room.
I drifted around the edges of the room with a glass of whisky in my hand, swilling the contents so that the cubes of ice tapped lightly against the crystal glass. It was dark and it was late. There was a fire burning, casting flickering leaps of orange light into the room but leaving the corners in gloom.
I sprawled into the leather chair and my eyes wandered across the collection of murky oil paintings that hung on the walls. They were not my paintings – they were artworks my father had gathered over the years, depicting rural landscape scenes by some of the country’s finest artists. My eyes settled on one particular painting in a heavy, gold frame. It was an oil painting, maybe a hundred years old, so that the paint had crazed and cracked into a fine spider web and the original colors had been muted by dust and a century of cigar smoke.
It was a dark, glum place to hide such a fine painting. It deserved to be hung in some sunny, light-filled room… And I smiled wryly at the irony. Wasn’t I doing the same? Wasn’t I lurking and living in the dark shadows of this big, empty house? Shouldn’t I brush off the dust and take myself out into the light where people were living lives and the colors were brighter?
For so long this house had been a refuge – a place where I could hide away from the world. For so long that it had become a prison…
New Paragraph 13
Jonah giving advice to another man about making love to women.
“You are a hypocrite,” I told the man.
We were sitting in a busy, roadside café. There were tables and chairs on the sidewalk and I had been enjoying the warm, morning atmosphere when the man suddenly recognized me and sat down to seek my advice.
He wanted to know about the differences between pleasing a woman with oral sex and the way his wife pleased him.
“You are a hypocrite, because you have a double standard,” I told the man after he explained his problem. “You expect your wife to go down on you and you expect her to swallow when you orgasm. But from what you have just told me, you don’t enjoy using your mouth in the same way to give your wife the same kind of pleasure.”
The man looked affronted. “Well, it’s totally different, isn’t it?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s not. If you can’t use your mouth and tongue to pleasure your wife and keep your mouth there as she orgasms, then why would you expect your wife to do the same thing for you?”
The man sat back. I could tell by his expression that he didn’t enjoy hearing the truth. He nodded slowly. “When my wife is going down on me, she always stops before I orgasm and uses her hand instead. She turns her head away.”
“And when you go down on your wife…?”
The man shrugged. “After a few minutes, I’ve had enough,” he confessed. “I mean, I really only do it to get her wet.”
I nodded and frowned at the same time. “You should try using your mouth and tongue to pleasure your wife for as long as it takes for her to orgasm – and when she orgasms you should keep your mouth and tongue there until the orgasm passes,” I pointed a knowing finger at the man. “I think if you do that, you will find your wife very happy to return the favor for you.”
New Paragraph 14
How Leticia feels when she left Jonah for the last time.
Leticia drove out through the gates, and set the car on the winding mountain road. Everything was a blur – her eyes were swimming with tears, her hands trembling on the wheel. There was a wild roar of sound in her ears, and an impossible wrenching pain that tore at her heart.
The car merged into traffic, but it seemed to be happening without Leticia’s conscious control. She seemed lost, her emotions tossed about like a piece of driftwood in a raging sea. The anger and the desolate despair came to her in crashing waves so that as she drove, the road ahead began to swim before her eyes and finally she wrenched the wheel over and pulled the car onto the
I drifted around the edges of the room with a glass of whisky in my hand, swilling the contents so that the cubes of ice tapped lightly against the crystal glass. It was dark and it was late. There was a fire burning, casting flickering leaps of orange light into the room but leaving the corners in gloom.
I sprawled into the leather chair and my eyes wandered across the collection of murky oil paintings that hung on the walls. They were not my paintings – they were artworks my father had gathered over the years, depicting rural landscape scenes by some of the country’s finest artists. My eyes settled on one particular painting in a heavy, gold frame. It was an oil painting, maybe a hundred years old, so that the paint had crazed and cracked into a fine spider web and the original colors had been muted by dust and a century of cigar smoke.
It was a dark, glum place to hide such a fine painting. It deserved to be hung in some sunny, light-filled room… And I smiled wryly at the irony. Wasn’t I doing the same? Wasn’t I lurking and living in the dark shadows of this big, empty house? Shouldn’t I brush off the dust and take myself out into the light where people were living lives and the colors were brighter?
For so long this house had been a refuge – a place where I could hide away from the world. For so long that it had become a prison…
New Paragraph 13
Jonah giving advice to another man about making love to women.
“You are a hypocrite,” I told the man.
We were sitting in a busy, roadside café. There were tables and chairs on the sidewalk and I had been enjoying the warm, morning atmosphere when the man suddenly recognized me and sat down to seek my advice.
He wanted to know about the differences between pleasing a woman with oral sex and the way his wife pleased him.
“You are a hypocrite, because you have a double standard,” I told the man after he explained his problem. “You expect your wife to go down on you and you expect her to swallow when you orgasm. But from what you have just told me, you don’t enjoy using your mouth in the same way to give your wife the same kind of pleasure.”
The man looked affronted. “Well, it’s totally different, isn’t it?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s not. If you can’t use your mouth and tongue to pleasure your wife and keep your mouth there as she orgasms, then why would you expect your wife to do the same thing for you?”
The man sat back. I could tell by his expression that he didn’t enjoy hearing the truth. He nodded slowly. “When my wife is going down on me, she always stops before I orgasm and uses her hand instead. She turns her head away.”
“And when you go down on your wife…?”
The man shrugged. “After a few minutes, I’ve had enough,” he confessed. “I mean, I really only do it to get her wet.”
I nodded and frowned at the same time. “You should try using your mouth and tongue to pleasure your wife for as long as it takes for her to orgasm – and when she orgasms you should keep your mouth and tongue there until the orgasm passes,” I pointed a knowing finger at the man. “I think if you do that, you will find your wife very happy to return the favor for you.”
New Paragraph 14
How Leticia feels when she left Jonah for the last time.
Leticia drove out through the gates, and set the car on the winding mountain road. Everything was a blur – her eyes were swimming with tears, her hands trembling on the wheel. There was a wild roar of sound in her ears, and an impossible wrenching pain that tore at her heart.
The car merged into traffic, but it seemed to be happening without Leticia’s conscious control. She seemed lost, her emotions tossed about like a piece of driftwood in a raging sea. The anger and the desolate despair came to her in crashing waves so that as she drove, the road ahead began to swim before her eyes and finally she wrenched the wheel over and pulled the car onto the
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