Thursday, April 29, 2010

CAMELS and RABBITS and HORSES? . . . AT THE BIJOU ~ Double*Feature Thursday & Tuesday

It's Mystical!


It's Magical!


It's Two, Two,
Two Wonders 
in one ~

Luscious Ladies and
Genteel Gents



With April Fantasies
playing with your mind,
Can MayDay's Kentucky Derby
be that far behind?

~ Do Stay Attuned ~
 ... come first Saturday in May ...

"RABBIT, RABBIT!" ~ Introducing Playwright Debbie Lamedman AT THE BIJOU


~ By playwright Debbie Lamedman,
making AT THE BIJOU one of her
new creative hangouts . . .

 Believe it or not, this is not a post about Easter.  First of all, I'm not an Easter-type of gal, and second it's just a coincidence that I'm writing this post in the month of the Easter holiday.  Actually, it has to do with the first of the month.  It just so happens a tomorrow from now is May 1st.  Nothing to do with Absolutely*Kate's April Fool's theme AT THE BIJOU either  Oy ... so much explanation for all the things this post ISN'T about.  Here's what it IS about:

I've always been a voracious reader, even when I was a young lass.  I never did the "Nancy Drew" thing, but I did like the Trixie Belden series.  Also, a young girl detective, not unlike Nance, but a little more cool.  Plus, she lived in New York  like me (only she lived upstate in a richer, woodsy area but still ... we were both New Yorkers. I don't know where Nancy Drew lived.) Anyway, it was from the Trixie Belden books where I learned about "Rabbit, Rabbit" and I've held on to it ever since.  That in itself may be a little pathetic, but what can I tell you?

Basically, this is how it works.  On the last day of the month, before you go to sleep, you make a wish.  Say the wish out loud.  And then once the wish is made, you cannot speak again.  Go to sleep.  Happy dreams! Then, when you wake up on the first day of the new month, the first words out of your mouth have to be ... you guessed it ... "RABBIT, RABBIT!" 

So I've been doing this for all these many years ... making a wish on the last day of the month, waking up yelling "Rabbit, Rabbit!" on the first day of the new month.  I don't think my wish has ever come true ... but I still do it.

I've blown it plenty of times, and sometimes I would even put a little note on my alarm clock to remind me to say "Rabbit, Rabbit".  Sometimes I would make the wish at 11:59pm and yell "Rabbit, Rabbit!" at midnight.  I don't think you have to yell the words, but for some reason I always do.

So here we are, nearing April 30th, another chance to make another wish, and on the tomorrow of May 1st, here's wishing that wish will come true. 

What will you wish for?

(c) 2010 ~ Author/Playwright Debbie Lamedman
wished and whooshed into an AT THE BIJOU debut

ABSOLUTELY*KATE: Welcome, Welcome, Debbie, Debbie! I know we're going to be aware of more of your prolific playwright creations and interactions or collaborations with our Authors here AT THE BIJOU, but just couldn't resist throwing wide open our double mahogany doors for your yelling wishes to come as true as your April debut. 

PLAYWRIGHT DEBBIE LAMEDMAN: I love theater because it educates as well as entertains. And Absolutely*Kate, I love the way you see the world and then showcase it AT THE BIJOUYou do have a WHOLE lot of moxie and your energy is oozing through my computer screen. I got myself a whole lot of reading to do AT THE BIJOU. I'm loving your whole style everyone, and am very eager to be involved.

DEBBIE LAMEDMAN is a playwright, author and editor of eight acting books published by Smith & Kraus, Inc. Debbie's produced plays include phat girls, Triangle Logic, Mind Control, Eating in the Dark and Just Add Love.     phat girls is featured in the Smith & Kraus anthology, New Playwrights: The Best Plays of 2003. Debbie is co-writer for the musical How the Nurse Feels, which has had staged readings at both the Disney Workshop in Los Angeles and New World Stages in New York City. Her newest work, Ignorance is Bliss: a Global Warning has its world premiere 'now', in April 2010.
PLAYWRIGHT DEBBIE LAMEDMAN: I've had two interviews come out in two days for two different pieces of work I'm feeling a bit proud and wanted to share the news. 

