He and the others formed a nice circle around me and my image.“Is that a nudie pic?” Frankie joked and got a few laughs.“No Frankie,” I replie... condescendingly. “This here’s the river we’re about to cross.”“Don’t look like no river I ever seen,” Frankie joked again but this time got nothing for his efforts.I ignored this asshole and carried on with my lecture.“Here’s the river,” I pointed to the two lines with my twig. “And here’s where our cattle are now.” I drew an X below the two lines. “And. . the linens touching parts of me... the deep softness of the pillow on which my shaggy-maned head lay... and warm, soft flesh pressing against me. Drifting back to sleep under those conditions was immensely better than sleeping in on a rainy Saturday morning.When I woke again, something was wrong. The pillow and linens were still there, but the warm yielding flesh was gone. I felt a terrible loss for a few seconds, but my nose informed me that Sabrina was cooking. A woman doesn't get up and. More

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