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“I like sex,” she says. “But the seeing God part…I think you’re lying about that.”
“Challenge accepted,” I say. I squeeze her in a hug.
“You had better deliver.”
“Whenever you’re ready.” I rock my hips beneath her, and she sighs against my chest. “So why all the questions about sex?”
“I was just curious.” Her eyes dart around, and I can tell she’s uncomfortable.
“Everybody whacks off in jail. You can hear them,” I admit.
“You can hear them?” She sits up so that she’s looking down at me. She points toward my lap. “Doing that?”
I shrug. “Sometimes.”
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“Did you do that?” Her eyebrows shoot up toward her hairline.
I look directly into her eyes. “When I needed to.”
“Oh,” she suddenly says, like this conversation is suddenly clear. “So, it’s not like you did totally without physical pleasure.”
I shake my head. “Coming and physical pleasure are not the same thing.”
“What’s the difference? In your opinion?”
I motion toward her, indicating how she’s sitting on me. “This is physical pleasure. Last night, when you were wrapped around me, that was physical pleasure. Kissing you.” I grin at her. “That was physical pleasure.” I shrug again. “Coming by yourself is just coming. Different kind of thing.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
I have to gather my thoughts so I can explain it. “Sex builds closeness. It builds bonds. Or at least it can.”
She stares down at me, clearly astounded. “So you’re telling me you’ve never had sex without trying to bond.” She slaps my chest lightly. “I don’t believe you.”
“I’m not saying that,” I reply, my words nearly choked by laughter. “When I was in college, I definitely had some non-bonding sex.” I take her hand and press it against my heart. “But with you, I couldn’t imagine making love to you and not feeling even closer to you than I do right now.”
She rocks her head from side to side. “Well, I am sitting on your dick.” She grins. She looks down. “I think he likes me,” she whispers dramatically. “He came out to see me and everything.”
“Sorry about that. He has a mind of his own.” I reach down to adjust myself, but this time she grabs my hand. She lies down on my chest.
“I like the way he thinks.”
Suddenly, there’s a ruckus by the front door, and Wilbur, who had previously been wandering around, struts into the bedroom and flies onto the bed, landing next to us. He sits down, his neck extended, looking angry as he starts to squawk at us.
“Seriously, Wilbur? I’m going to eat you for dinner.”
He squawks back and then stares at me.
“You want me to let him out?”
“Well, somebody is going to have to.”
She rolls off me and stands up. Her t-shirt falls down around her hips. She was wearing pajama pants last night. I remember that much. “Where are your pants?”
“I got hot during the night,” she says.
She walks to the front door on bare feet, opens it, and I hear Wilbur as he waddles out the door, his webbed feet making little smacking sounds. She comes back, and she stares down at me. She grins. “I’m going to hold you to that promise of a religious experience,” she says.
