Behind the drapery was my pubescent mate leaning on her side of the cushioned seat, powdered and coiffed, dressed in the hunting attire of safari pants and knee-high boots. Her eyes were downcast, staring at her own knees, with a pink blush that even her white powder could ill cover. “What took you so long?” she asked, slanting her eyes to peep out the tiny sedan window. “A meal and a bath,” I answered while taking my seat, gazing her up and down. Those slender thighs under the manly wear stirred me; she clamped them closed as if sensing my stare. Outside the drapery, the head of the foursome gave orders, and our carriage went aloft and mobile through a side archway; the main one was reserved for the chosen, and no one else. The glow in my heart animated me to reach over my paw, yearning to touch her. She slapped the encroaching hand away with her ringed fingers, an inset green jade denting my palm. “Be proper,” she snapped, pasting herself to her sedan wall. Three willow-lined streets later, she sagged and sighed before leaning her head on my shoulder.
