Another miracle of Mama’s ethnobotany, I bet. In November, the snows came in earnest, and the shack was getting bitterly cold. We would hold each ot...er all night for warmth, and our heat was the only thing that allowed us to survive. At the end of November, Mama invited me for dinner. Mama’s boyfriend was there, Oleg, an ethnic Russian, the manager of a local tractor factory. A fine Russian dinner, with some weird layered cake of vegetables and fish. The arak tonic was served to the men, while. I just want to keep kissing you, to keep touching your perfect body and attempt in some futile way to make you feel the passion that I do.” “Oh, I feel it, lover,” you whispered in my ear. “Here,” you said taking my hand and pushing it between your legs, “Feel this. I am on fire for you. I have been thinking about making love to you for the past two hours and I am soaking wet. Feel me!” You were wearing shorts, but it wasn’t difficult to determine even from the outside of them that you were, in. More

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