Description
Late November, and the world was dying. A wild wind hooted faintly outside the windows. Inside, the air had been breathed too many times.
'It's got nothing to do with your age,' I said.
'Liar,' she said.
I tried to groan. Swung my legs out of bed and lit a ciga- rette. Sat there smoking, hunched over. She fumbled with my spine. 'Poor baby,' she said.
I wouldn't look at her. I knew what I'd see: a small body so supple it twanged. Short brown hair cut like a boy's. All of her sleek. She had me in thrall. Soft swell to her abdomen. A little brown mole on the inside of her left thigh. Her ass was smooth and tight.
'All I'm saying,' I said, 'is that I've got to go away on a business trip. A week, two weeks, a month . . . . who knows? I've got to; it's my job.'
'I've got five weeks' vacation coming,' she said. 'I could get a leave of absence. I could quit. No problem.'
I didn't answer. Her squid arm slid around my neck. Even when she was coming, her flesh was cool. Did she ever sweat? Her skin was glass. But I could never break her.
'It's impossible,' I said. 'It wouldn't work.' She kneeled on the bed behind me. Put her arms about my neck. Pressed. Pointy little breasts. Very elegant. Pink bosses. All of her elegant. She worked at it: jogging, yoga, dancing. I told her once that she even had muscles in her crap, and she said I was vulgar, and I said that was true. . . . .
