Once I saw a programme about an Indian girl who had never seen a man or a boy naked, not even without a shirt. When the girl’s breasts began to grow, she imagined that the man’s chest had two hollows into which the woman’s breasts would sink. That was the way a man and a woman fitted together. She thought so up until the day of her wedding.
I liked the Indian girl and how little she knew. I imagined Indian breasts pressing into male, Indian holes, two hearts beating close to each other and warmth spreading into every nook and cranny.