Chapter 4

We arrived at our little campus in the Boston suburbs late. During the trip in the well-filled limousine, three wives told the other two, and me and Lindy, about their adventure modeling for Dominique.

“Shira and I kept things at a slow simmer,” Eva recollected, “letting her creativity not be overcome by her libido. But the longer we went, the more intimate we got, and the simmering reached a boil.”

“I waited for that,” Zhenzhen took over, “before I added my efforts. Each time, after she took pictures and returned to her easel to draw, more and more she shifted about, rubbing herself against her stool. When the rub no longer had any subtlety, I removed my clothes and then hers. Standing in front of her at breast height, I used that to my advantage, before kissing down to her pussy and sucking her until she orgasmed.”

“We added voyeurism to her pleasure,” Shira grinned. “I copied our cute wife, lingering on Eva’s incredible breasts before moving to her cunt and straddling her face.”

“I pulled her off her stool,” Zhenzhen continued, “and onto her bed. She marveled at the flesh before her, as if in some sort of erotic dream. She caressed and kissed flesh while I attended to her pleasure. She watched my wives give each other orgasms, and I gave her one.”

“And you?” I asked.

The participants giggled. “She got her reward,” Eva explained. “Three on one. Then Nicky became the center. I think we nearly killed the old lady.”

“Speaking of which...” I enquired.

“I found my MILF,” Shira smiled.

“She’s sexy,” Eva explicated. “She’s cool. She’s got a great body, even if the flesh isn’t as elastic as a young woman’s.”

“Good to hear,” I chuckled.

“The exception, I think,” Eva concluded.

“They inspired her,” said Zhenzhen. “I have a feeling this won’t be the only modeling session.”

“And you?” I asked my adorable Chinese wife, “Did you inspire her?”

She shrugged. “I guess petite Asians don’t do it for her.”

“You definitely do it for me,” said Helena, pulling her off my lap and onto hers for a lengthy snog.

“How was the shopping?” Zhenzhen asked her afterwards, resting her head on Helena’s shoulder and kissing her neck.

“Great. I love hanging out with my angel sisters. It’s rare and it’s fun. And shopping as an excuse made it more fun.”

“You must have seen lots of chins drop,” Lindy figured.

“Yes. Lots. Even in the boutiques where they must see plenty of models.”

“You’re beyond models,” I said.

“Not to mention you actually have tits,” said Zhenzhen, creating laughter.

“Models do have tits,” Helena said. “How else do they fill out swimsuits for Sports Illustrated?”

“As skinny as they need to be,” Eva contemplated, “how much of those could be real?”

We shrugged.

“So,” Helena looked at me, “We couldn’t help noticing the embrace when you left Caitlin. And not just you, either.”

“No kisses, though,” said Angelique. “At least not for the ladies.”

“Then not a wife candidate.”

“Too bad,” said Eva. “She has a scrumptious body.”

Angelique and Lindy nodded. “I think I have enough wives for a lifetime,” I objected.

“Or two or more lifetimes,” said Helena. “It could happen.”

“Maybe,” I shrugged. “I love the five of you, and it’s enough.”

“I can’t imagine a bed handling any more,” said Lindy.

“Not even you?” said Angelique.

“Especially not me and my big body.”

“Angelique,” I muttered nearly simultaneously.

“I happen to love your body,” Angelique pointed out.

“It’s okay, Joe,” Lindy responded to me, and winked at Angelique to respond to her. “You have wives and you have lovers. I feel lucky that I’m among the latter, but could never be one of the former. I may fulfill most of the criteria. We love each other. Your wives and I love each other, especially an especially cute French one. At this point I have no interest in any other cocks and have no problem enjoying the female of the species. Which, I might add, is all your fault.”

“I’d think it was Betty’s fault,” said Helena, reminding my genius choreographer of her first female crush.

“True,” Lindy chuckled. “Anyway, there’s two of us in my particular category. Just Tash and me. Although I don’t know how much she shares love towards your wives.”

“I wouldn’t kick her out of bed,” said Eva.

“Me either,” said Zhenzhen, and Angelique and Shira nodded. Helena already hadn’t kicked her out of bed so to speak. Even if it had always been Naomi who lured us there, I knew Helena had a fondness for the Goth chick, and Tash shared that feeling, even if neither shared love at the level that my writing partner and I shared it.

