Her voice was a mixture of lethargy, desire and simple curiosity. Arthur turned to see Jennifer standing in the doorway of his small study with her head cocked slightly to the side. The light from the hallway slid effortlessly through the sheer fabric of her off-white slip, silhouetting her curved form to such an extent that she was essentially naked. There was a time when seeing her like that would turn his mind into a blank slate, save for how quickly he could get inside her---usually with the slip still on---and had since become surefire way her instigating sex, but they’d since been together so long he couldn’t tell if she were wearing it for that purpose or simply because it was comfortable.

"Are you coming to bed?"

"No," Arthur finally replied. "I’ve still got a lot I want to do here." He motioned his head toward the computer screen.

"It can’t wait until tomorrow?"

Now Arthur knew she wanted him to come to bed with her, but still not necessarily for sex. After all these years, he surmised that she also had trouble sleeping in their bed alone. Despite a lifetime of being able to sleep almost effortlessly almost anywhere, it was an odd shock to him the first time he had to sleep alone in their bed. For hours, he’d tossed and turned restlessly, eventually going down to sleep on the couch in his study. He was half-heartedly planning to do the same tonight. For almost a week, he’d avoided touching her as much as possible, fearing she might sense his newfound revulsion. Even now, he couldn’t see how she failed to detect the tremble in his voice as he lied about working on the computer.

"Nah," he continued to lie. "The muse is here now and I have to do what she says."

"Okay," Jennifer said with a slight smile of understanding before heading off to their bedroom. He waited until he was sure she was in bed before he stopped pretending to work. He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes and throbbing temples, as if that would stop the week-old sound of her voice through the ventilation, "You always give up something."

He was tired and he was lying. This much Jennifer knew. Never a good liar to begin with, Arthur was even worse with someone who knew him well. He was still in the mood that had descended upon a week earlier and Jennifer knew she was somewhat at fault. After all, she was the one who’d insisted on making home repairs themselves, knowing such things were hardly his virtues. Jennifer thought it was something fun they could at least attempt together, but she’d neglected to take into Arthur’s refusal to admit defeat even when it was obvious to anyone else.

The cleaning and the painting had been easy, but when it came to the internal mechanics of the house, things bogged down. One of the virtues of the house had been the central heating and cooling. After a few years in an apartment where you could barely keep one room comfortable, having a uniform environment was like manna from heaven for them. That is, until she mentioned that the basement never seemed to as warm as the rest of the house. Jennifer was willing to accept it as being the simple result of below ground being cooler than above, but Arthur surmised that the previous owners had simply covered up a vent and set out to find it.

Arthur’s search was methodical. He began by counting all the vents in all the rooms then comparing them to the basement. Then he noted their placement and compared them to the placement of the vents in the basement, taking into account obvious structural differences. After the third sweep, it crossed the line into obsession. Jennifer had to talk him out of plans to run smoke through the vents as well as mounting a small camera to a remote controlled car and dropping marbles in into the ventilation. Arthur had a partner in crime in these outrageous schemes in his friend Merle. Merle was an engineer, so the more outlandish and vaguely scientific the scheme, the better. He was especially hot on sending in the remote controlled car.

By the previous week, they’d resulted to simply stripping the room bare. Jennifer had long since left them to it and had invited her friends over to help her finish wallpapering the kitchen. Arthur and Merle were still at it in the basement when they’d finished and decided to celebrate with margaritas. As always, it took very little for Morgan to turn the conversation to sex.

"So, Jenny," Morgan said with a look her eye that never did anyone any good, "have you and Arthur ‘anointed’ every room yet?"

"Jesus, Morgan," Merle’s wife, Neve, said with a laugh. "Feel free to pry."

"’Anointed?’ Do you mean have we ‘fucked’ in every room? Is that what you’re asking. Morgan?"

"Yes, Jenny," Morgan replied, while refilling all their glasses. "Share with those of us who don’t get it regular."

"No one’s fault but your own," Jennifer’s older sister, Isabelle, observed.

"I never said that it wasn’t," Morgan responded, with only the barest hint of irritation. "But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about the woman who has always had the best of the best."

"Not again, Morgan," Jennifer moaned. She knew where this was heading.

"Not ‘what’ again?" Neve asked.

"Lance, dear," Isabelle said. "We’re headed back to Lance. Morgan’s obsession. I think we should just track him down so you can fuck him and give us all a break."

"Pleeeeease!?!" Morgan said, falling to her knees, causing everyone to laugh. "Can I have a man with a pretty face and a big dick?"

