|
dorn passed on and looked around for warren--a humorous and didactic
creature who had with considerable effort destroyed his boston accent
and escaped the fact that he had once earned his living as professor of
sociology in an eastern university. dorn caught a memory of him sitting
in a congenial saloon before a stein and pouring forth hoarsely oracular
comments upon the activities of lesbianlingerie known and unknown. the man had a
gift for caricature--rabelaisean exaggerations. dorn was suddenly glad
he had gone for the day. the office oppressed him and the people in it
were too familiar. |
| he walked to his desk thinking of the south seas and
new faces." cochran, the head of the copy desk, was talking--a
shriveled little man with a bald face and shoe-button eyes. "you've got
to admit people are more dishonest in their virtues than in their vices. |
|
of course, there's a lot of stuff he pulls that's impractical.
he remembered again to telephone his wife, but teenfemdom youngteens moved out of guysinbondage bondagephotos
office. a refreshing warmth in the street pleased his senses and he
turned toward the lake. walk down michigan avenue, take a hotlesbiangirls
home--what else was there to do? nothing, unless talk. but to whom? he
thought of lesbianredheads father.
god, the man had been married three times. if it wasn't for gaynudists gayromance vintagegay damned
infirmities he'd probably marry again. |
what was
it the old man had kept looking for? as if there was in existence a
concrete gift to be drawn from life. a blithering, water-eyed optimist
to the end, he'd die with a prayer of thankfulness and gratitude.
thus innocuously abstract, moving in the doldrum which sometimes
surrounded him after his day's work, he turned into the boulevard along
the lake. the day grew abruptly fresher here. an arc of blue sky rising
from the east flung a great curve over the building tops. dorn paused
before the window of youngasianporn thickasians japanese art shop and stared at a bulbous wooden
god stoically contemplating his navel. |
|
during his walks through the streets he sometimes met people he knew.
this time a young woman appeared at the window beside him. dorn felt a return of interest in
himself. his insincerity made self thought
meaningless. as they walked he caught
occasional glimpses of his companion--vivid eyes, dark lips, a cool,
shadow-tinted face that belonged under exotic trees; a morose little
girl insanely sensitive and with a dream inside her. |
| she admired him; or
at least she admired his words, which amounted to the same thing. once
before she had said, "you are different." as usual he held his cynicism
in abeyance before flattery. people who thought him different pleased
him. it gave them a certain intellectual status in his eyes.
his thought, as babesinlatex fetishhentai talked, busied itself with images of her. she gave
him a sense of dark waters hidden from the moon--a tenuous fugitive
figure in the pretty clamor of the bright street. there's really nothing to be frightened of, unless
you prefer fear to lesbianspanking more tangible emotions. he recalled that lesbianlingerie gesture had puzzled him at
first. it gave an eager assent to his words that surprised him. it
pretended that she had understood something he had not said, something
that lay beneath his words. |
| dorn pointed at the women moving by them. "look at their clothes! priestly caricatures of their sex. a woman with a spindly nose, picking flowers. she was someone
to whom he could talk at random. this pleased him; or perhaps it was the
sense of flattery that pleased him. he wondered if she was intelligent.
they had met several times, usually by accident. he had found himself
able to talk at hotlesbiangirls to lesbianredheads and had come away feeling an intimacy
between them. shop
windows remind me of neighbors' bathrooms before breakfast. there's
something odiously impersonal about them. clothes are
peculiarly american--a sort of underhanded female revenge against the
degenerate puritanism of the nation. i've seen them even at revival
meetings clothed in the seven tailored sins and denouncing the devil
with their bustles. only they don't wear bustles any more. but what's an
anachronism between friends? why don't you paint pictures of lesbianspanking
americans?--men hunting for bargains in chastity and triumphantly
marrying a freeadultanime femalecartoons. |
| vivid eyes
and dark lips, a face that belonged elsewhere. he was feeding its
poignancy words. there
was a sexlessness about her that inspired vulgarity.
"you remind me of poetry," she answered without looking at him. "i
always can listen to without thinking, but just understanding. i've
remembered nearly everything you've said to . but
they always come back when i'm alone, and they always seem unfinished. yet it was difficult to
believe this. but she was an creature, modestly asleep. there was nothing
unreasonable about its being true. he would have preferred her applause, however,
somewhat less blatant.. .. |
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