My legs were now free to move and keep time to the quickening pace of the drum that beat behind me. One arched foot caught the pile of green silk on the floor at my feet and gracefully flicked the rustling material off-stage.

My stride lengthened since there was no green sheath to keep my steps small. My spirit soared with pleasure. This was truly freedom— freedom from the fear of discovery. . . .

"Open that door, son." The deep voice of my father boom- ed. What could I do? Would I get it! The pounding on the door continued. Mechanically I stepped forward. There was a slight rustle around my knees. My hand reached up towards the bolt, and I was conscious of a slight cutting on my shoulders. I froze and the voice, almost screaming this time, came again. The metal was cold and the bolt would not move. Another pounding and the bolt inched open. The door opened with a bang. I looked up into the red face of my father as tears, black tears ran across my pink cheeks and over my scarlet lips. . . .

The thunder from the hands applauding in front of me drowned all the sound around me. My body bent forward to rest over the leg stretched out in front. A quiet peace came over the theater. An oboe sounded its plaintiff call in a muted voice. The thump of the drum was slow and soft. My breath came easier. It was peaceful and very quiet. . . .

My twirl stopped and one leg went in front and the other straight out behind me. Slowly I let the weight of my body pull me towards the floor until I was in a perfect split.

The green strip of silk stood straight out in front of me as I spun like a top. It was weighted, like the one at my back, to stand out dur- ing the twirl. Now if I could just unhook at the right time, the two strips of silk would sail off-stage. My fingers turned into thumbs. Panic started to slowly numb my arms. There it was, and off sailed the silk panels into the curtain at stage left.

The room was still. I could hear heavy breathing behind me. "And why do you like the feeling of silks and satins?" a quiet, fatherly voice asked me from behind. My mind raced and words seemed to spill from my tongue as rain from an April shower. On and on and on I talked. As I talked I felt a sensual feeling in my groin. Again there was peace and quiet, but I con- tinued to talk. Would this river of words never stop? But here