A S H Smyth

Some people liked Stravinsky for being Stravinsky. Others did not. What can you do.

Well, I guess we’re even now, huh?

I remember that summer as being of great importance. Or, rather: I remember that summer – and that seems important.

They were sitting on the floor leaning into the corner of the room, her mouth on his nipple, her hand moving his cock slowly. I sat in the corner of the library, reading Ondaatje, hoping none of the children would see.

‘There’s no I in team,’ she said. ‘No; but there’s an M and an E, and that’s good enough for me.’