Something went on that night, on into the next morning, between two sweaty bodies, his and hers, over a couch, in a bed, on the carpet, against the kitchen wall, back on the bed again.
That something was even going on he only perceived dimly at the time.
At last, about four in the morning, she finally seized up, gasped a fourth time, quit the field. His unbroken lance rested, fully tested, honorably withdrawn. His woman satiated, finally.
And he did not know then how a battle of some kind had gone on. How he had won a battle, once, in an unwinnable war. That is how much he knew. How little. Only years later would he understand.
He had been such a dope.
Ins and Outs on the Ups and Downs that include some Notes on the Cut, Thrust and Parry that is part of the Great Game--Sexual Politics. And encompassing too Single Men and Women and the Pleasures of Youth.
