'Twenty years before in the age of polymorphous perversity I had played it straight. Now I wanted to know. To find myself through yielding. To be irritated by the revelation of the Mole's perfectly proportioned rainwater-pure corporeal presence. Hindering my commitment to this idea however was . . . an unavoidable suspicion that I would have felt the same way if exposed to say the inner thigh of Linda Lovelace. Maybe I was just horny.'
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