Last Take by M.S. White - HTML preview

At the precise moment that Richones lips pressed to mine in delivery of her kiss, Dryvas lips pressed to the tip of my penis and kissed it softly, causing an incredible sexual surge to ripple through my genitals. I am sure that it must have been the power of both the surprise and what I knew to be an offer of love on their part, which did the trick. Holy Jesus…I was a proper man again! And now the exquisite forcewas upon me…snaking into life the soft flaccid muscle of my manhood which had lain dormant for so long with no need to be fed. But before I could properly register what exactly what was taking place, their respective lips were removed and the massaging continued as I burst into a burgeoning erection. Then after about a minute more of massaging, which seemed like an eternity, they repeated the same movement, only this time each lingered at the lips and the hard hat of my manhood with an obvious passion.

Richones tongue traced my lips and the insides of my mouth, s eeking the tip of my own tongue as it tasted me and imparted her own sweetness in the process, while Dryva teased the soft-hard crown of my penis with her soft tongue licking in circles that tickled me with utter delirium before it wormed down the shaft to tantalise my scrotum with flicking licks like that of a serpent. By the time their lips had fully explored the respective parts of my body; I was on fire and engorged with a passionate ecstasy that I well understood could drive any man mad if not satiated. We shared the bliss of those kisses for many minutes before the girls swapped positions and partook of their new meal. For the very life of me, I have no idea what power of earth held me back from exploding into seminal orgasm and choking Richone with the wealth my love juice…or sucking the tongue out of Dryvas head.

If I was being seduced then I was being seduced, and any uncertainty that I might have had about being made love to by two women flew out the window like a caged bird flying through its opened door to live out its life in endless freedom. There were no questions that needed to be asked, and nothing that required explanation. Everything was suddenly quite understandable, uninhibited and full of unrestrained expression as my body became one with theirs and our desires became united in our devotion to love, to exploration and experimentation, to discovery and then rediscover and then to cover old ground all over again with a newness of intent to glory in the softness and the hardness, in the calm and the storm, the passion and power, the grunt and groan, the whimper and moan, the rush and the roar, the fast and the slow and the depths and the shallows of the ins and outs of a triumvirate love birthed in the trinity of the flesh and mind and soul… of man and two women in the play of and Gods greatest game.

All through the speeding night and into the early morning, the give and take and the touch and taste of every inch and space of wet and sweaty sweet flesh continued. Orgasm after orgasm, in the hand, the mouth, the front, the back, the head, the mind, the soul…and then temporarily satisfied, the passive tantalising foreplay of wine and talk and the laughter in between the breaks… and then up again and into it and all the time the fire feeding itself into a maniacal frenzy which is more like the pure essence of a truly aroused animal, stoned out of its senses with the scent and succour of raw sex burning on all fronts and incapable of being subdued…bodies spinning in a web-work of positions, from in front, from behind, on knees and hands, on heads, on sides, on top, on bottom, around and underneath, coarse and delicate with numerous expectant and surprised renewals of attack and surrender in a conventional and unconventional, pure and dirty, sweet and stinky ecstasy for which to fightdie for… and all the time the fire feeding and nipping and nibbling and biting and eating and swallowing and digesting until it finally devours itself in one last uprising of suicidal expenditure…and then spent, retires into a cocoon of inexpressible contentment from which it knows it cannot rise up one last time from the grave of its expended longing...and the whole self knows that it has loved and been loved and that itssoul purpose has been fulfilled…and the energy of love and life has, in its cycle and its season…been renewed.

I saw the world in a different way as we descended from the escarpment down to the lowlands. The small farmhouses and forests and hills were all brand new, with a quality of surreal beauty they had notpossessed during our drive up…and that same newness now was in me too. Sexual love had healed me psychologically and physically and now the subtle and corrosive shame and fear of sexual failure was no more because my sentence of impotence had been served. Id done my time and now I was free to seek and find the love that had eluded me all my life.

We stopped for a counter lunch at a quaint old pub in one of the scattered one horse towns that seem to pop up in those parts where one can always be guaranteed a good old fashioned mixed grill. After last nights high jinks I felt like a “lovers breakfast”…bacon and eggs, fried chips and tomatoes and onions with a piece of decent toast buttered on the side. A few elderly locals with „countree written all over their faces stood at the bar and threw us regular glances of curiosity and interest, and I imagined their wheels were spinning as they wondered about the guy with the two gorgeous girls, who were obviously more than just friends.

