As always, my attention was drawn to one of the pictures on my desk, a blushing young lady of great beauty and a clearly uncomfortable sailor posing for their wedding photo. The picture was taken in 1961 when I wed my lovely lady, Jean. We’d been married for over thirty four years when she was taken from me when cancer stilled her beating heart. That was over three years ago. I still missed her and daily mourned her loss. Shaking my head to snap myself back to reality, I picked up the trash can to take care of the largely unwelcome pile on my coffee table. With the dogs comfortably ensconced next to my legs in blissful slumber, I tossed post cards and letters into the trash can. It was soon made plain that I’d been set up by an evil-minded friend or friends. The trash can gained weight with invitations to join this dating service or that, or to become a member of this x-rated video club or that. Someone was going to get it in spades when I figured out who or whom were going to. When I start to rinse the strawberry-scented foam from your long beautiful black hair, your eyes flutter open. You smile at me as I finish with your hair. As I drain the water, I use the handheld pulsating shower head to rinse the last of the bubbles from your wet, naked form.I leave you for a moment, quickly returning with your thick fluffy sherpa robe, fresh from the dryer. I had slipped into the short silk robe that you bought me for our first anniversary. I help you out of the tub and wrap you in your warm robe. Once again, I scoop you up and carry you into our bedroom. There is a crackling fire in the fireplace, soft music playing in the background, and another bottle of Dom in an ice bucket next to your makeup table. I put you on the settee, and hand you a glass of Dom, and a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries.As you nibble on the sweet fruit and sip the champagne, savoring the way the flavors complement each other, I take your hairbrush and begin to brush your long flowing.
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