Fingers men slid up the old man's hand, reached the shoulder. He withdrew his hand and looked into the eyes of the mother. No reaction. The rhythm of the machine has not changed. She persists. It allows you to fondle himself and did not even stop to it its ice, full of silent reproach eye. Then he held out his hand to the buttocks; They were steadfast under the soft flesh of his pads. He raised his hand and looked at her, almost the same as a child, elegant, pale pink, with shallow lines, furrowed palm. Pinky had just amputated; seams pull the skin, does not want to zarubtsovyvatsya. He slipped his hand under the blanket. Buttocks without veils seemed to him even harder, and he promoted his hand a little higher, to the supple flesh at the entrance of the womb, in the fertile valley, which gave him life. Again, I look at the white mother's eyes. Blind as a dog ... Homer professor eyelids closed.
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