She'd only gotten as far as second base. Which the men didn't mind, of course, she had very nice, firm breasts, but it still bothered them that they'd never get past that.Her first day of class was nearly at an end. It had been pretty uneventful, aside from the usual slew of boys trying to get their hands on her, and her resisting and snarling at them. But when the bell rang, she began to walk home. Going down her normal route, she saw that her normal route was blocked off for construction.. Quite a bit older than me. A ghostly guru. Wise and poetic/ wild and sensual/ sharp as a razor too. A kind of super-exagerated Patti Smith. I remember listening to *Horses*/ *Radio Ethiopia* and *Easter* when I was eighteen. I could hardly believe Id discovered this woman who knew so much about my secret self. A poet with the dark passion of the Symbolists and the fucked-up rock n roll intensity of Jim Morrison/ Lou Reed/ Iggy Stooge. She had no guilt. Talked as dirty as any man. A real Cowboy. Then silence. Salt stung my eyes as I treaded water clingingto an oar that had struck my chin when the boat was swamped. I held onfor dear life, screaming for Grandmother. "Grandma!" I called out...nothing, only the hungry roar of the storm could be heard."GRANDMA!" I tried again coughing as the salty water was swept into mymouth by a great wave. I tightened my grasp upon the long oar, as eachwave sought to pull it from my small hands."GRRRAAANNNNDDDMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAA!" I screamed.I was. My visor goes back. the review stand is politely clapping but my Lady, my Lady Cecelia, is on her tiptoes both hands in small fists at her chin and I raise my hand to her direction. Large tournament tents are marked with banners and shields. With my mount stabled, I stand within the filtered darkness of my field quarters why my armorer and a page strip the mail off my body piece by heavy piece. Down to leggings, a wide waterfilled bowl stands nearby and I dip a cloth into its coolness, twist it.
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