“She’s pregnant with Nick’s child, and not mine,” I offered.

“True, but I don’t think that difference actually counts. I think it’s an entirely different thing.”

“Independence,” Angelique put forth.

“Exactly. Is that offensive?”

“Nope,” and various versions, including head shakes became the response, which surprised me. My wives being brilliant and accomplished at several things.

“It’s why we’re no longer glued together, and I’m with Joe,” said Angelique.

“But... ,” I started.

Shira interrupted. “It has to do with our love for you, Joe, and for each other. Sure, we’re strong women and talented, and could make do, and in Angelique’s case, much more than that doing our thing. First of all, that still happens. We’re still strong and talented, maybe more so because of our relationship giving us confidence and support. But we are so much less without this profound love that binds us together, that we need almost as much as we need to breathe, and maybe more, because we notice it and cherish it and it fulfills us.”

“Consider me, Joe,” said Eva. “Before and after you and Helena.”

“Me too,” said Helena. “To a different degree maybe, but in a lot of ways the same. I never really felt anything towards a man. Johns mostly. You changed everything. Made me come alive.”

“Exactly,” Eva smiled.

“Ditto,” Shira grinned.

“I suppose I’m different,” Angelique said. “With my passive nature, I needed your strength and the strength of your women. Perhaps I’m the most successful of us, but I’m also the weakest. Maybe Lindy unable to handle the clinging brought me to you, but I actually always wanted you, and hoped you would accept me. Lindy made me happy. Still does. But this, now, being accepted as a wife...” she teared up. I kissed her tears. So did Shira, sitting beside her.

“Which brings us to me,” said my cute Chinese wife. She chuckled with the rest of us. “If the past brought me to you, and character, I suppose, as it did my sister wives, it would be replacing one master with another. Except it didn’t turn out that way, did it? Maybe it did for a moment, at the start, one master, Xo, turning me over to another master, you.”

“Except I could never be your master,” I pointed out.

Zhenzhen giggled. “Of course not. Like I said, it lasted a moment. And then I found myself embraced, by Eva first, as gatekeeper it seems, but soon by Helena and Joe. An embracing of equals. An acceptance. I always felt lesser, condescended to by my sister angels and by my master. Being the youngest, and with wisdom the most important part of a human, or whatever we are, it was inevitable. And being cute just made it worse. I felt like a plush toy. I hated being cute. But you, with your embrace, with your absolute acceptance of me and all that I am, I suddenly loved being cute. It made Eva hot after all. But more importantly, you saw beyond my cuteness, respected my talents and my intelligence. I love you for that. I love you for yours, and your great hearts with room for six.”

“Six?” asked Lindy.

“To love others, one needs to love oneself.”

Her wives and I nodded and grinned, appreciative of Zhenzhen’s precocious wisdom. It may have been clichéd, even obvious, but had a profound resonance nevertheless. In a sense, loving each other made us love ourselves so much more.

Lindy’s inimitable and lovely tilted smile had a touch of melancholy. “I can see the strength of it, and the allure. Perhaps I missed my chance.”

“Nonsense,” Helena declared. “You have enough strength without it. You have genius supported by confidence. Father saw that and made you leader of geniuses. And you took the mantle without apprehension, decisively and gracefully and successfully. You don’t need love for support, even if you get it and share it. It’s not necessary for your happiness as it is for us.”

“I can see how Tash is similar,” I realized. “Not only as a brilliant playwright, but creating and commanding every collaboration. She guides me and whomever she works with just as strongly as you guide Nick’s merry band of players.

“Even if she wields her confidence different from yours, with intimidation, not suffering fools, so that I considered her a bitch and didn’t like her much until I proved myself worthy of her respect, I see the similarity there. You don’t suffer fools either. You just treat us differently. A more subtle ruler, in both senses of the word, using disappointment rather than harsh words to punish us. To get us up ungodly early every morning. To make us better than we ever thought possible.”

“So,” Lindy contemplated, “For Tash and me, work is enough.”

“More than for me,” Angelique, who, if anyone, one would think the frequent proof of her genius would be enough, but wasn’t, responded. “But not entirely. I don’t think it’s success or responsibility that has made you happier than you ever have been. Partly, but not the important part. Am I right? Are you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Because of...”

