Then another, and another. The fourth catches you on the right calf right beside the run. The gobs dribble down your legs. The train stops. The doors...slide open. A tide of people rush out of the train, carrying you with them like a piece of driftwood. On the platform you step out of the flow and pause away from everyone heading onto the escalator. You examine the backs of your legs. Creamy wet splotches dot the shiny black fabric of your stockings. You look around, trying to catch sight of. I barely knew what the word meant at that point, and, while most people would have immediately fled in horror, I became fascinated with the whole idea. There was an act in process when I entered, entailing a pretend inquisition.Now,I assume the girl who was being questioned was a masochist, because the treatment she was receiving seemed very realistic, and the inquisitor was not being kind at all. Of course, they were speaking French, so I didn't have any idea what was being said, but I. More

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