Ah, sex. Damn you, sex, I vehemently thought. "Hey, you all right?" the woman who had liberated me from the shed asked concernedly. "You're shaking li...e a leaf."She was right. I felt like a quivering ball of Jello. But, despite my chill, sweat was pouring from my naked body."Here, let me get you a blanket," she said, and then left the room to find one.I could feel try rump resting against the prickliness of a cheap rug, my back against a wall. I guessed I was propped up in a corner of the main. Rather than cutting off my head, she filled it with a cultural education of sorts. We haunted foreign film festivals, viewed the works of Bresson ("Le Filou"), Carné, Eisenstein, Buñuel, Fritz Lang. She assigned me books 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,. More

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