The panic attack of a seemingly good plan going awry was beginning to wash over me. Ye Gods! The steek at the neck was falling apart and I had no patience left for such tomfoolery. These are the times that try men's souls.
The neck I refer to is this sporty little number, a 2X2 rib I am making from BabyTwist Alpaca...Hellmouth Brand, as I began to call it. I call this brazen slut, "Trixie."
Miss Trixie, while jiggling along smartly and giving me quite a bit of construction pleasure, is a strumpet, a slut, a whore, a harlot, a Trollope. I have had to cajole, whine, plead and get on my knees to caress Trixie's camel-hair into my serviceable wench of a garment. Alpaca is just so....fem!
Finally, as all men ultimately do...I remembered not to be a voyeur, but to recall this little bitch had to be gently pampered, soaked in a bath, massaged with tender care, and gently tease those slashed rents in her sides with slow and circular fingertip kisses.
It worked. I had her!...after drying the wench was ready for picking up stitches and sleeves to begin slowly stitched. We laid together exhausted, and smoked a cigarette.
I never felt(ed) like this before!