Thursday, 8 November 2018

I'm no deid yet

Being Scottish, Ann's father took her there often. In Edinburgh aged 14, she saw a memorial on the Royal Mile where, in the early hours of November 1861, an ancient overcrowded tenement block on the Royal Mile had collapsed without warning, killing most of its sleeping occupants. Several hours later, as the debris was being cleared and bodies removed, Joseph McIvor, a young lad of twelve, was heard to shout from beneath the rubble, "Heave awa' lads, I'm no deid yet". This left a deep impression on Ann, and it has become our rallying cry when things look bleak.
Ann in Polaroid Print 

Poetry drew us together, for Ann's great love is literature. My only photo of her from that time is an old fading Polaroid print, but she is beautiful as ever and alluring as a longed for dream. Her skin is smooth as warm, soft silk; her breast still as firm as her youthful vigour; her curves shapely as any model's; her smile the oblivion to care; and her delicious humour and good sense the bedrock of my being. 

I am wearing my faint Mona Lisa smile after a night of relaxing exercise. Where once we romped wildly, now we move with leisured pace to sooth  and comfort gently. I ask if she remembers reading Kama Sutra by Vātsyāyana, but she replies those moves are for the lithe and young who are still flexible in joint and sound of lung. I suggest she write a new version: Kama Sutra for the Over-Sixties. She could call it, Sex past Sixty, or Romping for Rheumatics; it would be so popular she'd make her fortune. In a few weeks I may be impotent, but "I'm no deid yet".

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