“And the people who see you?”
“I’ll wear goggles and a veil.”
He pondered for some time.
“Well,” he said. “You please yourself, as usual.”
“But wouldn’t it please you?”
“Oh, yes! It’d please me all right,” he said a little grimly. “I might as well smite while the iron’s hot.”
“Do you know what I thought?” she said suddenly. “It suddenly came to me. You are the ‘Knight of the Burning Pestle’!”
“Ay! And you? Are you the Lady of the Red-Hot Mortar?”
“Yes!” she said. “Yes! You’re Sir Pestle and I’m Lady Mortar.”
“All right, then I’m knighted. John Thomas is Sir John, to your Lady Jane.”
“Yes! John Thomas is knighted! I’m my-lady-maidenhair, and you must have flowers too. Yes!”
She threaded two pink campions in the bush of red-gold hair above his penis.
“There!” she said. “Charming! Charming! Sir John!”
And she pushed a bit of forget-me-not in the dark hair of his breast.
“And you won’t forget me there , will you?” she kissed him on the breast, and made two bits of forget-me-not lodge one over each nipple, kissing him again.