be afraid of, there was no reason why she couldn’t learn to return his love.
And for once in his life, love was the important thing. Susan was the most thoroughly desirable woman he had ever met, but a sexual relationship with her was something he could do without as long as he had to. He saw in her something far more valuable than a bedmate, far more important than a partner in sex games. A woman like Susan could add a whole new dimension to his life. With her at his side he could get rid of his involvement with Stella once and for all and get back on the road to respectability. The Villagers could talk all they wanted about freedom, but he was convinced that true freedom meant more than the right to wear sloppy clothes and go without brushing your teeth and sleep with everybody who came along.
Freedom meant being free to do things. Freedom, or at least the sort of freedom he wanted for himself, meant the freedom to love one person and one person alone, to work toward a goal and to live a life that meant something. And, with Susan, he might be able to achieve this sort of freedom.
It was a cinch he wouldn’t make it without her.
God, why was he such a weakling? The thought nagged at him that another stronger man might have a better chance with Susan. But he couldn’t even get up the guts to break away from Stella by himself. How in hell could he save Susan when he couldn’t even save himself?
Disgusted with himself, he paid the check and left a tip on the table. He lit another cigarette and smoked as he walked slowly back to his apartment. He waited in the vestibule, seeing Stella and Maria in the hallway by the apartment door. After they were inside the apartment he opened the door and walked to the staircase and up the stairs to the fourth floor.
Susan didn’t answer his knock. He tried the door; it was open. Inside on the coffee table there was a note for him explaining that she had to get some work done at the ceramics shop but that she would be back fairly soon and he could wait for her. He sat down in the chair where she always posed and waited.
He recognized her steps on the stairway less than an hour later and had the door open for her when she came in. She had a smile on her face and her eyes were bright.
“Hi,” she said.
“How did the work go?”
“Very well. The design I’m working on is very tricky, and the first three times I tried it the pot fell. But this time I think it’s going to hold up.”
They went on talking while she removed her clothing. For the first time she undressed in front of him and he thought to himself that she couldn’t be a lesbian, that if she was there was still a chance for him, that she was so natural about everything she did that she could learn to be natural about sex as well. He looked at her, marveling how each time he saw her body it was like seeing it for the first time, how each time he talked with her he fell in love with her all over again.
She sat down in the chair without being told and assumed the pose automatically. He removed the rag that covered the painting and began mixing paint on his palette.
Then he looked at her and stopped what he was doing. He looked long and hard at her, first at her body for only a second and then very carefully at her face.
“What’s the matter?”
He started to tell her that nothing was the matter, that he was merely trying to determine how to get the right color for her eyes. But the words didn’t come out.
“Ralph?”
He didn’t recognize his own voice when he said: “I love you.”
She looked at him, still not certain what he was talking about. She waited for him to explain.
And, because he loved her, because he could never hold anything back from her, he told her. He told her all of it, from the beginning to the end, from Alpha to Omega. He didn’t omit a thing.
His voice never changed expression while he spoke. His eyes never wavered from hers. The words poured out of him one after the other and she
And for once in his life, love was the important thing. Susan was the most thoroughly desirable woman he had ever met, but a sexual relationship with her was something he could do without as long as he had to. He saw in her something far more valuable than a bedmate, far more important than a partner in sex games. A woman like Susan could add a whole new dimension to his life. With her at his side he could get rid of his involvement with Stella once and for all and get back on the road to respectability. The Villagers could talk all they wanted about freedom, but he was convinced that true freedom meant more than the right to wear sloppy clothes and go without brushing your teeth and sleep with everybody who came along.
Freedom meant being free to do things. Freedom, or at least the sort of freedom he wanted for himself, meant the freedom to love one person and one person alone, to work toward a goal and to live a life that meant something. And, with Susan, he might be able to achieve this sort of freedom.
It was a cinch he wouldn’t make it without her.
God, why was he such a weakling? The thought nagged at him that another stronger man might have a better chance with Susan. But he couldn’t even get up the guts to break away from Stella by himself. How in hell could he save Susan when he couldn’t even save himself?
Disgusted with himself, he paid the check and left a tip on the table. He lit another cigarette and smoked as he walked slowly back to his apartment. He waited in the vestibule, seeing Stella and Maria in the hallway by the apartment door. After they were inside the apartment he opened the door and walked to the staircase and up the stairs to the fourth floor.
Susan didn’t answer his knock. He tried the door; it was open. Inside on the coffee table there was a note for him explaining that she had to get some work done at the ceramics shop but that she would be back fairly soon and he could wait for her. He sat down in the chair where she always posed and waited.
He recognized her steps on the stairway less than an hour later and had the door open for her when she came in. She had a smile on her face and her eyes were bright.
“Hi,” she said.
“How did the work go?”
“Very well. The design I’m working on is very tricky, and the first three times I tried it the pot fell. But this time I think it’s going to hold up.”
They went on talking while she removed her clothing. For the first time she undressed in front of him and he thought to himself that she couldn’t be a lesbian, that if she was there was still a chance for him, that she was so natural about everything she did that she could learn to be natural about sex as well. He looked at her, marveling how each time he saw her body it was like seeing it for the first time, how each time he talked with her he fell in love with her all over again.
She sat down in the chair without being told and assumed the pose automatically. He removed the rag that covered the painting and began mixing paint on his palette.
Then he looked at her and stopped what he was doing. He looked long and hard at her, first at her body for only a second and then very carefully at her face.
“What’s the matter?”
He started to tell her that nothing was the matter, that he was merely trying to determine how to get the right color for her eyes. But the words didn’t come out.
“Ralph?”
He didn’t recognize his own voice when he said: “I love you.”
She looked at him, still not certain what he was talking about. She waited for him to explain.
And, because he loved her, because he could never hold anything back from her, he told her. He told her all of it, from the beginning to the end, from Alpha to Omega. He didn’t omit a thing.
His voice never changed expression while he spoke. His eyes never wavered from hers. The words poured out of him one after the other and she
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