Lying here in bed, in my room at the nursing home, I think back on all the women I've had. Sweet as maple syrup, every one of them. The warm smell of ...he soft nipple of my high school sweetheart, back before the War that was. It would stand right up, that nipple, when I popped it into my mouth, but, no, she wouldn't let me go much farther than that. Nope. Virginity still meant something in those days.My first real woman was Polynesian. We were based on Maluka Nui, in the Solomons, 'bout the. Slowly and deliberately she watched him open his shirt, then pulling his arms out of the sleeves gracefully. With the same deliberate smooth slowness, she watched him take off his shoes and socks. His hands moved to his waist, unbuckled his belt, and snapped the waistband open. She heard the snap, then the sound of the zipper being pulled, and watched as the jeans opened, dropped, and were put with the rest of his clothes. Her eyes were drawn to his body; never before had she seen a man naked. More

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