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| Richard Neville, journalist |
Worm's Eye View |
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My ignorance of womankind had been the subject of jibes, even on the playground. To the last, I had argued that females were bereft of pubic hair, citing as proof the Latin teacher's framed photos of Roman statues. When a Tampax instruction sheet was furtively passed among the cadet corps, I understood neither the mechanics nor the biology. To me, the rump of the silhouette looked like a kneecap. I stood on the Knox oval scratching my head. Good old Tim, who later followed me to Farmers, took pity. He pointed the barrel of his Lee Enfield rifle into a patch of dust. "This is a worm's eye view of a woman," he said, scratching a pair of semi-circles back to back, and jabbing three apertures. "They piss from the top one, and they shit from the bottom one."
"Thanks, Tim," I replied, "but what do they do in the middle?"
At last I was ready to tackle one of the country girls next door.
The first time I saw Anne she was wearing a Girl Guide's uniform. Slight, blond, freckled and forthright, she had never learned the hard-to-get games of the city. Instead of New Wave, we settled for Cinemascope at the French's Forest Drive-In. The back seat hotted up long before the plot and I revved the Ford Prefect out of there, wrenching the speaker from its cable. As I fumbled and groped in my Mormon bedroom, desperately trying to recall Tim's diagram on the Knox oval, Anne said, "It's better if you take your pants off." Like most advice imparted in the bedroom since, this proved helpful. (Mosman, Australia, 1960)
from Hippie Hippie Shake by Richard Neville (Bloomsbury, © 1995)
© 2001 Nerve.com, Inc.
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