Myra-Breckinridge-Gore-Vidal

embarrassment, for he has the American male's horror ofsmelling bad. Actually, he was relatively odorless. "Youmust have just had a shower," I said. He buried his face inthe table. "Yeah... just now." Carefully I examined each toe,holding it tight as though I feared that, at any moment, oneof the little piggies might decide to run all the way home.But except for a certain rigidity of the body, he did notshow, in any way, distress; not even when I examined eachpink toe. "Good," I said, putting the foot down. "You'relearning control. Ticklishness is a sign of sexual fear, didyou know that?" A faint "no" from the head of the table."That's why I was so surprised at the way you reacted whenI touched your foot. From what you said at the Cock andBull I couldn't imagine you ever being tense with a woman.""I guess you sort of took me by surprise," was the best thathe could think to say. In his present position, he obviouslydid not want to be reminded of his usual cockiness. "I'msorry," I said, deftly sliding his trousers down to his knees.As I had anticipated, he gave a slight gasp but made nomove other than to grip with both hands the sides of thetrousers in an effort to keep at least his front decentlycovered. On the table before me, like some cannibalbanquet, the famous buttocks curved beneath frayedJockey shorts. Below the elastic, two round holes, likeeyes, revealed fair skin. Teasingly, I put my finger in one ofthe holes. He winced at the touch. "Doesn't Mary-Ann evermend your clothes?" "She... can't... sew..." He sounded asif he had been running hard, and could not get his breath.But at least he had steeled himself for my next move. The