Day 67

Jon woke up first on Thursday, which meant he could be the one to say "Happy Valentine's Day" first.

"Aww, I wanted to say it first," Caitlyn said, leaning in for a kiss.

"I could fall asleep again," Jon said.

"No, we don't have time," Caitlyn said. They had gotten into the habit (when they weren't abstaining due to arguments) of waking up quite a bit earlier than the alarm, in order to fool around if they wanted. Sometimes they didn't; sometimes, especially of late, they preferred to just lie together and talk. These times were not only some of their best sex, but some of their best love and communication as well—not to mention, sometimes, their only chances to get in touch with each other all day, especially on Tuesdays and Thursdays when their schedules kept them apart from 9 to 8. When they were fighting, Jon had missed these moments more than he could say, and he was more glad than he could say that they had fallen into this particular habit; it was the best way he could think of to start the day: focused on what mattered to them. Focused on each other.

"But next year," she threatened, "you'd better sleep in so I can wake up first."

"Next year?" Jon said. "I didn't realize we were planning that far ahead."

"Well, now you do," she said with a smile. It was a gentle reminder, he knew, that she wasn't going anywhere. She leaned in to kiss him again. "And since I haven't said it yet: Happy Valentine's Day."

For a moment, they just cuddled together, skin on skin, breath on breath.

"Man. I can't believe we can do this," he said. "Before we got married, if we'd been like this, I would've been all like, you know, 'Sex! Let's have it!' But now we can just... Be."

"Yeah."

"I've been looking forward to this for a long time."

"Huh?" She peered up at him. "Not having sex?"

"Yeah." He smiled. "Well, not, I mean, not-having-sex, but... Being in a place and a position where... It's okay not to. Where we know we don't have to be, you know, all over each other, because there will be time. When there's no pressure and we can just... Be."

"Where we can take each other for granted."

"Yeah. This is why I was pushing for us to, you know, start getting intimate sooner. So that we could arrive here."

She gave him a sardonic look. "Sweetie, if you're gonna tell me you wanted us to start having sex early so that we could stop having sex early... I'm not gonna believe you."

"Well, umm... Humph," said Jon, to admit defeat, and they snuggled silently for a few more minutes.

"So," she said finally. "What would you like to do on this lovely first Valentine's Day together?"

"Stay home and make sweet love to you all day long," Jon said.

"And what are you gonna do?"

"Get up, go to work, and make money," Jon said. "And then sit around for an hour and a half until you get home and I can spring my surprise on you."

"Is it a reservation somewhere?" she asked.

"That would be telling," he said, giving her a smile. He wasn't going to let this one out until they got there.

"Can it be changed?"

"Why?"

"Because I talked to Dr. Murray, the orchestra conductor. He says that they aren't doing any of the music that requires a harp today, and I don't have to show up if I want."

Jon blinked. That did indeed throw all his plans out the window. "Umm... It's Valentine's Day. People book these things like six months in advance. I don't know if we can change it."

She gave him a leer. "Well, this is what happens when you keep secrets from your wife."

"How am I supposed to make it a surprise if I don't keep it a secret," Jon protested, sticking his tongue out at her.

"Well, umm... Humph," said Caitlyn, to admit defeat. "Just like a man, of course. Makes all these plans, and then doesn't account for new developments. Can't be bothered to..."

Jon rolled his eyes and dove in to kiss her.

They quickly grew amorous, and before he knew it he was suckling at her breasts, feeling her pliant flesh against his face, drawing her nipples into stiff tension. She drew his head in closer, pressing him to her, and somehow they ended up rolled over, with her above him, cradled in the curve of his body, moaning and gasping and pressing herself to him. He didn't have to reach below to check her rising ardor; he could feel the heat, and now the wetness, against the skin of his stomach.

Unexpectedly she backed away from him, maneuvering, reaching for his hand with hers. Then she was straddling him, guiding him in, sinking clear to the bottom in one smooth thrust. She wriggled her other hand and he seized it in hers. Then, supported thusly, she began to ride him.

The penetration was deeper and of a different quality than he was used to, as she guided him towards spots inside herself he hadn't known existed. It was also completely different to be seeing everything; normally he either got the arch and bump of her back, or her face beside his, but now he could see it all: her nipples, taut and still shiny with damp; her breasts proud and erect as she rode him; the smooth flat expanse of her belly and the adorable dimple of her belly button; and even her pussy lips clasping his shaft, pressing against him with every downstroke. He stared at that greedily for a moment before leaning up to attack her breasts again.

Between urine pressure and the incredible stimulation, he wasn't going to last long and he knew it. He asked her to stop, or at least slow down, until he could get some control over himself and last longer.

She gave him a wicked grin. "Who says I want you to last longer?" She ceased her thrusting, but began to move her hips back and forth against his, his cock still trapped inside her and caressed on all sides by her warm, clinging pussy. Jon moaned into the hollow of her neck. "It's Valentine's Day, my dear, and I want to start it off right: with your cum inside me."

The fleeting thought crossed Jon's mind that he might have bitten off more than he could chew; then he was cumming, ecstasy pounding through him as he exploded inside her, held rigid by the sensation as she continued to move on him, sending paroxysms of pleasure through him as he groaned and clenched and spurted up deep inside her, harder and longer (it seemed) than he had ever come before. His whole body felt tight, especially below, as though she had begun to suck him into herself; his heart was hammering within his chest.

He collapsed back against the headboard, spent. After a moment, he felt her lips feathering against his neck.

"Happy Valentine's Day, my love."

"Unhg..." he said. It was about as much coherence as he could manage.

He heard her pleased giggle. "This time, I don't care who notices: this one's staying inside me."

"Unh... Aren't you... Going to school?"

"Yeah, but it's only one class and my lesson. After that, we're going out to dinner."

"Where more people see you."

"So, maybe I'll take a shower before then." He heard her grin.

He tried to open his eyes; he didn't really succeed. "You're much too chipper for this early in the morning."

She kissed him. "What's not to be happy about? It's Valentine's Day, I'm with the man I love, I have a load of his cum deep inside me where hopefully it'll stay when we're done—and, from the looks of things, I just did such a good job with you that I blew a couple of fuses. I'd call that a good start to the day."

"Well, I'm glad you're happy. I have to drive a car." This time his eyes opened. "Maybe I should take a shower."

"Wouldn't that be a reversal," she said, teasing. She lifted herself off him, and he almost whimpered at the sensation rippling through his still-too-sensitive cock. "Well, there's nothing else to be accomplished here. Up and at 'em, sweetie. We got a long day ahead."

