Married Sex by Jesse Kornbluth Read Free Book Online

there was a lonely, vulnerable person, but a short-term lover would never have to meet her. The boundaries of the relationship were the four corners of a bed. Once a week. For six weeks. Then gone, and good-bye. As I say, a dream.
    This isn’t an explanation, and, looking back, I can’t re-create one. The best I can do: Something was wrong with me. I couldn’t name it. I didn’t want to think about it. But instead of doing nothing, instead of letting my distress pass, I took a step forward.
    She answered on the first ring, as if she knew I’d call, and soon.
    â€œSecond thoughts, counselor?”
    I was a high school debater, a sometime actor in college, and a star of moot court in law school. But when I opened my mouth, I might as well have been fourteen.
    â€œAs a matter of fact …” I said, then went silent.
    â€œWould this be easier in person?” she asked.
    â€œMaybe.”
    Without irony: “Our place?”
    I looked at my calendar.
    â€œGive me an hour.”
    The afternoon shadows darkened the green of the park and brightened the sparkle of the boat pond. The walks were pebbled with horse chestnuts. Thanksgiving seemed like next week. I felt an irrational urgency.
    Jean was just back from some beach. Her hair was lighter and her tan deeper; her perfume was sunscreen. Today she was beautiful in the way of an athlete. Her health and vitality were like a force field.
    â€œI hated how it ended last time,” she said. “Whatever happens between us, I’m glad we’re seeing each other.”
    Generous. And why not? Last week she was the one with her hand out. Today I was—well, I was the suitor, wasn’t I? I mean, I was the one who called.
    â€œThis is beyond awkward,” I said.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI know how this is done. I’ve read books, my clients tell me stories. And … obviously … but …”
    â€œLet’s walk,” she said. She reached for my arm, hesitated. “Is this okay?”
    â€œYes.”
    On any other day, I would have said no. It isn’t. Because anyone encountering us with Jean’s hand resting on my arm as we walked deeper into the park would have thought: What a nice couple.
    And if anyone who encountered us happened to know me, the next thought would have been: That’s no couple; that’s David and his lover.
    But I didn’t care.
    â€œI’m pleased about this,” Jean said.
    â€œYou’ve done this before,” I said. “So enlighten me. Is it really this … clinical? Is it just about sex?”
    Jean laughed. “You’re complaining?”
    Rueful me. “I know it sounds like I just got off the bus from the farm. But—”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Jean said. “We’ll find some affection.”
    â€œLet’s seal this,” I said. “Kiss me.”
    Jean turned to me. “All yours,” she said.
    â€œFor six weeks.”
    â€œShhh,” she said, and pressed her lips to mine.
    The only woman I’d kissed on the mouth since Bill Clinton was president was my wife, so I stood apart from Jean, not moving closer, connected to her only by the kiss. It felt weird, kissing and yet not holding each other, but she allowed it. Then she rested a hand on my cheek, and I was lost.
    I pulled her close and kissed harder. Her heart was beating almost frighteningly fast. She slipped a hand inside my suit jacket, clutching the back of my shirt, and thrust a leg between mine, as if daring me to rub myself to orgasm against her.
    Strangeness. The feeling that I wasn’t quite in my body, that I was an onlooker, and it was all interesting but also random, as if I might choose to change a channel and watch something else. Not that there was anything more compelling.
    And then a sudden dizziness, a burst of brain scatter and spinning, leaves and clouds and sky rushing at me. I pulled back, reached out for something solid, found