Unformatted text preview: again. It was the ecstasy of nursing from my mother. It was my whores in Florence, the ring of their laughter, the soft squeeze of their plump breasts, it was the hairy secrets beneath their skirts, it was a blaze of flesh tightening on me and drawing out of me cries of ecstasy. But it would not be finished. On and on it went. And to have lived a lifetime with so little of it, I had been a fool, a fool, a fool! The boards were rattling and booming with our lovemaking. Cups had fallen to the floor. It seemed the heat of the fire was consuming us; the sweat was pouring out of me. And beneath me-on the hard slats of wood, in the spilt wine and the scraps of meat and the torn linen-lay not the beautiful woman of shimmering red hair, but the tiny dwarfed hag with her hideous grin. "Oh, God, I do not care, I do not care! Give it to me!" I all but screamed in my passion. On and on it went until there was no memory anymore of reason or purpose or thought. In a daze, I realized I had been dragged from the dwarfish woman, and that she...
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This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10