I sidled up to the bar where two gentlemen were doing more drinking than talking, and ordered a double sarsaparilla. The short stocky gent with an ugly sweat stained cow cocky hat gave me a „guday and asked where I was headed? I told him, and then the other guy asked wherewed come from? I explained that wed been up into the escarpment visiting friends. „How farrup? the other asked, and I told him to the end of the road where the two giant Bunya nut trees were. „Thatd be the oldOkalyis place, said the other, to which the sweaty hat nodded with a grunt.
„I couldnt tell you, I told them, „I only know we drove as far as the big resort up there where weve been for the past week. In response to my last remark, they both lifted their heads to look me in the face, eachsporting a quizzical squint as if Id had a dig at them.

„An what resort would ya be referrin ta, mate? asked the weathered hat. I didnt know what to tell him. I could hardly say it was the Order of the Aquarian Circle resort where supernatural beings made preparations for the arrival of the Golden Age; so I just repeated myself. The two men looked at each other and simultaneously turned and eyeballed me with a hint of annoyance. „I think hes bin smokin that hippishit, sweaty hat said. I just smiled courteously and started to turn away, but I was held back by hismates next question. „Hang on sport…this resort place ya reckon thats up there. Its at the end of the mountain road, iz that right? I nodded, „yea.
„Thadda be where an old dirt road shoots off up inta the scrub? he said. „Thats right…where the two giant trees are and that totem pole structure over the entranceway thats got all the carving on it, I said with earnest and feeling somewhat relieved.
„What kinda trees ya talkin about, mate? the other asked.
„Bunya pines, I told him.
„Yep, we know the place, his mate said, „an w e were up that way havin a look around a couple a months ago,an lemme tell you smarty, there aint no trees or totem pole shit anywhere in that area, he told me stiffly and with displeasure.

„Yorra a smart arse, mate, said the sweaty hat with a mean twist to his mouth. „We knew ol man Okalyi, he died twenny years back an had it set in his Will that the landcouldnt be sold or interfered with til a hundred years after his passing, he said looking at me stonily. „So ya see, clevva boy, he said continuing with the same annoyed tone to his voice, „there aint no reezort there…there aint nothin there but the ol homestead which you hippie bastards vandalised years ago when ya all wen feral, so don smart arse us, okay. „Take it easy on him, said his mate, „its all that crazy smoke that makes em confused, and then with a contemptuous snigger they turned their backs to me which released me to return I returned to my table morethan a little confused. Old farts…what the hell were they on about, I wondered…were they pissed or what? Maybe this was their way of making fun of city slicker tourists…I dont know. I mentioned this to the girls and they just giggled as if to excuse the ways of old simple minded rural folk. After lunch we hit the road and it was early afternoon when we hit the outskirts of Cairns. Dryva seemed to know her way around town because she drove straight to the boat harbour and naturally wondered if Roywould be there…but then as we approached the parking area I saw the old Kombi sandwiched between two immaculate four wheel drivesand I knew hed be around somewhere…checking out the boats no doubt.

Chapter 31.
“Just when I thought the journey at its end, my pack unpacked, feet up indulging in a welcome rest, the yearning to journey further resurrected itself.”…Michael Botha.

We entered the Clubhouse and I gave a quick scan for Roy but could not spot any silver Jesus look alike, so I got us all some refreshments and we sat down near the large plate glass windows with a view of the marina and its myriad of yachts below and luxuriated in the air conditioning. It was good to be off the road and at the end of our journey. The girls had made it clear that they would only stay a few their meeting with Roy and then be on their way. I got a round of drinks and we hadnt settled for long when Richone spotted Roy. „Theres your Roy, she said through the glass plate windows, to a silver haired man emerging from the below decks of a smart forty foot gaff rigged ketch moored below us on the nearest pier, followed by a hulking bear of a man with rusty red hair, beard and moustache. I turned with surprise at her statement and saw that it was indeed Roy and wondered how the hell she know it was him? I shouldve known better, I reminded myself. Roy clapped the red faced man on the shoulder and stepped ashore and started striding towards the Clubhouse along the pier. Half way towards the Clubhouse he stopped and looked up at our glass plate window and surprised us by waving at us, and so we waved back furiously, me especially, because now it was my turn to surprise him.

