Surely I'm done with all that, all that shame.

Is it that not for teenagers, or children?

I put on a favoured Nocturne, and went to the bathroom. What is it anyway? A sudden exposure. A contagion, too. Nothing spreads like shame. It can enter a home, a village. It can even cross borders and fields of discourse. Surely I'm done with all that? God knows, haven't I spent days, even weeks, at Axel's orgies?

And yet my warm, nervous hand, reaching out for Pauline's breast. What has this, this grope done but regressed me forty years? What, the fear of a security man? The fear of some uniformed youth with buttocks as thin as his lips, flapping away at me? Did I fear, or even seek, punishment? Certainly, my hand quivered. What game was I playing with the gods? And to be left here, today, with the slow stink of shame. Surely I've done enough, bucked and fucked and sucked enough, haven't I? For this?