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Outcry She rides the last few minutes hard, pressing her heels in the stirrups, keeping what she can concealed, a stone mid-fist. But now she's grown too big, the room too lit with wet. A man has got a hand in her again, he wants to pick her pocket, leave her flat. The room begins to heave, the white elastic walls of senses wow, the words well up, the skin must give and give until the sheetrock splits, the syllable comes leaking from her lips: her body breaks in two. Spectators grin. The sex is speakable. The secret's out. 105 ...

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