"And more baggage than an airport at Christmas?" Jennifer reminded her. "Trust me. I took one for the team on that one."

"You took a lot more than that," Morgan replied, prompting more laughter. "I remember times you couldn’t even get out of bed. Everytime I came home there was a fifty-fifty chance the first thing I’d see was hairy man-ass going up and down."

Jennifer couldn’t help but smile at Morgan’s single-mindedness. She was about to reply when Arthur walked into the room and everyone went immediately into an very forced silence, characterized by broad grins and the occasionally escaping giggle.

Arthur prepared himself a glass of water with a bemused smile. "Ladies," he said as he left. Seconds after he exited the kitchen the four women erupted into laughter. He merely shook his head and sighed.

"You didn’t answer my question," Morgan said as soon as she heard Arthur’s footsteps fade.

Jennifer sighed. She knew she had to answer Morgan, as she was notoriously relentless in these things. "The living room, his study, both bathrooms, the foyer and the basement. Happy now?"

Morgan raised her hand for a high five and held it there until the reluctant Jennifer relented.

"That’s my girl," Morgan said, finally satisfied. "And to think, I thought you were trading down. Who knew Artie was such a sex machine?" Morgan gently elbowed Jennifer, who rolled her eyes.

"Please, " Isabelle said. "Where were you when his parents vanished during the reception?"

"That’s right!" Jennifer said laughing. "Arthur was so embarrassed."

"I know why," Isabelle snorted. "At their age. It’s a miracle. I don’t think I’ve see our parents kiss in 20 years. Thank god for small favors."

"Amen," Jennifer added. "Besides, at least I know my needs will be well taken care of in my golden years." The tequila was affecting her now and she raised her glass to Morgan, who happy toasted her.

Suddenly, Jennifer remembered the disrespect shown to her husband. "And what do you mean ‘trading down’ you bitch?"

"No, no, no," Morgan said. "That’s not what I mean. Arthur is a great guy. You know I love him dearly…"

"But..." Isabelle interjected, as it was obviously where Morgan was headed.

"…but he’s not, you know, the ‘manly man’ I was used to you dating. Face it, sister: you had a taste for testosterone."

"What? When was this?" Neve asked.

"You didn’t know about our little Jenny’s illicit past? That’s right. You transferred in your junior year, right before she met Arthur." Morgan smiled as Jennifer buried her embarrassed face in her hands.

"This is why old friends are dangerous," Jennifer said. "They know too much."

"You see," Morgan continued, "Lance was just the final crowning achievement in an illustrious sexual career of meat, meat and more meat."

"Shhhhh!" Jennifer hushed her as she peered around the corner, looking for her husband.

"Please," Morgan said, dismissing Jennifer’s protest with a wave of her hand. "They’re still playing in the basement. Anyway, our little princess here had a taste for stable hands, if you know what I’m saying. They just had to be big and good-looking. Brains were optional. In fact, I think she liked ‘em dumb."

"Oh, I went through that phase too, when I was in Europe," Isabelle said. "It’s normal."

"But you were only in Europe for a semester," Morgan said. "This was the first two and a half years of college for her."

"All right! All right! She gets your point!" Jennifer protested. "When I got to college I decided I wanted to have fun. Is that a crime? I went through a period where I chose form over substance, style over content, beauty over brains---"

"You were man," Neve suddenly blurted out in her customary fashion of pulling raw truth out of nowhere.

"Well, you are what you eat," Morgan added with a wicked smile. "Then, of course, came Lance. A jock by way of Sartre. Big, beautiful and full all sorts of complicated emotions. I have admit I thought he was the one."

"Oh, I never did," Isabelle said flatly.

"Really? Why?" Jennifer asked, having once possessed those ideas briefly herself, though now they seemed like thoughts from another person.

"He so was full of shit." Isabelle snorted. The tequila had finally hit home with her too. Isabelle became more profane the more she drank. "All that angst and moodiness from a fucking quarterback. Give me a break. He was a fucking poser. He was playing against type and he knew it."

"She’s right," Jennifer said, nodding. "It finally dawned on me that he was a little too sensitive."

"How can that be bad?" Neve asked, with an innocence possible only from someone who’d only slept with two men in her entire life; one of whom was her husband.

"The sensitivity of sensitive men," Jennifer explained, "Is that they’re most sensitive to themselves. Lance couldn’t get enough of his own feelings, but was pretty clueless about mine."

"Who cares!?!" Morgan shouted. Liquor made her loud "That’s not why you were fucking him, is it?"

