"I want to be the man in your life," I said, surprising even myself with the shakiness of my voice. She came to meet me then, and I rose to meet her. She wore just a tiny, thin-strapped bra, black-lace panties, garter belt and black stockings. Perhaps that was why she trembled so much when we kissed. I hugged her to me and she gasped.

"I can't breathe," she whispered and I had to release her a little, even though she felt so warm despite her lack of clothing. She glanced at the sofa on the far wall and an impish smile crossed her face.

For the next half hour or so, we were both too busy to talk further. I was only when my exploring hands slipped over her lace panties and onto her soft, gartered thigs that she objected.

"I want a white wedding," she said, as she nibbled on my ear, her hands trying to keep mine at her waist. "I want to wear a long dress, a veil and be a real bride."

With her on top of me, my own head reeling from the fragrance of her perfume, her body rousing desires in me I'd never felt before, I didn't really want to wait, but she hadn't finished. "And after that, darling Al," Romy went on, "I'll be the perfect wife for you. We'll have a honeymoon that we'll never forget." Her eyes were on me, anxious and a little afraid.

"All right," I said, giving her the best smile I could. "I guess I can wait."

So wait we did. We had the white wedding Romy asked for, and she was a beautiful, blushing bride. Then she was as good as her word. The love we started on our honeymoon we'll never forget, and now, every time I look at the photographs of us on our wedding day, they're on our bedroom wall, I remember that first perfect night together at last.

It's a pity that the photographs we had taken didn't reach Jeff Conlon's desk. But I couldn't risk that. Jeff knew all about me. He gave me a job and knew my credentials. He sponsored my passport application, too. But I know him. He'd have used the pictures and written about Romy and I in the paper if he'd known.

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