Myra-Breckinridge-Gore-Vidal

down at me and the loose-stemmed rose that I held in myhand. "Do I what?" "Do you want me to... well, to ball you?"The delivery was superb, as shy as a nubile boy requestinga first kiss. I let go of him as though in horror. "Rusty! Doyou know who you're talking to?" "Yes, Miss Myra. I'm sorry.I didn't mean to offend you. "What sort of woman do youthink I am?" I took the heavy balls in my hand, as anoffering. "These belong to Mary-Ann, and no one else, andif I ever catch you playing around with anybody else, I'll seethat Mr. Martinson puts you away for twenty years." Heturned white. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I thought maybe... theway you were... doing what you were doing...... I'm sorry,really." The voice stopped. "You have every reason to besorry." Again I let him go; the large balls swung backbetween his legs, and continued gently to sway, like adouble pendulum. "In any case, if I had wanted you to--asyou put it--'ball me,' it's very plain that you couldn't. As astud, you're a disaster." He flushed at the insult but saidnothing. I was now ready for my master stroke. "However,as a lesson, I shall ball you." He was entirely at sea. "Ballme? How?" "Put out your hands." He did so and I boundthem together with surgical gauze. Not for nothing had Ionce been a nurses' aide. "What're you doing that for?"Alarm growing. With a forefinger, I flicked the scrotal sac,making him cry out from shock. "No questions, my boy."When the hands were firmly secured, I lowered theexamination table until it was just two feet from the floor."Lie down," I ordered. "On your stomach." Mystified, he didas he was told. I then tied his bound hands to the top of the