I. Woodward

Symmetry I. Woodward

Rifle closed the book and lay it in his coat. He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it over his shoulders. He walked to the front of the wagon and sat on the axle to remove his boots. He set them under the canvas and laid his shirt across them. In the dark he removed his trousers and slipped into the still warmth below the wagon. He lifted the quilt he'd spread there and crawled under it. He closed his eyes and waited. So silently did the canvas flap move behind him, he would not have known it had parted except he felt a cool, fresh breeze from outside the shelter. He felt the quilt lift and the overwhelming warmth which joined him from behind. An arm slipped around his waist and lips touched the back of his neck. "That's one," the voice whispered."That one doesn't count," Rifle said. "They only count above the chin and below the waist." He turned in Edward's arms and kissed him deeply. "I'll have to teach you everything, I'm afraid.""I learn quickly." Rifle felt the tightness of their loins and the urgency building between then."The first lesson begins 'Don't talk.'" Nothing else was said before the morning.