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It
was the swiftest moment of bliss, the briefest subject of delight
- I was in love, there was no time to wait. What patience could
stand the arrows of blinded Cupid, what caution could last under
the armies of love? It would take one so cold that the fires would
not come near her to resist the longing, the pull of that seasoned
experience, the rugged features, every inch of that delicious passion
that ran like
chilli sauce in the veins.
All
the others had fallen under the sway, pacing the beach like discarded
paramours flung aside, petitioning the moon and the seas to give
surcease of the most insistent
of ardours. I insisted I could not come
close, a blushing damsel on the sandy strands,
I
pled allergy, pled sickness, pled a telling lack of material wealth,
but each denial was weaker, each time I swayed closer, and each
time I turned I could feel the longing like steel to the lodestone.
But steel was hard, and my head was as dense.
So
I resisted the charms while others fell like roaches - I was stubborn,
obstinate and unyielding to the last moment - but all to no avail.
As the seas must rise to the call of the moon, all that go past
the shores of Tioman must yield and savour
that love, that joy, that beefy (or 'chickeny', take your pick)
treasure, with initials: R.B.. If there was a refrain, it
would be Chicago
and the girls imprisoned screaming
his name: R.B. to the walls.
That
name was renowned far and wide in prowess, variety, and lusciousness.
My friends had all tasted of those vaunted charms, had all ventured
into a steaming affair, so spicy that you could swoon of the taste.
NEXT.
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