“Because of you. All of you. It’s amazing that I have gained such an audience for my work. But it would be so much more empty a success without you.”

“For Tash as well,” said Helena. “She may have been harsh as a method of direction, though, for me, Joe’s gentle training worked much better, but that harshness, that anger, has been greatly reduced, seen I think almost exclusively in her writing, still cleverly disguised in wit. She’s no longer the bitch she used to be. Love has softened her heart.”

“Naomi?” I asked.

Helena chuckled, “Not likely. I imagine those two trading barbs, increasing their skills at evisceration. It’s you, Joe.”

“Me?”

“The way she looks at you. You’ve become accustomed to it. You seem to draw it out of most women. But it’s different with her, because it’s different for her. She loves you like she never has loved before. Entirely. You’ve changed her.”

“But ... I can’t exactly concentrate on her. Certainly not exclusively.”

“It’s enough.”

“How?”

“Collaboration?”

I laughed. “Of course.”

“Of course it doesn’t hurt that she’s a great fuck.”

“For Joe, every woman’s a great fuck,” Eva smirked. “He’s like the Lindy of fucking.”

We laughed.

The next morning, since a few, like Ellen and Elsa staying with Caitlin’s nerd, had taken the option of remaining in New York City for another night, while others had arrived at our residence late, Lindy had essentially cancelled morning rehearsal. Not completely though. My wives and I joined her at the larger studio, along with Helen, and Nick’s Japanese angel Miwa, and the Scottish Amazon Sheila.

I shook my head at the last one. It seemed like Sheila never slept, considering she stripped at night, and well into the morning. “I nap,” she told me. “Especially in the afternoon.” To her, working with her mentor, Lindy, surpassed anything else in her life in importance. Even given the choice of a morning off or spending time learning from Lindy, she always chose the latter.

And more and more Lindy made use of her, and Miwa and Eva. Suggestions. Like everything else, it seemed--Tash and I; Tash and Helena and Angelique and I with the cantata; me and others with Yoshie--Lindy’s choreography had become collaborative. Perhaps working on editing Nick’s Tales had been the model for it. It had shown us we worked together well, and enjoyed it.

We rehearsed the entire morning on Caitlin’s poem “Love.” Shira and I made each other so horny dancing erotically together, we slipped into one of the practice booths to fuck. Twice. At a break and at the end.

After the end fuck, I opened the door to find Nick standing there. Our reddened faces may have been due to orgasm, or the exertion to achieve it, but maybe a little from getting caught. It didn’t matter that we fucked there, or Nick knew, but, for some reason, we felt a tinge of embarrassment.

“I want to recommence the Tales,” Nick explained. “And I want to figure out how we fit it in.”

“The reading stimulated the need,” I guessed.

“Yes.”

“It’s your choice, isn’t it?” Shira asked him.

“I suppose it is. If nothing else, I created the space for this.”

“Literally,” I added. “In every way, including most of us using that space.”

“I suppose that makes me boss,” Snake shrugged. “Unfortunately I want everything happening to continue happening. I just don’t know how. We’re meeting at the library.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Your wives and Yoshie and Betty and Xo. And Lindy of course.”

“Me?” asked Shira.

“Are you his wife?”

“But I’m not exactly a creative force, at least not an essential one.”

“I believe your husband would disagree, Shira. You’re important. You’re essential. All of you are.”

“What about Natasha?” I asked Nick.

“What about her? She’s not in charge of any of the projects.”

“Then you haven’t been paying attention. You haven’t looked in between.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not just that she has input on nearly every word spoken on every project, including the Tales, but when we can, Tash and I work on future projects. New plays. Angelique’s cantata. Things for Yoshie. She works on all those things, and in the little bit of time I have between everything, I collaborate with her.”

“So, with everything going on, you hope for time when nothing is.”

“Exactly.”

Nick laughed. “Go fetch her. Come with me, dear.”

It turned out fitting in time to collaborate with Tash proved the easiest to solve. “Since I’m no longer working with Lindy on directing plays,” she reminded us, “I’m completely free to write. Me and my laptop can be anywhere. I can sit with it in the morning, collaborating with Helena, and with Joe when he has time. I can bring it to Yoshie’s rehearsals for more collaborations and revisions. At lunchtime and dinner, I can sit with Joe. And after the Tales, he and I can work together, at least when he and his wives permit it, when they don’t need to bond.”

