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Fall of '69 Ch. 8

Becky and I slept like vines -- our limbs pleasantly entangled. My root remained planted in her moist, fertile furrow for as long as I could manage. But the connection didn't last. We woke up next to each other, with me sporting some brand new growth - fresh, good-morning wood.

"Wood?" Becky laughed.

Wrapping her warm hand around its trunk and shaking it playfully, she asked, "Why wood? Why not sausage, or kielbasa? Now that's a filling breakfast!"

I laughed at her uncommonly suggestive comment. "Beckster! You surprise me."

"It's all your fault, Doc. You created a monster last night. You turned me into a sex fiend."

Damn, just what I was afraid of.

Trying to convince her otherwise, I said, "No you're not. It was just an isolated event -- something that just happened."

To argue her fiendish metamorphosis without words, Becky bent down for ...

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