.um…” Her voice trailed off and she kept her gaze down. “Kumiko, please tell me.” “But it’s embarrassing…” “I promise I won’t tel...” Jake replied. Another long bout of silence followed until Kumiko finally started to speak after looking up into Jake’s eyes. “I was playing with myself…and I got caught. My dad was so angry at me. He told me that I was very dirty and that he better not ever catch me doing that again or he would tell mom.” “But, what does that have to do with me?” Kumiko went. And as you stroke I also (or perhaps instead) now feel the breeze fromthe window, the dancing edge of muslin curtain floating. Lying on myback, is it the touch of fingers, or the cloth, or maybe the breezethat now I feel? Yet also I feel muscles tensing, rigid. Feel the pressure of a bowlbowed outward, the small of my back pressed tight against the sheet.This trembling counterpoint: The lightness of the moving air, yourstroking fingers like a treble line of melody against the deep bassgroan of. More

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