Mind Blower by Marco Vassi Read Free Book Online Page B

 
    "How long have you been here?"
    "About a year. I can't tell you how much I've learned and unlearned. Hip as I was, I had a list of prejudices a mile long. But Tocco is good. He's the best sexual philosopher alive."  
    She paused a moment, then smiled. "I'll get us something," she said. She went into the next room, and I kicked off my shoes. I was becoming interested in the story and in the woman telling it. Up to now everything had been so brisk and strange that I had not noticed that the people here were actually quite warm and friendly, despite their quirks. For the first time I began to feel normal. This wasn't a madhouse after all. These were just intelligent people, intensely dedicated to finding out all the intricacies of sexuality. They had faults and probably made mistakes, but that was like people everywhere. I sank into a comfortable bin of sentimentality. Susan seemed like a thousand girls-next-door, only without the sham and pretense. She was an example of what a woman could be, and I had a staggering vision of a world in which every woman was as free as Susan, and every man as strong as Tocco. It would indeed be a race of giants.  
    She came back into the room, having changed into a white toga-like outfit that had long slits down the side. As she walked it became obvious that she had nothing on underneath. She carried a tray with Black Russians sparkling in icy glasses. "Tocco doesn't usualty like unsupervised liaisons," she said, putting the tray down, "but an occasional breather from 'research' won't hurt anything."  
    We sipped our drinks and smoked a bit, and she put some Scarlatti on the stereo. Our eyes said many things, and finally the words came. "What were you doing before you came here?" she asked.  
    I sighed. "It's really a long story which seems interesting in detail, but is really dull in synopsis. Basically, I'm an ex-fanatic. I've joined almost everything at one time or another, political parties, church groups, avant-garde artistic cliques, communes, drug scenes; I was even a guru chaser for a while. I held the usual run of jobs, from dishwasher to high-priced do-nothing executive in a publishing house, getting by on personality and glib horseshit. But you know, running through it all was sex. Even though I didn't know it at the time, that was always the dominating passion, the unifying thread which gave me my deepest identity. And, like you, I got bored making it with people whose heads were as tight as a virgin's asshole. And I willy-nilly made my way here to find . . ." And then I looked up. Susan was looking at me with warm moist eyes, a little smile at the corners of her mouth.  
    "Do you like the beach too?" she asked, slightly mocking.
    Then, as though following a hidden signal, we were in one another's arms. Her body was very warm and soft. Everything we did was gentle and small. It was a different universe from what happened in the hallway the other day.  
    I reached into one of the openings of the gown and started to stroke her skin in gentle, undulating movements. It was less that I was caressing her, so much as discovering her for the first time. Learning about the texture, the curve, the friction, the moisture, the hair . . . using my fingers like eyes to taste the sensual reality of her body. And where I touched her, she responded with awareness of being touched. She did not need to move or cry out. I received all the messages through the aliveness of her skin.  
    Then there was no longer her and me, but the single phenomenon of sensation. I can't even say we shared our feelings, because that would imply two of us, and in this touching there was only one, a single living being involved in and conscious of its own ecstatic tone.  
    She reached up and slowly unbuttoned my shirt, and where the shirt fell open she put her lips. It was not the greedy sucking of the desperate, but the loving awareness of the awakened. We lay like that for a long time, easily undoing one