Prologue
TIMES MIRROR
"YOU'LL HAVE TO TEACH ME EVERYTHING," she said as she undid the knot in her shirt, breasts swinging into view. I went over to her and devoted a hand to either breast, cupped, fondled, ran forefingers around each nipple. I kissed her young girl lips, soft, moist, fragrant, clinging. She dropped her pants and nothing more obscured her lithe, sunburst body-naked, golden, glowing, sensuous.
I led her to the bed and kissed her eloquent places in descending order, tasting the subtle changes of salt to honey. I moved up her body and let her tongue stroke and slither about mine. She leaned forward and cradled my pressing passion between her breasts.
"What now?" she asked as her slim legs spread wide apart....
It is not by the direct method of a scrupulous narration that the explorer of the past can hope to depict that singular epoch. If he is wise, he will adopt a subtler strategy. He will attack his subject in unexpected places; he will fall upon the flank, or the rear; he will shoot a sudden, revealing searchlight into obscure recesses, hitherto undivined.
Lytton Strachey, Eminent Victorians