By R. Palme Dutt
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Additional resources for Fascism and Social Revolution
Alan shivered. She turned a dazzling smile his way. " He begged to differ, but he didn't dare. He briefly wondered which of Pam's admirers had left the handy souvenir, then pushed the thought aside. Instead, he closed his eyes and conjured up visions of sandy beaches and unlimited quantities of alcohol. He'd buy and finish the entire set of a new science-fiction series he'd been yearning to read. And Mrs. wiping runny noses. Pamela respected his silence, humming and singing along with the radio, but not pressing him into conversation.
He did the same and lifted his shot glass to hers. "You make the toast," she said, her eyes bright. Her beauty struck him at that moment, and his tongue stumbled slightly. "Uh, to being single," he said, clinking her glass heartily. "I'll drink to that," she seconded, then tossed back the tequila, licked the salt from her hand and sucked on a lime wedge. He followed her lead, squinting when the sour juice drenched his tongue. "I really didn't want to get married anyway," he mumbled. " she asked, then poured them each a glass of margarita from the pitcher.
I left my new clothes out here," she said, pointing to a bag on the floor. She brushed by him, her clean, soapy scent rising to fill his nostrils. He watched with blatant admiration as she walked over to retrieve the articles. Her long, slender legs were glowing with bath oil and speckled with water. His heart skipped a beat'when the towel sagged low enough in the back to expose her narrow waist and the top of her— "Astringent," she mumbled, rummaging in the bag. " he croaked. "Remind me to buy astringent tomorrow when we go shopping," she said, bending over, the towel inching up to reveal the backs of her thighs.
Fascism and Social Revolution by R. Palme Dutt