Our friends claim that they must be very careful around my husband Robert: if not careful, he can talk your ear off. His knowledge of trivia and song lyrics is legend. I knew that but married him anyway.

Presently, we are about five miles and thirty minutes from our favorite inn: Rimon. It is high in the mountains, accessible at this time of year by four wheel drive vehicle or sleigh. We could have come by train and the resort would have sent out a sleigh for us, like they did on our honeymoon over two decades ago. The practical side of me decided to save a little money and have Robert drive our own SUV.

When we told friends about our favorite inn, named for the indigenous tribe Rimonateague, Robert insisted on sharing the same inside joke. “Even though the area is named for American Indians, most folks refer to it as Resort-in-the-Middle-of-Nowhere.”

Each pair or group of guests get their own cottage, stocked in advance with everything pre-ordered. Robert over-ordered a bit this time, but I had no reason to question his choices: he is a master chef in his own right, in addition to being successful businessman.

Our kitchen will be rustic, but functional. The larder will stock seasonings, spices and cooking utensils, and pots, pans, etc. If desired, a chef can come in and cook breakfast, lunch and/or dinner. We don’t mind fixing our own meals, just the way we want them, when the urge hits us.

I asked about the bill of fare, for the weekend.

I had a fair question, “What about the rest of the weekend? Tell me what you have on the menu.”

“Angie,” he reassured me, “You will get everything you want and need.”

Robert summed up, “Sweetheart, I have no doubt the meat you will eat will be A-1, First Class.”

Last time we were here, I threatened to steal the not only the most comfortable mattress ever, but the pillows as well (Just joking!).

There is a general store on the premises, but most people order in advance all they need. There is no formal dining room, so guests seldom see each other. Cabins are designed to be private hideaways: in summer, we could sit on our screened-in porch in the nude, frolic in the hot tub or even swim nude in the stream that runs behind the cottage we chose.

That stream venue would be suitable for ice skating this time of year.

Sitting nude in a hot tub, on an open porch, in a snowstorm must be one of the great erotic turn-ons of all time. My pussy started to salivate already, with just the thought of a wild weekend. I was so excited to reconnect.

We had three days and nights. Robert’s business had taken him away from me for increasingly long periods of time. My traveling volunteer work seldom jibed with his trips. Yes, it is frustrating to be empty nesters when one nestee is gone from the nest.

When that happened much too frequently, we would stay in touch by phone, email and now skyping.

Our conversations would cover the usual trivia and important home decisions, but Robert started to liven things up. He told me he had a date that night and would be off-line a while.

Our fantasy game was just that, using our imagination to excite each other.

I countered with not minding, “Lance and DeAndre’ would be over anyway.”

Our little fantasy game got worse, or better, as the case might be. He would describe his ‘date’. She always had a flaw that made her more human: a limp, a stutter, a bruise from a jealous lover, impossible financial troubles, or a piece of jewelry she hated but had to wear to please her man.

Robert would say, “I met her in the hotel bar. She was so like you (or unlike you).”

Reader: remember our friends’ fear of loss of an ear!

“She drank G&T just like you do.”, or he’d say she liked some drink I despise.

She always had a shaved pussy, gave excellent deep-throat and was insatiable.

Robert did use some variety. “Her tits were perfect, but small, shaped so that a pair of old fashioned paper snow-cones would fit nicely over each one.”

“Well, who is going to fit the cups on her, me or you, Robert?”

Or, “Her breasts were large, not grossly fat, but healthy-looking, almost falling out of her half-bra. She told me she passed the pencil test, even at her age.”

Robert continued, “She had already told me they were extra sensitive and I had to gentle. I never was. She did not complain.”

My comeback, “We sisters sometime have to stick together. We might have to discipline you if you hurt one of us.”

My husband responded, “Yeah, I can do things with my imaginary lover I couldn’t try with you.”

My bold question, “We can experiment sometime, can’t we?” He didn’t answer right away.

“Angie,” he said.

