In fact, it kept getting worse and worse: as my loins became more and more inflamed, the frequency of the image kept increasing. I started shaking my head, trying to rid myself of these images, but to no avail. It seemed like every other thought was the picture of Nike ramming his penis down Luka's ass. I couldn't help it! My only other thoughts were of how to free myself from this mental obscenity - until even those thoughts were pushed out, and the images, reaching the critical flicker frequency, were popping in and out of my head so quickly that they fused: into one, continuously terrifying motion-picture image, taken from the vaults of the darkest and most perverted obsessive-compulsive disorder I have ever had to suffer.

When you shifted, there was a swaying in the balance, a slight polarization in the field of energy. The core of the feeling suddenly shrank back from you, creating two arms as if to embrace you. Luckily, I had experienced the feeling around you before, so I was prepared for it - but not for this phenomenon. It was the most mind-boggling thing. Up till then, nothing on the outside had ever been able to influence the feeling that way. And apart from that singular incident, of which you are the heroine, there's only been one way for me to control the feeling, and that is to impose upon it a sort of psychological containment - more like a conscious ignorance really - something I developed around our mother, because there was a period in which I was constantly affected by her.

But I must emphasize the role that visual stimulation plays - because it's my imagination that really serves to intensify the experience, and I am always inspired by what I see. For instance, let me describe to you my latest feeling, the one that I experienced by sitting here next to Albert, and which, not too long ago, prompted this whole description.

Unfortunately, my fertile imagination being as lazy as it is, sexuality, the easiest thing to imagine, was by far the most favored quality. And so, for example, I would approach the refrigerator, and casually becoming aware of the feeling, I would wonder why my loins were reacting, and opening the refrigerator door, suddenly, instead of seeing a wine bottle, I saw a very male wine bottle, standing next to a very female bowl of potato salad. A can of beer, waiting atop the shelf, was a very male can of beer. But as I would lift the tab and open it, looking down at the top, it became a very female can of beer. And I would have to be thinking about this while I drank from it.

Do you know where that place might be? Do you know whence that feeling arises? Gentle sister, it is from my loins: it comes from the center of my being. And from that center this feeling emanates with contained power.