"I'd like to read a story like that," she said.

I knew her secret longing for the touch, caress, kiss of a passionate woman.

I showed her where to read a story like that, and many more.

"Would you ever... really?" I asked.

"I'm afraid I'd panic... run away," was her weak excuse.

A message sent, an address given, a date set. Would her touch be as expressive as her words?

I led her from the hot bath to the chair, naked, fastened... moistening.

A tap at the door, and I greeted her author.

"She's upstairs. I will return tomorrow."