” “But who was it?” I did not reply. “Was it Charlotte?” and she looked me hard and full in the face. “No,” said I. “Now was it? Tell ...e,” said she bending over, kissing and coaxing me. “No, it was not.” “I believe it was, you once said she was young, and had dark brown hair — it was she.” In vain I denied it. “I felt sure it was, and with a youth like you! Is it possible you can have harmed that nice girl! What a wretched, wicked lot you all are, you will be as bad as the others.” Then she. The meal had been deliciously sensuous since we ate with our hands. Feeding each other succulent fruits and fragrant meats; our fingers slowly pulling out of our partner's mouths as they ate with voracious appetites. With Spring in full swing, the air was incensed with flowers and fresh-cut grass. Pausing in a dark alcove, we kiss with abandon; experiencing the foreign flavors of our dinner. Slightly tipsy from the wine, we discretely explore each others curves and hard planes. Remembering. More

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