Me thoghte thus: that hyt was May,
And in the dawenynge I lay
(Me mette thus) in my bed al naked
And loked forth, for I was waked
With smale foules a gret hep
That had affrayed me out of my slep
Thorgh noyse and swetnesse of her song.

“Well, I’m different. It’s not that I don’t want to sleep with you, or anything like that, mind you; it’s just that I don’t really expect to get the chance.”

“I’ve got tomorrow off. If I give you my number, we could go for a coffee if you like.”

“That’d be great.”

“But now you’ve got to go. I don’t want you to watch me any more.”

“You look great.”

“You don’t. Didn’t you get any sleep?”

“Not really. I have a bit of trouble sleeping.”

“How’s that?”

The long afternoon passes in chatter above the coffee cups. She looks like any other pretty Auckland girl, which is (of course) what she is. The fact that you have seen her naked, performing a series of lewd movements on a smoky table in front of the leering eyes of men is neither here nor there. You, after all, were one of them.

“Did you enjoy that?”

“That was absolutely lovely. You’re so sweet.”

“Do you want me to do anything else for you? Suck your cock, let you fuck my arse?”

“Sorry? I don’t …”

No comments: