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The kisses were birds, thought Cal. Hummingbirds, probably. The caresses were the pre-game, the main event yet to come. He sighed to himself. He didn't feel sexy, or cute, or attractive in any way. He felt natural, and at ease; which was, in itself, a mirage. He was only fully at easy in the bird house, the curse of the passionate zoologist. Any erotica was related to birds. He didn't accept this to be inaccurate, or disturbed. Humanity, through all its elusive and brilliant history, had depicted sexual organs as animals. Women became birds: chicks, birds - even hen nights. They weren't really birds, of course. They were hot-blooded, intelligent mammals who gave birth to live young - and Cal was immune to them. The bird beside him now - what was her name, again? - was trying her best. Cal was comfortable, and his mind, lethargic in its comfortability, resumed to thinking about birds...