Same bed sex scene
In other words, had decadence set in? Tom didnt move. Jay swallowed dry foam. Tears welled in his eyes. He went for a swig ofBeefeater. He missed Bs nod as he skimmed on soles to the exit, grabbed a small bundle hanging (one of fifteen) from the fourth hook along, slid down the greasy slide under ground ten metres to a fuel-cell-lit cavern, pressed a luminous button in the wall, watched a lit symbol passing a series of marks, jumped into the low car as it ground round the corner, and curled up foetus wise. His weight having set off the cardoor mechanism, the car shut, slipped down and (its clamps settling on H’s body) roared off down the chute. (J. G. Ballard, on The New Science Fiction) As she stroked Mangons hair her eyes roved questingly around the walls.* * * * Hmmm. "Whos over there?" "I sign in blood," said Fast calmly. "Howhe signs, Im not really sure. All I know is, hell do something, maybe make a special appearance, to let me know that he accepts." Important though she was, she still remains a little hazy to me, a little unreal. Perhaps I was already so deep into my quandary, without knowing it, that both people and things were a little hazy, and the problem deep within me my only reality. Holt sent Kurt Vonneguts God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater (a non-SF novel, full of references to science fiction, by an author associated with the genre—and God bless Holt for publishing it!) but New Directions did not send their enlarged 1965 reissue of Jorge Luis Borges’ remarkable Labyrinths, nor did Viking send R.K. Narayan’s fine collection of Indian legends, Gods, Demons, and Others (1964). What? Hitchcock boggled. Preposterous.” I miss a lot. There are stories I dont find out about till two years— or two weeks—later. And then there are the ones that get away. Usually this is for contractual reasons—exclusive rights granted elsewhere, or problems about contract provisions and prices. Sometimes the reasons are purely editorial: Anthology editors have publisher’s editors, and authors have agents and magazine and book editors) it is surprising how many people can say no. "Could be. Its not though. Im still not sure— you'll have to believe me. In the past I've been — well — important. It's to do with that, I know." On one of his last ventures into the maze, he spent all night and much of the following morning in a futile attempt to escape. Dragging himself from one rectangle of shadow to another, his leg as heavy as a club and apparently inflamed to the knee, he realized that he must soon find an equivalent for the blocks or he would end his life within them, trapped inside this self-constructed mausoleum as surely as the retinue of Pharaoh. An inchoate wave of hunger swept over the observing Other. Its red claws indented the soft wood of the door jamb, and in a somatic wrench of restraint, it turned and climbed the stairs. In its climbing it made a distinctly audible swishing sound, and under its weight a loose stair tread skirled loudly. In the living room, the sleeping dogs ear flicked at the sound of the squeaking board, but the Thinker thought on..