ABSOLUTELY*KATE: Wonderful interviews to share with your new shows simultaneously wowing them around the country ~ "TRIANGLE LOGIC" and "IGNORANCE IS BLISS", where you've put spin on global warming as funny and entertaining in its serious scenario. 
PLAYWRIGHT DEBBIE: Thank you Absolutely-Kate!  Finding you and AT THE BIJOU may actually have helped me from losing my mind.  Am I being overly dramatic?  Only slightly!  You are a muse sent from above! 

ABSOLUTELY*KATE: Lady, how your style is going to add to the pizazz AT THE BIJOU! We have stage and screen, prose and noir, drama and dreams, talkies and tantalization and in the following serial presentation, mysticism in high energy form with the return of Barry Northern. I think you'll like him and those who share our red velvet rows and popcorn throws. 

We're looking forward to how
your distinctive plays come to play.
PLAYWRIGHT DEBBIE: So, Rabbit, Rabbit ... what am I wishing for? I'm in the process of creating the life that I want ... attempting to carve out my niche in this big, sometimes overwhelming world. Attempting to get rid of the frustration that has lately filled my days, and needing to get my mojo back. I wished for that. Artistic, creative and financial independence. Big wish, but why not, right?

ABSOLUTELY*KATE: Big enthusiasm is all over the psyche when you run into this dame Debbie at Confessions of a Cluttered Mind Watch for her MayDays 'staging', AT THE BIJOU. . . .


CHASING THE WIND - Part 3 of the mysti'serial ~ By Barry J. Northern of Harbinger*33

Chasing the Wind
 ~ Part Three ~ 

By ~ Barry J. Northern

"Chasing the Wind" from THE CHAOSWIND CHRONICLES, an original fantasy set in the mystical world of Cryl, a land struggling to contain the chaotic magical energies that were unleashed upon the world when the last god was murdered.

 The Story So Far ...

A group of Medebic clansmen are out in the desert attempting to quell a magical storm by containing it within a set of special stones. Meanwhile, back at the clan's camp, Aloethar the brewer talks with a visitor from Derlander about the progress of the war against the chaotic magic that is plaguing the world of Cryl ...

