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Screwing my neighbor's wife.

Far down the line My opponent rears his mount and lurches to his post facing me opposite and suddenly it is quiet save for the banners in the wind. I hear my own breathing inside my headgear..I feel my heart pounding beneath my chest armor. My boy hoists the shield and straps it to my forearm while my fingers grip and ungrip getting the mesh of chain mail seated on its handle. He lifts the battle lance towards me so I may rest its butt end on the iron sheath molded to my hip armor: ten lonf feet of lance point towards the sky. On its tip is my Lady's garter.

I grasp its weight...turning ...turning.. Trumpets blare...they blare again.

The flagman drops his marker and I spur my horse. For seconds all thats heard is the labored equine gasp in the scramble to charge. and then hooves, pounding, pounding all 17 hands of him lurching head to the fore! My target is in view and all but the red dragon painted on his shield has my sight . I drop the lance slowly as our gallop meets its limit. To hit the shield at the claws of his painted monkey means to drive through the shoulder. I'm squared up. He's onto my aim...coming...coming....

With a crash my lance finds its mark! As if he has stopped dead in his tracks it takes my opponent off his horse in a flash of dust splinters and falling iron.

I reach the end of the circle and turn. My opponent has regained his feet and raises his arm. I have won the day: this one event of many. My visor goes back. the review stand is politely clapping but my Lady, my Lady Cecelia, is on her tiptoes both hands in small fists at her chin and I raise my hand to her direction.

Large tournament tents are marked with banners and shields. With my mount stabled, I stand within the filtered darkness of my field quarters why my armorer and a page strip the mail off my body piece by heavy piece. Down to leggings, a wide waterfilled bowl stands nearby and I dip a cloth into its coolness, twist it out and wipe the dust and sweat from my skin. the glancing blow I had taken began to leave a bruise and I was smoothing my abdomen when a heard a young female voice clearing her throat. The heads of my servants turned towards the tentflaps. It came again.

" See what she wants."

The page was back. "Sir William, it is Lady Cecelia's lady-in-waiting. She asks if Lady Cecelia may see you."

"Tell her to tell her Lady that I will be ready in some minutes as soon as I dress"

He left. There was much discussion outside the flaps of the tent until the page returned, flustered He came back in.

" The Lady wishes to see you now, sir."

I paused. "Leave me. Both of you. Tell the Lady to enter."

Moments later Cecelia enetered this man's domain tentatively, searching these new surroundings: eyes bright with passion. Her eyes became used to the light and she stood hands clasped before him staring. The ground length crimson gown she wore was held to her with a band of embroidered gold cloth swooping around her hips to a V at her front where it opened to a lining in layers of gold . Matching bands at her elbows marked the billowing sleeves. The cape she had worn earlier was gone revealing the porcelain skin of her bustline, ample, pure, delicately pushed upwards ...revealing..ravishing...a gold cross hung from her neck nestling in her cleavage.

" Forgive my state of undress, m'lady, " I apologized, "I was unprepared to have ...."

In two steps she was in my arms. Her mouth crushed to mine. I felt the heat of her against the nakedness of my chest, her arms clinging to my shoulders and sliding down my back finding the musculature until lower her fingers found the seam of the leggings , traced my hips then filled her hands with my butttocks .... pulling me to her torso. The smell of her filled my senses. One hand came front and openly roamed across the muscles of my chest. Her touch was tender arousing me completely.

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