Myra-Breckinridge-Gore-Vidal

to him that I could smell the strong but not disagreeablefernlike odor of genitals). Delicately but firmly, I pressed theglans, making the phallic eye open. Not one tear was shed."Apparently, you are all right," I observed as he lookeddown with horror at my hand which held him firmly in itsgrasp, the glans penis exposed like a summer rose."You're also clean but beyond that I'm afraid you'resomething of a disappointment." The penis again shrank inmy hand. "But of course you're probably still growing." Thehumiliation was complete. There was nothing that he couldsay. In actual fact, the largeness of the head had alreadyconvinced me that what I said was untrue, but policydictated that I be scornful. "Now then, let's see how free theforeskin is." I slid the skin forward, then back. Heshuddered. "Now, you do it a few times." To his relief, I lethim go. Clumsily he took himself in one hand as thoughnever before had he touched this strange object, sobeloved of Mary-Ann. He gave a few halfhearted tugs to theskin, looking for all the world like a child frightened in theact of masturbating. "Come on," I said, "you can do betterthan that." He changed his grip to the one he obviouslyused when alone. His hand worked rapidly as he pumpedhimself like one of those machines that extract oil from theearth, milk from the cow, water from shale. After severalminutes of intense and rhythmic massage I noted, withsome surprise, that though the head had become a bitlarger and darker, the stem had not changed in size.Apparently he knew how to restrain himself. He continuedfor another minute or two, the only sound in the room his