While my mind is apprehensively occupied with the momentous task
at hand, Laura sees me approaching it from the wrong direction
and with insufficient maturity.  As I wrestle with composition,
style, and intrigue, she knows that I must myself be composed,
affectionate, and circumspect, or I'll produce something that isn't
good enough for my mandator.  Having received the required
attributes and attitudes from the same authority, she sets out to
redress the balance of my personality.

We close the doors.  We clear up all the little things that aren't
nice to wake up to.  We drop our garments in the familiar places
and bathe our bodies to make them ready for each other.  As we
settle on our bed, a Land Rover pulls up and a trucker rings the
doorbell.  So we talk to him, making no secret of how he has
disturbed us, and he leaves with a key to our little farm.  We start
the cassette from the beginning and hope for better luck.  We turn
up the volume until we couldn't hear the doorbell if we wanted to.

This is no ordinary little affair.  Laura has brought a bottle of
wine, and all her scented, mysterious oils are at the ready.  As I
embrace her, she shows me that she wants more than just a Wham,
bang, thank you, Ma'am.  The wine turns out to be rotten, but the
oils are not.  Laura's body writhes with sensuality, my back loves
the assaults of her fingernails.

The singer assures us that (s)he intends to taste her strawberries
and drink her sweet wine--whoever she may be.  Much less
poetically, but rather more tangibly, I do just that to Laura.  "Not
so fast," she tempers me, as I begin getting carried away by the
fascination of her approaching climax.  Laura titillates me with her
hot lips and searching tongue, and I feel myself swelling and ready
for our ultimate union.

In a moment, I go through the grandest of explosions inside her,
protracting it for what seems like a marvelously long orgasm.
Returning to more methodical activity, we bring about her smile,
making it last for ever and ever.  Finally, she's ticklish once more,
and I expect some rest.

But more is to come.  Laura, directing the action, pours wine all
over me, mixing it with sun tan oil, and our bodies feel like
dolphins frolicking in the everlasting surf.  We massage each other,
hug, and caress; we enjoy our sensitized nerve endings in a
carnival of touch.  My face gets a skin treatment of sex fluids, and
next I'm being massaged with chocolate pudding.  Some of it gets
eaten, too, and soon after, our postlude takes the form of a very
intimate shower for two.

Later, our bodies entwined in the lush green grass, I drift off into
blissful sleep.  Upon waking, I find myself alone with my memories.
Laura is nowhere to be seen.  In the kitchen Maria is preparing
dinner, a gleam in her eye and a twinkle in her smile.