Not knowing what was afoot in the next room, Mr. Oates told her to stand and take off her blouse. He himself removed the bra straps from her shoulders, carefully so that nothing more fell. It did sometimes make women nervous, this laying their skin bare to him, for they knew he was no official doctor. At the same time they seemed to understand that exposure, that some kind of intimacy, was part of this. To him the clothing didn't matter. It didn't get in the way of his work unless it was distracting, like a fluffy sweater, or that scratchy metallic material, like woven Christmas tinsel - lamé? He'd had them all under his hands. Just like he'd had a few women reveal slinky underthings, black or shameless crimson, and these women had an attitude to match, as if seducing him would get them more from him, or win some of the Gift for themselves to take home. Well, he would say unto those women, Get thee gone.

From Mount Appetite by Bill Gaston ©2002. Published by Raincoast Books.