heightened senses and the sound of their breath in the room , background noise coming from the woods in the form of the rush of leaves pushed by wind , the calls of birds she could not name , and it all turned into a tunnel-vision pinpoint of nothing as dylan entered her with aching slowness , patient gentleness , from behind , stretching her to the point of oblivion , a kind of disintegration of the self that came only after so , so much pleasure .