Sheppard returned no answer. He
devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to
disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her
breast against the imitation silk, his memory still
exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. She crept into the living room and
turned off the set, adjusting Cathy’s blanket which had
fallen to the carpeted floor. After
all, she found herself reflecting, behind her aunt’s complacent visage there was a
past as lurid as any one’s—not, of course, her aunt’s own personal past, which
was apparently just that curate and almost incredibly jejune, but an ancestral past
with all sorts of scandalous things in it: fire and slaughterings, exogamy,
marriage by capture, corroborees, cannibalism! Ancestresses with perhaps dim
anticipatory likenesses to her aunt, their hair less neatly done, no doubt, their
manners and gestures as yet undisciplined, but still ancestresses in the direct line,
must have danced through a brief and stirring life in the woady buff. This unexpected interpolation might spoil the efficacy
of all that had gone before.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 02-07-2024 15:31:50