In the shower, Jon woke up fully. He shook out his head and chuckled to himself. I might indeed have bitten off more than I can chew... But at the very least, the ride will be fun. The funny thing is, though, that there's only certain things she's really enthusiastic about. She likes the idea of being dominated, and she likes it when I cum inside her, but mention almost anything else... He shook his head again. Well, that's the way it works sometimes. Besides, both of those ideas are relatively conservative—almost Biblical, in their own way. And the part where she likes me cumming isn't a bad benefit.

When he came out of the shower, Caitlyn was dressed and preparing for her day. "Just so you know," she said, "You're not the only one with surprises."

"Umm..." he said.

"What?" she said.

"Well... Considering you almost killed me just now and we haven't been up an hour yet, I'm kind of..."

"Well, that was one of the surprises, so now you know what's in store," she said, smiling.

Jon was devoutly glad he had stacked a couple more surprises of his own throughout the day. Meanwhile, though... "So you mean I'll be fucked within an inch of my life more than once today?"

"Nooo," she said, giving him a patient smile. "Not all of them involve sex.""But some of them do?"

Her enigmatic smile was all the answer he got.

"Man," he said. "I'm not sure whether to jump with glee or run for the hills."

"And here I thought you were the one with the sex drive," she said, grinning.

"I do have a sex drive. It's just that it's pretty general. You only like a couple of things, but you're really into them. It's about the same energy as mine, but, really concentrated."

"Hmm. Fair enough," she said, smiling. "But, in the meanwhile, go on ahead and go to work. You have surprises to look forward to."

"I'd also better fill out a life insurance policy," he said. "Just in case."

She gave him a dirty look, and then snagged him as he was going out the door for a long, lingering kiss. Suddenly she was clinging to him, tears in her eyes.

"I love you so much, Jon," she whispered. "I never thought... I never thought I could be playful like this. I never thought I'd be able to be... This."

He gave her a wry smile. "Crazy and horny?"

She blinked up at him with her beautiful dark eyes. "Happy."

He kissed her back. "I love you too, Caitlyn. Making you happy is what I was put on this earth to do."

"Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day."

The first surprise was a Singing Valentine. Jon was in the back along with Nathalie Watts, Jason Belton, Hector Gonzales and Celise Chan—the other trainees, in other words—being lectured on the intricacies of the blood-pressure cuff, when someone cleared his throat from the doorway, and everyone turned to see a man of immense stateliness and immense bulk. "Excuse me," said the man in a resonant voice. "Is this Room 204?"

"It is," said Thuy, the teacher.

"My name is Roger Valentino," the very large man said. His every movement and word carried the gravitas of a Shakespearean actor. "I am looking for Mr. Jonathan Stanford. Is he within the confines of this room?"

Everyone looked at Jon. Jon felt a bead of sweat drip down his face.

"Ahh, I see I have found the right place." The man entered the room. He was of such ponderous girth that Jon had no idea how he would fit through the threshold, yet he seemed to negotiate it as though it were nothing. "I have here a Singing Valentine to be delivered to a Mr. Jonathan Stanford from a Miss Cai— Ah, I beg your pardon, from a Mrs. Caitlyn Stanford. Your bride, I presume?"

Nathalie giggled. Jon had to clear his throat before speaking. "Uhh, yes, that would be—" He had the insane urge to say, 'No, that's my mother.' "That would be she."

"Well, then, Mr. Stanford, I beg you attend these words which I shall now sing. And, your beloved urges me to assure you, they are meant from the heart."

Thus he planted his legs solidly, drew a dramatic breath, and began to sing in his rich, resonant voice.

People were beginning to laugh, which (Jon had a hunch) was the whole point. Mr. Valentino's voice rang through the room; Jon could see, from the room across the hall, heads popping out, and thought people might be hearing it all the way to the front desk. Even better, Mr. Valentino was overplaying the part: dramatic gestures and facial expressions, and the most exaggerated vibrato Jon had ever heard; he sounded a little bit like an ambulance siren. Jon was beginning to smile himself.

At this, Mr. Valentino flourished his cape and gave a deep bow, as though he hadn't just finished an operatic rendition of a Britney Spears song, and everyone applauded, Jon included. Man, how am I gonna top that! Everything I set up seems so lame in comparison. Though at least the musical Valentine he'd set up involved some flowers.

During his break, he called the restaurant to alter the reservation. Clearly, the gods were smiling on him: the person who had called before him had done so to cancel their 6:30 appointment, which the Stanfords would be able to make if they hurried. So, with a minute left in his break, he called Caitlyn. "Hey baby."

"'N Sync?"

"Yeah."

"You know I hate them." She was grinning.

"Oh yeah? Well, you know I hate Britney Spears."

"It was revenge. I knew you were gonna send someone to sing 'N Sync to me."

He laughed. "Well, the good news is, we're on for dinner at 6:30."

"You got the reservation moved?"

"Yup. Be ready to jump out the door the instant I get home."

"Aww, too bad. I had some ideas about how to spend the the time until our 8:00 reservation."

"Oh?" he said.

"Yeah. But there's no time now. And besides, you said I had to be dressed."

He felt his eyebrows jump. "And was that going to be one of your surprises?"

"Well, I think it would've been surprising, but no, I hadn't planned it; it just occurred to me."

Unfortunately, he didn't think the restaurant would be pleased if he switched back to the 8-PM timeslot. "Well, we'll just put that into play after we get home."

"Any specifics on clothing?"

"It's a pretty nice place, if that's what you're asking."

"Oooh, splendor and finery." He heard her grin. "Now I know it's Valentine's Day."

"I love you."

"I love you. Happy Valentine's Day."

Fortunately, there were no more Caitlyn-sponsored surprises throughout the work day, though Jon did get a little good-natured ribbing from the other staff members. Okay, maybe a lot of ribbing. People were still asking about the 'opera singer' when he was leaving to go home. The worst, of course, came from his classmates.

"Wow, someone must really love you," Celise said. She had an accent, if not much of one, but the straight black hair and yellowish skin were a dead giveaway. "Either that, or have a lot of money to blow on you."

"How'd you get someone to like you that much," Jason asked him. "You secretly a hypnotist or something?"

"Hell, how'd you get married," Nathalie said, grinning. "You're, like... What, twenty-two?"

"Twenty-four," Jon said.

"Shit, man, I'm twenty-eight," said Jason.

