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business.
    They came simultaneously and so quietly I felt embarrassed for crying out.
    Sean rolled away from me first, then Joe. Snuggling up to my favourite pillow, Joe promptly fell asleep.
    'Thanks,' Sean mumbled from the other side of the bed. "That was fun.' Then he was out, too.
    Some things never change, I thought. Still, there was a spring in my step as I padded into the shower to wash off the night's adventure.
    The water streamed over me, soothing my tired muscles. My soapy hand drifted between my legs. I'd have one last firework before sleep. As my fingers pursued the little explosion, a single refrain beat through my head: When we're alone. When we're alone.

Chapter Two
All Work and No Play
     
    I left them sleeping the next morning. I tried to wake them, but a few grumpy mumbles were all I got for my trouble. Even as I dressed, Sean squirmed over to Joe's side of the bed and wrapped his hand around his cock.
    If that didn't wake Joe, nothing would.
    For the first time, I noticed Sean wasn't circumcised. Still buttoning my sheer silk blouse, I walked around the bed to get a closer look. His relative slightness might have exaggerated the effect but - goodness - his equipment was large. The foreskin hugged his heart-shaped glans like a smooth pink turtleneck. I put one knee on the mattress and kissed the little dimple at the base of his spine. He stirred. He smacked his lips. Encouraged, I tongued the honey-gold down that shadowed his tailbone.
    'Mm- bm ,' was all he said.
    I peeked over his hip. His penis had begun to wriggle against the white sheet, rilling from the bottom up. The head poked out a smidgen more. I sighed. I remembered how men got in the morning. He and Joe were sure to have a quickie when they finally woke. I wished I had time to stay and watch - and help, of course!
    Later, I promised, but it was hard to drag myself away, even if I was late for work.
    My resentment faded as soon as I hit the great outdoors. The day was beautiful: bright blue sky, flaming autumn leaves. The walk from Society Hill to
South Street
led through the city's best-kept eighteenth-century buildings. If that weren't satisfaction enough for one morning, three male joggers turned to check the posterior fit of my yellow Capri pants. I congratulated myself for pairing them with the matching crop jacket, and rewarded my best-looking admirer with a wink. He promptly tripped over his shoelaces.
    During the ensuing 'are-you-all-right?' exchange, he passed me his card. I appreciated the gesture, but wondered how compulsive you had to be to carry business cards out jogging. Plus, he wasn't built as nicely as Sean or Joe.
    Good grief, I thought. One night of Rocky Road and I was spoilt for plain vanilla.
    I glanced at the card as I crossed
Fifth Street
. 'L. Kingston Waters,' it said. 'Estate Agent.' He might as well have been a used car salesman. He did have nice blue eyes, though - bedroom eyes, with curly black lashes starring the lids.
    The door to my bookshop jingled as I pushed it open. My heart warmed at the sight of so many customers browsing the stacks. Everyone told me you can't sell romance in the city. You've got to locate in the suburbs to catch the bored housewives. Luckily, I didn't listen. One year later, Mostly Romance out-grossed the local chain and the popular new age bookshop two doors down. Our atmosphere accounted considerably for our success. We boasted oak panelling , moulded ceilings and comfy chairs. A jungle of greenery enhanced the scent of leather and printer's ink. We also served the best coffee in town. Women came in giggling carloads from as far as
Virginia
. Men shopped for their wives or tried to pick up dates. People couldn't find what we had anywhere else, and once you took our back room into account, we were well-nigh irresistible.
    The back room was my special baby. It housed a collection of erotica from all over the world, a real treasure house of delights. Customers wrote thanking me for