"No," Jennifer replied, in a low tone, trying to quiet Morgan by example. "But I stayed with him too long. It turned into a relationship and in a relationship you need something more."

"You need a real man," Isabelle added. "Not just someone who looks like one."

"And that real man is Arthur?" Morgan asked. "No offense, Jenny, but when we first met him, I thought he was gay."

"What!?!" Jennifer said with a little forced surprised, as she’d briefly entertained similar thoughts after Arthur once complimented her new shoes.

"Me too." Isabelle added. "Sorry, sis"

"I thought he was sweet." Neve said.

"Hey, it’s almost a compliment," Morgan said. "He was smart, funny, thin, dressed well and he could dance. Usually, that spells one thing in a man."

Jennifer thought about it for a moment then had to nod her agreement. She then noticed that Isabelle and Neve were doing the same.

"Well, he’s not and I’m grateful." Jennifer said, raising her glass in a toast once again.

"So am I but,…"Morgan’s voice trailed off.

"But what?" Jennifer sighed. If she hadn’t had that third margarita she would have known better than to fall for one of Morgan’s lead-ins. They only lead to trouble.

"But don’t you miss it sometimes?" Morgan leaned into the table and actually lowered her voice, indicating more sensitivity that the casual observer would have given her credit for. "I mean, Artie’s sweet and all, but occasionally don’t you miss that hard power fucking those meatheads used to give you?"

Jennifer opened her mouth to answer but paused, looking at the three closest women in her life. Over the years she and Arthur had become the center of their little group and she knew on some level they judged their own lives against hers. Nonetheless, the third margarita again tripped her up and she let the truth slip.

"Well, yeah, sometimes. I mean, my life with Arthur is perfect, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t occasionally think about that kind of raw animal thing I used to have with Lance."

"Jennifer, how can you say that?" Neve asked, trying not to betray her own interest in what that type of sex was like, since she’d never had it.

"No, it’s a good thing, honey," Jennifer said reassuringly, knowing exactly what was going through Neve’s mind. "Sex like that is like booze. It makes it impossible for you to think rationally. You’re so wrapped up in either looking forward to it or getting over it, that you can’t see the person is usually treating you like shit. I was like that with Lance. Do you really think if I had been in my right mind I would have put up with him for so long?"

"But you were blinded by the sex," Morgan answered.

"Unfortunately," Jennifer said with a sigh. "I swear there were times when it would be physically painful for me to be around him and not touch him. The shape of his jaw, his mouth, his smell…it made me crazy. When we first got together, my GPA took a nosedive because I kept missing classes to be with him. I’d get out of bed, get dressed, look at him laying there naked, like some fucking fallen god and I’d drop to my knees and start blowing him."

Neve gasped, Morgan smiled and Isabelle shook her head softly, remembering her own brush with the disease.

"It was big, wasn’t it?" Morgan asked breathlessly.

"Huge," Jennifer replied, affected not just by the alcohol, but her own memories of being lost in passion. Later, she’d regret being so open, even with her close friends. "I liked to take it in my mouth with it was soft and just feel it grow into my throat."

"Yeah, baby," Morgan said, delighted, pouring them all yet another round.

"It was insane," Jennifer continued. "I did things with him I would never dream of doing with anyone. Every dirty fantasy either one of us had seemed somehow natural. Nothing was out of bounds."

At this point, Jennifer was finally able to bring herself under control, despite margarita number four already half empty in her hand. Any further and there would be real trouble. Granted, Isabelle already knew, but Morgan only suspected and Neve would never even dream that Lance had once brought another woman into their bed and Jennifer had gladly gone along with it. The memories of the pungent sweetness of another woman’s sex in her face as her lover took her from behind, while whispering obscenities in her ear were still with her and enough to send shivers down her spine.

"Mmm," Morgan exhaled while shaking her head, eyes closed. "That, that is was sex is supposed to be like. You can fuck without making love, but making love involves a lot of good fucking."

"But what about Arthur?" Neve asked almost mournfully. This seeming triumph of raw sex over romance was a little too much for someone capable of only one of the two.

"It’s all about Arthur now, honey" Jennifer said, reassuring her yet again. "What I had with Lance is over and good riddance."

"But it sounds like you’ve gave up something," Neve insisted.

Jennifer sighed, "You always give up something in a relationship. It’s the very definition of the word. Proof of how much you love someone is your willingness to sacrifice some small part of yourself to gain something greater with them. And in the grand scheme of things, this is such a small part. So now I get my orgasms now from gratuitous oral sex than thunderfucking. Not exactly a loss in my book." Jennifer smiled as she clinked her glass with Neve’s. "Besides, I’m a grown woman with a job. The last thing I need to be doing is showing up late to work because I can’t stop blowing my husband."