"He must've taken her to Vegas and got her drunk," Hector laughed.

"Or got her pregnant and had to marry her," Nathalie said.

"Or maybe it was an arranged marriage?" Celise said.

Jon decided to laugh about it. "You all are just jealous."

"Pfft. Of getting tied down?" Jason laughed. "Hell no, man; freedom's where it's at."

"Yeah, but, he gets it regularly," Celise said, nodding in Jon's direction. "Doesn't have to go out to a bar and get a girl all liquored up."

"Ha," Jason said, his teeth startlingly white in his dark face. "Like I got to get a girl drunk to get her interested in my johnson." He was grinning.

"Oh, you don't?" Nathalie said, laughing. "No wonder you don't get any."

"Hey now, don't be giving a brother a hard time," Jason said, with a transparent attempt at wounded dignity.

"So what actually did happen, Jon," Celise asked. "Now that we've impugned your reputation and that of everyone at this table. You're not that old. How'd you get hitched so quickly?"

Jon gave them the condensed version of it; their breaks weren't all that long, after all. For the most part, his coworkers seemed impressed.

"But don't tell me you're gonna take that shit lying down," Hector said. "She sent some guy in to sing bad music at you? You so pussy-whipped that you just gonna take it?"

Jon grinned. "I did the same to her."

"Britney Spears?"

"Worse. 'N Sync."

"Holy shit, man!" Hector exclaimed. "If you're divorced by tomorrow morning, we'll know why."

"I think the only thing colder would be to send someone to sing Eminem," Nathalie said.

"Excuse me!" said Celise.

"Or Whitney Houston, that song from The Bodyguard or whatever," said Jason. He pitched a screechy falsetto: "And I-iiiiiieeiiiiii..."

"Excuse me!" said Hector.

"You're in the wrong key," Jon said, deadpan. And that was how break went: with laughter and bad music all around.

Caitlyn, as he'd requested, was waiting and ready to go when he arrived home. "Where were you? That took a little longer than normal."

"Traffic," Jon said, grimacing. "At least we'll get the carpool lane together."

"What do you think," Caitlyn asked, spreading her arms. Her hair was up in a complicated knot, and she had dressed stylishly and well, in a night-black gown that somehow stayed demure despite the way it hugged her figure. The blue highlights brought out her eyes; the little fringe on her shawl swung as she moved. Jon, who had planned on a polo shirt and some khaki slacks, made a note to dress up a little more.

"I think that you must've gotten home and spent the entire time deciding what to wear," Jon said, grinning.

"No, I also decided what you should wear too," Caitlyn said, grinning. She gestured to the bed, where (indeed) a dress shirt, tie and pressed slacks were waiting for him. "We'll match."

"Cool," said Jon, smiling. "Do you know how to do a tie?"

"Yeah," she said, her smile vanishing, "don't you?"

"I barely ever wear one," he said.

"It's a men's accessory."

"I still barely ever wear one," he said.

She rolled her eyes and brushed past him into the room. She had it ready by the time he had the other clothes on. "I'm gonna have to teach you this. How are you going to tie me up if you can't even tie yourself?"

Jon blinked. "I'm tying you up?"

Caitlyn beamed at him. "I sure hope so."

Jon shook his head and smiled. "Let's at least have dinner first."

"Mmm, dinner," she said. "You said it's a surprise. Where are we going?"

"Didn't I say it's a surprise?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's a surprise." He stuck his tongue out at her.

"Don't point that at me unless you intend to use it," she said.

He gave her a leer. "Who says I don't?"

She stepped close, entwining herself into his arms, and kissed him. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day. You know, you do realize that saying it over and over doesn't make it true."

"So? What else am I supposed to say? Okay, then: Saaaaad Valentine's Day." She made a puppy-dog pout.

"Besides. With you here, I don't need anything else to make it a good day."

"Hmm." She pretended to think it over. "But I'm here every day."

"So, every day's like a Valentine's Day to me," he said.

"So, you mean I should send a Singing Valentine to you every day?" she said.

"No!" He laughed. "That's quite alright, thanks. Besides, I think we'd go bankrupt pretty quickly."

"True enough. Yours must've been even more expensive; it included flowers." She gestured to the bouquet she'd gotten, which (for once) looked exactly like the one he'd picked out of the brochure, and which was now resting in a vase. "How did people like it, anyway?"

He told her about it as they drove, and she told him hers. Evidently, she'd been in the middle of her Jazz Theory class, and many of her classmates (not to mention the teacher) had taken it upon themselves to accompany the performer. Then, somehow, they got into some improvising, which of course was the real heart of jazz anyhow; it was some fifteen minutes before the deliverer managed to get out again, but he seemed to have been quite entertained. Caitlyn, of course, had turned bright red once the mushy-gushy song started coming out. "God Must Have Spent A Little More Time On You. Jeez. Laying it on a little thick there, o hubby of mine."

Jon shrugged. "It seemed the best option for causing as much chaos as possible. Not to mention that it's also true."

"Have you seen that music video? You do know it's supposed to be a Mother's Day song, right?"

"Really? With that level of smarminess?"

"Well, I didn't do it," Caitlyn said.

"Good," said Jon. "I'd be extremely concerned if you turned out to have somehow been a former member of 'N Sync. It would certainly explain why you hate them, though."

"Yeah. I was their sixth member. Of course, that was before the sex change."

Jon stared at her. "...Uhh, okay, 'Sad Valentine's Day' moment there."

Caitlyn smirked at him. "Jon, look at the road. You're driving."

Their dinner was not at Rebecca's Parliament. This was not for lack of trying; the maitre d' had informed him that they had been booked solid since November, and that (furthermore) the guest list was so predominantly female that Jon would feel completely out of place. "You know the term 'sausage-fest'?" the woman had said. "Yeah, we have like the opposite problem here." So, instead, Jon had looked up the nicest fondue place he could find. It was unusual, it was exotic, he knew Caitlyn had never been before, and he figured she'd love the richness of the food. Besides, he knew he could sell her on anything that involved a dipping-pan full of melted chocolate for dessert.

It was just as good a surprise as he'd hoped. Caitlyn was delighted with the food choice and particularly seemed to enjoy getting to spear things with the pronged fork. The presence of cheese didn't hurt either. They traded bites over the pot, giggling when one or more of them accidentally dropped something into the dip.

Of course, Caitlyn didn't eat much.

"What's wrong? Does something in the food not agree with you?"

"Silly." She flashed him a radiant grin. "I'm waiting for dessert. So hurry up and finish," she said, "so that we can get to the chocolate!"