     “They had many stones.”
     “Those may be the last. Our searches of mines and coffers have yielded none for over a year.”
     “What else can we do?”
     “The scholars have theories about what attracts and Binds the Chaoswind, but nothing workable, except the Stones. It is drawn to the Star Sapphires because of their rarity. The energy seems to be attracted to anything rare. Diamonds work, as do rubies, emeralds -- any gem --, but the Star Sapphires are the rarest on Cryl, and the most effective. Also, the more intricately carved the Stone is, the more Chaoswind it is able to contain, which had lead to the theory that --”
     “I'm sorry, Pym, but I must fire up the still now.” Though busy, Aloethar was genuinely curious about any news from abroad. “Please stay. Tell me more while I work.”
     “No, I'm sorry. I leave you to your work. Please don't let me delay.”
     “Do you think the merchants will wait?”
     Pym sighed. “I'm afraid they will.”
     Aloethar didn't know whether to be pleased or not.
* * *
     The aloethar had been distilling for three hours . . . .
Generations of Aloethar's family had found, by trial and error, that kohol was improved by raising the temperature of the fire in stages, maintaining a steady heat at each stage. Now the trickiest part of the process was over there was nothing to do, so Aloethar stepped outside to take a walk. As Aloethar watched, a strange haze over the ridge of the furthest dune became a dust-storm, then a group of camel-riders, running as fast as the beasts would allow toward camp. The lead rider carried Thard Darwish's standard, flying in tatters.
     The women, children, and men who had been left behind like Aloethar, came out to greet their returning clansmen; a reunion soon dampened by sorrowful news. A short man named Zakir, spoke for the group. He was wrapped, like the others, in white robes and a turban, revealing only his dark, pockmarked face. Still atop his camel, he raised the tattered standard.
     “Thard Darwish is dead. Consumed by the Chaoswind, may it forever be damned.” His next proclamation silenced the crowd. “It is coming this way.”    
     Aloethar stepped forward. “Do you have the Stones?”
     Zakir looked at Aloethar, but then addressed the crowd. “We have all of the Stones except for the one Thard Darwish had with him when he died.”
     “Are they saturated?”
     Zakir looked surprised, and this time spoke only to him. “How do you know this about the Stones, Master Brewer?” Aloethar explained about the visiting Derlanders. Zakir frowned, but turned to the crowd once more. “We haven't much time. All the Stones are full of the Binded energy of the Chaoswind from the many Storms we found, including the last Stone which is still out in the desert. We were tracking the signs of a Chaostorm two days ago. At first it seemed no different to the others.” The crowd was already enraptured. “We were concerned it was coming too close to the camp, but confident we could stop it reaching here because we had one Stone left. Normally we can capture many Storms within one Stone. But this Storm was different.”
     Zakir paused for obvious effect, but one of the other soldiers blurted, “It was huge!” Zakir's frown ensured that the rest of his recounting of the clan-warriors' defeat before the Storm was uninterrupted, save for the occasional gasp from the crowd. Beside Aloethar, Sana'ah hugged her young daughter, Ibna, close to her skirts. At the end, Zakir bowed his head and concluded, softly, “We had no reason to believe it would not work, especially with a fresh Stone.”
     Aloethar looked towards the crest of the furthest dune, but could not yet see sign of an approaching storm. “How long before the Storm gets here, Zakir?”
     “At worst, a matter of hours.”
     A white-haired old man spoke up. “Then what do you plan to do?” Others echoed the sentiment.
     “We have but one choice.” Zakir took a deep breath. “We must break camp now and disband --” the crowd reacted with a multitude of protests so that Zakir had to raise his voice to a shout, “– and disband in all directions! The Storm cannot follow all of us. It is our only hope!”
     After that Aloethar could not make himself heard over the cacophony of voices. Without their Thard to lead them the camp was in chaos, but Zakir soon took charge. Aloethar should be back at the still, but he and the others were ordered to break down their tents and bring any supplies to the centre of camp. Zakir wanted to make a quick inventory all possessions to see what they could take, and what they should leave behind.
     Aloethar took a low, flat-bed cart back to his tent, and worked quickly, worried that someone might soon decide to dismantle his still. He wanted to talk to Pym again too. The Derlander knew things about the Chaoswind, and now Aloethar wished he had talked more with him before. Perhaps there was some other way to stop the Storm. It was the only way they would all survive, for even if the clan disbanded, the Storm would catch up with one of the groups. And it might not stop there.
     Aloethar's brewing equipment was at the main tent, but it took time to pack the raw mescal bud into a crate. He wasn't about to leave this season's harvest behind, especially if he couldn't save the half-brewed aloethar at the still. A few other heavy items joined the crate on the cart including the burnished trivet over his cold camp-fire, and a new idea he had been working on: a copper alembic. He wondered now if he'd ever finish it. He folded his tent into a backpack, and set off.  
     The pile of belongings at centre of camp was already large, as was the throng of people milling around it. Aloethar parked his cart next to some others, and saw, nearby, that the small group of Derlander merchants were arguing with Zakir and two of his men in Derlandish. A concerned Pym hovered on the periphery, hopelessly trying to interject. Aloethar made his way to Pym, and took him to one side. “What's going on?”
     “The merchants offered to buy whatever supplies your clan decides to leave behind, for a low price. They say it will all be destroyed anyway. Zakir and his men tried to convince them to flee, but the merchants accused them of being superstitious. They don't believe the Chaoswind is anything more than a strong dust-storm. They won't listen to me either.”
     “Pym, is there anyway we can stop the Storm?”
     “No. I saw the Stones when they packed them into a crate over there. Four of them, all glowing like the sun.”
     “Is there any other way of Binding the Chaoswind? Any theory you know of at all? You said the Stones held more power if they were carved? Why is that?” 
     “No-one is sure, but we believe that the size of the container has little to do with how much Chaoswind it can contain. The Stones you have here are large for Star Sapphires, but you can close your fist around them easily. It has more to do with what attracts the Chaoswind. Purity of substance is one thing, another is rarity. Unfortunately for us it is also attracted to anything living, but luckily rarity comes into play there as well.”
     “I don't understand. Your point, I mean, your language is good.”
     Pym smiled. “The Chaoswind is more attracted to rare creatures than to us. That's why the Theander tribes left their valley and fled into the Derlander Forest. They may have been too late. No-one has seen any of the primitives for years. There are also many rare trees, as well as creatures, in the Forest to attract the Wind. It is a safe haven for humans at least, but out here in the desert we are exposed.”
     Aloethar thought of the great field of mescal cactii he had just harvested. The plant was rare, but he hoped the Chaoswind would not flow towards it. He would rather find a way of stopping the Storm that wouldn't destroy his livelihood, but perhaps fleeing was their only option. “If I flee I must take my still. I cannot leave it here to be destroyed.”
     “Your still! One of the merchants was asking about it, and the kohol. I think he went off to find it.”
     Aloethar nearly knocked Pym over in his haste to get to the main tent, he soon came to the entrance and rushed inside. The Derlander merchant, a big, heavy man with a large bushy beard and a hoop-earring, peered at the still, too close for Aloethar's liking. Pym came running in behind Aloethar, out of breath. Aloethar called out in his Medebic tongue, and the merchant understood the tone, if not the words, and stepped back from the still, hands raised. He walked up to Aloethar. The man loomed over a head taller. He said something in Derlandish in an unpleasant tone, then brushed past Aloethar and outside. Aloethar turned to Pym. “What did he say?”
     “That was Waldfrid. He said that there must be some kohol around somewhere, and he was going to find it. He said if the Storm's as bad as they say, there's no way he's going to die sober. He wanted the pure stuff from a bottle, not this stinking cactus juice.”
     Aloethar looked from Pym to his still. “Pure stuff.”
     “Pardon me?”
     Aloethar grabbed Pym by the arms, suddenly full of energy. “Come and help me get one of the Stones. I've got an idea.”
(c) 2009 ~ Author Barry J. Northern
Pencil Sketch by ~  Artist Jon Taylor