He looked fit and well as he strode across to our table. We all stood up and it was I who initiated the greeting hug. I then introduced him to the girls who he immediately charmed with a bowed kiss to each womans hand and then w e sat and started chatting about our fortuitous meeting and only glossed over our stay atGeorges with nothing to fascinating being said about the place. I had beforehand had prepped the girls in that regard, preferring to innumerate the details of my incredible adventure to Roy privately. I got up to get a second round of drinks and upon my return I was more than surprised to hear the three of them conversing animatedly in German…and I expect he picked the language up in the course of his life with his German lover, Ronika.

He sounded so authentic and natural, and with my consent, the three of them held court for a long time while I sat on the sidelines enjoying their instant camaraderie and numerous chuckles. When English was resumed he told me that he had secured a couple of days aboard the “Iona” the gaff rigged ketch owned by a gregarious and robust Scotsman named Rory McLaughlin. After one last round the girls stated that it was time to say our farewells, which caused in me an immediate sadness…that bittersweet moment had arrived…and after hugs and passionate kisses, they left my life as effortlessly as they had entered it, and semi torrential tears sanctified their parting and all the joy they had both brought me, and I thought of what Arek Waskiw had said of parting in his poem as they slipped through the sliding screen doors and disappeared…hopefully only temporarily

The farewell fact again…comes unexpected and rocks to topple the icons of our strength That drains the wells to dry behind our eyes Whose gloss is dulled by a loss so raw and the dross that sad remains
for they shall nevermore
be with us…but in the art of fond recall.

The world is flat and somehow waxes thin as we ourselves are not the same
since came the uninvited to our shores, and still strong squalls…angry at it all maraud the small seas within my soul when thoughts are turned to you.

„Good to see you, my boy, he said sincerely , as he threw a comforting arm around my shoulder and hugged me to him eagerly. „I sense you have indeed had an adventure, he added with a smile and a wink, „you must tell me all about it sometime. That night we booked into a somewhat luxury motel and after showering we did a round of a few pubs where piece meal I gave him a thorough run down of my fantastic adventure. He was very pleased for me and admitted that he was envious that he had not been there also. „Youve cracked the cosmic egg, he told me. „What does that mean? I asked.
„It means that henceforth youre likely to end up with egg on your face, he said gleefully, enjoying his own joke before elaborating. „You have been blessed with a wonderful encounter with what was before the unknown, he said proudly. „The OAC experience has been your definingdivine gift, old cock, as have your angels, he said with a cheeky innuendo…Did he know, I wondered? Had the girls said something? Ah, who cares, hes only jealous, I told myself vainly as scenes of a sexual nature flashed upon the screen of my recall. That night I slept the sleep of sleeps and awoke to a chilly dawn with the virgin sun breaking in the east and brightening the hem of mountainous clouds that had thrust themselves up like giant icebergs of thick puff and fluff.

By mid afternoon we were aboard the Iona enjoying the affable companionship of Captain Rory who cordially invited us below to sample lunch, which consisted of fresh king prawns, avocado salad and some delicious coffee delectably infused with his best whiskey. „Som say its a shameful waste too spend goood whiskey incoffee toddies, bit thun theyve never ad coffee lake this, aye lads, he said gesturing with a piping cup of aromatic brew. The Captain was more than a breath of fresh air; he was rather a typhoon of entertainment and rough and ready charm. And he was the real thing; a lone salt that sailed the seas at his whim. Sometimes hehad crew, sometimes he didnt…it depended how he felt and where he intended to sail and for how long.

He was a man of independent means having made his money in farming and real estate; he had never married because the sea that was in his blood had clamed him for herself when he was but a wee boy in Scotland wonderstruck by his mistress of the seven seas. His father and his father before him had been seaman of one sort or another and the love of a fine sailboat was his only true love of anything material. „Give me a wedge o sailcloth and a fain vessel to splice the briny, un Im a huppy chappie, he said pointedly. „Its the adventure, yoo see, he added, „young and old, boy or girl, seaman or landlubber, thut siren o the seas in its enormousness, calls to the salt thut is in the waters of every human being. It goes buck too the tame when we were slame, floating about in the salty soup…sure we crawled up the beach, claimed up the tree, leapt toothe land, lived n caves, conquered nature and ad a wee wank on the mooon…but the call o the sea from the gene in the blood is us eternal as the urge too faind a place for the viper to rest.

