my hair and whispered back, “Oh, yes, I’m fine. Do anything you want.”

I stood up and reached out for him. He grasped my hand and stood, bearing a puzzled look on his face. I kissed him quickly, and then carefully removed his suit jacket and vest, hanging them on a peg nearby. I unbuttoned his shirt slowly, inhaling his scent deeply as I passed from one button to the next. When the last button was free, I slid the shirt off of him with delicacy, and added it to the clothes on the peg. I reached down, and grasped his belt buckle, preparing to unfasten it. He put his hands on mind and whispered, “Wait. Let me do that.”

He stepped from his pants, and stood in his shoes and socks, wearing only a pair of silk boxer shorts. There was enough light in the room for me to see that there was an obstacle in the way of removing his shorts, so I waited while he maneuvered them off. Finally, he stood, naked, facing me.

Jeremiah was one of those people who was as comfortable naked as dressed, and he stood before me, proudly and defiantly, as if to acknowledge my thoughts that he was, indeed, a thing of immense and unrivaled beauty.

I gently pushed him back into the chair, and sank again to my knees. I looked up and realized that he was the most perfectly formed man I had ever seen. Even in the dim light , I could, at last, drink in every part of this beautiful man. I reached up and began to trace my fingers along his body. Electricity coursed through him, and it reached beyond him through my fingers. His smooth and graceful neck gave way to supple, broad shoulders. There wasn’t a hair on his chest, only a wisp of a trail leading from his navel downward. His skin was richly tan, perfect, unmarred, unblemished and as smooth as newly woven velvet.

His dime-sized nipples were soft until my hands passed over them; they reacted to the subtle touch by hardening slightly, which sent shivers down my spine when I realized cognitively that I had evoked the reaction merely by touching him. His chest was sublimely carved, as if from the smoothest of stone, and the slope of his ribcage was gentle. I sat back and watched the rise and fall of his chest grow insistently fast; and though his eyes were closed, I could see them moving furiously behind his eyelids. He was perfectly toned and dramatically defined, and my spirit soared as my fingers glided past his ribs, moving downward.

He insistently urged my on with little whimpers and moans, and spread his legs to force me onward. Realizing his need and wishing nothing more than to please him, I took him in my hand. The touch caused him to jump slightly, but he settled quickly. It was magnificent, and was exactly as I had pictured it so many times in my fantasies. It matched his frame and his gentle spirit with such grace that one might be forced to imagine that he had created it himself. Powerfully hard but gracefully soft, it was, like the rest of him, perfect. Even in the dim light, I could see that my actions were welcome and acknowledged.

Without asking permission, I leaned over and flicked my tongue across it, drawing the sweet nectar into me, and the first taste of it nearly drove me over the