”“Is it that bad, baby? You’re scaring me,” He teases me as I stumble over my words.“No, smart ass. I just was sitting here wrapping gifts a...d got lost in thought of having you here and one thing lead to another. I started thinking of you kissing and touching me.”“Mmm I like where this is going. What were you doing before I called, or should I say what was I doing to you before I called?”“Marc, you’re making me blush. You’re so mean.”“I know. Now answer.”“I was sitting here touching myself. She extended her hand to touch him and then pulled it back, appalled at herself. Her dress was on the floor next to the door. Silver, sequinned and far too short for a Sunday morning. She purposefully didn’t deliberate on the day but then she caught sight of the Bible on the bedside table and the memories rushed in condemningly.Sunday morning service. It came back to her like it always did, the smell of varnished wood floors, the hat her grandma wore, the droning voice of the vicar. A long time. .So, it was a couple of years back now, in Turkey, at a bar by the beach. You know the sort of place, shitty pop music blaring out, drinks that were 50% vodka and 50% watered down coke. The usual lecherous, greasy locals working the bar and the tables, hitting on all the drunken English girls, succeeding often enough to make it worthwhile.I’d been for a piss, shifting some of mediocre local beer I’d managed to chug down, and was walking back to the table when I noticed the bar owner, Oz,. Even Sir Richard Burton's translations of the Kama Sutra were not only Indian texts, but more a sex manual than a philosophical/religious treatise. Because of the Eastern source of texts and the western preponderance of guilt and sadism, Joseph was concerned his essentially innocent though sexually adventurous and very American girlfriend would find his research antithetical to her moral, civil and religious constitution, either disturbingly devilish or anti-American or uncomfortably alien, so.