Dear Editor

her of theirs. Memories of that last conversation with her father began seeping in around the corners of her thoughts, and she shook her head to send them scurrying. Eric will wonder what's taking me so long, she thought. Or not. He probably doesn't even know I'm upstairs. The guest bathroom had been occupied and Rita had kindly pointed to the stairway.
She was pleased when Eric had agreed to come. He hadn't even minded that the only costume in his size was Darth Vader—no need to mention the skintight superhero getup. Overall, he was being a good sport, even though he said the helmet was uncomfortably hot. His full head of blond hair was Eric's one vanity, along with a mustache and full beard. Jessica had a feeling that the helmet was an issue, not because of the heat, but because of the way it mashed his shining curls.
But he had come with her and put the helmet on as he rang the doorbell. He rarely drank alcohol and he wasn't particularly curious about people he didn't know—something that always came in handy at parties—but he kept Jessica supplied with snacks and laughed good-naturedly at Gary's jokes, even if they weren't funny. The helmet effectively hid what Jessica knew was a scowl when someone said something that didn't fit in with his politics or brand of humor, but she was glad he was there. They were at the point in their relationship where coming to the party alone would have been out of the question, at least in her mind.
Jessica was in no hurry to rejoin the others. Maybe I should slow down on the wine, she mused as she picked up a copy of Vogue and flipped through it absentmindedly. She and Eric had known each other forever. They had been dating—unbidden, the thought echoed—forever. That didn't bode well. She loved Eric. Didn't she? Maybe not like what she'd grown up seeing between her parents, but how often does that happen?
There was just something different about him. Nothing she could put her finger on, but even though they'd known each other a long time, it had been years before they actually dated. Soon after they'd gotten serious, he'd given her a key to his place so she could water his plants when he had an out-of-town trip. They had yet to be intimate, and she'd decided to jump-start things one afternoon, by letting herself in, in time to greet him when he got home from work. Surprised, he said he'd been outside in the sun all day and needed to jump in the shower before hugging her.
"Why don't I jump in there with you?" she'd purred.
To her amazement, he had turned her down! Just thinking about the memory hurt. She scrutinized herself in Rita's lavish bathroom mirror again. Pretty damn good. And he hadn't wanted to see her naked? Worse, his eventual explanation, pried out of him later during a commercial as they sat watching Monday night football together, hadn't helped at all. He said he was self-conscious. "It looks kinda small when I'm not…" he had said sheepishly, raising an eyebrow suggestively.
She'd almost choked on her popcorn but nodded in what she hoped passed for an understanding manner. Small? He was thinking that being in a shower with her naked wouldn't excite him? For cryin' out loud! Who doesn't get excited showering with a naked lady he claims to love?
Weeks later, they had made love for the first time—no problems in that department but no big fireworks, either. As soon as he was done, he'd rolled over with a satisfied, "Good night." Was that what all the fuss was about? True, it had eventually gotten better for her, but it just wasn't…intimate. I'm being unreasonable, she thought.
The memory of that first shower rejection stubbornly smarted every time it came to mind. What was she getting herself into with this very nice, handsome guy who delivered when it got down to it, but who apparently only needed or wanted to "get down to it" once a week or so?
Bleh, she thought, taking another swig of wine. My standards are too high. Mom and Dad were an anomaly. It's not like guys are beating down the door for the chance at being with me.
Just then, someone did beat on the bathroom door, the timing making her jump, shriek, and giggle simultaneously. "Coming," she sang, walking to the door. When she opened it, she laughed. Eric, sweet Eric. Dependable Eric. He'd missed her.
Without a word, Darth Vader shut the door behind him, turned off the light and pulled her body close. It was pitch black. She couldn't see an inch in front of her, but she could feel a lot more than an inch pressed into her. Well, this is a pleasant change of affairs, she thought. Maybe Eric had decided to enjoy some wine after all. If that was what did it, she'd always have a bottle nearby!
Jessica heard the thud of a plastic helmet hitting the plush carpet as hungry lips found hers. Wildly, tongue met tongue. Strong hands explored her satin-encased bottom and she clawed at the thick robes. Damn, he feels good, she thought. And tastes even better. When had Eric started kissing like this?
In the darkness, he was suddenly gone. "Come back," she whispered plaintively. She had never gotten so excited so quickly. Never. As Jessica's mind reeled, she heard a whisper behind her, "May I touch you again? I should have asked first."
"Of course," she murmured. Eric had never wanted to role play—or play much of anything before—but maybe the costume had gotten him going. Large but gentle hands reached around and cupped her breasts, toying with them, exploring inside the bodice of her costume until nimble fingers found her nipples and kneaded them lovingly. She thought she would climax right then and there, but then his right hand pulled out, slowly walking down the bodice of the costume to her stomach, caressing her right