Jon gave a theatrical roll of his eyes. "I might've known."

"And then, after the chocolate... We can go home," she said, her voice husky now but no less excited, "and... I can give you your next surprise." She caressed his cheek with a finger; the touch felt electric to him.

"Hmm," said Jon. "Should I get the check?"

"Silly," she said, "not before dessert. But, umm." Her grin widened. "Very soon after it."

Jon rolled his eyes again and signaled for the dessert course.

He had planned to basically attack Caitlyn once they got home, but she fended him off. "Nope! Nope, no no no no. These are very special and fancy clothes, Jon. We gotta get out of them and hang them up properly. Sheesh, what kind of a barbarian do you think I am." She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Don't point that at me unless you plan to use it," he said, echoing her comment. And Caitlyn turned right back to him and gave him that roguish grin: "What makes you think I don't?"

So Jon very carefully got out of his tie and shirt and slacks, and stored them very carefully back in the closet. He had just managed this when Caitlyn reached over and tugged on the leg of his boxers. "Those too," she said. And Jon, starting to get an idea of where this was going, took off his boxers and his socks and got totally naked.

"Should I fold these up too?" he joked, and went across the room to dump them in the hamper.

"Okay," she said, "all done." She closed the closet door and turned to him, bare as the day she was born. She had shaved recently; except for the patch between her legs, she was smooth and completely bare. Her long brown hair was loose and tucked behind her ears, a few tresses already working themselves loose; some of them cascaded down her shoulders, drawing out the pale perfection of her skin. Though long, her hair did not hide her nipples, nor her large puffy areolas, so tempting to the tongue. Her eyes were wide and luminous, the midnight color of a moon-drenched sky; he could spend years just staring into them.

"Now," she said, crossing the room to him. "Where were we?"

"Something like this," he murmured, and drew her lips up to his.

They stood entwined in the dim light, kissing, she on her toes and he bending down to compensate for the difference in height. His hand was between her legs, feeling the warmth and wetness between, and hers were between his, stroking him into erection; her other arm looped around his waist, his skin burning with her touch. He went to his knees to suckle at her breasts. It was a new dimension for him, to be shorter than her like this; her breasts were at the perfect level for his face. Her mouth opened in a silent 'O'; one arm circled his shoulders, the other hand ruffled his hair; and still he kept his hand busy between her legs, encouraging her continuing arousal.

Soon she was drawing him up, beckoning him. She leaned back onto the bed, her feet still dangling over the side, and drew him between her legs. They had never done it like this before, but the mechanics were obvious; he slid inside her and then bent over to kiss her. They moved together, she rising to meet his gentle thrusts with her legs now encircling his waist, her ankles locked. When he came it was silent, almost anticlimactic, but that was good in its own way; they kissed, staring into each other's eyes, whispering their love for one another, whispering the pleasure of their bodies to each other, enjoying the gentle blush of orgasm as his body pumped out its seed within her. He had cum, but he felt, not sated, but rather whetted for more, ready for greater play. And he could tell that she felt the same way.

"My last surprise," she said to him, "is one that had to wait until now."

"Oh really," he said, smiling. Considering where they were—considering he was still balls-deep inside her, her legs still up around him—it was pretty obvious what the surprise would concern.

"Yes," she said. "I have been thinking, and I've looked it up on the Internet... And... If you want to try, umm... Doing it in my, umm, my tush... Well, I'm willing to give it a try."

He realized his eyebrows were far above his hairline and made a conscious attempt to control them. Those muscles sure get a lot of work when she's around.

"But, a couple of conditions," she said. "You were talking about rules to prevent things from getting out of control, and you were right. So, first rule: If I ask you to stop, you stop. I don't know if it's going to be painful and I don't know if it's even going to work."

"Of course," he said, kissing her. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"I'm not going to say 'Stop' unless it's one of those two things," she continued, "but I want your promise regardless."

"Of course," he said again.

"And second, you have to wear a condom."

"That sounds fair to me," he said.

"Okay," she said. "Okay. Then... Well... Let's try it."

So he got up and withdrew from her and they both went to the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" she said.

Jon pulled out the tube of KY Jelly he had brought from home. "We're going to need this."

"Where'd you get that?"

"I brought it when we moved here. I did masturbate until we got married, you know."

"We've been living here for over a month and I never found that?"

"Did you know what it was?"

"Okay, fair enough. Now, shoo."

"Why?"

"Well... I wanna go to the bathroom," she said. "I don't think there's very much... Back there..." She gave a covert tilt of her head to indicate. "But whatever is in there, I want it out so that you don't go bumping into it. The thought of you... interacting with that stuff... isn't a turn-on for me, Jon."

"Me neither." He wrinkled his nose.

"I mean, why do you think I'm making you use the condom?"

"Well, safety reasons," he said. "I mean, modern medicine being what it is, we don't have to worry about STDs, but if we did, anal sex would be one of the best ways to share it with the other."

Her eye twitched, but she nodded.

"Plus, it'll probably make it easier, because the latex will keep things smooth."

"You've been thinking about this too," she accused.

"Well, yes," he said. "Sweetie, we're not just talking about just... Sticking it in. There's a whole build-up that goes along with it. It's like making love."

She gave him a faint smile. "Well, you've always been good at that, at least."

While she was occupied—after the toilet flushed, the shower went on for a short time—Jon flicked onto the Internet and did some work of his own. Caitlyn's faith in him notwithstanding, he still had his own concerns. He had tried to prepare for this, of course, but there was only so much preparation he could do before he began to cover the same material over and over. Besides, his main concern was something he would have to face in the moment: the anal sphincter. Simply put, Caitlyn needed to be relaxed about this whole thing. So far she seemed calm, but also deeply determined—and he knew force would not be the answer. In fact, determination seemed to him to be the opposite of what they needed. Instead of tension and force, she needed to be relaxed and completely accepting; after all, what she could accept in her mind, she would be able to accept in her butt.

How do you get a woman to loosen up if she's not entirely sure she wants to?

When she came out of the bathroom, he said, "I have another rule to put in place."

She gave him a skeptical look, but said, "Okay. What is it?"

"I get to call it off at any time too, if I don't think it's working."

She gave him the skeptical look again. "Jon, you put the condom on and then you slide it in. What do you have to worry about?"

He touched her cheek. "You."

She said nothing.

