Michael Malone - Weebly

somehow managed to raise two perfectly,
multiplicatively orgasmic daughters, to know that in fact
at this very minute Emerald was lying with Arthur
Abernathy on his sofa, where they had been having sex
for four years. Lying with Arthur's hand in her lace
panties and her hand around a handkerchief around his
phallus. Shuddering from time to time, shaking off her
climaxes like crinolines. But Mrs. Ransom had never
asked about Emerald's sex life, or anyone else's. As for
her own, there was little to say. Perhaps once a month
now, Ernest pressed up against her after he turned out
the light. He thrust his tongue in her mouth, then he
massaged her breasts briefly, then he climbed on top of
her and pulled down his pajama bottoms while she
pulled down hers. Then he rubbed his penis against her
crotch until it was fully erect. Then he or she or both of
them positioned it to slide inside her. Sometimes it felt
reasonably pleasant, other times decidedly less so.
Certainly she did not writhe and moan, and frankly she
found it farcical when actresses did so in films. No
doubt, Ernest was not a very good lover. But did she
want a good lover? And what would one be? In the