It was a hot, sunny day as Phosilia joined her colleagues at the archaeological dig. She had her personal trowel tucked jauntily into the waistband of her thin cotton shorts, and her arms were above her head, hastily gathering her long hair into the control of a big hairclip. This action elevated her chestage to spine-tingling heights. Adam, the director of the dig, was pointing and explaining the day’s plan on a large flipchart. Phosilia wiggled her eyebrows in a combined acknowledgement of and apology for, her tardiness. The others were used to it, and in truth no-one (including Adam) minded as she always arrived just a teensy bit flustered, only a few moments behind schedule and with a heaving breathy urgency which rendered her volumpties worth the wait. Today’s hairclip episode was a bonus .
The plans and progress summary complete, everyone dispersed to their work zones. Phosilia had been recently assigned to a new one, where she had much support from her coworkers; indeed when the allocation had been made she pointedly asked if anyone would like to join her in her trench and was positively inundated with offers. Only one could be chosen and it was Doug
It was very hot in her trench, especially when she squatted down to start work. Crouched next to her was the keen fellow who was extremely deft with his trowel and brush. Phosilia had noticed his hand action straightaway; he was young and strong, his trowel was large and firm, – not yet blunted or scuffed in action. It gleamed in the sunshine, evoking his youth and strength.
They worked side by side for a while, concentrating on their respective work but keenly aware each of the other. Side glances from Doug revealed that the morning’s efforts were causing Phosilia to sweat a little: wisps of her hair, though it was mostly held up in the clip, were clinging to her skin. Doug, for the first time in his life , considered the upside of being hair. She saw his glance, and a dusty thrill ran through her, culminating in a big breath the like of which Doug had never previously been so proximal to. He was abruptly aware of the perilous quality of buttons in restraining so volumpticious a heavage. In a split moment he could feel beads of sweat on the back of his neck too, as the imminent prospect of button failure obscured all thoughts of archaeology.
Phosilia pointed with her little trowel at something in their trench. It was near the bottom, and as she was squatting, this was in both senses.
“I think it’s a shard” she whispered urgently into Doug’s ear. Doug, feeling discovered, blushed to the roots of his becomingly rumpled hair.
“Is it that obvious?” He asked anxiously
“Oh yes. It’s sticking out quite clearly”
Doug stood up hastily, his trowel protectively in front of his loins
“I’m so sorry!” He exclaimed
Phosilia tugged him. Only on the sleeve, but it was a start.
“Seriously! Help me out! Get down here -” she patted the dusty base of the trench beside her – “I need you. Yours is bigger. If you can get it in, it will really speed things up”
Doug nodded, all speech having deserted him. He got down on his knees, dropping the trowel as he did so.
Phosilia, in a state of agitation, grabbed it
“Oh I like the grip” she said, hefting it from hand to hand. Doug, a tumultuous mixture of disappointment and excitement, nodded
“Oh I see….yes” he eventually replied.
They leaned close in together, hot bodies touching here and there, deep down in their trench. Doug’s strong tanned hands worked deftly, manipulating his huge tool until the shards were freed. Phosilia found the symphony of his bulging arm muscles at least as mesmerising as the gradually revealing shards. Eventually, excavational urgency motivating her, she reached forward, pushing his hand aside
“I can do this with my fingers” she explained, exchanging a brief glance during which their eyes meaningfully locked together for a significant moment.
Doug watched, entranced, as her fingers worked easing the shard free.
Eventually it was out, and, heads together, their hair entangling, bowed over their find. It sported a beautifully decorated rim, with fine markings leading down to the broken edge. Doug spoke for them both when he expressed a desire to see the rest of it.
“It could be anywhere round here” Phosilia observed, gesturing around their trench. “Could take ages. Or we may never find it”
Doug explained that he didn’t mind if it took a while. He preferred to be thorough. Phosilia observed that the trench was already very deep, and incidentally, that its bottom (unlike her own callipygenerous buttoculars) was very flat.
She also observed that his massive trowel, shiny and strong as it was, could achieve more than she could alone.
Together they decided to explore the trench together, to see if the promise offered by the glimpsed artefact could deliver the excitement and pleasure they both anticipated.
Many discoveries were made that day: much was uncovered, turned over with gentle fingers, handled with tenderness. Doug’s large tool did not disappoint, and Phosilia’s buttons proved inadequate to contain her excitement. But that was fine