Married Sex by Jesse Kornbluth Read Free Book Online Page A

nothing, and grabbed Jean by both shoulders.
    I heard a distant voice: “David?”
    Head down. Slow, deep breaths. Like a diver, coming slowly to the surface, I felt bubbles in my head, rising and bursting, leaving a blessed silence behind. Clarity slowly regained.
    Jean, visibly concerned: “Okay?”
    â€œLet’s sit.”
    The bench was painted dark green, with a brass plaque, shiny, of recent vintage. Jean’s white shirt gleamed. The day was saturated with color. Beauty everywhere.
    â€œSorry if I scared you.”
    â€œThis has happened before?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI’ve never thought to ask someone to take a physical before we went to bed.”
    â€œWell, that was a lightning bolt of a kiss,” I said.
    â€œIn both directions.” A girlish smile. “Again?”
    I rested my hands on Jean’s arms. She thought we were about to kiss and closed her eyes. But I was looking at her as if seeing her for the first time. I registered her intelligence, her independence, her self-awareness, her appetite for experience, and, far from least, her beauty.
    Nothing I saw told me to turn back.
    Then I flashed on Blair. At home. A domestic scene, a nothing moment: taking coffee cups out of the dishwasher and putting them away. In her head was something like peace.
    It’s been so long since I’ve done this, it’s entirely possible I’d suck at it. Shower before leaving Jean’s loft, arrive home with wet hair. Turn curt and moody. Announce the affair without announcing it. Wreck everything.
    Jean, unkissed and confused, opened her eyes.
    â€œI could tell you a story—but I’ll cut to the end.”
    I paused. I’d never said these words before. I couldn’t quite believe I was about to say them now. “I can’t have an affair with you. I can take you home.”
    â€œHome … to your wife?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œA threesome?”
    I made an attempt at humor. “Call it a ménage à trois.”
    Wicked smile. “Once a week, for six weeks?”
    â€œOnce. Just once.”
    â€œIsn’t a threesome just a twosome with one person watching?”
    â€œFor some people.”
    â€œBut not you,” she said.
    â€œI wouldn’t know.”
    Jean was amused. “You’ve read a book, seen a movie …”
    â€œI’ve had clients try it,” I said.
    â€œTo ‘save the marriage,’ yes?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd they’re all divorced now, aren’t they?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBut you’re suggesting it anyway.”
    â€œNot because it’s my preference.”
    â€œWhy not? Isn’t the threesome every man’s favorite fantasy?”
    â€œSo they say.”
    â€œIncredibly appealing, isn’t it? Big tits. Shaved pussies. And after, an ice cream sundae with whipped cream and a cherry.”
    â€œIt wouldn’t be like that,” I said. “We’re not like that.”
    â€œWhat are ‘we’ like?”
    â€œWe’re …” I wanted just the right word, but one was way too few. “We’re … okay.”
    â€œHow hot is ‘okay’?”
    â€œNot for me to say.”
    A curator’s look of appraisal. The briefest thought.
    â€œOkay,” she said. “Take me home.”

Chapter 10
    I could have talked to Blair about Jean Coin at home, but I was on a high. Jean was good news. I wanted to share it in a place where the exalted go to celebrate.
    I know who I am in the great chain of being: a servant of Manhattan’s ruling class. Not a bold-faced name. Not a divorce lawyer on the speed dial of talk-show bookers. Definitely not someone who can get a table at one of the city’s shrines to celebrity chefs.
    If I called to make a reservation at a three- or four-star restaurant, I’d almost surely be told that we could be squeezed in a month from now at five thirty.
    But in