Neve and Isabelle laughed with a touch of relief, while Morgan merely shrugged, unwilling to totally accept this conclusion which totally conflicted with her lifestyle.

"What are you doing?" Merle asked, finding Arthur sitting dejected next to one of the ventilation shafts. He’d deliberately taken his time in the bathroom hoping that Arthur would run out of steam trying to find another vent this way and go back to the camera idea. Now it seemed he’d succeeded only too well. Arthur seemed totally defeated.

"Arthur, are you okay?"

"What?" Arthur replied, suddenly realizing someone was talking to him.

"I said ‘are you okay?’"

"Oh, yeah. Just lost in thought. Listen, Merle, I’ve had it with this whole vent thing. It’s just colder in the basement. End of discussion."

"Um, okay." Merle was a bit disappointed, but felt now they could move on to ideas on how to best heat the basement through an independent unit. He had a few ideas.

"Help me put this stuff back, okay?" Arthur said, hopping to his feet.

"Sure, Arthur." Merle moved to one side of the desk, preparing to push it when he though he heard something familiar. "Hey, did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Arthur responded with a touch of irritation in his voice.

"I thought I could hear Neve laughing."

"Well, they are up there getting drunk."

"Yeah, but how could I hear them down here?"

Arthur glanced grimly at the vent where he’d been listening to the women’s conversation in Merle’s absence. "I have no idea."

It had been a week since Arthur gave up on the vents and Jennifer felt that it was this failure that had not only put him into a mood, but had driven him to try and succeed at what he was good at to make up for the lost feeling of accomplishment. This explained the many long hours in front of the computer. Their sex life had also suffered as he had also failed to touch her in a meaningful way in a week. She’d worn his favorite slip as a way of encouraging him to join her in bed where she could hopefully restore his confidence, but he remained in his study. In this way he was actually like Lance. When troubled, they turned in on themselves. Unlike Lance, however, it usually only took minor prodding to get Arthur to open up to her---until now.

Jennifer turned down the sheets on their bed positioned herself in such a way that if she actually fell asleep before he came to bed, Arthur could not get into bed himself without waking her. Then she’d make good on the promise of that slip.

In the study below, Arthur had reclined on the couch so he could "accidentally" fall asleep there and avoid being next to his wife. He’d hoped to fall asleep quickly before the thoughts came again, but it was to no avail. Visions of his wife in the naked embrace of Lance were immediately projected into his mind the moment he closed his eyes.

Arthur remembered seeing Lance and Jennifer together on campus long before formally meeting either of them. They looked like a perfect couple. Lance was the eternal female ideal: tall, dark and handsome, whereas Jennifer was smaller, fairer and would seemingly be crushed by such an imposing figure, but the tone of her voice when she spoke of him indicated she gave as good as she got.

One of the downsides to being smart, Merle had told him within minutes of their first meeting in an advanced science class their freshman year, is that it’s almost impossible to stop thinking. Great if it’s something you like, but hell if it isn’t. Arthur’s mind was creating a private hell for him in graphic recreations Jennifer’s trysts with Lance, then contrasting them with her less passionate couplings with him.

Where Jennifer would ride Lance violently, drenched in both his sweat and her own, pleading with him to fuck her harder, she would sit nearly motionless atop Arthur and coo lovingly. Where Lance would take Jennifer from behind, pulling her hair and slamming himself into her with such force her entire body trembled, Arthur rarely had sex that way because he found it difficult to kiss her

Arthur contemplated trying to have sex with Jennifer they way she obviously missed, but aside from being unable to muster even the slightest bit of sexual arousal towards his wife, he was afraid it wouldn’t be so much as intense as it would be angry.

If Arthur were as smart as he liked to think, he would have realized the true source of his lack of passion. Beyond the anger and beyond the jealousy was the pain, the hurt that he picked and probed and rolled over and over again in his mind from every possible angle. Like a cold sore he couldn’t help touching again and again with his tongue until the intense pain seamlessly crossed over and became an odd source of pleasure, he rolled the thoughts of his wife and her former lover over and over again in his tormented brain, until he had no desire for anything else. Like a cold sore, maybe it too would fade in time, or like too many other pleasures, indulged to the point of boredom. But for now, he lay on the old couch in his study, eyes closed, envisioning Lance taking his willing wife again and again.