"Caitlyn, you want to try this, and I love you for it. But just because we want it to happen doesn't mean it'll work. If you think things are getting out of hand, you get to call it off, no questions asked. If I think the same thing, I do too. The point is, I don't want you to force yourself to make this work. I don't want you to damage yourself for my sake."

She made a grimace that he couldn't interpret. "Okay." Then she took a deep breath and seemed to set herself. "So. ...How are we gonna do this?"

Setting the condoms and lube on the nightstand where they would be near to hand, he had her lie on her stomach. As he did, he recalled how often he had seen her like this, clothed, and how infrequently he'd seen her like this when she was naked. He almost rarely saw her body, even during sex; most of the time they were face-to-face, or at least spooned together. Now he could see it all: the elegance of her arms and the faint lines of her shoulder blades; the bumps of her spine; the ever-enticing curves of her ass and the treasure below them; the long strength of her legs; and as always the pale flawlessness of her skin. There was a little birthmark above her right buttock. How had he never gotten around to finding it yet?

This would be a seduction, paramount to the one he had managed on their wedding night, the first time they'd ever made love. Today, unlike then, she was much more relaxed and comfortable in sex; today, unlike then, he was attempting to involve an orifice that God had never intended to be penetrated. Even despite her new-found confidence in her own skin, he thought tonight would be the greater of the two challenges.

He began by sprinkling kisses around her face and neck before returning to her left ear, that familiar territory, site of so many explorations and discoveries. Gradually he began to move down her neck and spine, scattering kisses wherever and whenever the whim took him. Then, as before, he began to massage her back.

"Mmmm," she said. "Didn't I promise myself I was going to make you do this to me more often?"

He kissed her again in response.

"Hmm. I can feel your package. It's all dangly."

He was working at her shoulders, sitting astride her hips, his butt on top of hers, and his genitals had come to rest in the small of her back. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay. But, umm, it's all... Limpy."

He chuckled. "Believe me, hon, it won't stay that way."

He worked his way down, finally reaching the base of her spine, and then split his hands to follow the backs of her thighs. He could see from her pussy that she was a little aroused—maybe; not much, and possibly this was an artifact of their previous lovemaking. Nonetheless, she was relaxed and (if his own experiences were any guide) primed to be turned on.

He was right. It didn't take long before her pussy had darkened to a pale, feminine pink and shown signs of wetness. It was a little harder to get to her clit, since it was pressed down against the comforter, but she was instinctively raising her hips and in the end they worked it out. What was also hard was getting his fingers into her pussy with his face in the way; he ended up sliding his hand in sideways and curling his fingers, his knuckles pressed against his nose. He felt strangely like a snorkeler.

"Ooh, ooh..." she whimpered. "Don't let your cum leak out. Some of it's still in there."

He stopped. "Did you seriously walk around all day with my cum inside you?"

"Yeah. I totally—ohhh—I totally did. I could kinda feel it, even. It made me feel really sexy. All day." It made him feel kind of sexy too; he could feel his cock stiffening even further. As if having his nose half an inch from the smell of her arousal wasn't doing enough.

Once she felt ready to him, he left her clit and began the real exploration.

Her perineum was not a very large area—her genitals being what they were—but he knew she'd probably never been touched there before, not even by her ownself. It was close enough to her asshole to be forbidden territory; it wasn't her pussy; and, he hoped, it wasn't associated enough with her butt that she would protest him using his mouth on it. He had a hunch that fingers wouldn't do it any good.

She shivered and whimpered when he first placed his tongue there, but nonetheless spoke up: "Jon, is that... Is that sanitary?"

"Didn't you wash after you were done?"

"Yes, but..."

"Then I'm sure it's clean."

"Clean enough for your mouth?"

"It just tastes like soap to me," he said. "I think that's clean enough. Does it feel good?"

"Yeah, it feels fine..."

To judge by her reactions, it was better than just 'fine.' He knew that there was power in places that weren't normally touched during the course of everyday life; he intended to exploit this power as much as he could.

Her anus, of course, was another such zone.

He didn't just plunge in; instead he began walking up her buttocks with his fingers. Her ass was not a place he really paid that much attention to. Certainly it was very attractive to him, in its smooth roundness, but there wasn't a whole lot you could do with it; it was just there, with no special features. That was a downside, in his opinion. Nonetheless, it wasn't normal territory for him, and he intended to exploit that.

He traced his fingers over the crease between buttock and thigh, down the top of her crack, in criss-cross lines over the surface of her ass. There was hair here, as there was on him, but not enough to make much difference, besides, that puckered rosebud center was still in full evidence.

Finally, he placed his finger directly on it and began to move it in gentle circles. Caitlyn stiffened when he did so, but after a moment she began to relax.

"Sweetie," he said, "this isn't going to work if you're tense."

"I-I know."

"So... Just concentrate on the sensations. Concentrate on enjoying it. If it ever hurts, tell me. If it doesn't feel good, tell me."

"Should it feel good?"

"Does it?"

A hesitation. Then, "...Yeah."

"In answer to your question," he said, "it should feel good. Nobody talks about it, but there's pleasure nerves all throughout the anal sphincter. Doesn't it usually feel good to, you know, go number two?"

"Well... Yeah."

"So, don't worry, it's not like this is something your body wasn't designed to feel."

"Okay, okay. But... Do you have to make me feel it?"

Jon looked up. She was propped up on her elbows, looking back over her shoulder at him. He suppressed a sigh. So it gets down to this. I did have the hunch.

"No, Caitlyn, we don't have to. There's nothing that says you and I 'have' to do anything. But, if it's okay with you, this is something I'd like you to explore."

"You'd like me to explore?" she said.

"Well, yes. It's your body, isn't it? Shouldn't you be aware of everything it does?"

Her hooded eyes gave no indication of her reaction to this. "Well... Can you at least come up here for a while? It's all... It's kinda weird to have me up here and then you down there. Especially since I can't see anything."

Actually, that sounded fine to him. What they had done so far was rather clinical, to be honest, and he didn't want that to be associated with it in her mind. This needed to be something warm and emotional. If it was at all possible to make her ass seem romantic, he needed to do it.

Of course, that didn't stop her from freaking out again. "Jon! Don't touch me with that hand! It was just on my butt!"

Jon kept his face straight with an effort. "Caitlyn, did you clean up before we started?"

"Yes."

"Well, it looked like you did a good job. I didn't see anything clinging or dangling down there. I think everything on the surface is clean."

"But... But that's still..."

"I know it is. But that's exactly the point. It's not dirty, or dangerous. It just is."

She squeezed her eyes closed. "Still."

