And then he would turn me over and begin to massage me, his fingers made of some kind of steel, and like the cracker and digger used to splay open a lobster his hands dug in. The muscles of my back and neck and legs slid apart, and even my feet seemed to spread like the bones of a fan... Most everything was beyond words, in a plateau of pleasure and pain that lifted out the tongue and stomped it on the floor.
p. 193, A Gate at the Stairs, Lorrie Moore, Dec. 2010
No comments:
Post a Comment