All Fall Down(25)
Author: Jennifer Weiner

“He’s so mysterious,” I’d moaned—back then, when I thought I had things to complain about. “How am I supposed to know if he’s cheating?”

Eric had lifted one finger. “Is he working late?”

I shook my head. Some nights, he was even home before I was.

Eric continued the questions. Was Dave finding excuses to go out, alone, on the weekends? Had he joined a new gym, started wearing a new cologne, bought himself a new wardrobe or a new car? No, and no, and no again.

“Finally,” Eric had said, performing a fingertip drumroll on his desk, “are you two still making the beast with two backs?”

I’d giggled and said, “All the time.” It had been true, then . . . and it was true now that at least one of us wanted an active sex life. At least once a week I’d get into bed and feel my husband’s hand brush the side of my breast, or my thigh, marital shorthand for You wanna? The trouble was, I didn’t. Ever. At the end of a day, especially after I’d taken a pill or three to deal with the emotional obstacle course of getting Ellie to bed, the absolute only thing I wanted to do was curl on my side with my cheek against the soft white pillowcase, close my eyes, and let sleep take me. Sex felt like an invasion. Things weren’t as bad as they had been the first few months after Ellie was born, when Dave’s touch had actively revolted me, when, more than once, I’d shuddered in dismay if he tried for a kiss, but they hadn’t improved all that much. I hadn’t worried about it, either. Judging from the women’s magazines I read, and the stories I’d hear on the playground or in the school pickup lane, our story wasn’t especially original. When we’d first started dating, and during the first year and a half of our marriage, we’d done it in the bed, in the shower, on the kitchen table, and, a few times late at night, in various corners of the newsroom. By the time I left the paper, there was one editor’s desk I couldn’t look at without blushing. Dave had a great body. Better than that, he had an amazing imagination, and the two of us would pretend all kinds of crazy stuff. He’d be a reclusive dot-com genius who’d made ten million dollars at nineteen but had never slept with a woman, and I’d be the high-priced hooker he hired to teach him about women. He’d be the quarterback for the Eagles, and I’d be the rookie sportswriter he invited up to his apartment for an in-depth interview. He’d be a BMW salesman, and I’d be a woman who’d do anything to get a break on the price of the new sedan.

The last time we’d attempted any role-playing had been months ago. It had not gone well. “How about we’re both virgins, and we’ve just gotten married in an arranged marriage, and it’s our first night together?” he’d suggested, one leg slung over both of mine, his erection growing against my thigh.

I’d stifled a yawn. I wasn’t bored, just tired. “Were there elephants at our wedding?”

“Boy, you really weren’t paying much attention,” Dave said.

Focus, I told myself. Maybe I wasn’t a hundred percent into it, but for the sake of the greater good, I could, as they said, take one for the team. “Okay. You’re Ramesh, and I’m Surya. What’s your job?”

“I’m a chemical engineer.”

“What, you don’t own a Dunkin’ Donuts?”

He’d propped himself up on his elbow, glaring at me. “Jeez, Allie.”

“I was kidding!” I said, thinking, sadly, that there was a time, not long ago, when I wouldn’t have had to explain that it was a joke.

“Fine.” He flopped onto his back, removing his leg from mine. His erection was wilting. I placed one hand gently on his chest, on top of his T-shirt. “Can I touch you?” I whispered, in character as an inexperienced bride.

“Yes,” he whispered back. Slowly, I began stroking his pectoral muscles, feeling his ni**les getting stiff against my palm. I tweaked one gently, hearing him suck in his breath. “Just like mine!” I said, delighted. “Will you kiss me?” I whispered.

He nibbled at my neck, nipped at my earlobe, pressed his lips gently against mine. I shut my eyes, lost in the sensation of his tongue dipping into my mouth, gently prodding my own tongue, as one hand slid up the leg of my pajamas. “Actually,” he breathed in my ear, “I lied. I have been with a woman before.”

I drew back, feigning shock. “When was this?”

In the darkness, he looked ashamed. “Well. You know I’m an engineer. But I also play the sitar in my uncle’s restaurant on the Lower East Side on Saturday nights. And you know how ladies love musicians.”