Circles of Fire
Imagination is a poor substitute for experience.
-- Henry Havelock Ellis (1859-1939), British psychologist, writer, pioneer work on sexuality
Despina awakes slowly. Warmth. Not from the fire. I can feel that against my face.
She wiggles her body experimentally.
Oops! Something's poking me in the back. What?
Slowly, she reaches out her top arm, patting the sand before her, brushing the far end of the log. I'm no longer lying in my depression. I seem to be nearly a foot from my ever so carefully sculpted indentation. How?
Languidly, she moves her arm around behind her. Immediately, it collides with a denim-covered body part. Instantly, she jerks away, then slowly returns, patting gently along, exploring, trying to make sense of what she is feeling. Finding an opening, she follows the curve of warm flesh downward until she encounters what has been poking her. She freezes, eyes popping wide open. She is totally awake now, and feels what she thinks of as an embarrassed flush spreading all throughout her body.
"My body did that to me in my SLEEP?" She doesn't intentionally speak aloud, is not even aware that she has until a grunt comes from Cu.
Behind me! I'm spooned with Cu, half-undressed! In public!
She recognizes Paul Peter's curt laugh as his tone of irony, which confirms her fears.
Rolling away, she climbs hastily to her feet. Bowing slightly in a stiff, formal fashion, she addresses Cu, "Perdón, señor. It seems that my body has a mind of its own. It really likes your body. Excuse my English. I can't think in Spanish when I'm so upset, especially when faced with your, err, current outfit!"
Turning, head high, she leaves the fire on the wilderness side.
Cu scrambles to his feet, flannel shirt billowing out, jeans unzipped, all Indian stoicism gone. "Es que ella quiere tener sexo, o no?"
"Does she want to have sex, or not?" repeats Paul Pete in an incredulous tone. "You're asking US? It was your dong she was holding."
With a cackle, the young German responds, blue eyes a-twinkle, "¿Quién sabe? I don't know. If she doesn't know, who knows?"
"Don't be stupid, Cu," comes her huskier than normal voice from outside the perimeter of the firelight, where she is hiding, ashamed.
With a start, Paul Peter gets up, drawing his billfold from his pocket as he disappears beyond the fire's glow, heading in the direction of her voice.
After making his delivery, Paul Peter returns to the campfire, shaking his head with silent laughter.
"This is better than a soap opera," drawls the sheriff from the blackness on the road side of the fire.
"I think our Miss Despina has finally met her match," comments Paul Peter.
Last updated 7/23/08 Added “denim-covered body part.”; corrected “what she thinks” of 9/19/04.
Word Count: 460