Mavis is not going to be put off by Algernon’s scruples any longer.
One evening they are sitting on the couch when
Mavis points a finger at her cheek and says: “You might want to put a little x there ...”
Algernon fails to understand.
Mavis pouts.
“You know,” she says, “a little x,” and she blows some x x
x
over at him.
Algernon looks as blank as a blackboard.
“Eh?” he asks.
Mavis sees they are talking at X-purposes. She knits her brow in perplexity, which Algernon
interprets as a sign that Mavis is about to get very X indeed.
“You want me to ... ?” he hazards.
“Kiss me,” says Mavis huskily.
Which Algernon (after some hesitation) reaches forward
to do. But just at that moment Mavis inadvertently
moves her head: their lips brush for an instant! an instant that almost
destroys them both with the intensity of its feeling, while the fumes of
passion mount to all the parts of Algernon’s anatomy, to his X, to his Y, to his Z.
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