C H A S I N G   T H E    W I N D
 ~ To Be Thursday*Continued ~
W A T C H   F O R   N E X T   I N S T A L L M E N T  ~  AT THE BIJOU

for continuing our FANTASY realm
~ Absolutely*Kate
        and fine staff of renown
Delve well, and delve deep dear reader into what the mystical mind of Barry is all about  . . . when it comes to conjure ~

AUTHOR BARRY J NORTHERN is fantasy, fable, fiction, fun and fine finesse when it comes to the turning out of the churning thought, the written word. If you are enjoying Chasing the Wind you can email Barry at and convince him to finish editing the first Chaoswind Chronicle Novel, "THE BIRTH OF MAGIC". Also, pop on over to experience all the amazing bells and whistles, sounds, sensations and enlightening lights at his energizing site, 21st Century Writer Barry J. Northern. 
I suddenly feel Barry's energy. Don't you?

~ Absolutely*Kate

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

FANTASIES ~ CIRCA APRIL . . . AT THE BIJOU for Double*Feature Tuesday & Thursday


F. Scott Fitzgerald lingered *AT THE BIJOU* over gin and recollections as the calendar neared its turn ~ "Alas, April is over, April is over. There are all kinds of love in the world and never the same love twice."

Two artists
who paint fiction,
one for the very first time, depict their
April fantasy perceptions
  of how a SexyTouch
proves F. Scott quite true.

"Daunting" claimed the lady ~
making her *fiction* debut 

"Inviting" assailed the gent ~
another BIJOU debut


  these hearty authors,
where April Fantasies'
have come to play!

BRASOV ~ By Paul de Denus ~ as SexyTouch Fantasies Reach Out . . .

By ~ Paul de Denus

Tapio Gerr’s head was spinning and reeling, his alcohol consumption in full tilt charge of his out of control thoughts, the lonely thoughts; those lustful thoughts. Currently, he was lusting over the mysterious dark haired beauty standing several slot machines down from his… a provocative beauty with one long beautiful leg coiled around a barstool chair like a dark serpent… a wanton beauty he was convinced was watching him. He drunkenly sat plunking coin after coin into his machine as if it were a musical parking meter, thinking about how he might approach her and was suddenly startled to find her standing next to him, facing him, a full breast softly caressing against his arm as she slipped a card into his hand; then she was gone. He sat blinking, as if slapped and looked around, wondering if he had just imagined this fueled fantasy, then he felt the card in his hand; a business card featuring a cropped picture of a women’s leg with a hand draped over the knee, a pose that suggested someone waiting, the verbiage:  Bran’s Escort Service and scribbled on the back, Brasov (her name?) Room 41

To Tapio Gerr, a recent immigrant from Hungary, the name Brasov sounded vaguely familiar, he couldn’t quite place it and truthfully he didn’t really care now because nothing mattered anymore but one thing as he found himself weaving in front of Room 41. If he hadn’t been so drunk and maybe looked closer at the business card, he may have remembered and noticed several things; that Brasov wasn’t her name but that of a medieval town in Romania; that the hand resting on the sexy knee had long tapered fingers and fingernails … long and sharpened … and that now, a black descending shadow was racing in behind him.
(c) 2010 ~ Author Paul de Denus

PAUL DE DENUS:  I am a graphic artist and writer of personal essays.

