“Then how do you know…oh. A Black Phoebe. I get it. Clever boy.”
“You catch on quick, O clever girl.”
“You have no idea how clever. My turn.” She paused in thought. Jay took the opportunity to kiss her neck, lingering this time before tasting her salty skin with the lightest flick of his tongue.
“Hey! No fair distracting me.”
He licked her neck again, nibbling under her ear. He whispered. “You find this distracting?”
“Very. Put your leg on the other side of the bale.” She tapped the thigh nearest her. Jay followed her directions, slipped his leg between them so that he was straddling the makeshift bench. Robin slid back, reclining in his arms, his hard-on caught snugly, even more blatantly than before, between them.
The position lowered her head so that he could no longer easily kiss at her neck, but it gave him an unimpeded view of her magnificent chest, the smattering of freckles that has haunted him since last summer, and even a hint of curly red hair below where his arms encircled this gift from the gods.
“Distracted?” She asked in response to the obvious twitch he gave against her back, entirely of his body’s own volition.
“Very.”
“Good. Now, remember the old guy with the long beard, playing the zither?” They couldn’t see him from here, but they could still hear the odd, ethereal music.
“Is that what it is? A zither? I was guessing a dulcimer.”
Robin paused. “Maybe you’re right. It probably is a dulcimer. But quit distracting me.”
Jay again twitched against her, this time on purpose. Her back arched.
“Hey! That is so not fair.”
“Sorry.” He kissed her hair near the top of her head.
“Where was I? Oh yeah. Old man, long beard, bushy white eyebrows, playing a mysterious instrument with obvious magical properties. He’s almost certainly Merlin.”
“Merlin? Oh, like a falcon? A sparrow-hawk. Good one. You are clever.”
“Told you. Your turn.”
“Hmm.” Jay’s gears were turning, coming up empty. Another couple walked by. The tall man had long brown hair, carefully brushed and blown-dried back from his face. The woman was pretty but very slim, almost without curves. Her hair was a flowing mass of thick dreadlocks and a small dark tangle poked out from under her arms.
“The Tufted Tit.” He pronounced it definitely, like the narrator of a zoology film announcing an important development.
“The Tufted Tit? Her tits are the one place I’m not seeing any unusual tufting.”
“Exactly. This one has a backstory.”
“Pray go on, professor.” The laughter behind her words encouraged and delighted him.
“The man with the flowing locks is obviously an expert on hair, perhaps a cosmetologist by training.”
“Obviously.”
“When the two met, the poor girl was charmed by the man, but horrified to get…intimate with him because of her dark secret.”
“And what, sir, was this dark secret?”
“She was extremely sensitive to the fact that her breasts were not only quite small, but they each spotted several dark hairs growing near the nipple. She had never let anyone see them, and had been sadly misinformed by the old wive’s tale that hair, once removed, grows back thicker and darker.”