He came. He stopped fighting her. He squeezed her body and shuddered. His face was turned against her; her ear was in his mouth, and her head was pinned to the corner of the shower stall. She was momentarily thrilled at her success, at having made him come with such violence.
When he stopped gasping for breath and kissed her gently on her neck, they slid down together into the deep water and forced another tide of it onto the bathroom floor. Tom reached to shut off the shower, and Jennifer was briefly stunned by the silence. She shook her head to clear the water from her ears, then she lay resting against Tom’s wet chest.
“Well,” he said, laughing, “that’s one for the record books.”
“Are you still bleeding?”
“I don’t think so.” He strained his head to look at his shoulders. “I hope I don’t have to explain this to some doctor.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and sat up. “I don’t know why I tried to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me, darling.” Tom pulled her again into his arms. “That was fun. You surprised me, that’s all. Where are you learning all these new tricks?”
“I don’t know any new tricks! What do you mean?” She turned to him. She was wedged between his raised legs in the tub, which now seemed too small for both of them.
“Honey, you came on to me like some goddamn animal.”
“Don’t say that!”
“Well, it’s true!”
“Don’t say that! Don’t ever say that!” She pulled herself out of the tub, wrapped her terry-cloth robe around her, and went at once to the sink, where she wiped the palm of her hand across the foggy mirror. Seeing herself reflected there made her feel immediately better. She had begun to have a terrifying premonition that she’d look into a mirror one morning and see some sort of she-ape grinning back.
Behind her, Tom splashed out of the water and grabbed a towel to dry off his hair.
“I’m sorry I upset you,” he said, his voice muffled by the thick blue bath towel. “What’s the matter?”
She watched his face in the bathroom mirror.
“You make me feel like I’m weird, the way I make love.”
“I love the way you make love.” He kissed her earlobes.
“I don’t do tricks.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. What’s the matter? Why are you so edgy?” His face darkened, as it always did when he was upset.
“Oh, great. You insult me, then call me ‘edgy’ because I don’t just sit back and take it.”
“You’ve been edgy for weeks, since Washington, really.” He stepped up behind her and began to dry her wet hair. “I think that thirteen-mile run drove too much blood into your brain.”
“Damnit, Tom, stop making comments like that.” Jennifer took the towel from him, threw it on the floor and walked out of the bathroom, making large wet footprints on the hall rag.
He caught up with her in the kitchen. She had taken out a carton of milk and a packet of gingersnaps and was dipping each cookie into the milk before she took a bite.
“What do you want me to do, Jennifer?” he asked, standing in the doorway and tucking the large blue bath towel around his waist. “Tell me, what in the world do you want?”
“I want you to take my kitchen knife and plunge it into your heart,” she answered back, biting a gingersnap cookie in half.
“Jenny, please.” He stepped into the narrow kitchen.
“Don’t touch me!”
“I’m not going to touch you. I just want a gingersnap before you devour them all.” He grabbed one and stepped away, then chanted plaintively, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” Jennifer reached up into the overhead cabinet and took down another large tumbler. “Would you like a glass of milk?”
“Yes, please.” He grinned and stepped closer.
“Don’t touch me,” she ordered again.
“I’m not!” His hands shot into the air. “I’m just trying to get along here, you know. Get through the next few minutes, that’s all.”
“It’s not something to joke about. I don’t want to be jollied out of my mood. Okay?” She turned around and looked at him. “I want you to take me seriously, that’s all.”
“I do.”
“This morning over coffee you told me I needed to see a shrink—but wasn’t I right about David?”
Tom nodded, munching on the cookie.
“Look, I don’t understand what’s going on with me any more than you, but I need your help. I need you to support me. Is that too much to ask?” She looked up at him, tears beginning to form in her eyes.
“Of course not, darling. Of course not,” he whispered, and wrapped his arms around her.
Jennifer let herself be held by Tom, taking comfort in being held and cuddled. For the moment neither one of them spoke. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, then used his hairy chest to wipe away her tears.
“Stop it! No!” Tom laughed, edging away. “That tickles.”
“Good!” She nibbled his right nipple, then licked his breast.
“See!” he said at once, “you’re doing it again. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s wonderful, but you’re much more—”
“Careful, Tom,” she said, stepping away and opening the refrigerator door to put away the milk.
“I’m just telling you how much I like it, that’s all.” He tried to recapture her in his arms, but she moved his hands away and walked back to the bedroom, where she stripped out of the bathrobe and stood naked for a moment in the shadowy light of the room.
Tom came to the bedroom door and watched her while he finished his glass of milk. Jennifer crossed to her bed and pulled back the quilt.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he said from the doorway.
“Thank you.” She knew she was. She felt beautiful. Having sex always made her feel beautiful, and she was aware, too, that the shadowy light on her body aroused Tom. She turned toward him, and beckoned him toward her. He was right; she was behaving out of character. She felt as if she were watching herself on film.
“Jenny?” Tom whispered, approaching her. He sounded slightly nervous.
She smiled, inviting him closer with the coy downward slant of her lips, enjoying her control over the pace of their lovemaking.
“It’s all right,” she whispered, and she reached for him, slipped her arms around his shoulders and brought his face close to her breasts. “Here,” she told him, “they want you,” and then she slowly, softly tumbled him over onto the bed and made love to Tom again.
O boy with the slim limbs,
I seek you but you do not listen, For you see not me,
Nor know you are the charioteer of my soul.
Anakreon set down his split-reed pen and his papyrus, then leaned back against the cool wall of the palestra. The boys had come into the center of the gymnasium and were stripping off their clothes and lathering their young bodies with olive oil, and his eromenos was among them. His heart tugged at his throat, spotting the lean youth. He could not take his eyes off Phidias, who now, among the other boys, was laughing at some remark, enjoying himself. Anakreon smiled with pleasure, simply enjoying the sight of him. He had waited there in the shade of the colonnade for just the chance of seeing him.
“Ah, there you are, Anakreon,” a voice said from down the hallway.
Anakreon reached out and rolled up his piece of papyrus, hiding his poem from his friend Xenophanes, another of Athens’ aristocrats.
“Writing to the Gods, huh, Anakreon?” the man asked, folding his cloak beneath him and sitting down next to Anakreon on the bench. He was a large, fleshy man who was already sweating beneath his white cloak in the hot Athenian morning. “And which of these lads has your fancy this season, my friend?” He watched the pupils as he spoke, squinting his eyes against the bright sun.