Description
Even Stevens
They were fated, really, when you think about it. They met in a pub — one of those silly accidents with a knocked over vodka glass. Apologies made, fresh drinks bought, they chatted. Eventually came the oldest line: What’s your name. ‘Steve, she said. ‘You’re kidding,’ said he. ‘I’m Steve too.’ See what we mean about fate. They didn’t have much else in common — he’s a student at a London polytechnic; she’s a personal secretary for a rather influential broker bloke in the City. But their eyes understood the hidden messages being blinked out by each other in the sexual morse code. They had a bite to eat – and then went back to her place for a few bites more. A night to remember – where love was made not fought over, where sex was a pleasure-park not a battlefield, where both gave every bit as much as they took. Until she congratulated him and summed them up: ‘We’re even Stevens, you know.’ That they were. And that they hope to be for many a long month to come. As long as their passion remains ignited.
