." I didn't know what to say. The last thing Iwanted to do was to make her angry."And, really, I can't believe it gives you any great pleasure either....She was right, of course. Twice a month I climbed onto the laundry-folding table in the basement, propped myself up on my elbows and knees,butt in the air, while my wife pushed her fingers deep into my anus inorder to "milk" my prostate. I can't honestly say that it felt good,nothing like an orgasm?well, how I remember an orgasm used to. "I'm reallysorry I'm late back, Miss Smith," I pleaded. "I've not wasted any timebut the supermarket was busy. Will you forgive me, please?" I must havesounded desperate and my voice seemed to go up an octave.She didn't answer my question, but just replied, "Pass me your car keys,house keys and the supermarket receipt, Joanna." I did as I was ordered,not thinking of the possible consequences of losing possession of mykeys."Thank you," she said, her politeness taking me a little by surprise."Now. More

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