He had been silent, with the exception of a grunt or two, staring at the space recently occupied by pigeons, now empty, crumbling the brown paper sack...over and over again in his hands. She intoned ever onward, not seeming to mind his body language, which screamed of indifference or perhaps it was merely his way of surviving her deluge of words. So this is marriage, I thought, you go to the park to escape and she tracks you down and you endure her endless verbal assault in silence. Suddenly both. Will you be mine?"Sandy sat perched on the desk before Miss Ayers, quite dazed with excitement... then she took a deep breath to compose herself, gazed up at her teacher and murmured, "Yes." Suddenly shy, she rested her head on her teacher's shoulder. "Oh, Emily... I totally want to be your lover. I do..."Emily rested her hand upon the girl's head, touching her silken tresses. "And I want to love you, my precious, precious Sandy." She drew away slightly, one hand still covering her young. ...look at you, grining, gitty as I caught you sneak sneaking. You raise your head just to meet my warm, wet, well showered kiss. Your eyes closed hypnotized to my command. I run my hands aside your cheek, passed your ear and through the back your hair, as I guide you into the bathtub with me......You wrap your arms around me, more for balance rather than caressive expression. I slide my hands down your sides, and agressively pull you close to me. Mind you, our kiss never dismissed. We turn, I. I hold them in my hand – white Jockeys, the occasional black or gray. Classic, rounded, reserved shape. Faintly stained. These things aren’t the truth. Why should we always want to know the truth when we can enduringly indulge ourselves in our far more expansive imagination? These cotton delicacies mask the truth, they are the last mask for the truth. That’s why I find them so erotic. They are the last thing that must mold to her, that she must mold to. They are the last persistent blue flame.
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