Debbie herself kept a diary that held everything from what she ate to her views on Plato’s Republic to conversations between herself, Homer, Sappho and Lao Tzu. Sometimes it seemed that she was actually speaking to Homer in person, which she was, because her thoughts and dreams were as real to her as the physical world she lived in and the library she worked at. Every year at Christmas time, Debbie gave her friends gifts to help them create. Her friends that liked to write got paper or pens or ink, the artists got brushes, paper, paints, brushes, paper, paints, crayons or pencils, the photographers got film, the musicians cassettes, the sculptors, clay. Christmas had come and gone, but Debbie knew that Ned needed to let his emotions out, and she knew what worked best for her when she was feeling sad or alone or angry. So she called Ned’s house and invited him over to her garden for some lemonade. Ned was embarrassed that Debbie had seen him being teased, but he accepted her. We c***dren had long since retired, as it was in the early hours of the morning, and my brother had long since fell into a deep slumber at my feet, he at the head of the bed, myself at the foot, with my head facing the door into the room, I mention this as this position helps explain the events that were about to follow.I could hear my relatives moving around outside the bedroom and never expected anyone to venture into the room, but the way everyone was getting drunk and shouting to each other, mixed with raucous laughter, I suppose the inevitable of sexual innuendo hung in the air, as cousins and in-laws, combined to enjoy themselves a little further than they normally would, had they not imbibed too much alcohol, and relaxed their libidos, in short, some of them were just plain horny and sex was inevitable.To be truthful I never thought like this at the time, as being a girl of nine,sex never crossed my mind, it is only as I recall that night, I put together my story, now I am more.
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