It was February the 14th, Valentine's Day, early morning. As I began to stir, a hint of perfume mixed with cedar drifted gently to my nostrils. Was it the perfume or the light that awakened me, I wondered sleepily? I opened my eyes to the streak of sunlight wending its way through the waning twilight of the room, creeping across the carpet; my gaze followed it past my slippers, up the side of the heart-shaped waterbed I lay upon.

I stretched slightly as I rolled to my right. There she was, lying crosswise the heart like Cupid's arrow, in aqua blue and green lingerie with black fishnet stockings and hobble heels. She gazed at me lustfully, with flowers in her long flowing hair and dangly silver earrings swaying gently to and fro as the waterbed gently rocked in response to my movement. I could tell she had been watching as I slept.

A touch of rouge lent a passionate rosiness to her cheeks, and a streak of shadow across her lids plunged her eyes into mysterious seductiveness. She slithered towards me across the rolling bladder with grace and suppleness, her breasts heaving gently as if with a life of their own. I lay hypnotized. The glass of our Hollywood penthouse framed her with a panoramic ocean view; whitecapped waves washed inexorably up the cold sand in the distance, and for a moment I imagined I gazed upon a beautiful mermaid approaching as I lay helplessly transfixed.

Her soft hands gently squeezed the stiffness from my back and shoulders, and just as the passion blossomed within me - I woke up.

As the dreamy images faded, I glanced around the bedroom. I had slept late and daylight had definitely set in. The smart, sensible furniture complimented the rather large and stylish room. Not extravagant, but quite pleasant and everything new like the house. We had done well for ourselves.

There she was, in the nightie I had bought yesterday. How did she know where I had hidden it? Her sixth sense was as sharp as ever. She was wearing no makeup or jewelry, and her medium-length hair had a natural, sensible look to it. I could tell she must have just put on her perfume. The smell was strong and fresh, and almost overpowered her own heady scent as she rolled towards me.

My back was quite stiff and I was not really in the mood, but a few quick strokes of her hands in the right places straightened things out. Just as I climbed on top of her - I woke up.

The hangover of exhaustion lifted slowly as I struggled up through the drugged looseness of heavy sleep. The weakness gradually faded and I rolled over. Even for a holiday, I had overslept.

She had been awake for some time, waiting for me. I had been so stupefied with exhaustion that I had slept oblivious to even the noisy snapping of her fragrant bubblegum. She lay next to me in her tights and sweatshirt, sporting a self-inflicted haircut and reading a paperback about child psychology. Beyond the foot of the bed, my desk (there was no spare room for an office) lay cluttered with six month's worth of unfinished projects, a testament to my frustrated dreams of becoming somebody.

The aching throb in my back was insistently urging me to close my eyes and feign continued sleep, but this was Valentine's Day and I'd be damned if I'd see her cry. She reached under her pillow and handed me a condom.

The pain in my back was excruciating but I kept at it, and as always she graciously overlooked my clumsiness. We were just getting a good rhythm going when our toddler thudded out of bed, wandered down the hallway and started banging on our locked bedroom door, screaming like a banshee.

We groaned in exasperation, then laughed softly to each other as she went to answer the call. This time I knew I was awake!