She was at home between the legs of women. Alive there. As if she were the sole member of some occult, forgotten sect, a persecuted devotee with no church in which to pray, the women’s bodies were the church, the site of consecration. Or was it desecration? What was this rite in which she plunged into women until they begged for mercy or wept with savage joy? Some of the women—not all of them—reciprocated, but nowhere was the pleasure more intense than in the giving. Strange rite. Lone believer. Cosmically alone,
