. He lowered his hands to stroke my breasts, and when I pressed them against him he gave the nipples a slight twist. I moaned aloud.

Our kiss became more urgent. I reached for his cock. It felt heavy and hard in my hand, and when I gave it a squeeze he gave a grunt of pleasure.

He whispered into my ear. “I’m going to run inside and get a condom.”

“No need,” I whispered back.

What happened next was the closest I have ever come to being swept off my feet. Tim put his hands on my hips, lifted me part-way out of the water and backed me against the ledge. Before I could react his cock was inside me and he was beginning to move.

His thrusts were deep, urgent, demanding. I lay back on the ledge and let him fuck me, meeting each thrust with a squeeze around his cock. I caressed my breasts, pinching and twisting my nipples, and in less than a minute felt myself beginning to come.

Tim was close, too. He let go of my hips, reached for my shoulders and pulled me toward him. I wrapped my arms around him, brought my lips to his and met him in an open-mouthed kiss.  

Slipping his hands under my thighs, he stood up and all but impaled me on his cock. I wrapped my legs around him, met his final thrust with a final squeeze of my pussy. 

I have come hard many times in my life, but never like that. 

A huge shudder went through me, beginning in my crotch, radiating outward till my jaw fell open and my toes curled, and pulsing back again to my pussy, where I felt Tim’s cock swelling and jerking inside me. His cum poured into me, shot after shot, accompanied by a groaning like nothing I had ever heard from a man.

We stood there a long time, panting like a couple of animals, before Tim gently lowered us into the water. He sat well forward on the seat so I could comfortably keep my legs around him with his cock still inside me. 

He covered my face and neck with kisses, then brought his lips to mine. We made out for a long time before his cock finally began to soften and slipped out of me.

He lowered me onto the seat beside him but kept me in his embrace.

“Wow,” he said.

“Wow is right,” I echoed.

Some time passed before he spoke again.

“Are you getting cold?”

“No, I’m fine,” I said, pressing against him.

He reached behind him, poured two more glasses of wine and handed one to me.

“That was absolutely wonderful, Alex,” he said quietly. 

“Can we do it again sometime?” I asked.

He laughed.

“Um, no,” he teased. “One more orgasm like that and I’ll blow all my fuses.”

“I know how to replace a fuse,” I said, which was, oddly, true. 

“In that case….” he said.

He turned and pulled open a small cabinet next to the tub. Pulling out two towels, he handed me one and stood up.

“Should we go inside?”

“I’d love to,” I said.

He climbed out. As he did I noticed that his cock was already starting to get hard again. 

I got out and dried myself off. When I was done Tim said, “Can I just look at you for a minute?”

I let the towel fall. I’m not sure how much he could see in the dim light, but after a long moment he said, ““You are an incredibly beautiful and sexy woman, Alex.”

I felt a surge of warmth under my skin, and I figured I must be blushing. 

What is it about this guy that makes me blush all the time?

He put his arm around me and we walked inside. 

When we got to his bedroom he turned back the covers and laid me down in the softest sheets I had ever felt. He got in beside me and wrapped me in his arms. We kissed again.

It was me who broke the kiss. 

“I have to ask you something,” I said. “Did you plan this whole thing?”

“I had planned to ask you back here, yes,” he said. “I wanted to make love to you, but I wasn’t going to try it on your deck -- not with your parents so close.” 

“For the record,” I said, “that wouldn’t have stopped me.” 

He laughed.

“For real?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I’ll have to remember that.”

“What about the part where you asked me what I had been doing on the deck?”

“A sudden inspiration,” he said. 

I lowered my eyelashes.

“I have never masturbated in front of anyone before,” I said. “But I kind of liked it.”

“I’ll have to remember that, too.”

We didn’t just remember it, though; we re-enacted it, dozens of times -- in his hot tub and our pool, in his bed and mine, in daylight and dark, in the woods on a bike trip, in campgrounds from here to Yosemite and in hotels from here to Venice, before our marriage and after, and even a few times when the kids were sound asleep. 

And if we never quite reached the peak of that first time in his back yard, we always came damn close.