"Do you want me to go wash it?"

She gave him a cross look. "You don't have to take that tone with me."

"I'm not! I'm just asking..."

"Okay, okay. Yeah, why don't you wash it. I'll still be here." She sounded humorless.

While soaping his hand off, Jon reflected on the situation. This isn't turning out right. She isn't having fun, she doesn't like the idea.. Both of us are uncomfortable. Maybe we should give up, or at least try again later. No one says we have to succeed today. There's time. Hell, we'll be married for the rest of our lives. There's lots of time.

When he came out she was curled on her side, silent. He could see her pubis peeking out from between her legs, but there were more important things on her face—annoyance, confusion, sadness.

He lay down beside her and put his arm around her waist.

"Whoa! That's cold," she said.

"...Well, yeah," said Jon. "I just washed it. Look, Caitlyn... Do you want to stop?"

She turned her head to look at him. "Do you want to stop?"

"What I want," he said, "is for you to enjoy what we do. If you aren't, then there's no point in continuing."

She was silent for a moment.

"I..." she said. "Well, it doesn't feel bad. But it doesn't feel good either. It's just... Strange." She colored. "I keep thinking how it might feel better if it was... No, I can't say it."

"If I were using my mouth?"

She colored further. "But I can't ask you to do that. It's icky."

Jon didn't cherish the thought, but... "I'd do it anyway, if you wanted."

"I don't want you to do that! Jon, I'm not worth that!"

"So... You're telling me that it's worth doing, but it's not worth doing right."

She flipped to her back to glare at him. "If you keep contradicting me, I will make you kiss my ass."

There was no good response to that. "Look, hon. Do you want to stop?"

She was silent for a moment.

"I... I dunno. It, just... It's so, like, predetermined—what we're doing. It's like, 'Durr, okay, we've decided that we're gonna play with Caitlyn's butt tonight,' and everyone's just going straight there—"

" 'Everyone'?"

"Okay, fine, not everyone. But it's, like, so determined. Like we're on a mission or something."

"Yeah."

"Can we just... Can we just... Do what we normally do? You know, just... Just make love. And then, if... Certain... Other zones... Happen to get involved, then they... Happen to get involved."

In answer, he kissed her. "You should be in charge of everything. You always know what to do."

"Except when it comes to my butt."

"Hey, I'm learning too. We're both in the dark."

"Not really," said Caitlyn, "seeing as how the light's on."

"We can turn them off," he said. "I think I can still find my way around."

This sounded pretty lame, even as he said it, but on Caitlyn it had a surprising effect. "...You really are serious, aren't you."

"About what?"

"About making me feel comfortable about this."

"Well... Yes," said Jon, feeling as though this maybe should've been obvious.

She was silent for a moment.

"The lights are okay," she said finally. Then she reached up to draw him down to her. "And you, my beloved man, have some new experiences to introduce me to."

"Your wish, my beloved wife, is my command."

"Happy Valentine's Day."

It was, indeed, more natural this time. They kissed; they fondled; his erection firmed between them, and soon his hand was tasting her wetness as she gasped her ardor into his neck. This time, when he touched her entry for the first time, she understood.

After a time of gentle massage, he said that he would like to put some lube on her ass and see what happened. Caitlyn still seemed a little nervous. "You're going to try to put something up there?"

"Just a finger. And it won't go anywhere unless you want it to. And we'll use so much lube there's no possible way it could hurt. My finger is smaller than what normally, umm, passes there."

She rolled her eyes, but kissed her acceptance.

A moment later he had poured a generous dollop of KY between her cheeks. Caitlyn giggled. "Ooh, I've never quite felt that before." It suddenly occurred to Jon to wonder why he hadn't ordered some wine or something with dinner. For Caitlyn to be lightly buzzed right now... But then, she'd never shown any inclination to alcohol, and to be honest he liked that about her. He liked that she could have fun with a straight face. He liked that she could do things like this without having to lubricate her courage.

There were so many things he loved about her.

He set the tip of his finger at the tip of her asshole. "May I?"

He could see her nerves, but she nodded. "What do I do?"

"Just relax." He kissed her. "Relax, and concentrate on feeling... Open."

She gave him a wry smile. "Now there's a pleasant image." But she closed her eyes and began to breathe slowly.

He bent to kiss her. "I love you," he whispered, "so much."

"I love you too, baby, but you've got something to do and a wife with only so much nerve." She arched an eyebrow without opening her eyes.

As he expected, her outer sphincter opened without much trouble; it was probably relaxed by now anyway. The inner one, however, remained resolute for a few seconds, until Caitlyn took a deep breath. Then his pinkie passed through. He was glad he had covered it with lube, for now it passed slowly into her until he was buried to the knuckle; he knew she could feel the rest of his hand bumping up against her body.

Caitlyn opened her eyes.

"That was... Anti-climactic," she said, "kind of."

"How does it feel?"

"It..." Her brow creased in concentration. "It doesn't hurt, if that's what you're asking. It's not unpleasant. There's a little bit of a stretching sensation, but according to what I read, that's normal."

"Yeah."

"It... It doesn't feel bad, per se... But it doesn't really feel good either. It's just... There. There's just a thing in my butt." She paused a moment, then said: "I can't believe I said that with a straight face."

Jon kissed her, and then returned to her nipples to reawaken her arousal.

They did it several more times, each time introducing a larger finger; by now, Jon's hand felt wet and rather sticky. By the time he had traded up to his middle finger, she was rather more into it, no longer losing her arousal and possibly even finding pleasure in the contact. He knew better than to expect her to completely go crazy over it and find it instantly comfortable; the human body didn't work like that. He had no idea how she'd taken to normal sex so easily, for that matter.

The first time he withdrew his pinkie, he surreptitiously brought it up to eye level. To his surprise, it was completely clean. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn't this pristine condition. Well, Caitlyn's a neat person by nature; maybe that extends to, umm, even her butt.

"Are you ready to, umm... To try the next level?" he said.

"Umm..." She bit her lip. "Are you?"

"If you are," he said. "Caitlyn, I'm okay with anything. We have time. We have the rest of our lives. Whatever you feel comfortable with, that's what we'll do."

She bit her lip.

"Let's do it."

She rolled onto her side while he got the condom on and put another squirt of lube against her ass; the inner sides of her cheeks were already pretty much coated, but that wasn't going to help with his entry. He rubbed his latex-sheathed cock up and down the crack of her ass, trying to get as much lube on its surface as possible. Then he positioned the tip of his cock at her entrance.