Roy laughed when he heard Rorys terminology and he caught my eye with a glint from his own which I knew referred to our time with the Professor and Archie. Okay, I thought, as good a way as any to make a new friend…Ill play patsy again. „Im afraid I dont quite get what you mean, “a place for the viper to rest?” I asked with a dumb the look, quite well practiced by now.„You know, er, you know, cut in Roy, stammering for a way to enlighten me, „the, the, here help me with this will ya, Rory.
„Are ye daft, lad? Doo yoo nort know what yoor screwdriver is for lad? Rory barked, tugging at his rusty red beard.
„Hide the sausage Roy said helpfully…again a vacant look on my part.
„Aye. Git yoor end away, lad.
„Point your pecker towards home, Roy spurted.

„Slip n slade the mainsail, the Captain said lasciviously.
„Spread your seed, boy, Roy said feigning his frustration.
„Stab the sticky eye, the captain belched.
„Poking the whiskers, you dill, quipped Roy, enjoying the ribald quotes.
„Feed the pork sword, ya dumb bam.
„Sinking the sav, Roy proclaimed almost with annoyance.

„Threading the needle, lad, roared Captain Rory, spilling some his treasured hot toddy.

„Putting sword to scabbard, Roy added with a conspiratorial wink to the Captain while I meticulously feigned a deepening confusion, bewilderment and scratch your head perplexity each time they tried to define what appeared to me to be indefinable. „Breaking late where noo late shines, boyo, the Captain guffawed.
„Ploughing the prickly field, Roy said, laughing at his own cleverness and causing Captain Rory to burst into a booming thunderous laugh and slapped his thigh and again spill some his treasured hot toddy.„Oh, good Christ, he lamented.
„Ploughing what? Id asked innocently.
„Putting yer nose too Port, Captain Rory sputtered and chuckled at the same time. „Feeding your mutton gun somelamb, Roy roared with mock exasperation. „Christ, the Captain spat, „doo ya nort know yoor shitter from yoor spitter? with which they both broke into unified raucous laughter.
„Ooohh, I intoned, making my final realization. „Youmean, making babies.…First a drum roll and then a big round of congratulatory applause and a topping up of the toddies. We spent that night aboard the Iona being regaled by the Captains plethora of wondrous, hard to believe stories. I slept that night on deck with a shawl of winking stars above me and a cool sea breeze in my face that was strongly laced with the scent of salt and mangrove swamp, and before drifting off to sleepI thought of the third verse of Baron Regents poem, What voice do my ears not hear?
“Unable to be concealed

the scent of invitation snares not just senses,
but my very soul
commanding I thirst for further tomfoolery beyond the chains of the imprisonedland”.

Before sailing out that morning we helped the Captain get in a few stores and locked the kombi in the parking quarters of the Marina. In addition to inviting Roy and I, the old sea dog had invited two ladies as guests. They had been aboard before and were, according to his parlance, “gay blades too bee sure”. „The plan is lads, he said mischievously, „fur us too huv a wee bit o roly poly on the seas. Roy said that roly poly would depend on the ladies in question. Rory threw back his head and guffawed, replying that the moment we were all out to sea, the charm and romance of life aboard a seasoned sailboat would soon enough get the little heads and the lower smiling faces to thinking. Later that morning two middle aged and single ladies, Toni and Ingrid, presented themselves for our inspection. Toni was dark haired and buxom with a strong Welsh tone to her voice and an impressive sense of the happy go lucky. „A very uncomplicated person, Dryva would have said of her. The manner in which Rory greeted her indicated they were quite familiar with one another already. Ingrid was a blonde made blonder by the sun, well tanned and with a figure most suited to a bikini, which she wore under a thin white cheesecloth shirt. Her eyes were a pale sea blue and it was obvious that in her hey day she would have been a very beautiful woman. Ah, boats and beauties, I thought…how they seem to attract one another. The ladies talkatively made their way below decks with the Roy and Rory carrying their well loaded backpacks.

END OF BOOK THREE. LAST TAKE - BOOK FOUR.
Chapter 1.
“I will know that joy when that joy arrives, for I shall see my boat come in”…T.A. Nesbitt.

