"No," she said. "Maybe next time."Then, with a fluid grace that only the young can accomplish, she pulled the T shirt up and off her head.The nipples ...ere red ... neither pink nor brown. They were erect and looked almost painfully turgid to my eyes.She stood on the bed to push down her jeans, taking her panties with them. Her movements were utilitarian, rather than teasing. She wanted to be naked, and quickly. That was fine with me. She stood up and let me look at her. She was shaved bare, and. There is purpose in movement, even undefined, even in chance dancing. Movement toward purpose, movement in obedience to ancient music. You watch footsteps advance across windswept sands, watch purpose unfold in the sharp light of day, and in the music of sand’s endless passage you see that these two shadows have been measured by your light. Measured by the passage of time. You would obey if you could – if you were anything but a god. This is life. What are you but a god? You watch from on high. More

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