‘All seasons have a joy that is theirs. In winter one can wrap in a thick blanket with a steaming, buttery rum and pass the night even as you watch ...he snow blow through the city.’ ‘I love the poet that lives in you, Neral Jaye.’ She shook her head and sipped, ‘Poetry is best left to poets, Deres. I fight. The images matter to me as they remind me of what I fight for. They counter the fact that I also fight for the likes of them.’ She swallowed the rest of her drink quickly, a castle servant. She looked them over then, liking what she saw, got up from the table clumsily exposing quite a lot of leg in the process that they couldn’t fail to see, and went to the ladies. I watched as their eyes followed her, looking at her legs and her bum as she walked. When she returned she could see them watching her and as she sat she hitched her skirt,”accidentally “ a bit too high and gave them a brief flash of her shaved pussy. We chatted, heads close together and she admitted that it had excited. More

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