Issue #20 (2011) PDF - myweb - Long Island University

He laughs. ―I don‘t know. Neither of us do, it seems. It‘s virgin territory.‖ He squints over
at me. I squint back. ―Imagine…virgins….at our age…‖
We have talked about sex in our nightly chats but not about doing it together. He‘s been
married twice. I told him I had been married, too. It‘s best to lie. People who have never married
are viewed suspiciously, like time bombs. He‘s told me some of the positions he‘s tried, that he likes
having sex in forbidden places. I imagine that‘s long in his past. Jim has had many lovers or so he‘s
said. I asked him to count once and he said it must have been over fifty and that was a conservative
number. I liked that he did not ask me. They were not worth mentioning.
―Did you bring a bathing suit‖ he asks sipping his beer. I think about the black one piece
rolled up in my carry on. I tried it on just yesterday and liked it even less than when I bought it.
They haven‘t made a suit yet that hides the imperfections as well as a computer screen, that lies as
well as my fingers typing on keys. ―They have hot tubs,‖ he says pointing to the one at the far end
of the deck.
―Aren‘t they breeding grounds for bacteria‖ I ask regretting it as soon as the words are out.
I sound like an old lady.
―You germophobic‖ Jim asks.
I shake my head. ―I work with people who are.‖
―Know what I like doing in hot tubs‖ he asks. ―Take my suit off. Let the bubbles
explore…it‘s what I imagine dentures must feel like when they‘re being cleaned. Ever try it‖
I watch the couple already easing into the hot tub. ―That‘s easier for a man,‖ I say.
―We‘ll go at night. When everyone is sleeping. You‘ll see.‖
I let the suggestion drop, pretend I haven‘t heard it. He puts down his empty glass and
adjusts the back of his chair so that he lies flat. I adjust mine slightly and close my eyes. Together,
we drift off.
Dressing for dinner is complicated in a small room. A man‘s sense of modesty differs from
a woman‘s. Jim thinks nothing of pulling off his pants, walking around in his underwear as he looks
for the right shirt. His briefs look uncomfortable. They ride up in the back, expose a hairy cheek. I
grab an outfit from the closet and duck into the bathroom, where I reach into my pants to free my
own underwear from where it‘s caught in my crack.
―Is my deodorant in there‖ he calls out.
I am ready to open the door and hand it to him when he comes in, shirtless. Luckily, I‘m still
dressed. Standing behind me because there‘s no room in front of the mirror, he raises an arm and
coats the hairs with a roll on. He doesn‘t leave when he‘s finished. Just stays watching me. I try to
draw a straight line with my eyeliner but my hand shakes. I watch him watching me. Does he see
what I see The curly hair that has no choice but to be kept shorter than I‘d like, the hands that can
only belong to a man, the hormone produced breasts and the phantom beard lurking beneath the
surface of my jaw that only I can see Can he tell that once I, too, was a man
―I love watching women put on their makeup,‖ he says when my gaze meets his in the
mirror.
‗It‘s meant to be private,‖ I say, keeping it light. ―You‘re supposed to think we always look
like this.‖
―Don‘t let me stop you,‖ he says.
―There‘s not enough room in here for two,‖ I say, trying for coy. Jim drops the lid to the
toilet and has a seat, his face dangerously close to my artificial ass. He stares at it in a way that says
he‘s hoping to get more than I offered when I invited him on this trip. ―Really,‖ I say, ―you‘re
making me nervous.‖
―Didn‘t your husband ever watch you‖ he asks.
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