ABSOLUTELY*KATE ~ And you certainly took a graphic twist on this sexy*touch challenge. With your flair for essaying images into memorable word-vignette form, what have you done to meet other writing challenges to your mind and psyche, Paul?

PAUL: Ah, glad you asked that one Kate ~ My recent personal challenge was to write 60 six sentence stories before my 60th birthday. Here they are, published in April, 60by60. My birthday is in September.
ABSOLUTELY*KATE ~ You made it with plenty of time to select all the colours of all the candles to celebrate a life which continues to meet all your success-filled challenges, Paul. Since you plugged your book so well, I'll guide folks to read more of your prosing at your site, ME THE OTHER TWIN. I'm sure they'll know it's YOU. 
Thank*you for being one of a kind
in April's fantasies to tantalize the mind,


"This is a whole new direction which I certainly have A*K's challenge to thank for. When I was younger I thought brains got set in concrete at about the age of 40 - I've been SO relieved to find that it definitely isn't so, but feel obliged to keep testing just in case. 
Kate - the challenge was daunting - thank you."
~ Sandra  

By ~ Sandra Davies

Sheer stockings and immaculate nails, his choice of ‘totally inappropriate anniversary card’ (an occasional, unspoken challenge) had, with instinctive rapport, perfectly complemented her dinner-jacketed smoothie with knitting pattern expression of plastic perfection, despite the fact that they’d been bought separately and secretly some weeks before and hidden in luggage.
They’d planned a full day’s drive, exhilarated by the breadth and beauty of the Flinders countryside: far purple hills, innumerable shades of orange zested with the lime of new leaves, overheated and fly-ridden whenever they set foot out of the car, disproportionate excitement at the unexpectedness of a steam train, amusement at the smugness of a couple named Norm and Norma, awed by 500 million year old geology, impressively labelled.
Inbetweentimes she watched his hands on the wheel, familiar and knowing whenever he briefly stroked her denimed thigh, his eyes meeting hers with love and shared anticipation, although they could not have anticipated the solitary splendour of the Cradock Hotel whose highly fanciable landlord catered for a resident population of just five, with efficiency, pride and food to die for.
Their evening began with conversation, a couple of beers and a sunset, continued with good red wine and ended sitting outside listening to multiple conversations of a dozen or so locals who had assembled for a birthday celebration, looking at the stars and thinking of the room where they would – eventually – sleep that night.
The day’s slow burn – another unspoken challenge – had been one of mutual, muted celebration but they could never have hoped that the finale would take place in such a room: opening off an inner brick-floored courtyard, its high-ceiling, scuffed primrose walls and slat shaded window personified a simplicity not undone by furniture which totalled one wooden chair and an iron bedstead whose white sheets and heavy textured cover promised well-matched, well-worn comfort.
And indeed, after forty years of marriage, still hungry, still that ripple, that surge of clenching anticipation at first touch, ability replacing agility, sensitivity superseding inventiveness, well-matched, well-worn, well warm and tender, skin familiar, smell, taste, touch long known, long loved, each once again fulfilled their long ago promise to the other.
(c) 2010 ~ Author Sandra Davies


"Gosh and golly - this is the first piece of total fiction I've ever written, the first time ever that characters got into my head and said what they wanted to say ..."  ~ Sandra

