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But really, it would depend on the quality and duration of the sex before I could honestly make that call. My husband and I are discussing sex fantasies, and he has just mentioned one particular hot night on a recent cruise. “Oh, yeah…that’s the night I wore my silver sandals,” I recall, closing my eyes and smiling. “Not the memory I was going for…” “Are you kidding me? Those shoes are amazing!” “I was more focused on the other amazing things that happened that night.” “Really?” I ask, dumbfounded. “How could you not remember those shoes? They made my calves look so hot.” He drops his head back on the pillow and covers his face with his arm, exasperated. I sigh and attempt to help him recall all the events of that evening, hoping he’ll eventually remember my favorite pair of shoes and how good I looked in them. It was formal night, and I was determined to pull out all the stops. We went to the spa to get couple’s massages, then I had my hair and nails done. I wore a short, purple. After a while the bag was removed , and he blinked and looked around. He expected to see a dungeon or a torture chamber, but instead he was in a lavish banquet hall. The table in front of him overflowed with savory foods, and the true caliph sat eating a stuffed hen. He pointed to an empty chair."Have a seat, boy. Eat something."Arram paused, unsure what to do, then sat down and began grabbing everything he could reach. After all, he reasoned, there'd be no good eating where he was going next. The caliph watched, seemingly amused, as Arram stuffed his mouth full of candied plums and then tried to eat an entire lamb kebab in two bites."When you're finished trying to swallow the mpire, perhaps you would do your caliph the honor of telling him who you are, and how you came to be in his private harem, in the middle of the night, during the holy month of Ramadan?"Arram swallowed. The caliph seemed to look through him, and he squirmed. Wiping his mouth and fingers on a cloth, Arram began.
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