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‘Of course, Lama,’ she says, bowing low. She turns and departs, leaving the two of us alone together. I look at him, trying to see the ageless wisdom that Sahara described. I try to let go of my Western prejudice, clear my mind of preconceptions, and everything else that I would imagine Sahara telling me to do if she was still in the room. None of it works. He looks like the boys back home who thought that love beads and a guitar were all they needed to get a girl like me into bed. (It also took a bottle of Chianti, some good weed and a Velvet Underground record playing on the hi-fi. Just for the record.) He smiles at me, and says, ‘Your soul. It is in disorder, yes? You do not know the truth you are seeking here today.’ I can feel myself blushing a bit, although I’m not sure if it’s embarrassment or defensiveness. His comments strike deeply at my insecurities, hitting all the parts of me that believe the people who said I was too self-absorbed and materialistic to find any kind of. They needed a man’s cock inside them. They needed more passion. They needed a man’s cock more badly then they’d ever imagine needing one. But with their bodies wrapped around one another, including lips, arms, and legs as well while they kissed heatedly the needed fever never went away. The minutes passed. The passion between them was wonderful, to put it mildly, but the necessity for a man’s body grew and grew and it grew even stronger. After about 15 minutes of their heated passionate kissing, it all slowed down. They were hot and a little sweaty almost. However, that thought which still held itself in their heads, was Angus as they stared into one another's eyes. Smiling, the two breathed hard as if never having kissed as intensely before in the lives, but Ada said just before Libby almost said it “I sure wish Angus was here, don’t you?” Still breathing hard like Ada, Libby said “I was just a bout to say that too.” They both smiled and looked deeply into the other’s eyes. Before.
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