Myra-Breckinridge-Gore-Vidal

heavy breathing and the soft waterlike sound of skinslapping against skin; then he stopped. "You see," he said."It works O.K." "But I didn't tell you to stop." "But if I keepon... I mean... well, Christ, a man's going to..." boy, Icorrected. "A boy's going to... to..." "To what?" "Get...excited." "Go right ahead. I'd be amused to see what Mary-Ann sees in you." Without another word, grimly, he set towork and continued for some time, sweating hard. But stillwe were denied the full glory. Some lengthening andthickening took place but not to the fullest degree. "Isanything wrong?" I asked sweetly. "I don't know." Hegulped, trying to catch his breath. "It can't... won't..." He wasincoherent at the double humiliation. "Do you often havethis problem with Mary-Ann?" I sounded as compassionateas Kay Francis, as warm as June Allyson. "Never! Iswear..." "Five times in one night and now this! Really, youyoung boys are such liars." "I wasn't lying. I just don't knowwhat's wrong......" He beat at himself as though throughsheer force he could tap the well of generation. But it wasno use. Finally I told him to stop. Then I took over, practicinga number of subtle pressures and frictions learned fromMyron... all to no avail. In a curious way the absence of anerection, though not part of the plan, gave me anunexpected thrill: to have so cowed my victim as to shortcircuithis legendary powers as a stud was, psychologically,far more fulfilling than my original intention. While I wasvigorously shaking him, he made the longexpected movethat would complete the drama, the holy passion of MyraBreckinridge. "Do you..." He began tentatively, looking