“We can do anything we want, with whomever we want. Perhaps one of these days, we can invite a third or fourth party into our bed.”

I replied, “Be careful what you wish for.”

Again, from an old song about “Ski King” he knew: “Don’t grab ahold of something you can’t turn loose.”

I never knew when Robert was going to toss the conversational ball into my court. I had to be ready when he asked, “And you, Angie?”

“Getting by.”

“Gittin by by gittin high, on women, words and wine?”

Robert has a wonderful knowledge of trivia, especially for lyrics or partial lyrics to the songs we grew up with. Again, he was ready.

I was ready also. “No. No getting high on women, for me, or at least. That is one course that is not on my menu.”

I fell into my verbal, erotic groove. “I’m not much for words, either, when I fuck. It is mostly grunts, groans, ‘fuck-fuck-fuck’.”

Husband picked up on my theme. “So just unintelligible caveman sounds?”

I corrected him. “Cavewoman sounds, and some, had you been there instead of Seattle, you would have heard me scream how much fatter his cock is than yours.”

“Fatter?”

“Yeah. And his dick is longer, too. I love you dear, but you’d never believe how large DeAndre’ is. One of these days, I’ll take a picture of it stretching my pussy and email it to you. Yes, he is fat all over, weighing over three hundred pounds.”

Robert responded, “I would love to see how you handle one that size.”

I asked, “Robert, are you talking about how I handle a man the size of a football lineman or handle his dick?”

I wanted to wrap up that mid-June telephone conversation, thinking I’d gone a bit too far.

Robert was in Seattle, I compromised. “Robert, they are both downstairs, watching the game. Oh, who is winning?”

Robert took the bait. “Boston right now, but it is early.” He was, in fact, watching the game.

I finished up. “Well, husband, I think I am going to send DeAndre’ home. Lance’s dick is a bit shorter, your length in fact, but uncircumcised. He lasts a long time. He can fuck me all night tonight. When you get home day after tomorrow, my cunt will be back in shape. You can have it then, in still pristine condition.”

Robert couldn’t let it go. “If Lance or DeAndre’ taught you any new positions, they will have to show me what they do, in person next time.”

My reminiscing and dreaming ended just as we pulled into the cottage drive-circle. It took only one trip each to unload and revel in the furnishings.

Robert whistled and said, “Beautiful. And who ever laid that fire is an expert. One match will be all we need to start a blazing fire. Then we get naked, have a drink and relax.”

My husband picked up his cellphone and dialed. “Yes, we will be ready in ten minutes. You can send the sleigh right away.” To my pleasant surprise, he had ordered a moonlight sleigh ride for us. We dare not light the fire yet.

Angie,” Robert suggested, “Will you listen for the sleigh. I must make one more call.”

Then we waited on the porch. One quick brandy and half a joint later, I heard the sleigh approach.

Robert couldn’t resist, “Bells on bobtails ring, making spirits bright.”

The cold weather under warm blankets mesmerized me. Time stood still.

The ride was magical. The sky was pocked with stars, but the weather forecast predicted heavy snow by morning. No one would be getting off the mountain until Monday morning, when we would all clear out.

Under a pile of genuine woolen blankets, we hugged, kissed, snuggled. Robert copped a feel. I let him.

Eventually, I recognized the trail back to our cabin. I was ready for starting a blazing fire, some smoke of our own, a drink, a light snack, romance and that wonderful bed.

“Oh my God!” There’s smoke coming out of the chimney. Somebody’s already lit the fire!”

Robert was not surprised, “I know. Now for your surprise.”

Robert bravely let me go inside first. It did not take long for my eyes to sweep the room. Against one wall, the fireplace roared. In front of the fire, lolling like an Adonis in lumberjack costume, a forty-ish guy smiled.

He lit a joint and offered it to me from one hand; he extended an Irish coffee from the other. I took both and turned and looked to my husband for guidance.

“Meet Thomas. He is here mostly for you, but can handle both of us.”