One lazy Saturday afternoon, after a beautiful evening of lovemaking and a good night’s rest, I was standing at the sink, shaving, when my wife came into the bathroom in her blue terry-cloth robe. As is usual during this morning ritual, I was naked, with a towel across my shoulders. Vanna came up and stood right beside me. I could tell she was watching me, and it made me a little nervous.

Instead of saying anything, she leaned forward and put her arms around my hips; the hug was warm and reassuring. I continued shaving, but now I felt my wife’s hand move down to my crotch. She closed her fingers warmly around my flaccid penis and began to squeeze it in a nice, slow rhythm.

Neither of us spoke. I concentrated on my task, trying to scrape away without cutting myself, but I was becoming more excited by the... Read More