THE REAL LADY CHATTERLEY
100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Jean L. Hays
The peahen’s impartial eye witnessed the first kiss, before the gentle stonemason took the lady’s hand and guided her along her own path and into her own house and up to her own bedroom. The lady was amazed and delighted and terrified.
The stonemason eventually slept, that enviable way that only young men can. The lady lay awake watching a tiny summer crawler climbing her naked lover’s chest.
A peacock’s shrill call woke him. “So, beautiful Lady Ottoline,” said her lover, “Why me and not that Huxley? Or that Lawrence?”
“Because they’d write about me and get me wrong.”