Mathilda

In days of yore there lived a maiden, Matilda was her name. She was raised a pious miss, on that she felt no shame. One summer day our heroine went to gather berries blue when she espied a handsome man, supine, his clothes askew. Cautiously she approached his side to see if he drew breath Gazing at his handsome visage, seeking signs of death. One brown eye slowly opened and gazed upon our miss And with a quickness unforeseen, he gave Matilda a kiss! “Rise up Knave and follow me, to my father’s house we go! For no one dares take such liberties, you wicked Lothario!” Matilda took the man’s hand and dragged him ‘cross the field and in this simple act, Matilda’s fate was sealed. “Miss, the lace upon your shoe has loosened from it’s slot you must stop and tie it up but use a stronger knot.” Matilda let go the stranger’s hand and bent over from the waist what happened next, I must say, occurred with wicked haste. The knave emboldened, pulled up her skirt seeking hidden treasure in blink of an old man’s eye, the knave soon found his pleasure Matilda sat down in shock, her skirt in spread in disarray The knave, replete, jumped from the bush and began to dart away “Stop, you rogue, you cad, you cur” Matilda screamed furiously The rogue turned and eyed the miss, his lip curled curiously. “What have you done to me? Speak up! Why give me thus, this shame?” He answered slowly, with a smile, “Matilda, tis but a game!” “What manner of game is played this way! To me ‘twas not much fun!” “The Scots invented it”, he said.  “ Tis called ‘The Hole in One”. Matilda eyed the varmint, seeking signs of spoken lies and looking, thus she succumbed, to the laughter in his eyes. “This game” she said “ tis best played on yonder new mown grass and thus, I feel, tis easier on a poor young wench’s ass!” The Knave laughed full and hearty, ‘pon hearing this lament and quickly took Matilda in wild abandonment. Hours later the game was done they went their separate ways the Knave buttoning his trousers, Matilda lacing her stays. Days past and fair maiden felt, a longing for the game all other suitors seemed to her, tepid, mild and tame. Brown eyes broke upon her dreams, she woke quite distraught wishing for that time when, she felt the rogue’s onslaught. Years passed, the maiden married, became a mother of three but in the quiet times at night, she lamented what couldn’t be. Longing for her knave so bold to light again that fire to play again that wicked game, to quench her woman’s fire. Written December 27th, 2001 © on Dec 27 2001 02:33 PM PST   0 • 16