‘It’s OK. I haven’t gotten to the good stuff yet.’ ‘The good stuff being the ripping of the bodice, I suppose?’ ‘Yeah,’ she said laughing lightly. ‘If they weren’t call bodice rippers, they could be called heaving bosoms or pulsing rod of desires.’ Dev laughed. ‘They don’t actually say pulsing rod of desire?’ She laughed again, in spite of the blush she knew was turning her cheeks pink. ‘Oh, yeah, and engorged member, pulsating manhood, and velvet steel shaft.’ Dear God, did she just say that out loud? ‘It gets a little boring reading the same descriptions over and over again though.’ ‘Hmmm, maybe you could create some new ones.’ She grinned at him. ‘Challenge accepted! How about….’ She thought for a moment, and then her eyes lit mischievously. ‘For the big blow job scene, the writer should call it a cocksicle!’ She said triumphantly with tiniest hint of a slur in her voice. She lowered her voice to a breathy almost whisper, quoting from a non-existent novel, ‘Her hand closed around. "Reckon that's right, boy, an' I 'spect that's jes' what Ol' Jube's countin' on. Smart old bugger."They rode on for a while in exhausted silence, seeking the shade at the road's edges wherever possible and then turned east so the sun was at their backs, baking their shirts dry. The horses' heads bobbed as they followed farm lanes across dry creeks. Then, for no particular reason, the soldier said, scratching at his matted beard, "Nothin' wrong with young soldiers, necessarily. Depends on who they is." He spat, chewing on another unlit cigar."Seth, you won't believe this. Shoot, if'n I hadn't seen it with mah own two eyes, I wouldn't believe it. Couple a'months ago, Lord, seems like years, but it was May. The cadets from V.M.I. joined up with us old, grimy horse soldiers. We was in pretty bad shape. General Early, he come along and threw us at them Yankees down around Lynchburg and Charlottesville. An' them boys, them cay-dets, why they did jus' fine as peach fuzz. Marched in line in.
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