While the four of them settled below decks, I decided to take a walk around the marina and check out the boats. Now that the briny was truly flowing in my veins I had developed the charming practice of imagining the type of boat I would have if I had the money to buy one. I had been sold on ketches for a while, primarily for their look when all their sails are bent and swollen with the wind. Schooners on the other hand tend to be larger vessels and are big and roomy and I fancied how I could live permanently upon one. But it was with an eye for a sloop rigged vessel that I wandered about the mooring piers in a dreamy mood…and there were some beauties.

Reading the unique names of the boats made me question what I would call my boat, if and when my boat came in. In my observations I had come across many exotic names relating to the sea and to things unknown to me. „Fastfooter--Landfall—Wave Breaker--Searoll-Sea Swell--Maverick Squid-Rogue Rider--Cape Horner-Neptunes Moll--Seamaid-Windlass--Cutter way-Barbary Girl--Squall--Matador--Pamela-Jo-Browns Folly-Cyclops-Waveira--Tomasta--The Sea Urchin-Last Hope and The Omega 11…and I had even seen one vessel in the Whitsundays called, Sea Turd. I did the obligatory sailors thing and stopped on a couple occasions to chat to some of the sea folk to satisfy my curiosity regarding from whence they hailed and to where they were bound and naturally as always they were obligingly friendly. There is, as I expect with any other group of like minded people, be they truck drivers, horse riders, farmers, artists or surfers, to name only a few, that esprit de corps and camaraderie that comes of sharing the same loves and interests. I liked the sailing fraternity because there was about them a distinct sense of their self reliant individuality and reverence for freedom. There was certainly no real freedom in catching a train to work everyday, or driving in congested traffic and being daily bound by the thousands of rules that one must obey while living in a suburban rut; unlike the sailor mans routine, city life is not conducive to open spaces and the slow revolving wheel of time and I fancied living that sort of life sometime in the future.

There were so many things about boats individually that were attractive. I loved well varnished timbered hulls, preferably of old Kauri and Huon pine. Then as with a woman, I could fall in love with her lines, the way her bow held itself or how her stern sat to water and the amount of deck space she had with which I could play. The wheel house was important, how it fitted into the style of the boat and its spaciousness which made for easy movements and long hauls at the helm. I was particularly fond of a boat with plenty of beam, but which was so well ballasted that its heel and list were minimal in a squally sea. One lovely gaff rigged ketch with those alluring old lines of a time long past had won my heart, but it was a sloop that I was looking for, and after having viewed scores of impressive vessels in the course of my relationship with boats and marinas, my dream boat had still eluded me. I knew of course that it would be an instant realisation once I set eyes upon her because she would have that visual feel about her, that sense of having found what it was that I was looking for.
As I rounded into pier number nine, I cast my cursory scan down the line of vessels just by way of orienting myself when I saw her five vessels down the mooring pier and to my right and came to the instant realisation that my search had finally come to an end; for there she was, my dream boat caught in sunlight and framed by the green Atherton ranges behind her in the distance. Without even a closer examination I knew instantly that she was the one because there was about her an aura of immediate recognition. Frozen to the spot I stood transfixed in study of this dream come true as I watched her small animated movements and noticed how she carried herself with a kind of imperiousness that seemed decidedly regal. And she was built the way I like them built, well proportioned, trim and with sleek muscled lines that advertised an attractiveness that no lazy eye could avoid…and I instantly fell in love with her. I watched her for several long absorbing minutes while I floated in a strong emotional mood of light headed abandonment. Was this truly then the prize…the Great Pearl of Price? Irresistibly I moved nearer for a closer examination in a manner so as not to be seen so I could savour in private my liquored ecstasy…and every appraisal confirmed my feelings of discovery. She was indeed the one.

