No man could be nicer or more gentle than Mr. Harlow, but I was still afraid of his cock. He took his time with me. Months of quiet and sincere conversation. Weeks of playful banter. Days of modest affection. Then hours of kissing. Oh, the kissing took my breath away.

“You know I want you,” he told me. “I want you everyway and all and forever.”

“I know,” I replied, my voice braver than I felt. “I want you too.”

“You know what the word want makes me think of?”

I thought he might say something—I don’t want to say crude, but certainly sexual.

“Baby food jars. The kind that are vacuum packed, and there’s this pop when you pry off the cap.”

I had no experience with baby food jars, not in my memory, but I could sort of picture it.

“What kind of baby food?” I asked.

“Custard,” he said. “Vanilla pudding.”