A Matter of Grave Concern by Brenda Novak

the diagrams in my father’s books, I believe I have formed an accurate picture of the male penis and how it works. What I don’t understand is why everyone makes so much of it.”
    “Everyone?”
    “Men, mostly. The students . . . that’s all they joke about.”
    “But you are not impressed.”
    “Should I be?”
    He chuckled. “Maybe your opinion would be different if you knew the pleasure it brings a woman to ride a hard cock.”
    No one had ever used such language with her before. She wasn’t offended that he had been so candid—he had said it matter-of-factly—but she was titillated all the same, and that somehow enhanced the taboo nature of the topic. Although she should have ended the conversation right there, he seemed so marvelously open and nonjudgmental that she couldn’t help continuing. “I admit I can’t imagine what . . . what sexual union would feel like, but one book had a—”
    “To hell with your father’s medical journals,” he broke in. “If you have never been with a man who wants you, if you have never experienced real intimacy, you have no idea what any of it is about.”
    Why did he suddenly sound so impatient? Did her naïvité annoy him? “I can only learn from what is available to me, sir.”
    “Your education will be complete when you marry. Then you will understand.” He spoke as if he would leave it at that, but she could hardly accept such an answer.
    “I told you. I don’t plan to marry.”
    “You also told me what you do plan to do.”
    “And?”
    She expected him to point out how unlikely it was that her dream would ever come true. She knew he was thinking it. But he merely sighed and sat on the bed to pull on his boots.
    “There is no reason a woman wouldn’t make a fine surgeon,” she said.
    “Especially someone as relentless as you. So, if you behave yourself while you are here, maybe I will teach you a thing or two. At least you will go home wiser than when you arrived.”
    “Teach me a thing or two? You mean by exposing yourself? I’m not sure I can allow myself to participate in something so . . . improper!”
    “Are you really going to let propriety stand in the way, when we are so far beyond the bounds of that? Once word gets out that you were held captive by a gang of resurrection men, most people will assume the worst. You might as well get something out of it.”
    “You are quite practical, sir.”
    “I think you are as practical as I am. Too practical to forgo such an opportunity.”
    She felt torn about what her response should be. Her father would be mortified, her aunt positively apoplectic if she took advantage of her capture in such a way. But how could looking at a live specimen be that much worse than looking at a dead one? “I’ll consider it,” she said.
    “I thought you were scandalized.” He laughed out loud. “You are an interesting woman, Abigail Hale.”
    She pressed her forehead to the glass of the window. “Don’t say that.”
    From what she could tell, he was now brushing his teeth, but because she had seen too much before, she wasn’t going to risk turning around.
    “Say what?” he asked when he could speak.
    Folding her arms to ward off the morning chill, she watched Borax, Jack’s dog, dig in the dirt. “That I am interesting .”
    “What’s wrong with interesting ?”
    “It means different.” And experience had taught her that wasn’t a compliment.
    “Different isn’t always bad.”
    “Of course it is. I’ve heard it enough to know.”
    “You called me a lout,” he pointed out. “And a deceitful pig.”
    It sounded like he was combing his hair. “That was before we became . . . friends, of a fashion. I have since told you that you are an educated man and a handsome one. That is far kinder than alluding to my . . . uniqueness, especially in such a patronizing tone.”
    “There wasn’t anything patronizing about it. I like a woman to be unique.”
    “No one likes a woman who is too