Thinking of Lindy’s and Angelique’s past relationship, in which they seemed fused together, and the discussion the night before, travelling home in the limo, I couldn’t help chuckling.

“What?” Tash asked me.

“It sounds like we’ll be together a lot.”

“I...” she started. I could see her tearing up. “I just thought...”

“Tash,” I exclaimed, taking her hand. “Look at me.” When she did, I smiled. “The thought doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I love working with you. You’re brilliant and inspiring. I won’t be the one tiring of it.”

“Joe,” she sniffled, “it won’t be me either. I never thought ... I’ve always cherished the solitude, just me and my dark thoughts, making the best of them with my talent. I got confirmation from audiences, affirmation I suppose, but I always felt most fulfilled in private. Until you sat with me that time in Paris, reading my work-in-progress, something I never allowed before. I saw the delight in your eyes and heard your praise, and it felt wonderful. I knew immediately I wanted your input. I wanted you in that sacred place that I had never allowed anyone.” She laughed. “I know how that sounds, with you and your dirty minds, but it’s actually appropriate. I let you penetrate my virgin mind, a place no one had shared with me before. And to tell you the truth, it felt as sexual as it sounds. It turned me on. Still does.”

“I know,” I said, kissing her.

Nick laughed. “I hope he hasn’t taken your dark place of inspiration.”

Our simultaneous nope made it clear I hadn’t. We laughed.

I sighed with the decision made. It meant constant creativity, even through dinner, when we’d work on editing up until the Tales. Even so, I agreed with the consensus not to receive the Tales every other day. “We can choose to do that after the fact,” said Angelique, “not before. If it gets to be too much, which it won’t, we can skip an evening. I know you’d prefer the flow.”

Nick nodded.

That evening he recommenced the Tale.

“I left the Vikings soon after my transformation into my Slavic skin. Betty remained, became a marauder, a true Viking, among her favorite people.”

“It wasn’t my place,” Betty explained, “to change my people. So I participated to make them stronger, better, even safer in assuring their success more swiftly. And I could nurse those who suffered at other swords, who could survive from my ministrations.”

“The world became about marauding,” Nick continued, “Even if it always seemed to have been in a way in Europe. It just got more chaotic, more brutal, more encompassing. Victory no longer involved the capture and incorporation of a people into an empire, but rather their utter destruction. Not always, mind you, but far more often, and in Northern Asia, horribly, it was the agenda.”

It hasn’t been the greeting Nick anticipates, sneaking into the royal grounds of the Russian capital to a place where servants, no more than slaves, really, reside. A regal presence, elegantly dressed among the shoddy, with a proud bearing despite the melancholy on the young man’s face, stands amongst the prostrated.

“Can’t they stand in your presence, or at least sit up?” Nick asks.

“Do as he says,” the young man proclaims with a sigh. The group surrounding them sit uneasily. “And as long as Nick and his company remains here, I will not have you bow to me.” This gets an odd, confused look, but they nod as they must, agreeing to all the royal prince says. “Come with me, Nick, to somewhere private. Give his friends accommodations,” he orders an older couple, who bow slightly and smile at the twin angels, and at Siobhan and Sean.

The prince leads Nick to a modest chapel, nothing like the royalty would enjoy. Not much more than a large cross with a suffering Jesus attached adorns it. A heavy man in an ornate robe looks odd in the surroundings. “Go visit with your nuns,” the prince orders, a smirk concealed. The middle aged man starts to object, but the anger flashing on the young man’s face makes him reconsider. His bow is much less obsequious before he leaves.

“So your people have embraced Christianity,” Nick states the obvious, sitting beside the prince in the front pew.

“Like a horny whore,” the prince quietly replies.

Nick gets the message. The walls have ears.

Nick chuckles. “So you’re not so devout.”

“Christ had good words to say, as all prophets do. But, if peace was his greatest message, and humbleness the second, my little empire chooses to ignore them, while using that very religion to conquer and destroy.”

Bitterness emerges in Nick’s voice. “You could do nothing to protect my eastern friends, a civilizations itself, perhaps more civilized than you seem to be?”

