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A man wearing nothing more than a helmet with a rifle strapped across his back and carrying a birdcage seeks refuge from the madness of war at the metal gate of an insane asylum whose inhabitants he knew. (Whether they were really insane or not was in question.) It turns out that what he knew to be a kindly insane asylum is now a convent. And he’s standing there, naked, holding a birdcage. And the nuns come out to see him in all his glory. It’s been a long time since I watched the film, but that image has stayed stuck in my mind. Well, that was I, standing in the hallway of my apartment building that Saturday evening. Although I was wearing a robe, it was unbelted. For all practical purposes I could have been the confused Private Charles Plumpick character standing at the gate of a convent, naked, with a birdcage in my hand. Only in my case the camera did not zoom out and credits did not start to roll. No, I was alone, still sort of drunk, still a little buzzed from the as-always. The tiny heart in her chest was still pounding fast and the smell of his cum lingered. The silent man picked up a few pillows that had been stacked in a corner of the room. He dropped them behind her and finally kneeled in front of her once more. The candle light made his body shine like fire, tracing every muscle of his broad chest. He wasn't as slim as she remembered him, the wiry gaunt Samurai had turned into a bear, she observed. She just had finished the thought as he kissed her again. It was just a distraction as his hands worked to open her robes. The silken cloth slid from her body revealing a maiden's body with alabaster skin and small tits with perky pink nipples, smaller than a 500 Yen coin. When the last layer of cloth was taken off and piled up next to her, all she could do was avert her embarassed glance and close her legs tight. She knew it was futile but these mannarism were taught early and given up hardly. Stemming his weight on his left arm, he bent forward, his.
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