Hot Properties by Rafael Yglesias Page B

room where he stored his marriage. Everything she said sounded so right: she had given a name to what had made him uneasy about the party: both his motive for having it, and everyone else’s for coming, disgusted him.
    “Honey,” he said, deeply moved. He went to her, knelt by her chair, and put his arm around her. She’s so smart about people, he thought. “You’re right. But you’re wrong about why I wanted to make love. It’s ’cause I felt so lonely and crummy about the way things went. Everybody was ugly and trying to get at each other. I can’t believe people are so competitive.”
    She put her head on his shoulder and wept heartily. There was no one else with whom she could be this unhappy. And Marion believed that was the best one could hope for. Unless, of course, you had a face and body and temperament like Patty’s.
    “I wanted to make love because what we have is so different,” Fred said. “We don’t need that kind of shit. I just wanted to hold onto something real.” She cuddled into his arms now, beginning to slide off the chair. Her weight felt cumbersome and he pulled her up, leading her toward the bedroom. “You should go to sleep,” he said so earnestly that one would imagine she had been keeping herself up.
    He put her to bed tenderly, remaking the bed and tucking her in so that she was cozy. She kissed him—her wet face lubricating their lips—and urged him onto the bed. “Aren’t you going to sleep?”
    “No. You know me.”
    “Don’t stay up too late.” She kissed him again, gratefully, like a wife greeting a husband feared lost.
    “Un-huh,” he said, pulling away. He took her hand and put it on his erection. “You keep getting me excited.”
    “I’m sorry. I’m too tired. Tomorrow night?” She removed her hand.
    “Sure. I’m sorry about tonight. I won’t do this again.”
    “No,” Marion said, hugging him. “It’s not your fault. We have to do this stuff.”
    Fred sighed and rolled off her. “It drives me crazy. Paying dues.”
    Marion laughed. She nodded at his penis, arced to the heavens.
    Fred smiled proudly. “You turn me on. I can’t help it.”
    “I’m sorry,” she said, her lower lip beginning to tremble.
    “Hey, hey,” and they hugged again. After a while, he turned out the light. From her breathing, he knew she was falling asleep. He felt good. They had really broken through tonight. She had been resenting sex with him because she felt it was part of the jobs of her life. That was fascinating, he thought. He knew there was a novel in it: that kind of misunderstanding was what kept couples apart. People were too embarrassed to admit it; that’s why so few novelists wanted to take the subject on. What had happened between them was really touching, he thought. His erection had begun to shrink several times, and somewhat thoughtlessly he had stroked himself until he was flying at full mast again.
    He couldn’t figure out how to plot a novel so that this lesson of marriage could be illustrated, and eventually he let his mind drift to the party. Abruptly, almost as if the image and sensation came from a different brain than his own, he vividly relived his profound excursion into Patty’s fluted mouth. A warm tickling in his penis, familiar and pleasant, began. He rubbed himself very quietly, thinking of how he could have reached down into her pink cotton top and picked one of those white melons, squeezing gently, lingeringly, rubbing her hard nipples …
    He stroked without worrying … he took all of Patty in front of his bathroom door. Pulled her clothes off roughly, pushed his penis down her funneled mouth, drove into her pink vagina, without sentiment …
    Marion moved!
    His heart, already pounding from sexual excitement, seemed to close his throat, thumping with fear and shame.
    Marion put her head on his shoulder, mumbled something, and her hand took his hard teased penis. Her cool fingers pulled gently at the head. She had known what he was