Like Dorothy and her friends, they had strayed from the path onto a bed of the brightly coloured flowers. But it was no mistake.

Though gripped by a strange urge to lie down, it wasn't sleep that called them. Instead, they shed their clothes and drank of the heady perfume of desire.

The heat between them had beckoned for days. Beads of sweat bedewed their bodies and mingled as they writhed together. Their breathing came in pants and gasps.

Afterwards, only a depression of crushed grass and flowers remained, giving evidence that their thirst for one another had been slaked.