juicy cunt. Nothing to complain about. Anyone want a feel?'
Everyone was caught leaning forward sympathetically with his mouth open and eyes bulging and nothing to say.
`If it's beautiful, touch it, Marya,' Linda added.
`I'll volunteer,' Mr. Hopper said.
`Not yet, Hank,' Linda said, smiling affectionately at him. 'Marya's got a thing about beautiful genitalia.'
We all looked at Marya, who hesitated, and, then, with tightlipped determination, put her hands delicately on Linda's
shoulders, then her breasts. Her face relaxed a bit and she slid her bands down to the tummy and across the pubic hair
and onto the thighs.
`You're lovely, Linda,' she said, sitting back on her heels and smiling a relaxed, almost triumphant smile.
`Would you like to suck me off?' Linda asked.
`No … no thank you,' Marya answered, flushing.
`Your love of beauty and all.'
`Is it my turn?' asked Mr. Hopper.
`What are you trying to prove?'
Scott snapped out at Linda. Linda looked over at him and patted Marya on her bare knee.
`Nothing,' she said to Scott. `I just feel like acting the way I'm acting.'
`You admit you're just acting?' he asked.
`Of course,' she answered. Then she sat up and directed her sincere blue eyes at Mr. Hopper. `I'm afraid a part of you
is embarrassed by all this, right Hank?'
`Yes,' he said, and he smiled nervously.
`But part of you is enjoying it.'
He laughed.
`Part of you thinks I'm a nervy bitch.'
He hesitated and then nodded.
`And part of you thinks I'm the most honest one here.'
`You're damn right,' he answered abruptly.
`Which one is the real you?'
He frowned and seemed to be concentrating on self-analysis. `I guess the real me is the one-'
`Oh shit, Hank. You're not being honest.'
`I'm not? I didn't even tell you which one'
`But is one any more real than the next?'
`You sophist whore!' I blurted out.
`What's with you, Big Daddy?' Linda asked.
`You're a sick sophist hypocritical Communist nihilist slut.'
'You're a big handsome brainless nobody.'
`Just because you're pretty, you seduce poor Hopper into liking you. But the real Hopper knows you for what you are a
cheap, neurotic two-bit sophist anti-American divorcee.'
`Now just a minute' Scott interrupted, leaning toward me.
`But I know her type, Scott,' I went on. `Stage struck since she first grew pubic hair, subverting her way into good
men's pants with cheap, five-and-dime-store sophist sex techniques, and ruining the lives of one hundred percent
American men. We all know her: nothing but a diseased anarchist hippie uptight sophist bitch.'
Linda's mouth twisted grotesquely, tears formed again in her eyes and she finally burst into tears, rolling onto her
stomach and flexing her buttock muscles impressively in grief. She sobbed and sobbed.
`Oh I know, I know,' she said finally between gasps. `I am a slut, I am. You've seen the real me. Take my body and do
what you will.'
`Jesus, the dame is nuts,' said the burly tax lawyer.
`Should we comfort her?' asked Mr. Hopper.
`Stop pretending!' snapped Scott. `We know you don't really feel guilty.'
But Linda, still crying, was getting back into her clothes. When dressed again, she curled up in a corner in the fetal