Monday, 11 August 2008

Oxtongue Square

The collection of genital piercings was more comprehensive than imagined. Two hundred live models hung around three floors of blank-walled space. Jennifer, the farm-hand’s daughter, stood astonished in the Prince Albert room. Fifty-two men stood while a character in a magnetised suit brushed past them.

Jennifer thought about how her mother would milk their cow. She had always thought it the most natural yet intrusive procedure. She remembered how her mother had said that men were just like cows and had to be milked regularly.

The man in the suit stood next to her. ‘How do you like it?’ he asked, without a smile. Jennifer sniffed her fingers nervously.
‘It’s ok,’ she said.