“Objection would have meant weakness. The power and glory of Russia and Christianity must prevail,” the young man practically spat.

“But your family leads these people.”

“As much as we’re allowed.”

“Then you’ve become only figureheads. But who... ?”

“The generals and the clergy.”

Nick nods. “Simon.”

“Do ... do you still communicate with your Asian friends?”

“Yes. The few who escaped your massacre.”

“Not mine.”

“Yours. As heads of state. Generations have hated you. Most assimilated with a large tribe, north of China, who grow strong. The Mongols. Xo, the other eternal, has a presence there, but I think not as much as he would like, and with this massacre, their independence may have fearsome repercussions. I have a feeling even Xo worries about these people.”

“Should we worry?”

“We have something more present to worry about.”

The prince nods. “But what can be done?”

“Empowerment,” Nick smirks darkly. “It may take a generation or two, but I will assure an infusing of stronger blood. People with greater backbone to retake your little empire.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You did what you had to do to remain in power, even only as pretend rulers. That took some grit.”

“Weakness as strength?”

“When it has to be.”

“Sounds like you plan on quite a lot of fucking.”

“Strategic fucking. Speaking of which, how’s your sister?”

The prince chuckles, “A thorn in our father’s side, I’m afraid. She has just attained marriage age.”

“So I have heard.”

“The general who heads the military insists she marry his son.”

“Not him?”

“His wife would object.”

“Young?”

“Half his age, but that’s not saying much.”

“So his second wife.”

“It’s rumored she killed his first. I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“So why hasn’t this happened before? You’d think Simon would insist.”

“A supposed tradition kept it from happening. Something my great grandfather created when he realized Simon’s threat. He pretended it always had been so, and in a way it had, just not officially. The daughter finds her mate on her own, either through season dances or, if she has not found anyone, through wandering the city and the empire.”

“I hope not alone.”

“She has her own guards, and always gets trained to defend herself.”

“She trusts this guard?”

“She should. They grew up together. Her handmaidens.”

“I like this society,” Nick chuckles. “How far along is she?”

“Three dances so far. The fall dance, the final one, will be in three weeks.”

“And the general’s son?”

“Has made his play. They have danced together. And talked. She likes him, and he feels the same.”

“That’s not good.”

“No. But she has told him she will not marry him.”

“So he’ll try harder to change her mind.”

“No doubt.”

“If she finds someone before the dances end, but not at the dances?”

“It is always her choice.”

“And it is always the princess who conceives the next king?”

“If the king stays alive. I would be interim king if he didn’t, God forbid.”

“It makes certain the child would be of royal lineage.”

“Yes.”

“Like Jewish women defining the faith of her children. Only the woman can be certain of the lineage.”

“Yes. My wife is a perfect example. My daughter is mine, born nine months after I made her my wife, but I’m not certain who conceived the baby in her womb.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I’m not. We both like playing with others of both sexes. But always together.”

“Keeps things interesting. And discreet?”

“Always.”

“Perhaps I’ll join you one night.”

“Both of us would like that.”

Nick can see the interest. A handsome fellow, if a bit weak willed. Nick has no problem with the possibility.

“I believe I have a more urgent bed to rest in, or at least occupy.”

The prince snorts his laugh. “Yes. Of course. Follow me.”

They slip out a side door. Nick looks back to see the priest enter, gazing at him with a frown on his fat, smug face.

It makes the subterfuge of a hidden entrance into the palace and the labyrinth of secret passages they negotiate all too ironic. Simon must know Nick’s presence, and his purpose. The path still amuses Nick. He can’t help getting a kick out of them.

“The new palace will be even more elaborate,” the prince whispers. “Our new home, the glory of Russia.”

“You’ll be moving your central city.”

“It will take years to construct, and I suspect the giant cathedral has more to do with it. But we did manage to assure that the design and building of the palace will be done by your minions.”

“And on the strained backs of your slaves.”

“We must remain powerful. And we treat them better than Simon’s minions. We prefer rewards rather than lashes.”

“Except when they don’t know their place.”

“Even then, we go for a gentler punishment, and we don’t require it as much as the generals.”

“An army of slaves?”

“The foot soldiers.”

“Makes for an uneasy command.”

