Spring arrived in Luxembourg. At least in my memory, we pulled back the curtains that very next morning and the entire country—indeed the whole world—was awash in sunshine and chirping birds. Charming, attentive, flirty Marcel had returned, and set about making up for lost time. Only now, when he brought me coffee in bed, it was in his bed. Our dinners were delicious and romantic. And though our wrestling matches over Luxembourgish still ended in a tangle, the prize was much sweeter than any pudding cup.
Hitherto locked behind a door to which I hadn’t know there was a key, the Bottom in me blossomed, and I frequently got as good as I gave. Marcel was a generous and curious lover, and most days we weren’t able to turn loose the bed until we discovered, and then mastered, a new position. I
