By Alfred Hitchcock
Alfred Hitchcock provides Twelve tales They Wouldn't allow Me Do on television
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Extra info for Alfred Hitchcock Presents Twelve Stories They Wouldn't Let Me Do on TV
More often, I spent five or ten minutes. A couple of times, I’d been so spooked that it had taken me more than an hour to work up my courage to leave. But I’d always gone, sooner or later. So I wouldn’t call myself a hopeless coward. I’m a hopeful one. Finally, you decide it’s time. You hope nobody’s out there waiting to jump you, because you can’t be sure. Then you take a deep breath, flip open the lock, roll open the door, and go for it. That night, the time finally came. I was trembling quite a lot by then.
His navel was just a small, dark dot. Down from there was more skin, then a nest of hair and his penis. He stood there for a while as if he wanted me to take a good, long look at him—even though I know he couldn’t see me standing on the other side of the glass door. Then he looked around, turning his head and body. When he turned, I got a side view. It made me feel a little sick. And very frightened. He wants to shove that into me. No, he doesn’t, I told myself. He doesn’t even know I’m here. He’d better not.
I felt crawly all up and down my body. Nobody showed up in the doorway, though. Finally, I got finished. I was reluctant to flush, but did it anyway. In the silence, the noise of the flush was like a sudden roar. So loud that anything might’ve happened somewhere else in the house: phones might’ve rung; somebody could have shouted out my name; the stranger might’ve smashed the glass of a window or door. At last, the noise subsided. I put the robe on, belted it shut, then crouched and picked up my purse and the saber.