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“You know, Blaire, I used to bring out the best in you. Now I just bring out the beast in you. I think I may be losing my touch.”
    â€œYou can have mine,” I propose, and press my palm against his abdomen.
    Lou places his hand over mine, cups his so that our fingers are touching. “What in the world am I going to do with you?” he contemplates. “Besides the…well, you know, the obvious.”
    I tickle his belly. “How about an encore? Is that something you would do with me?”
    Lou leads me up the walkway. “You mean a private show?” he ponders, easing the key inside the lock. “I’m afraid that isn’t included in the ticket price.”
    â€œThat’s fine. Rest assured you’ll get plenty of buck for your bang.”
    â€œYou’re a beast, beautiful,” Lou says, and I can hear the affection—and the arousal—in his voice. He shuts the door behind us.
    When one door closes, so does another. This time it’s the door to our bedroom.
    â€œWhy do you do that?” I query, slipping off my flats.
    â€œDo what?” he asks, and his innocence is genuine.
    â€œWhy do you shut the door? Ain’t nobody here but us dickens.”
    Lou pushes his hands into his pockets, making his pants bulge in all the wrong places. “I just don’t want opportunity to knock while we’re…knocking boots, that’s all.”
    â€œThat’s right,” I play along. “Opportunity had better find a more opportune time to come and knock on our door.”
    Lou laughs. “It’s just comforting, I guess. Reassuring. I like doing it, so that when we’re…doing it, we’re completely alone together. Stuck on each other, stuck in here. Stuck in a never-ending state of embarrassing statements. Blaire, shut me up, please.”
    I trap him in a lip-lock, effectively shutting his trap. Lou responds with a trap of his own: his arms. They fit around me snugly, securely, like a bodice.
    â€œBlaire, darling,” he addresses me upon release, “let me entertain you.” Lou bows. It is gallant and grandiose and I can’t help but feel like a princess.
    Lou smiles, kicks off his shoes. “Wish me luck,” he says.
    I don’t heed. “There’s no need. You lucked out with me. You’re going to get lucky with me. Better not push your luck.”
    â€œI’ll take your advice,” Lou agrees, “and give you a kiss.” So saying, he places a preperformance peck on my cheek.
    Lights up. Showtime. I lean back on the bed, supporting myself on my hands as Lou’s hips begin to gyrate like Pelvis Presley. There is no music, just me and my private dancer,standing before me in his tight T-shirt and Herculean hubris. I can almost hear him humming, “Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?” I used to bring out the best in him. Now I bring out the beast in him, too. I am definitely not losing my touch. Lou watches me watch him—or maybe it’s the other way around.
    He lifts his shirt, curtain rising until the stage is bare. His chest is impeccable: a landscape of crimps and grooves and sinewy delights. I admire the undulation of his muscles as he moves. He is awkward yet graceful, confident yet modest.
    Liquid lust soaks my panties. Each tingle mingles with the next, until my body starts to vibrate and my hips begin to roll.
    â€œAre you trying to upstage me, Blaire?” he teases.
    â€œLou, button your lip and unbutton your pants.”
    Lou buttons his lip and unbuttons his pants, and when they come off, he looks like the Michelangelo’s David but with all the naughty bits covered.
    â€œNow we know who wears the pants in this relationship,” Lou remarks, looking pointedly at my black slacks.
    â€œYes, we do. And it isn’t you.” I take off my trousers. “And it certainly isn’t me.”
    Lou approaches the bed and I sit up as his body enters