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The security at Webb School requires all cars to drive counter-clockwise; if you don’t, an ethnically-indiscriminate man will run after you with his walk-talky tangling from his hips like an uncomfortable erection. Josiah and you show up every Tuesday for classes hosted by a co-op on meetup.com. When you login in, you’ll find them next to the Valley Swingers Club and Cyber Moms, neither of which you’ve joined, though you’ve thought about it.

Peter shows up with his two albino children. By albino you just mean Standard White, but in matters of sex people tend to exaggerate. But don’t worry, there will be no sex with children in this story, because whores are always made, whereas pedophiles are typically born, and thereby less interesting.

The following Tuesday Peter is hosting a playdate. When you show up, Melanie’s son—Wolf—is sucking on his thumb while making centripetal circles on the carpet, dispersing Legos in concentric waves. A yellow one lands in the tunnel between Peter’s shorts and his legs. You offer to retrieve it, but no one hears you over the hum of Wolf’s fierce rug burn. You ask Mel how she does it, homeschooling her kids. She tells you it all depends on your teaching philosophy. You think about the hand job joke you told your undergraduates yesterday. You decide you must have a different teaching philosophy that may not work with children. For this reason your husband says you guys are “one and done.”

You married Luke for the sex; this much is certain. You were a virgin up until your brief courtship, so Luke always tells you that this otherwise enormous compliment to his dick lacks gravitas. You tell him he can always let you sleep with other men now to make up for your lack of experience and sample size. He smiles and says he would never stop you from what you want. For this reason you two still have the kind of sex that gives toe spasms and nerve damage. Still, even the best sex makes you wonder, what else is out there?

By Spring, Peter has started gunning for Josiah’s heart. At a pool party he shows Josiah how to swim, ignoring his own kids who are floating like centipedes in the shallow end. You sit with his wife and the other bikinied mothers, where everyone can tell each other’s worldviews based on the size of the Lycra triangles hugging their boobs.

By the Tuesday before Halloween, Josiah is referring to Peter as “Luke”; he refers to Luke also as “Luke,” and on occasion, “Dad.”  

“I want to meet this guy,” Luke says.

“Don’t embarrass me,” you say.

“I’ll be good,” he promises. You don’t believe him, but let him come with you to the Halloween party at Peter’s place anyway, because you too are an instigator.

When you and Josiah show up in matching Stormtrooper outfits, Luke asks if you can be any more of a whore. He is smiling though. You remind him this is the second Stormtrooper dress you bought and that the first one made this one look like a nun’s habit. He doesn’t believe you but only because he has never shopped for women’s Halloween costumes.

Peter and his wife are in matching homemade disguises, him, Bob the Builder and her, sexy toolbox? She is wearing short overalls and a large container hanging on her like a bib. Your husband will later refer to her as statuesque.

“Tell me something good,” Luke says to you when he is on top. You must devise  something that will make him leave you alone until you come, although you never take that long, and for this reason he calls you “champ.” Luke doesn’t like the scripted or the porno stuff, which leaves you with a limited repertoire. When he was the only man you had ever slept with, this made you mad because even the nastiest minds require inspiration. You drew your fiction from RedTube and the “missed connections” section of Craigslist. Now you can tell him what really happened. The only questions is: would he know the difference?

Your childhood dream of sex involved rolling around naked and kissing. In high school, your friend Karen informed you that dick and balls were two separate entities, which was news to you. In college you and your boyfriend held hands and listened to each other’s hearts beating before he broke up with you for not playing Halo with him. When you were twenty-three you finally googled g-spot on Thanksgiving eve, when all the other postgraduates had left for home and you were waiting for traffic to die down. It took you all of Thanksgiving break and a hand mirror for you to find yours.

After that, you started thinking you need to have real sex, pronto. Then Luke came along and you discovered that you were a fast learner.   

***

You and Peter make plans to go to the zoo with the kiddos on a Tuesday to ensure none of the other parents will join and cockblock your agenda. You arrive when the zoo opens, make the kids run laps around the lion’s den all morning, carbo-load them with two sandwiches apiece at lunch, and aim for a long, imperturbable nap on the drive home. When you pull into his garage, Peter tells you to leave the car windows open and come inside. You have your long game in sight. A good blow job is like candy that begs for a meal. You know this because Luke proposed to you after nine weeks and has stayed with you for seven years, even though you dragged him to Boston, where the weather rationed his golfing to three months each year, and even though you have a habit of brandishing kitchen knives during fights. Your mouth has bought you this leeway, and you intend to use it.

Only afterwards do you understand that it could have ended another way.


About the Author: When she isn’t writing, Christine Ma-Kellams teaches psychology. Her recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Zyzzyva, the Kenyon Review, and Gargoyle, among others.