The more confident she grew, the farther her hands traveled: her sensitive caresses worked their way down my arms, releasing all the tension I was carrying around in my hands, and her fingers slid under my arms, teasingly touching the sides of my breasts. If Sammy had been a boy, this would have been the most effective foreplay ever! I decided to remind myself to joke with her later about teaching Steve a thing or two.

"Okay," said Sammy eventually, when I was just about to drift off to sleep. "You're done. How did that feel?"

"Amazing," I said and meant it. I sat up, pulling my robe back on and sinking into the pillows. "So now what?"

"Well," said Sammy, surveying the room, "I think we've used up just about everything in here, so now it's time to take advantage of room service."

We ordered champagne and oysters, which arrived on a silver tray. I'd never had oysters before, and Sammy showed me how to eat them, putting the shell to my lips and tipping my head back so that they slid down my throat. "Just let it glide down," she advised. "A bit like swallowing after a blow job."

When Sammy ate oysters, she looked elegant and sexy whereas I failed the first couple of attempts and got more shellfish up my nose than into my mouth. Sammy leaned over and helped me out: putting her hand under my chin, she tenderly tipped my head back at the right angle, and I swallowed the delicate muscle and liquor down whole. When I finally did it properly, I was instantly hooked on the salty, slippery sexiness of oysters. I made a mental note to order some of these when Steve and I were on our honeymoon.

Our next course was a steak dinner, washed down with velvety red wine and followed by gorgeous sugar-sweet strawberries and freshly whipped cream, which Sammy and I fed to each other with our fingers. Stuffed and happy, we retired to the bed, where we sat cross-legged, drinking a little more wine, reminiscing about the past, and talking about the future.