There was no shame in such a thing, Elizabeth assured herself. Why, Bill himself had taught her that, had he not? And yet still she hesitated. For that was the problem, after all. Yes, she had touched herself before marriage countless times, guiltily and yet unable to break off the terrible compulsion. And later, under Bill’s careful tutelage, kindly indulgent and yet leeringly excited all at once, she had learned the true joys of manipulating her body without shame, her fingers traveling over every aroused nerve ending as carefully and purposefully, and with as much deeply moving effect, as the bow of a concert violinist upon her tautly vibrating strings. Ah, the exquisite symphonies they had conducted upon the holy sheets of their marriage bed!
Really, despite the fact that the middle-a
