Anyone who knows me is aware that I have a passion for ladies that wear all black. Spandex, leather, silk or satin. Basically any material in the color of the night will enslave me.

I had been dating Char for just under a month before she heard about this preference from a former lady friend. She questioned me about it and I admitted the truth. Soon she began to don black clothing whenever we went out. Now this incident happened one night after reservations had been kept at the city's newest 4 star restaurant.

Char had surprised me when I arrived to pick her up by wearing a black velvet mini dress that was complete with black nylons and heels. Her shiny raven's wing hair with the above combination took my breath away and we spent a great deal of time in their lounge after a superb dinner.

It was well after 2:00 am when I returned her home and we sat in my car in her parent's driveway stuck to each others' face for quite awhile. Why the driveway you ask? We had both experienced our share of bad luck employment wise, so between termination and budget cuts we had forced to give up our respective apartments and return to the nest.

For a small monthly fee and the promise to abide by certain rules plus assistance in housekeeping duties, our parents welcomed us back. Two of these rules were no guests inside after 11:00 PM and no overnight guests.

So there we were sitting in my car when the non-stop touching and kissing suddenly stopped and she froze.

"Don't move," she said.

"Why? Whats wrong? I replied.

"I just lost a contact lens," she informed me.

This was going to be tricky. The long sleeves of her black velvet dress were around my shoulders and my arms were covered in a sports coat made of the same material were around her waist

Turning on the interior light would not help. My car at that time was a red Chevy Nova that boasted a black interior that had been customized by its former owner. It boasted thick black velvet and carpeting.

Now to reach the light switch I would have untangle myself from her. That movement might dislodge the lens. Compounding the problems was the fact my lady love had eyes that were as dark as mine. So you can guess what color her contact was.

So why all the concern you ask? Contact lenses at that time were wildly expensive and every effort had to be made to locate it. 

So we sat there wrapped in each others' arms while slowly glancing around hoping to see a shiny circle against the flat black interior. I was able to stretch my leg and push the clutch in and allow the car to roll back so the interior was illuminated from the glow of the streetlight.

The minutes dragged by and we held on to each other afraid that breaking our hold might cause the wayward lens to be forever lost. We turned our heads slowly to search the immediate area of our laps in hopes of spotting it.

I suddenly smiled and looked her in the eye.

"Do you have a mole on your left breast?" I asked.

"No. Why?"

"Then I have good news, I have found your missing contact," I responded sighing with relief.

She slowly unwound one arm and managed to lick her finger and pick up the wayward lens.

"From now on you get the pretty girl with glasses," she informed me with a smile.

I agreed.