Zofi's expression softened and she rolled over and stood off the bed to secure her towel in place, treating me to a brief flash of full nudity before sitting back down next to me and leaning her head on my shoulder. "Thank you, you're being very patient.”

“You're worth it, moj skarbie."

“That's the second time you've called me that, what does it mean?"

I raised an eyebrow at her, "You don't know any Polish?"

Zofi shrugged, “I was born in California. My parents managed to leave

Cold War Poland in the 7@s as teenagers. Their memories of their birthplace aren‘t the happiest. You might have noticed, they assimilated enthusiastically." She gestured around her bedroom filled not only with Niners paraphernalia, but also a patriotic red, white, and blue color scheme I hadn't noticed - before a teenage Zofi had begun supplanting it with her own detritus. It also hadn't occurred to me to question how an immigrant had become such a die-hard American football fan, but now it made sense. "My parents," Zofi continued,

“never felt a need to teach me their native language or send me to any

Polish schools."

“That's too bad."

Zofi shrugged.

“I always regretted it a bit, but never enough to study the language on my own. But we're getting off-topic, what does méj skirbie mean?"

“M6j skarbie," I corrected. "I'm told it can be translated as ‘my darling’ or 'my treasure’. I'm rather partial to the latter."

She smiled up at me, "I Like it, darling." She rewarded me with a quick kiss, her eyes shining with affection. I leaned back in and kissed her again - not the type of hot kiss that serves as a prelude to passionate sex, but the romantic kind of kiss that served as its own form of lovemaking. Together we explored each other's mouth, sometimes deviating to caress the other's neck or chest before inevitably returning lip-to-Lip. The pleasure built inside me -- inside both of us

-- from the way the intensity climbed the heat intensified until it almost felt Like we were experiencing a simultaneous orgasm without even really touching each other.

We pulled back, I think both of us a little proud of the reaction we'd gotten out of each other. Zofi breathed deeply and mimed fanning her face. My own heart pounded as I gasped, “Wow.”

She blushed prettily and averted her eyes for the first time in several minutes. It was then that she noticed it.

“Hey, what's this?" she asked, pointing to an envelope that sat conspicuous in the middle of the desktop.

I leaned back against the wall, a goofy grin on my face.

“I was wondering when you were going to notice that."

Zofi frowned. "It wasn't here this morning, I know it."

I shrugged, trying to not give anything away.

Retrieving the envelope, Zofi opened it and gasped at the contents.

Inside were dozens of 4x6 photographs, and Zofi turned to sit down next to me on the bed while she fished the stack of photos out from the envelope. With a mouth gaping open in surprise, she started going through them one-by-one, Lingering on some of them for only a few moments, but up to thirty seconds on others.

All were Long-distance shots taken by someone with a zoom lens on a high-end SLR camera. I knew, because I knew the photographer. Most of the photos were of Zofi, although I was in a couple of the pictures.

There were photos in front of Tiffany's at 10am, and one while we were inside the store. There were photos in the library, at the pharmacy store, and outside while Zofi blew on the green whistle.