My Lederhose

I loved the touch of you, cool in the summer and so... ..shall we say, of warmth in Continental winterstorms. You always clung to me, hugged both my nether cheeks and kept the little fellow safe as well as hidden from the prying eyes of predators. You had a flap, I call it tongue and all your dignity was kept above the vulgar sphere that can be found above as well as in the ground. You waited patiently all night perhaps you hoped and wished for just a brief nocturnal touch. Which never came at all, but in the early morn you stared while I came steaming from the noisy shower, ready now for your sweet company where we would share the day and blatant intimacy. Yes, you were tough as well withstood the torture of the life of a rambunctious boy who, by reason of the raw insanity of fresh and generous recalcitrance would not have thought of peace or the sweet kindness of a courtesy toward himself or an expectant soul. We were together, all those days except for what they called Jehova's Day. That's when the Sunday suit was it, the mandatory and for all formality. And you, my tough and loyal hide, you sat, with saddened eyes, wrapped up in Edelweiss suspenders on the Persian runner near the bed and waited for the day and night to end.