Stepping In The Salad (5)

STEPPING IN THE SALAD (5)

'Oh . . . .

'The man is a boy (and so not a girl). We met in a pub in a small place called Firle. We talked as we drank from a pitcher of wine. It was then - in an instant - I wanted him mine.'

'So, what happened, then?' enquired the Priestess as she hoisted her flesh-coloured knickers and smiled.

'Well . . .

'We slept out that night; affirmation of life. Watch the stars cross the sky, you forget all the strife. You forget about all that is petty and grim.

'I knew, for a fact, all I wanted was him.'

'Tell me more.'

Stepping In The Salad (4)

STEPPING IN THE SALAD (4)

So.

We discussed REF for a brief little while; my forehead was sweating, my mouth full of bile.

Then, the Priestess opined (cracking open some wine) 'there are more better things you can do with your time. I see that you're sad but I don't know quite why. Speak out - sixty seconds - just what makes you cry?'

'I'm in love.'

The woman eased out a sigh.

'Well.

'Let the bells ring; what a wonderful thing. I presume those are tears of joy. . . Now, tell all from the start (and quit acting smart).

'Is your lover a girl or a boy?'