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It was Elizabeth Rossiter who took my virginity. The first time wasn't like I was hearing from MaryLynn upstairs in Mrs. Hutman's B&B.

What I'm trying to say is that for me it was almost over before it started; just like that first handjob.

By the time I met Samantha while in college, thanks to that summer with Elizabeth, I got better and better. I mean I lasted longer and longer.

Upstairs, MaryLynn and Tom continued and she got louder and louder. I could hear the bed squeaking.

I finally got some sleep, and in the morning, Mrs. Hutman's breakfast was fabulous; the best I'd ever had. Tom and MaryLynn were there. They acted as if nothing happened over night. Although, I have to say that MaryLynn's eyes were sparkling and she couldn't stop smiling, even though I was certain she got almost no sleep.

I left after breakfast, did my work in the office, took the train back to Manhattan and then to the Island.

Except for Mrs. Hutman's breakfast and listening to MaryLynn upstairs, there wasn't anything memorable about my night at the B&B.

However, in January when I was designated to go back to White Plains, I suggested to the secretary that she book me into Mrs. Hutman's. "It was the best breakfast ever."

Everything went well until I got up in the morning. I wasn't paying much attention to the weather, so it was a complete shock when I looked outside and the snow was up to my ass and I'm 6'4". And it was still snowing.

"I don't think you can make it to your office, Mr. Matland. Besides, it's probably closed. Nothings moving; the whole city's shut down. Don't worry about a room, you're the only one here," Mrs. Hutman informed me.

While I ate another of her fabulous breakfasts, we watched the weather on television. It looked like I might be stuck here for a few days.

I called my office up the street; no answer. I called my home office on Long Island; no answer.

I was dressed for work, but it was obvious I wasn't going anywhere. "Mrs. Hutman, I'm going back to bed. If anything changes weather-wise, please knock on my door."

The suite had the only working fireplace in the house. It was gas; it didn't give off much heat, but it provided a nice atmosphere.

I turned it on; put my pjs back on and crawled into bed.

I must have fallen asleep; about two hours later, I woke up and Mrs. Hutman was crawling into bed with me. That would be sixty-five-year-old Mrs. Hutman. "Mr. Matland, the electric is out; we have no heat." She giggled, "I can't tell you the last time I warmed a man's bed, but it was probably before you were born."

To my surprise, she snuggled against me.

I tried not to move. In fact, I tried to go back to sleep. This could not be happening.

It wasn't to be. It wasn't too long before I felt Mrs. Hutman fumbling around under the blankets.

My pajamas' top had buttons, while the bottoms had an elastic stretch waistband, with three snaps where the fly was located. Mrs. Hutman was fumbling around with those snaps. "Mr. Matland, this is the rarest of opportunities for a woman my age. Under these dire conditions, don't deny me a little fun." There was that giggle again.

Once she figured out the snaps, her hand was inside those bottoms. Like my first date with Elizabeth Rossiter, Mrs. Hutman started playing.

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