This is the way I heard it.

It was the sixties, a summer of love.

The newsman, awakened before dawn, rolled over and considered the temptation beneath the

sheet.

The luscious curves, the strong slender legs, the taut alabaster skin waiting for his touch.

He adreamed of these things all night, and now the proximity of such earthly delights

filled him with passion.

But alas, duty-called.

The newsman needed to be in his seat by 5am, as his audience slowly awakened their coffee

pots, dripping lazily to life.

Sying deeply, he slipped quietly from the last place he wished to vacate and padded quietly

across the room in his stocking feet.

Despite the ungodly call-time, the newsman enjoyed his job.

Besides, he knew his love would be waiting for him when he returned, waiting perhaps for

a little afternoon delight.

As the newsman stepped off the moonlit porch, the screen door closed behind him with

a time-honored smack.

Alabstares, his love did not awaken, but in the bedroom down the hall, another set

of eyes popped open, alert, and ready for action, the eyes of his younger brother.

Alexander was not blessed with the newsman's wavy hair and schoolboy grin, nor was he blessed

with a job, which is partially why he and his current plaything were occupying the same

house as his older brother.

...