Myra-Breckinridge-Gore-Vidal

mean the ribs are all inside me that was broken." "I knowwhere the ribs are, Rusty." I was patient. "But I have to seethe exact point where the muscle begins to pull you to oneside." There was no answer to this. He started to saysomething but decided not to. Slowly he unfastened his beltand unhooked the top button of the blue jeans. Then heunbuttoned his shirt and took it off. The T-shirt was soakedat the armpits, the result of his strenuous impromptu danceand, perhaps (do I project?), of terror. For the first time Isaw his bare arms. The skin was very white (no one outhere goes to the beach in January even though it is quitesunny), with biceps clearly marked though notoverdeveloped; large veins ran the length of the forearms tothe hands, always an excellent sign, and not unattractivesince the veins were not blue but white, indicating skin of anunusual thickness, again a good sign. On the forearmscoppery straight hairs grew. He paused as though notcertain what to do next. I was helpful. "The T-shirt, too. Ihaven't got X-ray eyes." Glumly he pulled the T-shirt over hishead. I watched, fascinated by each revelation of his body.First the navel came into view, small and protruding. Justbeneath it a line of dark slightly curly hairs disappearedinside the Jockey shorts which were now visible above theloosened belt. The shirt rose higher. About two inchesabove the navel, more hairs began (I had seen the topmostbranches of this tree of life at the pot party, now I saw thenarrow roots slowly widening as the tree made its way tohis neck). When the chest was entirely bared, his face wasmomentarily hidden in the folds of the damp T-shirt and so I