SEVERAL WOMEN
DANCING

EROTIKON
By bpNichol

By Paul Dutton
r)
The following is the first paragraph of section one of a work in progress.

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2)
i can remember exactly when the obsession began, a minor feature marking my obsession with her as distinct from so many other obsessions i have undergone with young
and beautiful women, not that that's the only distinguishing feature of this particular,
this most tenacious, this most perilously consuming of the innumerable such obsessions i've let myself fall prey to over the course of my solitary existence, so with
senseless fascinations, futile fallings-in-love, hopeless hangings-of-the-heart upon patently unobtainable objects or affection or, perhaps more properly lust or, even more
accurately and darkly, some unnameable- or at any rate, unnamed - passion, instinct,
or perversion, all the more powerful for being compulsive, dangerous, obscure. i can
remember exactly. she presented herself in an abbreviated version of the black and
white garb associated with a french maid: black high-heeled shoes, black stockings,
black frilled garter-belt, black panties, tiny black apron fringed with lacy white, its
black bow around her waist, holding the body of it to her abdomen, the broad straps,
secured at the nape of her neck by another bow, loosely permitting the free and fluid
movement of her breasts, her perfect, soft breasts, neither too ample nor too spare, that
flirted tauntingly - now on view, now obscured - round the straps of the apron, and a
smile playing constantly on her face within the dark fringe of her hair, parted in the
middle hanging just above shoulder-length, brushing, as she leant her head to one side,
the soft white flesh of her shoulder, one in colour and texture with the flesh of all her
body, as she danced for the pleasure of the roomful of men in the yearning, masturbatory darkness of the strip club, whose depths, or perhaps i should say lengths, for it is a
long and narrow room, the stage down one side, with four rows of seats facing it, the
rows divided by a broad aisle into which juts a small projecting extension of the stage,
which extension, were it longer, would be termed a runway, and with other rows of
seats, largely unoccupied, ranked back from either end of the stage, as she danced for
the pleasure of the roomful of men in the yearning, masturbatory darkness of the strip
club, whose depths, or length, i had repaired to, now, as so often, out of a sense of
burning urgency, and felt, as my rapt gaze drank in thirstily her every move, that this
time, this one momentous evening, or afternoon, or whatever it was, my abandonment
of incidental, though not important, undertakings and my hastening to this feisty den
had occurred in response to, not a prurient whim, but a deep elemental call, an
unconscious signal transmitted from somewhere within the depths of her on a frequency only i could receive, a signal that cut through the pervasive static characterizing
my day-to-day existence and that drew me, with siren magnetism, to the dark room
with the stage lit, where she appeared in her brief black costume and smiled as her
nakedness promised itself, and her hair, cut to beneath her shoulders, flipped round the
flashing white of her flesh, and my cock sprang immediately to attention, my eyes
lusting for the swift disclosure of her physical secrets, a lusting that was not disappointed, as, before the first song she danced to was finished, the slight black pantines
were deftly removed and my heart raced at the view of her genitals so generously
afforded me. i remember exactly, her close-cropped hair her dark flesh, her leather
outfit, her frowning demeanour, the long and futile wait for the g-string to be dispensed with, the aching disappointment at never seeing her soft pubic area, wondering
why she would not reveal the sweet centre of my desire, as she beckoned me close with
her crook'd finger and teasing voice, where i stood retiring in the black obscurity of the
standing-section behind the rows of wide-eyed seats. her eyes. they were dark brown,
lit with delight in the pleasures she implied with her spread legs and the moist slit of her
pudenda, as she lifted her left leg and accepted, in the top of the black stocking encasing
her right leg, the votive dollar or two-dollar bill from the lucky patron in the front row
who thereby gained a closer view of the dark, curled hairs and soft, pink lips of her
(what i called then, in the heat of romantic inflammation) seat of satisfaction - introibo
ad altare deae, the goddess who gives joy to the throbbing tumescence of my manhood; confiteor deo omnipotenti, beatea mariae semper virgini, beato michaeli archangelo, beato johanni baptistae, sanctis apostolis, petro et paulo, omnibus sanctis, et tibi,
pater, quia peccavi nimis cogitatione, verbo et operae, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima
culpa, i confess that i would approach the altar of the goddess who might give joy to my
aging lust, through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault,
through my failing vision and sight-aiding spectacles, oh what a spectacle she offers my
desiring eyes in the anonymous gloom of the secrective strip-club, as the apron-strap
slips from her shoulder to free her breast to untrammelled view, and the other strap and
the other breast and the bow at the back, and the apron is gone and all that conceals her
last bits of flesh are the transparent stockings and slight garter-belt, which she never
removes, as she pulses and rocks to the sensuous rhythms, grinding her crotch and
spreading her buttocks to please the hungry, collective eye of the straining, insatiable
gathering of men.

3)

a row

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ... anyone
at all. Allan abley assisted Alex's attempts at talk articulating an arguably apoetic approach. 'After all; Alex argues, 'adjectives are applicable
and allow amazingly amusing afterthoughts: Allan, admittedly angry,
acclaimed Alex's argument. 'Absolutely', avowed Allan. Ann, ambiguous, avoided Alex and Allan and addressed Arnold, an amateur archeologist attending an arts academy at Athens. 'Aren't adjectives antiabsolute?' asked Ann. Arnold, amused, attacked Ann's attempted
alliance: 'Assinine!' Ann, appropriately annoyed, asked Allan's assistance. Allan avoided Ann's appeal. 'Aren't all arguments assinine ?' asked
Alex. Arnold ambled away, and Ann, absolutely amazed ...

S:!.00

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