I think you could string him along for a super-long time. But I mean, you’re so much hotter and younger than anyone he’s ever dated. Perhaps he wouldn’t be opposed to starting a preventative regimen of retinol? Surely I could gently convince him of its benefits. His expression caused a series of micro-wrinkles to form at the corners of his eyes. “Teaching all day takes everything I’ve got,” I complained “it exhausts me wholly.” But Ford’s appetite was for real flesh and he’d insist that at the very least I let him look at me naked while he pleasured himself this led to offensive scenes of Ford’s face in the dim-lit shadows, his jaw Evenings when Ford returned home from work and came into the bedroom wanting an inspired quickie inevitably led to hurt feelings-I encouraged him to look at pictures online, to buy videos.
I now saw Buck enough that he drained the reserves of patient energy I had used to spend tolerating Ford.
It was an optimal situation, save for the additional ripples it made at home. I began to dress for efficiency-skirts that could be lifted, shirts that could be slipped overhead, never any panties. Sometimes we knew we had only minutes alone and there was a harried and apocalyptic violence in the way we went for each other-our joined bodies slamming into the wall, quaking with a fortune of pleasure that we had just seconds to spend. “I don’tīut the moments before he came home made this suffering worth it-times when Jack would urgently call and I’d open the door to find him sitting on the couch waiting for me, naked and erect, wearing the baseball cap I liked (its Little League vibe made him look just a shade younger).
He shook his head, in a cursory way at first, but then an anger mounted behind his eyes that soon forced him from his chair he began to pace around the living room, fists closed, chest forward. It was true-as soon as we became parents, we’d gain additional monthly income from his father’s trust. “You know there are benefits,” he reminded me. There was an impulse of self-protection surrounding the decision as well I knew if I ever had a son, at a certain age it would be impossible to ignore him, and I never wanted to force that transgression upon myself. “You didn’t marry me for my stretch marks.” I had no interest in children even if Ford raised the thing completely by himself and we trained it not to talk to me or interact with me whatsoever, I would surely end up moving out of our home within days of its arrival.
“If we ever have a child, it’ll be through adoption,” I stressed, trying to play to both his vanity and my own. He’d recently tried to get the baby conversation going again-he wanted us to go to a fertility doctor, get the ball rolling. Sensing that I was drifting even further away from him, Ford’s mind went into overdrive. Fixed as tightly and aggressively as an assassin about to pull a trigger while his body hunched over me panting and dripping sweat.
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