She had a trim, narrow waist, and slender hips, almost boyish but with the telltale curves that announced she was a woman after all. Five-four, built in good proportion to her height, with long smooth thighs that really should have been on TV doing those Gentlemen-Prefer-Hanes pantyhose commercials, and maybe they would have been if she hadn't abandoned her dreams of a career and married Tom. But when she was twenty-one and full of love for him, how could she let her own idle dreams stand in the way? He had his B.A. then, and he had to get his M.A. and Ph.D., and it was a job for two people. She'd abandoned her dreams to go to New York and try her luck as an actress, and she'd gone to work in a boutique instead, selling funky clothes and drawing a salary that helped keep her husband in graduate school.

Those had been good years, both of them in their poverty-stricken twenties, good years indeed. When dinner was macaroni and cheese washed down with Gallo Chianti or, at best, a night on the town – the free movie town every Wednesday night on campus followed by a group safari with Tom's friends to the local pizza parlor. Pitcher of beer and hold the anchovies. And then home, both of them slightly tipsy and clutching one another for support, and into bed where neither of them needed the slightest bit of support. His cock, hard and strong, punching its way into her supple, hungry twat, filling her with hot stroke after stroke, fucking her until she moaned for mercy and clutched him with her hands and legs, making sure he wouldn't let up, wouldn't give her the slightest bit of relief from his hard, fast fucking.

"So?" Joanne asked the mirror. "So?" Was she changed that much? Had she turned into a scag while she wasn't looking? Not a fucking chance! She caught up the falls of her hair, let it swirl back onto tier shoulders, around her face. After ten years of marriage she could still pass for twenty-one. Nearly. Nearly enough. And inside – God, the way she felt inside!