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“As   the   evening’s   dusk   draws   a   translucent   grey   curtain   across   the sinking     afternoon     sun,     twenty-two     passengers     board     the     late- afternoon   river   cruise.   Patrons   jostle   for   position   to   view   shafts   of orange   sunlight   bounce   from   the   river   like   fiery   sparks   escaping   a   Guy Fawkes   bonfire.   Those   who   shun   sunsets’   romanticism   retreat   to   the sub-deck     where     they     struggle     to     digest     the     complimentary Devonshire    Teas’    crumbling    scones.    Others    exchange    the    intense gaze   of   first-time   lovers:   eyes   only   for   each   other   –   oblivious   to   their surroundings. A   young   couple   exit   the   comfortably   heated   cabin,   climb   three steps   to   the   deck   and   breathe   in   grey   mist   rolling   across   the   River Avon in Evesham, Worcestershire . Trevor   and   Juanita   saunter   arm   in   arm   along   the   timber   deck,   beyond a    white    bulkhead    propped    like    a    lone    kiosk    on    a    derelict    railway platform,   and   continue   to   the   rear   of   the   refurbished   timber   barge. Huddling   like   conjoined   twins,   they   trail   the   arrowhead   wake   chasing across the river’s surface.
Trevor   flops   onto   a   timber-slatted   seat   whose   identity   succumbs   to   stacked   layers   of   red,   green   and   blue   paint.   The   most   recent décor   –   a   yellow   acrylic   –   is   cracked   and   bubbled   through   neglect.   He   swipes   flakes   of   the   puckered   paint   to   the   deck,   pulls Juanita to his lap and snuggles into her breast like a newborn baby pacified by the comfort and security of its mother. Juanita   embraces   the   warmth   and   happiness   of   newfound   romance   as   she   drinks   the   dew   of   Trevor’s   kiss.   With   limbs intertwined like convolvulus jacaranda, they absorb the tranquil evening of August fourteen.  ‘I love you, babe,’ Trevor whispers. ‘Love you too.’ Trevor   combs   his   fingers   through   her   hair   and   rests   them   at   the   nape   of   her   slender   neck.   With   the   flourish   of   an   oriental masseur,   he   stimulates   dense   tissue   beneath   her   lithe   skin.   As   he   kneads   deep   into   Juanita’s   neck,   he   smothers   her   lips   with breathless kisses and rises to the frisson of her electrified tongue. Juanita   closes   her   eyes   and   reclines   into   the   emotion   and   anticipation   pulsing   through   her   body.   She   surrenders   to sensuality’s   whisper,   choosing   to   float   above   reality   while   selfishly   enjoying   the   inner   heat   fuelled   by   twitches   and   spasms   of hormonal yearnings. Her stifled groans shrill down Trevor’s throat. Her arms clamp him in a chest-crushing embrace. Her heart races and body shudders to orgasm’s rhapsody. Her eyes dilute and fix upon his: Is this a new adventure in foreplay, or a gross act of rejection?   She will never learn it is the latter. Her soft breath ceases like the exhausted wisp of an autumn breeze. Trevor   lifts   Juanita   from   the   seat.   Cradles   her.   Kisses   her   cheek.   Says   goodbye.   He   glances   over   his   shoulder   to   confirm his   concealment   from   both   passengers   and   occasional   anglers   chancing   their   luck   from   the   riverbank.   He   flips   her   limp   body over   the   side   of   the   craft,   the   inboard   motor   muffling   the   faint   splash.   Her   white   cotton   blouse   inflates   and   bobbles   atop   the wash. Moments later, it collapses and descends, returning the glistening river to swans and ducks feeding on discarded scones.”
LOGOTYPE
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