But was that what I wanted?

Quite frankly, no.

Yes, I was nervous.

But, dammit, I wanted to have sex with him.

If he went all respectful on me, I'd scream.

"I don't want to stop," I whispered to him.

I suppose there was no need for me to whisper.

I didn't want to overdo the nervous little-girl act.

All right, then, time to be proactive.

"Em," I said embarrassedly, "I left my bag downstairs."

"What do you need your bag for? Your makeup is perfect." He smiled at me.

"Not for my makeup, silly."

"What for then?"

But he was teasing.

"Claire, would you relax?" he said in exasperation, rolling me over onto my back. "I presume you're referring to condoms?"

"Er, yes," I said, feeling a bit mortified.

"Well, no need to worry, I've some here."

"Oh."

I wasn't sure what else I could say.

His openness had taken the wind out of my sails nicely. He was quite right, of course. What was there to be embarrassed about? All I had to worry about now was whether I'd be any good.

He kissed me again.

And things became a lot more serious.

That kiss certainly put a stop to any lighthearted banter. I looked at him and his eyes were really dark, almost black, with desire.

"Claire," he whispered (now he's at it), "I haven't, you know, been with someone in a long time."

Haven't you? I thought in surprise.

I would have thought that for someone as charming and

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handsome as Adam every day of his life would be a sexfest. But, then again, he did seem to be very choosy. More than once I'd witnessed him fighting off gorgeous women. And he's chosen me, I thought, my heart melting. He could have just about anyone and he's chosen me. There had to be a catch.

Any minute now, he'd offer to show me his knife collection or whip out a chainsaw and hack me to ribbons.

"It's okay," I whispered back to him. "It's ages since I've had sex either."

"Oh," he said.

Then he said in a louder voice, "Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know." I giggled.

There then followed the condom ritual. You know, rustling around in a drawer for it, the crinkling of the wrapping being undone, saying, "Is that the right way? Or does it go the other way?" Finally success in getting it on only to witness the erection disappear.

Except Adam's didn't.

Disappear, that is.

Thank God.

Now at this point I'm afraid that I'm going to have to become a little bit vague. I'm sorry to disappoint you but I won't be giving you any detailed technical descriptions of my sexual encounters with Adam. (Yes, I hope you noted the plural "encounters".) Of course, I could give you a description that would read more like a textbook belonging to a first-year anatomy student. And I could make the whole thing sound like a letter to the letters page in a pornographic magazine, all gasps and arching backs and outland- ish gymnastics. But that really wouldn't convey how lovely the whole thing was (well, the whole three things, actually) and how happy I felt.

Could we just say that a good time was had by all?

I would be just too embarrassed to tell you that he kissed me everywhere, and I mean everywhere. And that when he wasn't doing that he was covering me with delicious, shivery tiny little bites.

And there's no way that I can bring myself to tell you about the moment when he was eventually inside me. And how I was so afraid that it might hurt and how gentle he was with me. It didn't hurt and it was beautiful.

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And if you think I'm going to relate how he frantically whispered things to me while he was on top of me, gorgeous things like how beautiful I was and how delicious my skin tasted and how turned on he was, then you've got another think coming.

You'll just have to use your own imagination to figure out that I wrapped my legs around his back to pull him deeper inside me and I thought I would die if he stopped and would die if he didn't.

And you really don't need me to tell you that when he, er...when it was finished, we were both panting and gasping and slippery with sweat and that he looked down at me and grinned and gave a little laugh and said admiringly, "Jesus, you're some woman."

I'll have to resort to using a euphemism to describe the scenario.

How about, "One day my prince will come."

Well, I'm happy to report that he already had.

And, so, for the record, had I.

And there's just one other thing.

Before I had Kate I had heard rumors, nothing more than vague unsub- stantiated reports, that after having a child sex is usually, well, a lot better. Because of the various commotions, upheavals and traumas in one's, um, birth canal, including the dreaded stitches, certain changes have come about. These changes resulting in, um, greater sensitivity and a greater awareness of one's erogenous zones, if you see what I mean.

And generally, all around, more exciting an enjoyable sex.

And I'm happy to be able to report that it was actually true. Sex with Adam was different, very different from the way I remembered it with James. Once I got over the initial uncomfortable feeling, it was really wonderful--actually better--than I remembered it being with James. So this is one side effect of giving birth that doesn't get the good press that it deserves.

Although of course, there's a good chance that I'm talking a load of nonsense.

And that the alleged better sex had nothing to do with anything other than the fact that Adam had a larger TM than James. (I never bought into that "size isn't everything" crap.)

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Later, when it was all over, over for the third time, that is, we just lay in bed chatting and laughing.

"D'you remember the day in the gym?" asked Adam.

"Mmmmmmm," I said, barely able to speak, I was so relaxed and con- tented.

"That was awful," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I liked you so much."

"Really?" I asked, surprised and delighted.

"Yes, really."

"No, did you really?" I asked, like a true neurotic.

"Yes!" he insisted. "I couldn't even look at you in case I jumped you."

"But you were all serious and grim and just doing your weights," I re- minded him. "You completely ignored me."