"Ready?" he said.

"Ready," she said.

It took longer for the head to get inside; it was rather larger in diameter than anything else they'd put inside her thus far. There was another short delay as Caitlyn winced a little and took a deep breath; then he was in, sliding in slowly until he was buried to the hilt.

He slid his body up behind hers and kissed her ear. "How are you doing, baby?"

"I'm... I'm really... Full," she said in a somewhat-strained voice.

"Does it hurt?"

"It's a lot... It's a lot bigger than anything else that went there," she said.

Jon hadn't thought to have a variety of objects on hand for a prolonged dilation process. "Do you want me to pull out?"

"I don't want you to move at all right now," she grumbled.

"Does it hurt?"

"No, it doesn't... It's a stretch, but it doesn't really hurt. But I don't... Know if I like it."

"It's okay," he said. "We'll just... We'll just stay here until you know what you want."

They did. Caitlyn didn't seem in the mood for conversation, so he didn't say much; it was a little surreal to be there, almost painfully erect, his cock swallowed by her ass and clenched tightly by her anal sphincter. Her opening here was rather tighter than her pussy, but once into her bowel the sensation dropped off sharply. He felt like he could move around inside her without touching anything, rooted as he was by her assholes. It was definitely different than normal sex, that much was certain.

"I never thought I'd be here," she said suddenly.

"Be where?"

"Well... Valentine's Day. You know how hard it is to be single on Valentine's Day?"

"As someone who has been exactly that for most of his life... Yeah, I do."

"And for a long time, it was like... 'Ha-ha, you're stuck here. You aren't going anywhere. You're single, and that's it for the rest of your life.' And I couldn't see any way to change that—I wasn't meeting anybody; the people I did meet were all older, or over the Internet... I didn't have any friends. I was just... Stuck."

"So you never thought you wouldn't be alone on Valentine's Day."

"Yeah. And then, sex, just... Ugh. You know it was never something I concerned myself with. I figured, you know, Yeah, it'll happen—if I ever get married, and fat chance of that, but on the off-chance I do—it'll happen, because I want to have babies, but I always thought of it as... Just... Something I'd have to do. Something I'd submit to, because it was my duty. A means to an end. I never thought I'd enjoy it. I never thought I'd do it just... Just because it's fun to do."

"Yeah."

"And now... To be here... With a husband, enjoying sex... And having his penis in my butt."

"Umm... From the sound of your voice, it sounds like you aren't enjoying this very much."

"No, I don't think I am. Pull out of me, Jon."

He did. And that was the end of that.

Jon checked the latex. It was still pure white; no smudges of brown, and, more importantly, no stains of red. For that, at least, he was glad. He pulled the condom off and put away the lube while Caitlyn stood up—a little bow-legged and awkward—and shut herself in the shower. He went to the sink in the kitchen and washed his hand of the immense coating of lube it had suffered; there was some on his groin as well, but it was going to be harder to get that off without a shower, which Caitlyn was using.

He hoped this whole incident wasn't going to cause problems. If they did, he wondered what they might be, and how he would have to deal with them.

He was still lost in thought when Caitlyn came out of the shower; in fact, he didn't notice until she perched on the bed beside him. Her hair was slicked down and her skin glowed; clouds of fragrant steam billowed from the bathroom door.

"You were thinking hard," she said.

"Yeah, I just... I dunno. It... That wasn't how I saw things going."

"That wasn't how I saw things going either," she said. "Though, I guess I gained more than I lost."

He wasn't entirely sure what this comment was referencing, so he kept silent.

"Would you be okay," she said, "if I said I didn't really want to do that again?"

"I would be fine with that," he said.

"Really? I figured you wouldn't want to give it up. I thought you'd like it."

"No, I had no idea whatsoever. I wasn't sure if I'd like it. I just... Wanted to see what would happen."

"To explore."

"Yeah."

"Well... Fair enough. But, the... Well. You're my husband. But even so, I think that's all the exploration you're entitled to."

"Okay." He dared to glance at her. She was brushing out her hair; she wasn't looking at him. In fact, for all their conversation, she didn't seem to have acknowledged him at all.

"Caitlyn...?" he said. "Are we... Are we okay?"

"What do you mean," she asked without turning.

"Is this... Is this something that's gonna... Cause problems? For us?"

The brush faltered for a moment.

"I just... When we were lying there, when you were in my... Butt... And you've got gunk all over your hand and I've got slippery stuff all over my butt, and I just suddenly thought... 'Why are we wasting time like this? Why are we bothering with all this stupidity when he could just... Just slide in my front side and be...' I mean, it always worked that way. We never had to do so much... Work."

"Well, true, but... What would you be saying if it turned out that you loved it and were glad we tried?" he said. "Hindsight is 20/20."

"No, you're right, and that's a valid point. But... I just couldn't help feeling that... That it was wrong for me. That it was wrong for us." She turned to face him. "You didn't enjoy it much, did you."

He wondered what the right answer was to this question. If he said he hadn't, would she be offended that she had compromised herself without gain? Especially since this was something sinful by her account. And yet, to him, there was no meaningful answer but the truth. "It was... I could live without it," he said. "It wasn't like bad, but it wasn't special either. Maybe if we explored it more we'd find out what it was good for, but, I wouldn't regret it if we didn't."

She nodded. "I knew you'd say that. It's like I said. That just... That just isn't our direction."

"Okay." He leaned close to kiss her forehead. "I can understand that."

She sighed. "Never thought I'd spend Valentine's Day like this."

"Like what? Not alone, having sex for fun, and doing it up the bum?"

She grimaced. "Finding out that, even when you act from love, sometimes you still make mistakes."

There didn't seem to be anything to say to that.

"Well, umm..." he said. "It's still Valentine's Day. There's still a couple hours left on the clock. What else can we do to put some of the magic back in your day?"

She shook her head. "Can you... Can you just hold me? Tonight? No more messing around, no more politics, no more of... All of that. Just... Just the fact that we love each other. Nothing more."

"Of course," he said, and tilted her face up for a gentle kiss. "Your wish is my command."

"Thanks."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Happy Valentine's Day." It was her line, but he said it, hoping to put a little laughter on her face.

But all he got was a worn smile. She said, "Yeah."

Day 72

When Caitlyn awoke on Tuesday morning, her butt was still sore.

