Memoirs

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Monday-Sanchez' Day. The waves rose and fell gently. With her eyes closed Lotte imagined herself on the desk of a cabin cruiser in the middle of a quietly rolling sea. Except this was better. Instead of lying on a hard wooden deck she was floating on the soft waves themselves. Every inch of her naked flesh was caressed by the warm undulations, the endless ebb and flow of the waterbed's captive and personal tide.

The specially made waterbed-twelve feet in diameter and "passionate" purple in color-was Lotte's most persistent lover. It never tired of trying to satisfy her with its infinite variety of intimate touches. Wanting to change the direction of the tidal flow, she merely arched her back and pressed her heels into the cushion of water. Immediately she felt the caressing movement against her buttocks and the swell of the wave as it moved up her spine. By the time it reached her back it seemed enormous, lifting her head and shoulders high in the air. Even before it passed she could feel the second wave rocking her buttocks and rolling larger and larger toward her shoulder blades.

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