It’s a straightforward desire, with no pretenses beforehand or regrets afterward. What could possibly stand in the way of it?”
When Karen spoke again her voice was low and husky. “Our knowing each other again, Jonathan, might lead to something good and solid, but I think it’s too soon for me. I ended an intense relationship just before you got back. Things could still develop between us, but if they don’t, at least we won’t have deceived each other. We’ve alwayspromised to be together only as long as it’s good. I’m sick of my girl friends who suck guys off in parked cars or swing in groups of strangers because it’s trendy. I’m tired of sexual fads.”
She paused. “I like to do grass or take a downer, and I get stoned a lot,” she said, “not only because it kills my inhibitions and makes me freer and funnier at a party, but because it opens me up sexually, lets me make a pass at any man I like; and it makes him braver with me. What’s more, if things go wrong, I’ve something other than myself to blame it on.
“Last month I went through my first carefully planned threesome. After making reservations weeks in advance, we dressed in rented evening clothes of the thirties and went to the best restaurant in town. Janet was all glamour in her peach satin pants and top, I was in a gold lamé floor-length gown, and Robert wore white tie and tails. While ordering a super dinner—without drinks, wine, or champagne—each of us discreetly swallowed a downer. After coffee, all stoned, we staggered out of the dining room with the aid of our puzzled waiters and captain, who wondered how we had gotten ourselves so obviously sozzled. We went to Robert’s apartment and had a wicked night of perverse but painless fun and frolic. In the morning, Janet rushed off to see her shrink. I had an assignment with a German photographer, and Robert dragged himself to his job at the travel agency. It’s amazing what a good time I have when I can rid myself of that irksome brake known as conscience. Come to think of it, in order to enjoy that expensive food, we should have taken our downers after dinner! But seriously, for me sex is like walking in the hills. Each time you reach the top of one hill, you see another just ahead and you think that’s the top, and then you see still another one, so you keep climbing, never knowing where the last one will be.
“I often have this nightmare. I hear a man’s voicecoaxing and urging me, and I freeze and say, ‘It isn’t fair. You’re taking advantage of me.’ I feel like screaming, but then I think, what the hell, I’m a romantic cynic, I need it and I want it, so why not? Still, there are times when I can’t come. It’s emotional, I know, but what can I do about it? Sometimes when the sex is very good, I feel intense pleasure, but I’ll never reach the highest hill.” Karen got up and wandered around the room, talking on and on as if I weren’t there.
“’You’re the hottest lay I’ve ever had,’ a man says, and I tense up and think he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Afterward, when he’s no longer high and he repeats the line, I feel less afraid. ‘Your body’s built for sex and you know how to use it; most women just lie there and twitch. I can’t believe-you don’t do it all the time. Tell me, has a guy ever come the minute he got inside you?’ ‘Of course,’ I answer, still detached. ‘I’m not surprised, not at all surprised. You’ve got the tightest box in the world.’
“In the kitchen, I’m mixing drinks and putting him on about his other women. He says, ‘I know a good thing when I see it, and you’re very, very good. With a body like that, you won’t ever have to work an eight-hour day in an office.’
“After we make love, another man says, ‘Fuck it, I’m not going to worry about being cool. I want to tell you it’s never been this good for me. With you, it’s like a whole orgy. You don’t mind being told, do you?’
When Karen spoke again her voice was low and husky. “Our knowing each other again, Jonathan, might lead to something good and solid, but I think it’s too soon for me. I ended an intense relationship just before you got back. Things could still develop between us, but if they don’t, at least we won’t have deceived each other. We’ve alwayspromised to be together only as long as it’s good. I’m sick of my girl friends who suck guys off in parked cars or swing in groups of strangers because it’s trendy. I’m tired of sexual fads.”
She paused. “I like to do grass or take a downer, and I get stoned a lot,” she said, “not only because it kills my inhibitions and makes me freer and funnier at a party, but because it opens me up sexually, lets me make a pass at any man I like; and it makes him braver with me. What’s more, if things go wrong, I’ve something other than myself to blame it on.
“Last month I went through my first carefully planned threesome. After making reservations weeks in advance, we dressed in rented evening clothes of the thirties and went to the best restaurant in town. Janet was all glamour in her peach satin pants and top, I was in a gold lamé floor-length gown, and Robert wore white tie and tails. While ordering a super dinner—without drinks, wine, or champagne—each of us discreetly swallowed a downer. After coffee, all stoned, we staggered out of the dining room with the aid of our puzzled waiters and captain, who wondered how we had gotten ourselves so obviously sozzled. We went to Robert’s apartment and had a wicked night of perverse but painless fun and frolic. In the morning, Janet rushed off to see her shrink. I had an assignment with a German photographer, and Robert dragged himself to his job at the travel agency. It’s amazing what a good time I have when I can rid myself of that irksome brake known as conscience. Come to think of it, in order to enjoy that expensive food, we should have taken our downers after dinner! But seriously, for me sex is like walking in the hills. Each time you reach the top of one hill, you see another just ahead and you think that’s the top, and then you see still another one, so you keep climbing, never knowing where the last one will be.
“I often have this nightmare. I hear a man’s voicecoaxing and urging me, and I freeze and say, ‘It isn’t fair. You’re taking advantage of me.’ I feel like screaming, but then I think, what the hell, I’m a romantic cynic, I need it and I want it, so why not? Still, there are times when I can’t come. It’s emotional, I know, but what can I do about it? Sometimes when the sex is very good, I feel intense pleasure, but I’ll never reach the highest hill.” Karen got up and wandered around the room, talking on and on as if I weren’t there.
“’You’re the hottest lay I’ve ever had,’ a man says, and I tense up and think he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Afterward, when he’s no longer high and he repeats the line, I feel less afraid. ‘Your body’s built for sex and you know how to use it; most women just lie there and twitch. I can’t believe-you don’t do it all the time. Tell me, has a guy ever come the minute he got inside you?’ ‘Of course,’ I answer, still detached. ‘I’m not surprised, not at all surprised. You’ve got the tightest box in the world.’
“In the kitchen, I’m mixing drinks and putting him on about his other women. He says, ‘I know a good thing when I see it, and you’re very, very good. With a body like that, you won’t ever have to work an eight-hour day in an office.’
“After we make love, another man says, ‘Fuck it, I’m not going to worry about being cool. I want to tell you it’s never been this good for me. With you, it’s like a whole orgy. You don’t mind being told, do you?’
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