Verne grabbed out for his full-bodied wife, who was tugging her short skirt down as far as possible over her flaring thighs, and tried to kiss her. "Come on, honey," he urged. "How come you always got to act so Goddamn prim and proper?"

Even though she secretly yearned to feel her husband's throbbing male hardness pushing up into her indecently quivering loins, Sandi wouldn't have dreamed of letting him realize she was so wanton. Once again, she pushed him firmly away from her.

"D-don't swear at me, please, Verne," she said, only the slightest quavering in her southern-accented voice betraying her inner turmoil. "There's a time and place for everything…"

"But baby…"

"And I don't want to talk about it any more!" The shapely young wife turned determinedly back to her unpacking, ignoring Verne's glare of helpless anger as she struggled to control her forbidden emotions. It was only a minute or so before he slammed out the back door, but she'd already almost succeeded in convincing herself that she was proud of her willpower.

Now, three weeks later, the half-naked woman standing lost in thought in her darkened bedroom realized with a guilty start that her own hands had risen to caress her uncovered breasts, and that her loins were rippling with the same liquid desire as she'd felt that sun-drenched afternoon when her husband had tried to make love to her right in the kitchen. Opening her eyes, which had been clenched shut while she relived the obscene memory, the lonely wife could not help noticing that her rose-pink nipples were hardening into taut little buttons. Thoroughly ashamed of herself, she snatched her hands away from her forbidden flesh and made a conscious effort to erase all erotic thought from her mind.

What's wrong with me, anyway? she asked herself. Here I am, playing with my body like a thirteen year old instead of a mature married woman. And it's no good blaming Verne for being gone so much… it's not his fault I love him so much I can't stand being away from him.