She moaned deep in her throat and I had the feeling that I was hitting a sweet spot with every stroke so I didn’t change a thing. She growled low in...her throat, and I slid my hand around her hip to find her hand stroking her clit in a deep circular motion. I added a little pressure with my hand pushing a little more and she gasped, realizing I wasn’t asleep any longer. The added pressure and the insistent stroke proceeded to push her over the edge. I could feel her grip me tight, spasm after. So five days a week, young boys and girls filed in and out of her front door with sheet music stuck under their arms. Music, it seemed, became the backdrop of our neighborhood. At any given time, Mozart or Ravel could be heard wafting over the backyard fences.When my wife was at home dying of cancer, she always wanted her window opened just a crack just so she could hear the melodies (no matter how badly they were sometimes performed.)She died in April at the age of twenty-nine. Camelia brought. More

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