Art Of Love Making-1
"We'll have mangos."You see, on our first date in steamy July, we went to a restaurant near the shore. We didn't eat much, awaiting only our dessert. She'd asked me what I wanted and I'd looked at the menu. The first thing that caught my eye was the word `mango,' which is my favorite fruit and as I would later learn, hers as well. Mangos became a tradition between us, a passionate link that triggered our already mounting desires for one and other. Somehow, we always ended up eating them, wherever we were. And since Emma's favorite place to be was an expensive restaurant, we had them often. Usually they came with vanilla ice cream, cut into pieces in a fancy bowl that stood like a wineglass on the table.But now, we were eating them on the verandah at her home, looking out into the summer night where the fireflies danced to our union. Emma's long black curls fell around her shoulders as she taunted me, biting softly into the fruit, nibbling at it and licking it now and then. She. Swinging was in our marriage closet and monogyny stumbled backward.It was on a Saturday morning, just after my 25th birthday and 7th marriage anniversary. The air’s crisp scent was pregnant with seasonal change, The new velvet green leaf canopy of Sycamore trees at the Stanford Mall heralded change. The new green grass carpet of the Diablo Range’s distant hills augured tectonic change.Under the portents of change, we met.I held a pair of shoes selected for hubby in a men’s shoe store and felt a presence behind me. I turned. He stood a shoe rack row away, openly admiring me.I was not a stare or leer but a welcome gaze accompanied with a warm smile, a look of kindred recognition, the kind which draws one closer.I looked down, then back up. He still smiled. I smiled a returning invitation, then blushed. He approached confidently and asked as if no longer strangers."What do you think about this shoe? Does it go with me?"I set the pair held down and observed him. He wore expensive,.
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