For a few seconds, she stood there and watched me staring at her. I remembered what she'd said before about having the urge to see the Look on my face whenever she did something sexy, and I made sure she knew how much I appreciated this moment. After taking another deep breath, she slowly slipped the spaghetti straps off her shoulders. Her boobs were big enough that the negligee didn't actually drop, getting stuck on her protruding bosom. But when she tugged down on the hem, the black satin finally fell away to puddle around her ankles.

Clad only in a pair of sheer bikini cut panties, Zofi posed prettily by flexing on knee and shifting her hips a little. Her cheeks were pink and she pointedly looked away from me, momentarily unable to meet my gaze. I'd seen her naked before, of course, many times. But there was something quite different about stripping down during a “study break” with her friends around and posing by herself, unmoving, Like a Greek statue, to let my eyes roam all over her perfect, uncovered skin. She breathed heavily while I suddenly found myself wishing to be that Greek sculptor so I could immortalize her forever. But eventually, she broke the spell by turning her head and smiling at the hungry expression on my face.

Impulsively, I reached out and caressed her naked breast. I was tempted, just for a moment, to tackle her onto the bed, yank aside the strap of her panties, and seize her virginity right then and there.

From the way she bit her lip, leaned into my palm, and rubbed her inner thighs together, for a moment, she seemed of the same mind. But then reaching to my chin, she rubbed it gently and murmured, “Not yet, darling." Then she pivoted back to the bed and picked up the white blouse.

Staring at the simple shirt, Zofi frowned and glanced back at me over her shoulder. Setting the shirt back down, she walked over to her closet and returned with a nude-colored bra.

Abashed, I muttered, “Uh, I didn't forget that on purpose.”

Smirking, Zofi replied, “Sure you didn't." She put on the bra, then the blouse, pulled up the skirt, and fastened on the belt. Unsure why I wanted the scarf, I stood up to tie it around her neck and then rolled up the short sleeves of her blouse. Finally, I had her put her hair up, and after pronouncing her perfect, I gave her a quick kiss and then invited her out.

“Where are we going?" Zofi asked when I walked her out to the minivan.

"You'll see," I replied mysteriously. We climbed in and started the moderately long drive up to the city. Keeping an eye on the clock, I realized we were just a little bit behind schedule and sped up to make up the time. While I refused to give away anything about the day's plans, we happily chatted about everything else for the drive. I asked what she really thought about Jeff Garcia, and as it turned out, she had no memory of talking about the 49ers with me. The first thing she could recall of this morning was her statement that I was in her bedroom.

We made it into San Francisco and got coffee and pastries from a small bakery I knew. We walked a few blocks together before arriving at

Tiffany & Co. a few minutes after l®am, but we didn't go inside yet.

When I stopped to eat our breakfast outside the display windows, Zofi laughed, hugged me, and happily continued our conversation while we chatted.

After breakfast, we did go inside to look at all the jewelry. Giggling,

Zofi told me, “I think it would be tacky to wear diamonds before I'm forty."

I laughed, and we continued out for our walk.

Zofti figured out we were recreating Breakfast at Tiffany's when we stopped at the public library. The card catalog didn't exist anymore, but we logged into the library computers and searched for “Varjak,

Paul". No results.

“How about ‘Nine Lives'?" Zofi suggested.

“Worth a shot."

I watched her enter in the search and the computer spat out a variety of matches. On a whim, Zofi picked one and we headed into the stacks to try and find it. Amusingly, neither of us realized we didn't actually have a library card valid for the San Francisco Public Library system.

“Honestly we forgot," she apologized to the checkout librarian.

“Cross my heart and kiss my elbow!"

The matronly librarian stared at Zofi, not getting the reference. In the end, Zofi applied for and was granted a Library card. Only then did we leave, book in hand. I think she may have even read it before returning the book a few weeks later.

Our next stop was the local pharmacy store. We found some plastic masks, but I drew the line at actually shoplifting them.

"C'mon, don't be chicken!" Zofi whined.