She liked it on top—which once would have suited me fine, except that, from there, she’d invariably start rocking with an earnestness I now never failed to find just disconcerting enough to throw me off the moment and back to the night we actually did try it out on the lake in her father’s canoe, with me on top that time, bathing suit down to my ankles, knees rubbed raw on the wet fibreglass, holding tight to the gunwales but mostly just trying to keep my butt low enough as the boat teetered on the edge of capsizing.
Thwarted.
Image adapted from the cover of this 1995 album.
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