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“Lola Down is an American nympho blurring the line between porn and art.”
That was the tagline for the portfolio I had sent to the literary agent.
“Is there a line between porn and art?” she wrote back to me.
Good question. I presented it to Lola.
“Do you want to see the line that divides the two?” she asked me.
“There’s an actual line?” I asked back.
“Of course there is.”
“Well, yeah. It would be helpful to know where that line is.”
She pulled down her pants and spread her legs.
“Right here,” she said, placing her right index finger over her slit. “This is the line. Cross this line,” she said as she slid her finger into her pussy, “and you have passed the threshold from art to porn.”
“That’s a touchy definition,” I said.
“It’s a touchy-feely sort of thing.”
“Very squishy.”
“But unassailable.”
“Only for me.”
“What?”
“Your butt; it’s only unassailable for me. Others assail it frequently.”