She fed him sausages and homemade beer. Both were strong. Soon they were both full and drunk. Potvalor, her mother used to call it. The courage of the drunk.
They pounced on each other, just as she had planned. Their comfort with each other finally overcome by the passion they both secretly held. As they rolled on the couch, random bits of clothing became dislodged. She was in heaven.
Then they both got the beer farts. They tried their best to carry on, but the embarrassment and the smell destroyed the mood. They fell asleep giggling in each other’s arms.