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As the cab swerved through Friday traffic I held the box on my lap and remembered, in vivid detail, the very best summer of my life twenty years earlier. Janice had taught me so many things about life and love and sex. I was, in hindsight - and only if they had known - the envy of the town. She had been courted by many but she had rejected them all - turned them down because of me. There had been a week when she had come and stay with me. I felt like a king. Dinner was always ready when I got home, laundry done, the apartment spic and span. When she wasn't meeting me at the door wearing some sexy, altered costume that provided easy, immediate access to her body, she was splayed naked on my sofa, amid some of my porn mags, and put on a show just for me. I would sit in my chair and watch her fingering herself and playing with her tits until she came. This always culminated with a raucous fuck-session that lasted into the wee hours of the morning.

My boss, Pete, had come over one evening for dinner and Janice was the perfect hostess. Even with my limited funds, she found the perfect bottle of wine, prepared a magnificent dinner and made perfect small-talk. She had obviously made an impression for he never let me forget how lucky I had been. Not in a sleazy macho-bullshit fashion, but more as a wise caring friend.

That memory of Pete really confirmed the passage of time. Pete passed away a few years after that evening and I hardly thought of him any more. The funny bit was that Janice must've made one hell of an ...

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