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Show 212 remember her standing up naked from the bed, visualizing then not so much Fran with thirty extra pounds of sub-cutaneous fat, but Fran the nubile nymph rising from a tumbled bed as from a foam-flecked sea, rising gracefully and yearningly, the swing of her heavy wine-tipped breasts, the flash of her plump white thighs, the thrill of her black mount of Venus. My blood rose up like health and I forgot friendship. But then she came back, a big girl with lots of curves, but curves which melted too easily and too much together, a girl who gobbled her food and laughed too loud and insulted me just because I had rosy cheeks. "You should find an apartment," Ben told her. "I don't want an apartment," she said sulkily. "Living here with you guys is a matter of principle. Epater le bourgeois." "You could move in with Chess." "You really do want to get rid of me, don't you?" "His room's not so bad." "J_ know the room, Ben." "Somebody told me an apartment is opening up on Kimbark." She could afford it; her parents lived richly in Evanston. "I'd disappoint all my fans," she said. "Maybe Cappy would tide you over again." "Huh-uh, that was too creepy, a week in bed with a guy who never touched me." "You should have regarded him as a challenge. And what's wrong with Chess?" "Too big a challenge. Come on, Ben, I never think of Chess that way." She looked me over and I blushed. "See, look at him." "Don't back away from a challenge. My god, Fran, it's the least you could |