Friday at 4:30 Pm

It had been a rough week. The kind of week that makes a man feel older than he really is. That's how I was feeling as Friday came to a close, and I knew that there was nothing waiting for me at home but a microwaved meal and some TV and whatever deviltry I could get into on the Internet. So my mind began to wander and it conjured a daydream about you and me.

I pictured us meeting, a rendezvous of the kind that happens in books with covers depicting a buxom heroine being embraced by some bare-chested and handsome outlaw with long hair and strong cheekbones. We'd meet at some out-of-the-way restaurant – the kind of place where two lovers can sit and have a quiet, intimate conversation over some good food and a glass of wine without the world intruding on their little universe.

You wore green – a dress that was tasteful enough for public viewing but that also was cut low enough to let me easily look down into the warm and tempting shadows between your breasts. Every time I did that I imagined I could feel your heartbeat there, the soft pulse of the woman who had stolen my own heart away as skillfully as any pickpocket. I couldn't help but want to touch you there, in that shaded cleft, to feel your heart's rhythm and the message of love it had for me.

We sat at a small table, holding hands in the light of the glass-enclosed candle that flickered there. The light danced in your eyes, making twinkling lights dance like stars in them. I think I wished on every one of those stars, and yet I knew I had nothing to wish for – the answer to my every wish was seated across the table, holding my hand.

I probably wasn't much of a conversationalist. I didn't really want to talk, just to be with you and bask in the warmth and beauty of you and the glow you make in my heart every time I see you. To be honest, I also had trouble concentrating; the soft light bathing your skin and turning it amber kept making me think about how much I wanted to peel that green dress off you and touch every inch of that tantalizing flesh.

How long were we at the restaurant? I don't know; it seemed like minutes to my heart, but to the rest of my body – the part of me that wanted to make love to you – it felt like days. Finally, after we'd decided we really weren't hungry anyway and had lost interest in our wine, we paid our bill and walked out into the dark parking lot together.

I couldn't resist anymore. The tensions and turmoil of my week were drifting away from me like dried leaves from an autumn tree and I had you to thank for it. There I took your hand again, and curled our hands together between your chest and mine as I pressed against your body and nudged you back against your car. I looked down into your eyes, marveling at what I saw there – a part of you wanted me with ferocity equal to my hunger for you, but there was also an uncertainty, a fear of the feelings we shared. I kissed your lips gently, wanting to melt the fear from your heart, and felt you respond to my touch. "Home is too far away," I whispered to you. "I can't wait that long to see you naked. Let's get a hotel here."

I know I felt your reaction before I saw it. Your heartbeat jumped and fresh, hot blood dashed through your veins as my words reached your ears; a moment later the blush crept upwards from your chest and across your cheeks. You looked down momentarily, almost as though you were a little girl who'd been caught being naughty, and then you looked up into my face. Our eyes met, and I knew your answer before you said, "Okay, baby...let's hurry. I can't wait either."

We found a nearby hotel and I registered us while you went to get the room ready – turn the AC on, find some good relaxing music on the radio, turn the lights on low. When I walked in you were sitting on the bed, and you stood to walk into my arms. I slid them around your waist and you put yours around my neck. The moment we touched I felt electricity arc through my entire nervous system like wildfire. I pulled you close, reveling in the warmth and softness of your body pressed against mine. You laid your head on my chest and we stood like that for a moment, then you said, "All the times I've wanted this, Steven – all the dreams and fantasies and wishes are coming true at last. Hold me, baby, please hold me."

The radio was playing softly as we stood there, holding each other, dancing motionlessly in the half-light of the bedside lamp. I'd never felt so right – so at home – in anyone's arms before. I kissed the top of your head, smelling your shampoo. "You are the treasure I've wanted for so long," I whispered. "And with you in my arms I am the richest of all men. I love you, kitten."

I felt something hot and wet on my chest. Your voice was choked with tears you didn't want to cry as you said "Make it real, Steven. Make love to me so I'll know it's really happening and we're finally together."

When I slid your dress up and over your head, learning that you'd worn frilly black underwear beneath it, I marveled at how beautiful your body is. Every curve and plane, every contour and hollow, met and blended like the smooth marble of a classic statue. Your breasts, heavy in my hands, seemed to vibrate faintly as I held them and I wasn't sure if it was excitement or fear that filled you at my caress. I slid my hands under the waistband of your panties and eased them down your hips, revealing your naked mound. "I know you like a girl to be bare," you said with a grin.

I returned your grin with one of my own. "Oh yeah; so much nicer when I'm feasting," and slipped my hand between your thighs. My fingers found a burning hot cleft drenched with juices there. At the caress your eyes closed and a soft gasp escaped from your lips. "Yes, Steven – I want you to do that to me. If you knew how many times I've touched myself there and dreamed about it..."

"Then there's no sense in making you wait any longer, love," I replied. I helped you step out of your panties and discarded your bra on a chair, then led you to the bed.

We made beautiful love, exploring and discovering each other's secret places. But somehow every new treasure we uncovered seemed like we'd already known about it, as though somehow we'd already made love many times in the past and knew each other's bodies as intimately, as completely, as we knew our own. Every taste, every texture, was new and yet wonderfully familiar. The sounds of pleasure and ecstasy that we made were new to our ears but hauntingly, eerily, old to our hearts. Outside the door the world and its troubles turned on, but in that room we had our own universe all to ourselves.

The hours flew by. We made love and then dozed in each other's arms, awoke and washed each other in the shower (which turned into more lovemaking in the steamy heat, warm water spraying down your back as you held onto the shower nozzle and I moved behind you, holding your hips and listening to your cries for more), and then just lay silently holding each other as the world began to waken with the sunrise.

We made love once more, frenzied and rough this time, before dressing and saying our temporary goodbyes. We both knew that it would only be a short time before we'd be together again, but for now it was time to return to the real world.