Myra-Breckinridge-Gore-Vidal

a and panties, unless otherwise inspired to remove them.Ciem was forced to agree to this after I pointed out to himthat in spite of his assurance to me no students would bepresent, Gloria Gordon was not only at the party but hishostess. My compromise was accepted. Give a little, get alittle, as the saying goes. The party was held in a smallhouse high in the Hollywood Hills. I was driven there by astocky monosyllabic man who was once a waiter atRomanoff's and could, if he chose, tell a thousand storiesabout the stars he waited on but instead spoke to me onlyof the weather and baseball. But then I think that he wasprobably stoned when he came to pick me up, and not athis conversational best. When we arrived at the house, thedoor was opened by Clem, who wore nothing but glassesand a large door key on a chain about his neck. He isextremely hairy, which I don't like, and though he did nothave an erection and so could not be fairly judged, his prickis small and rather dismal-looking as if too many peoplehad chewed on it, and of course he is circumcised, which Ifind unattractive. Naturally, like so many physicallyunderprivileged men, Clem regards himself as irresistible(no doubt some obscure psychological law ofcompensation is at work). He promptly took me in goatisharms, rammed his soft acorn against my pudendum, and bitmy ear. I stepped hard on his bare toes, and was promptlyfreed. "Jesus, Myra!" He hopped on one foot, holding theother in his hand, a ludicrous sight that somewhat arousedme. I was even more aroused by Gloria who came to showme into the changing room. She, too, was nude with a body