The Art of Romance: roberta nurse

roberta nurse begins at 3:17 a.m. in a hotel suite. City glow through half-open blinds stripes her restless body. She can’t sleep, so roberta nurse becomes her lullaby. Slow, almost lazy circles over silk panties gradually soak the fabric dark. In roberta nurse, she pushes them aside instead of removing them—impatient, perfect. Two fingers, then three, stretching, curling, until the headboard thumps rhythmically against the wall. When she finally comes in roberta nurse, it’s with a muffled scream into the pillow, whole body shaking so hard the mattress springs sing. Dawn finds her asleep in tangled sheets, panties still twisted to the side—proof that roberta nurse worked better than any sleeping pill.