We had just under four and a half hours together. It began, after our hungry kisses and such relieved and happy hugs of welcome, with a cup of tea on her leather sofa.  It ended with a delicious fish salad she had prepared in advance.

In between we made love in the way that we do, part enacting a fantasy that I will not relate, but that we both enjoyed enormously.  At one point she was standing in impossibly high heels wearing nothing but a leather cuff on each wrist and ankle and a leather collar around her throat, her arms raised above her head. She looked so beautiful and so sexy that I just admired her, adoring her elegant curves, her perfect breasts, gorgeous legs, delectable bum, and sexy back.  Her hair, growing longer now, is so lovely.

We spent most of our time in her living room, on the carpet and using a large execise ball, but we spent an intimate half an hour in bed beneath the sheets. It is heaven when we are both sated and are locked together, skin to skin. She shed some tears, but I wasn't the cause of all of them.  It is good knowing that she confides in me, although I so hate to see her sad. 

She has now gone away for a short holiday.  Our communication will be limited to text until Sunday evening. 

These brief moments of meeting are like impossibly bright stars in a dull, flat, black sky.