"It's not a tramp stamp!" growled Carly. "It's just a spray of roses." But it's where they put tramp stamps?" insisted Sherry."Why do people call it t...at anyway?" complained Carly. "My mother isn't a tramp. She's never been a tramp. It's inconceivable to even try to imagine her as a tramp!" Are we tramps?" asked Sherry."Of course not!" barked Carly. "Why would you even ask that?" Gee, I don't know. Maybe because we're lying here naked with a guy? A guy you've fucked?" Damn, Cher!" groaned. It surprised her when I set it over the coals of the fire in our wigwam, hanging it from an iron cooking rod. She was even more surprised when I showed her how to poach the rabbit meat and the quail in a little water in the bottom of the pot and a few spices. Once the meat was cooked we removed it from the pot and I turned the cooking over to her. Kola started a simple stew with some of the tubers and roots that she'd traded for. While she worked on heating the vegetables and building a broth,. More

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