We haunted foreign film festivals, viewed the works of Bresson ("Le Filou"), Carné, Eisenstein, Buñuel, Fritz Lang. She assigned me book... to read, and we discussed Goethe, Stendhal, and Balzac. We talked far into the night, and sometimes fell asleep in each other's arms, too fatigued to make love.And there were the long walks in Central Park, the picnics on the lawn by the statue of Sigismund Wasa, mounted, in full battle armor, with crossed swords over his head. "He was king of. Reassured, she let go of my hand and, while I kept up my ministrations, she began to tease her slippery nipples. For a long time she was lost to the world. Long moans came from her wide-open mouth. Her eyes were closed. Then with an almighty "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" she collapsed onto the sand totally spent. Something about the way that her body went limp, announcing defeat in the wake of the wave upon wave of pleasure which had crashed over her, was incredibly arrousing. It wasn't. More

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