My mom doesn’t use a computer. In addition to making her airline reservations online, every few days I print out copies of my daily blog for her to read. This blog will not be included in her next batch. And if any of my kids are reading…stop now. I have sex on the brain. Like , I’m watching the words appear on my computer screen while I ponder the complexity of male-female relations as I pound the keyboard. Something else was pounding last night, while I read yet another book in the addictive . For a reason beyond good judgement, I want to share: I touched the fly of his jeans, and suddenly the moment for being tentative was over. His jeans were off, and his shirt, too, and my panties vanished. His long cool body pressed full-length against my warm one. He kissed me over and over in a kind of frenzy. He made a hungry noise, and I echoed it. His fingers probed me, fluttering against the hard nub in a way that made me squirm. “Eric,” I said, trying to position myself underneath him. “Now.” He said. “Oh, yes.” Read next feature >