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I settled her back on the sofa, turned on the fan for some coolness, and offered her a drink – tea, Pepsi, water…”A beer would be better” she said with a smile, seemingly reading my confusion at this situation.Re-settling beside her, after handing her a glass of beer, and showing her where the small table was I had put in front, I read the letter aloud, slowly; it was a solicitor’s letter, a bequest to her from some friend in America who had recently died. It also included a cheque for some money, and a dried flower which I placed in her hand, bringing a knowing smile to her face – a face I stared at, a smile I stared at: “Pai?” I asked.She turned her head towards me, a quizzical smile, and I said “Sorry, what is your name – I haven’t asked.” “My nickname is ‘Faith’” she said. She gently fondled the dried flower, clearly remembering some past circumstances, before say “He was a very dear friend long ago, and the flower is a keepsake of a time we made wonderful love in a field of. As he sat there in his boxer shorts. James asked whats wrong dean replied I have no spare clothes then panic hit James as he realized he didnt have a change either, then decided it would be best to get into their sleeping bags. How about a drink? suggested James? Dean Greadily said yes and they both commenced on the vodka. James knew that dean was straight but he wanted him so badly he was willing to do anything. So as James set himself to pour the drinks he made sure to give dean at least 3 times more vodka than himself. As the afternoon turned into night the rain was still hammering down and shortly after dean passed out with the alcohol. James seized his opportunity as dean laid encased in his sleeping bag snoring. James slowly and carefully undid the zip on the sleeping bag knowing not too wake fan. But with the way how dean was snoring hes probably sleep through an earthquake. James opened the sleeping bag and drew his attention to the flaccid bulging deans boxers. Temptation.
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