The motel room was less than ideal for a last romantic tryst. Cheerless décor, faded curtains and scratched bedside tables. The Air Wick air freshener was fighting a losing battle with the musty odour. I’d bought a bottle of champagne from the bottle shop before we left the hotel and we sat up in bed, propped up by the lumpy pillows and sipped it out of chipped wine glasses.
I put my glass down, gently removed Frankie’s glass from her hand, tilted her face towards me and kissed her. I felt her defences dissolving as surely as if she were in a flotation tank. Our lovemaking was an opera of sighing, whispering, moaning, gasping, with both of us playing all the roles. My passion was so overwhelming that I had to consciously rein myself in, for fear of hurting Frankie. She responded with an i
