The Edge of Sleep by David Wiltse Page B

belt her one. So aggressive, so demanding.
    “I’m done,” he said. He gave her a big smile and a wink. “For now. There’s always next time.”
    “You may be done,” she said, rising to her knees on the bed.
    She really was a good-looking woman, Edgar thought, even though he found her nudity mildly embarrassing without the lust to justify it. Most women would not look all that good to him after sex, not in the harsh light of the motel room. Their breasts would sag or their tummies shake or their thighs would bulge. They had moles and veins and stretch marks, none of which fit the perfection of the women in magazines, which had formed his notion of feminine beauty. Most women felt better to Edgar than they looked. But this woman really did look good. Her stomach went in, her breasts seemed almost boastfully upright. What a shame that she was turning into a bitch.
    “You seemed pretty done to me,” he said, hoping she would join his chuckle. He didn’t want a scene.
    “You may be done, but you’re not finished,” she said.
    Edgar picked up his shirt from the floor. She scrambled off the bed and stood between him and the door.
    “Are you kidding? I just gave you enough for six women. You ought to be grateful for what you got.”
    “I’ll be the judge of what I got, and it was precious little,” she said. She yanked the shirt out of his hand.
    “I’ve never had any complaints before,” said Edgar.
    “You got some now,” she said. “Get back on the bed.” She pushed him on the chest. The edge of the bed caught him on the back of the knees and he tumbled backward.
    She was atop him, her hand between his legs, pulling impatiently at him.
    “Get it up,” she said.
    “Christ, what’s the matter with you?” he demanded, trying to twist away but being constrained by her forearm on his chest and the hand in his crotch.
    “Get it up,” she repeated. “Play with it.”
    “You play with it. That’s not my job.”
    “You’ve done it often enough,” she said. “Play with it, get it up.”
    He squirmed underneath her, afraid to make a maximum effort to get her off for fear that she was stronger than he was.
    “Cut it out. That’s enough for one night. I’ll come back tomorrow and we’ll get it on again.”
    “Do it now!” she exclaimed. She took his hand and clapped it between his legs. “Do as you’re told.”
    She lost her leverage when she moved and Edgar managed to roll to the side, pushing her off.
    “Christ!” He started to rise and was halfway up when she grabbed him from behind, pulling him back. He jerked forward and her nails ripped down his back.
    “You stupid bitch!”
    He turned and slapped her hard across the face. Blood was already coming from her nose by the time she sat up again. The look on her face was so savage that he recoiled in anticipation of an assault, but she stood without a word and walked into the bathroom.
    Edgar hurried to get dressed.
    “You made me do that,” he called over his shoulder toward the bathroom. He hopped on one foot, trying to draw his trousers on while holding his underwear. He could put on the underwear later.
    “I’m not the kind of guy who hits women,” he said. “But Jesus, you’ve got to calm down. Enough is enough, you know?”
    He heard her moving about in the bathroom. Her movements sounded as hurried as his own. The door of the medicine cabinet opened and closed.
    “I’m willing to just forget this,” he said, looking for his shoe.
    She came out of the bathroom with the blood from her nose running past her chin and dripping onto her chest. She seemed completely unaware of it as she once more stood between him and the door.
    “You thinking of going?” she asked.
    He saw his shoe against the wall just behind her. Something told him not to bend over to get it and expose his back to her again. But what was he afraid of? A stark-naked woman standing defenselessly between him and the door. She was armed with a slightly demented look