Suddenly I was lost in a state of reverie and fantasy. I was with her out on the open sea…just her and me and all the divinity and beauty of that world of blue green water and sky. I could see us shouldering through the sea and sucking wind into our sails, helm in hand, hand in hand, our balanced bodies set to the motion of the oceans intent, soaking up the sunlight by day and the stars by night, battling all manner of ill weather as a couple in our thirst for further adventure. She and I as it was meant to be…a match made in heaven, inseparable and wedded one to the other for all the days and nights of our lives together, until the rust of time eventually eroded our holy pairing and death separated us from the fabric of our life in flesh

My fantasy was suddenly smashed when the very object of my fixation waved a farewell to her two companions aboard the boat and jumped to the mooring pier and started walking toward me. She was twenty feet away when her eyes caught mine staring at her, and she held my gaze until she was several feet from me and gave me a warm smile and said a simple „gooday as she strode past me, while my heart missed several beats and my breath locked in my throat. I turned to watch her go and saw the strong gait of her walk. Her legs were muscular at the thighs with well developed calves like those of a ballerina and as she swung her backpack up and across her left shoulder I saw muscle ripple under the brown flesh of a deep tan. Her dark thick hair hung in strong waves and bounced with spring as she strode along the pier and I felt again that delicious arousal in the parts of man that make a man feel truly invincible and alive. Then suddenly flooded with a mood of high anxiety and pending disaster because the object of my spontaneous affection was walking away from me, and in a moment she would turn off from the pier and disappear, possibly forever. And for a terrifying drawn out moment I was paralysed in the moment just as poor old Tommy Mack had been that day I was washed off the rocks and into the sea. She turned to her right and in a second was gone and I was left dangling on the barbarous horns of a dilemma, and like Tom, I wanted desperately to act, but for the life of me I could not break from the spell of the moment and do so. But then Whitey came to my rescue and instantly the immobility of panic melted and I was myself again.
I had no idea what I was going to say as I rushed down the pier after her with my heart pounding in my chest. I only knew I had to pin her down somehow; perhaps pretend that she looked exactly like someone else I knew, or ask for directions to the Post Office or maybe inquire if the boat she had just left was for sale and maybe from there I could get her into a comfortable position to enable the coals of conversation to flare into fiery life. But in the end, I did neither. Instead something soothing and deliberate took over my rationale and stood in for my nervous and unsure self. „Excuse me, Miss, I called out to her. She turned and gave me a direct look of mild scrutiny as I arrived to face her somewhat breathless. „What can I do for you? she asked with a voice clear and concise and dripping with a hypnotic lure that immediately sank deep hooks into my heart. I took a couple of deep breathes to get myself settled and then I went for it, boots and all, sword out of its scabbard, hat thrown to the wind and shrieking my war cry as I made a charge toward the battery of cannon in front of me.

„Please, dont think me intrusive, I assured her. „I m not one to be feared, and there is no funny business involved, but I have a short macabre story that I must tell you and then Ill be on my way…I promise. I smiled and wondered just how fluent I had sounded. My God she was beautiful. Her mouth was iconic with full inviting lips, her teeth perfect and her eyes sparkled like those of a fairy tale princess and I could feel my head swoon. Sweet Jesus, this really is the one, I confirmed to myself. „My name is Marty, I said, offering my hand and waited for her to respond. „Becky, she said, her hand reaching to meet mine with a handshake quite firm for a woman and not nearly as soft as I would have imagined and I wished I could have held it forever.

„You are going to think this insane, I told her gently as I removed Sanguines ring from my finger, but a very very astute and powerful woman gave me this ring, saying that one day I would meet someone very special to whom I would be compelled to give this as a gift. I knew I was rushing my speech but the hell with it; I could only be sincere and hope that it would be received in that way. „This woman said that only one hand in the whole world could ever sport this ring, and that when I thought I had found that hand, I was to give it, regardless of what the circumstances were or how ridiculous I might sound. She said that I would know the true recipient of this gift because the ring once placed on the finger would not be able to be removed. I shook my head with a smile. „I know that this is very much like Cinderella with the shoe and probably seems like a lot of flirtatious subterfuge meant to win me a heart, but its the truth, and Becky I am compelled to act accordingly. Please, you must let me make this gesture, I told her with utter conviction as I placed the ring in the palm of my left hand and gently proffered it to her.

She looked at the ring furtively and then at me intently for several seconds, as if searching for something behind my eyes that might reveal duplicity. I could feel my pulse rate increase as a nervous spasm quarrelled quickly with my stomach muscles and I felt the warm blush of obvious embarrassment. What the hell, Id done my bit and there was no more to be done…it was up to her now. She saw my embarrassment and succumbed to a short burst of laughter before she picked up the ring to study it. She turned it over and examined every facet of it and it seemed to me that she was quite struck by it. Then she smiled and said that it was indeed a particularly impressive ring and that because my „pick up a chic routine was one of the best she had ever