“I agree, and it has been proven. When things become hard, when conquest becomes a struggle and attrition accumulates, the greater deaths makes death less of a cause for that attrition, as far as percentages, and desertion more.”

“No doubt,” says Nick. “And marching in the countryside, I imagine more than a few use the chance to desert, enemy or no.”

“Probably, but in times of battle, the generals can accuse the deserters of cowardice. Whereas, deserting without conflict might make it the generals’ fault.”

“Probably?”

“Okay, certainly. My wife and I have lost several lovers because of desertion during peaceful marches. And no, we don’t command them into our bed. We disguise ourselves and look for interested eyes. The hardest are men who show interest in both of us.”

“I imagine.”

“We’ve had three, and two are gone, one killed on the battlefield and the other the way we just discussed. It’s much easier to find women with such duel interest. Speaking of which...” he chuckles, hearing moans behind a door. Placing a finger in front of his mouth in the universal sign for shushing, he carefully opens the door.

Two lovely young ladies lay naked on a bed in the sixty-nine position. The one on top ends a moan and attacks the pussy beneath her mouth, eliciting a longer moan that becomes an elongated keening. The attack continues throughout, even when the woman underneath pleads for her to stop. Instead, the pleading stops, with the woman’s breathe, until another lengthy keening begins. “Please!” the orgasmic woman shouts, wriggling to avoid more too pleasurable abuse.

“Okay,” the top girl giggles. “Enough torture.” The giggle ends and her eyes widen and her body stiffens. “Brother, what are you doing here? And who’s this?”

“You know who this is.”

“Nick.”

“Hello princess. Want me to help torture your poor handmaiden?”

“Uhm...” her eyes soften. She peruses the eternal wanderer. Her eyes move to her brother’s. “Leave, pervert.”

“You want Nick to leave.”

“No. But not a word.”

“Yes Princess,” her brother bows.

“Fuck you.”

“I’m not that much of a pervert.” Encountering her hot eyes, he chuckles and waves his hand. “Okay. Okay. I’m leaving.”

As soon as the door closes, the princess sighs. “Nick.”

“Hello Anna.”

“I dreamed of you.”

“I know.”

“Otherwise men...”

“You prefer women.”

“Yes,” she sighs, shifting around until her handmaiden rests along her side. They both have delicious if different bodies. Hers thick and powerful and shapely. The handmaiden’s sleek and lithe with lean, rippling muscles. Both faces beautiful and different. Hers round, heart shaped, with a thick, almost piggish nose but somehow perfect, and a large mouth and moderate sized brown eyes, sexy with her light blonde hair, and also with intelligence behind them. Her lover again couldn’t be more opposite: lean face; dark hair, blue, almost violet eyes, looking adoringly at her mistress. Intelligence buried beneath the adoration.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” the handmaiden says.

“Yes, my love.”

“He’s here and I’m here.”

“So it seems.”

The handmaiden shifts to look at Nick. “Anna dreamed of you, and awoke moaning, waking me up. She described the dream in detail at my insistence. You look different than she described.”

“I do,” Nick smiles.

“Better, I think. Sexier. More handsome.”

“I agree,” Anna admits.

“You said you’d come for her. And you’re here. It scared her. I told her you could fuck me, to show you it could be good. Will you fuck me?”

“If you like.”

“I like.”

“My horny lover,” Anna giggles a little unsteadily. They watch him strip, transfixed. “Oh my, it’s so huge,” Anna comments. “Bigger than I remember.”

“It is. And yes, it will fit.”

“Even in me?” the handmaiden murmurs.

“You’re bigger,” Anna reminds her.

“Oh yeah. Who’d have thought such a pretty little pussy would be on such a warrior woman body? How do you want me, Nick?”

“Suck me first,” Nick tells her, bringing his cock close to her face. “It will help excite you for what comes next.”

“I’m already excited,” the horny young woman explains before licking tentatively at his glans. One of her hands begins rubbing his shaft with innate skill and remains rubbing throughout.

“It will excite you even more,” Nick explains, “readying you for your first fuck. It’s your first, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” both young ladies say.

“Rub your lips across the edges of my cock head. Lick it. Rub your tongue all around it. Good. I’m going to cum for you. Drink what you can. It will make you hornier. I’ll catch some to rub into your cunt. It’ll ease the pain when I break the virgin membrane.”