Myra-Breckinridge-Gore-Vidal

the boys. At fourteen Myron vowed that he would, in oneway or another, extract the essence of every good-lookingboy in school and he succeeded in one hundred and onecases over a three-year period, a time in his life which heused to refer to as the Scheherazade phase, the hundredand one nights--or possibly "flights" is the better word todescribe what he did with those birdlike objects whosethrust so fascinated him but so disgusts me, for I have gotpast that crude obvious instrument of procreation to thedeep center where all is veiled, and purest magic. ButMary-Ann is making progress; her admiration of my body isnot entirely aesthetic... but then the body in question is, if Imay say so, unusually lovely, the result of the mostdedicated of plastic surgeons who allowed me, at myrequest, to remain conscious during all stages of mytransformation, even though I was warned that I might beseriously traumatized in the process. But I was not. Quitethe contrary. I was enthralled, delighted, fascinated (ofcourse the anesthetic had a somewhat intoxicating effect).And when, with one swift movement of the scalpel, thesurgeon freed me from the detested penis, I amazedeveryone by beginning to sing, I don't know why, "I'll beseeing you" hardly a fitting song since the point to theexercise is that I would not be seeing it or any of itsequivalents, except for that of the tortured Rusty, everagain; at least not in the way Myron saw such things.Nevertheless, I was elated, and have not for one momentregretted my decision to be unique. That my plans havelately gone somewhat awry is the sort of risk one must take