Larva - pg. 25

Her bronze body aroused, her eyes like coal. Jewel¹ of fire in her humid hollow. Savoraciously tasting her everywhere. Afternoon Indian delight. Pungent flavor - clove? - on the tip of her tongue. Ah! ah her hot breath, of curry² and tea. Hot feverish gypsy skin. Caress after caress, simmering on her own salsalacity. Cool sweat flowing under her arms.³ Down her valleys; five rivulets down the anointed body of that daughter of Punjab. Moist silky smoothness.⁴ And the slippery seductress slid away. Silk soothing the senses ... Succulent slipperiness! then off she slipped, lickety-split. A cool fleeting kiss and fear in her glance. Time already!

1. Rubify!:
Oui, il faut franchir le rubis con ... You've got to cross the ruby, conman!

2 Currying flavor .. .:
With Madame Curry. Caress, careless ...

3. Axiliary elixir?:
Ambrosia. Elixir, sir. Indian nectar, amrit! from that panicked girl, an Amritsar native.

4. Silk skin, like watered silk?:
Springing forth thread by thread ... Mana emanating ... Venerable venery, forbiddent fountain. Mana, a spring in summer. Skinny-deep, deep unfathomed lake, abysmal font. And you drowning in her arms. Until you touch bottom, in pleasure.

5. Mana Kaur..:
The slave-princess of Indian shop on Shepherd's Bush Road where you used to buy your evening supplies - and the apple, the only one, of discord. Distant and different, your Mana ... So exotic in these clothes. In a sari and always so serious, tied to the cash register. And constantly watched by the gray-bearded guy in the turban. His eyes threw sparks the time you tried to talk to her, while you searched your pockets for the remaining pence. Until you had the opportunity to approach her alone, in the Brook Green phone booth, in front of her school.