But I do rememberreading an introductory essay on Ivan Turgenev that toldme that at fifteen (my age) a kitchen maid was sent by hismother to his room ...o initiate him in the ways of love. Ifound this a transfixing thought. I was profoundly enviousback then; now I am merely delighted by the imaginativepossibilities, and no amount of hard-headed knowledgeabout the plight of the Russian poor and the abuse ofpower can spoil it.As Turgenev remembered it decades later, the girl cameup behind him and. Molly tried to cover herself, her swollen breasts, herfists to her chin. Something caught her attention, andlooking down, she saw it. Max’s cock was already hangingdown, thick, bloated, hard.“Ohhh god, nooo” she said startled out of her fantasies.“Max. Get down Max” she shushed at him in a loudcommanding whisper, but Max laid down on his haunchesbetween her legs. He just looked at her. He was closeenough that Molly couldn’t close her legs. He dipped hissnout down between her thighs, and sniffed. More

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