From under the green silk robe, from between her fat, curved breasts, she removed a spray of rose plum and presented it to me sweetly. It had a mingle... smell of the flower and of her body. At a particular moment, for no obvious reason, she quoted an unknown but strangely exciting poem to me. A tender, black flower gored by a thick, brown root, above the cheeks of her ass, below my belly. In the early evening, in hot mid-summer, Red Cloud and I curled up on the low wall in the Place de Grève,. “I keep my address as private as I can, but you never know. I don’t worry too much about being recognized by chance; the film makeup mostly made me something I’m not, and it’s not like the camera was concentrating on my face. There are one or two MILLION other blondes my age running around SoCal, so I always deny the connection if I’m challenged, which happens occasionally. I just say that other people have confused me for that lady. The big issue is that my real name is out there, connected. More

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