"...There were further indications that things were not quite right when Professor Goreripple told me that she was sorry that my essay was not published, but that in effect, it was not publishable, for it could not be published without the painting ASH OLYMPIA, and it would not be feasible to consider publishing the painting. Needless to say, I was not only in disagreement with this kind of argument, but I was in shock, considering the fact that my essay was all about the validity of such paintings as Manet's OLYMPIA as well as my own ASH OLYMPIA..."

———— from THE SPRING OF MY STALIN

"...He was pressing her hard against the door and kissing her as soon as they found themselves alone in his apartment.
-Your talk was most compelling my dear, he murmured, I didn't fall asleep once during your presentation.
She laughed and saucily asked:
-Did you recognize my body up there?
-There was no mistaking it! It certainly was your beautiful little body up there.
I recognized it right away.
If they have any doubt on that score, I'm the expert they should call to verify!
Please feel free to give my name as a reference!
As she started laughing again, he picked her up lightly in his arms and carried her to the couch.
He was quick to undress her and to undo her luxuriant black mass of hair so that it freely tumbled about her soft face and lean little shoulders.
Her eyes were still sparkling large and black as if dreaming the eternal beauty after her own image.
I take it back, he murmured, as they lost themselves in an urgent fit of mutual caresses against the faded grey velvet,
you are nothing like the painting:
you are much better in real life...
When Benjamin looked up and remarked the time, she was not yet ready to let him go.
He had already started to get dressed when she whispered:
-Do you have a condom?
He stared at her.
-I do, he said.
She smiled.
He continued to stare at her for a moment or two, his nostrils slightly flaring.
She had never allowed him to go so far before.
She slid up close to him, naked and holding her firm little breasts where he could not stop himself from tasting them again
-Oh, hang on.
Let me call work...
He gave them the first excuse that popped in his head, and promptly forgot what it was that he said.
He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom.
There was no light there but they soon got used to the dark.
Everything was silvery grey and soft.

He came, his naked body atop hers against the thinning cotton sheets.
He kissed her face tenderly before carefully lifting himself off her.
He returned after disposing himself of the soiled rubber.
She was quiet in his arms and at length he asked if she was alright.
She made some muffled noise.
-Hey, are you crying?
His heart sank.
He could not help thinking that he was going to be seriously late for work.
-I didn't hurt you did I?
-Oh no, she mumbled, I'm fine, it's just my nerves.
-You know, he said, apologetically, I'll have to leave soon.
-I know... That's okay.
He held her a little closer and caressed her hair.
-I'm fine really, she said, and laughed. You know what?
-What?
-That was the last time that I would ever make love as a woman in her twenties. Tomorrow, I'll be thirty.
He chuckled and kissed the top of her head.
-What an honor! I hope I did a good enough job!
He leaned over and kissed the top of her head again as they stood in the street separated by their winter coats against the cold wind.
Then he hastily hailed a cab and she walked slowly towards the subway station..."

———— from OLYMPIA IN NEW YORK,
A novel-in-progress about painting oneself naked and discovering the world...
Based on the very particular circumstances surrounding the painting of ASH OLYMPIA (the background painting)
and the writing of A CASE FOR OLYMPIA.
A screenplay version was completed in July 2003.

see LIST OF TALES and SINGING