By ~ Sandra Davies

It had started as a bit of fun, a bit of light relief at the end of what had been an exceptionally drab day, and once the conversation paused she really hadn’t expected him to do any more than pick up the packet of cigarettes he’d bought, along with his change, and leave. But he’d caught her glancing at the clock, had realised that it was a couple of minutes after closing time (it was he that had delayed her) and noting her tiredness he offered to run her home (although where exactly ‘home’ was he didn’t bother to ascertain).
Pete had been in France for months – far longer than some of his mates, who’d looked a bit evasive when she met them on leave, on their way to the pub a couple of weeks ago, after Pete had written to say it’d be impossible to get away. She wasn’t a fool – he’d been really odd about fucking her while she was pregnant, even admitted one drunken, shrunken unsuccessful night (the drink her fault- she’d hoped it’d help) that he was scared the baby would bite him – so she’d’ve put money on him looking elsewhere.
Of course, like in all the films she’d seen, all the novels she’d read, this bloke had picked the one night she could be sure of the house being empty; the baby, three months old now, was with her mother and she had a nine-month ache of celibate desperation which no amount of DIY would assuage. The magazine had been in the doctor’s surgery, the advert for stockings had caught her eye because of the crumpled bedspread in the background (she could imagine what her mother would have to say about that) but it had planted an idea in her mind, which might solve both her loneliness and give her a bit of extra money – to buy nylons for example – perhaps this was an opportunity to see how she liked it, whether it was worth getting that picture copied and put on a few NAAFI noticeboards.
(c) 2010 ~ Author Sandra Davies

SANDRA ~ I don't want her to just have a quickie, end of story, one night stand - not for any moral reason but because I'm hoping that I can take this further and maybe with more complexity (though I don't know where at the moment). This is very much virgin territory (fiction I mean).

ABSOLUTELY*KATE:  Sandra DID continue way past the remnants of any one night stand . . . to a remarkable relationship in a new choice of voice her genre challenged her to take. READ ON at one more in this series below, then take a linger and a stroll through some of those postings in her prolific collections in the land of 6 Sentences. 

By ~ Sandra Davies

Just after seven – she’d managed a couple of hours sleep then, and yes, got a better sense of proportion than she’d had at four, when tears in her ears and the wet pillowcase had pretty well drowned all attempts at recovery. OK so Plan A had failed ... well perhaps not exactly failed, and it wasn’t really fair to call it a plan at all, because she’d hardly thought it out, it had been no more than a glimmer of an idea that she was holding onto until she had a bit of time to consider it. But what she did know now was that under no circumstances whatsoever could she go with just anyone – last night had shown her that he’d have to be at least ... at least a lot of things, and since she couldn’t see how she could list all her requirements, her ‘musts’ and her ‘must nots’ on one card (she giggled, imagining the size of card necessary) noticeboards were definitely out.
And also, she recognised that she’d have to put some effort in – keep the place tidy, a LOT tidier and Bridget’s baby stuff out of the way – oh god the nappies last night, clean ones on the table (at least they smelt sweet) but the one on the floor definitely hadn’t, and though she’d grabbed it as she went into the scullery to put the kettle on she doubted it’d gone unnoticed ... and offering a cup of tea! ... not that there was anything else except the scrapings of a bottle of Camp, but surely something better ought to be offered – sherry? (don’t be daft, that was for vicars!)
It’d been so much simpler before she married, when where didn’t matter, didn’t have be part of the setting, when was as soon as possible and who was the one you fancied at the time (and you fancied him because you knew him a bit, i.e. the fancying came first, mostly, not like last night).
A complete stranger, no knowledge of who he was, nothing to say to each other once she’d given directions and they’d done the awfulness of the weather; a man who somehow became a good deal smaller once he’d taken his overcoat off, and who looked very much a stranger sat on her sofa, a bit unhealthy looking, and older than Pete by a good six years she’d guess ... well, what was done was done, no good thinking about it, she’d better get up ... and the first thing she’d got to do was clear up the pieces of the shattered cup that she’d thrown.
(c) 2010 ~ Author Sandra Davies
"In truth this started as a response to a challenge,  fell by the wayside and was then revived with the "doesn't matter if I cock it up" attitude which I find works well with printmaking and painting ... interesting to find that writing might just do that too."  ~ Sandra
SANDRA DAVIES ~ I'm an artist, printmaker and writer with an interest in family, social and cultural history. I have fledgling blogs for prints, drawings, paintings and for writing.

"Inspired both by landscape and history, I like the fact that the impact of past actions on the present – man’s mark on the landscape and its subsequent erosion – is replicated in the printmaking process."

ABSOLUTELY*KATE: The writing process so distinctively expressed as history through perceptions has its own subsequent impact on readers, dear Sandra. 

THANK*YOU for the range you poured forth
  from the intrigue of a simple sexy*touch challenge
which you claimed at first stumped you.
Oh Lady! Do you rise to challenges!

~ Absolutely*Kate