It had been like this ever since their disastrous little flirtation with her nether regions last Thursday, and Caitlyn was starting to get concerned. Jon was solicitous and concerned—he always was; God had made him that way, and Jon could no more detach himself from it than stop breathing—but she could tell that he didn't think it was anything worrisome. To be fair, there was no burning pain, no blood, no constipation problems; but sometimes she felt like there was something still up in there, and that it might come clattering out at any time. This was ridiculous, and she knew it; nothing had gone there, besides Jon's bare fingers and his not-so-bare member, and all of those things had come out again. Yet she couldn't help but suspect. Perhaps Jon had inserted something while she wasn't paying attention... But what?—and to what purpose? Her husband would never do something like that. Besides, what could he have put in? A tracking device? Why? And why there, when she might accidentally flush it out with remains of last night's dinner some day? The whole thing was ludicrous. There was nothing wrong with her rear.

It still didn't keep her from feeling a little sore.

Today she woke up first, finding herself conscious and in his arms. She had been here many times, of course; but right now, 'here' was a place where she felt absolutely no thrill, had absolutely no desire for his body, and she didn't like how comfortable she was beginning to feel in this place. This has happened too many times before. We get into fights, he detaches; we get into fights, I detach. And we didn't even really have a fight! We had a discussion—completely mutual, completely civil—that sodomy was not our thing. He agreed with me, and I agreed with him. So what's going on?

Why do we keep fighting? What's going on with our marriage? We never had problems like this when we were dating. True, we never had sex like this either, but... (And there's another thing. Before, it wasn't a big deal if we never did it, because, well, we never did it. Now that we have a sex life, it's a problem when we don't anymore. Things have just gotten complicated.) What changed to make us have all these disagreements? She wasn't sure, but she knew people who would insist on Ockham's Razor. What changed in your marriage? Perhaps, the fact that you have one?

When she turned to look at him, his eyes were open.

The words tumbled out of her before she could stop them: "Jon, do you love me?" She felt her face reddening—what a thing to blurt out! How much more insecure—how much more tacky—could you get?

But Jon merely blinked a couple of times. "Of course," he said. "You're my wife, my love, the apple of my eye—everything I live for. Of course I love you."

She pressed herself into his arms with hysterical strength, trying to ignore the burning in her eyes. "Then love me. Take me. Make me your woman. Make us one."

He did. They kissed and touched in the grey morning light, fumbling at each other, stroking each other's faces. She was not ready, but she pulled him into herself anyway, feeling the way he filled her, the way he pushed at her inner walls. He pumped and strained away inside her, but did not kiss her. And when he finally filled her with his seed, she felt no pleasure at its warmth pooling in the crevices of her body, no joy at having brought him to his climax.

When she showered, his cum leaked out of her. She could tell by the sudden feeling of warmth passing between her nether regions. She had never liked that sensation: completely aside from her goal of keeping his spend inside her, there was a creepy, slimy feeling involved when it suddenly came splashing out. For a wild moment she wondered if she could somehow stuff it back in using the shower head; then she cleared her head, and sighed, and reached for the soap.

It was all wrong.

Jon was not waiting for her when she emerged from the bathroom; he was sitting on the couch, staring off into oblivion. When he heard her move, his vision suddenly seemed to focus.

"Something's wrong," he said.

"What?"

"There's something between us," he said. "There's something that's making us... That's keeping us apart."

Caitlyn wondered if she should be angry it had taken him this long to notice. But she nodded. Really, she was just glad he had noticed. After all, this wasn't about him pulling away in secret.

"Any idea what it is?"

She felt a flash of indignation that he would assume she was keeping secrets from him. Then she realized he was probably just asking, with no implications intended. And besides, it was a valid question. "No idea at all." What if she had known? Wouldn't that have made things simpler?

"Is it related to... Thursday?"

In the days leading up to February 14th, it had been 'Valentine's Day' in all their conversations. Now it was just 'Thursday.' "I don't... I don't think so. Maybe. I don't know. It... I haven't been waking up with screaming nightmares about it or anything."

"Yeah, I noticed."

He would; he was sharing her bed, after all. "Do you know?"

He shook his head. "I have some... I have some ideas. But nothing concrete."

"Tell me if anything comes up."

"I will."

"I'm tired of this. I don't want to... Can't we come up with a better way to argue? Instead of just... Erecting walls. Erecting walls so that we can't even touch each other anymore." She felt tears burning at her eyes again and blinked to force them back.

"Well," he said, "we could throw things at each other instead."

Is that our only alternative? Well. We're in fine shape then, aren't we. It was a pleasant thought.

On Tuesdays her first class was Jazz Theory, followed a half-hour later by her harp lesson with Mrs. Sellitz. She had three and a half hours to kill. There were dishes to put away, clothes to wash, bathrooms to clean, but the thought of those things filled her with despair. When Jon was here they were painful but necessary chores, like paying the rent; but today she felt that steady foundation of his presence trembling under her. Is this what earthquakes feel like?—to know that the solid ground under you isn't actually, by any means, solid?

On impulse, she found herself calling Pastor Pendleton. "Hello, Pastor?... Yes, I've been doing all right... Thank you. Thank you, no, that wasn't... Actually, I was wondering if you were in your office today, I was hoping to stop by... Oh? Okay... Umm. Okay. I'll... I'll be right over."

Pastor Pendleton was going over some paperwork with his wife when she arrived, but no sooner had Caitlyn knocked on the door, it seemed, than they were done. "If you'll excuse me, I'll excuse myself," said Mrs. Pendleton. "Tons to do anyway. My youngest son Chris has a soccer practice tonight, and I'm supposed to bring the snacks. My one piece of advice to you, young missy: if you want to stay sane, never have kids."

"...Says the woman who prided herself on insanity in college," Pastor Pendleton remarked.

His wife leveled a finger at him. "Hey, mister. I know where you sleep."

Pastor Pendleton made an innocent look. "Just, doing my part to keep you humble."

"Keep it up, buster, and I'll be doing my part to keep you chaste," Mrs. Pendleton threatened.

Her husband spread his arms. "Now, Amber. I am a minister of the Lord. And everyone knows that priests don't have sex." He grinned.

"Oh, really. And where, precisely, are you going to explain our children came from?"

"You know, I've actually been meaning to talk to you about that for some time," said Pastor Pendleton. "But the thing is, I can never get around to it. Every time I try, you strip me naked and have your wicked way with me."

"Good thing, too," said Amber Pendleton to Caitlyn, "'cause if I'd left it up to him, we wouldn't have kids yet. Have a nice day, hubby." She rolled her eyes and swept out the door.

"So, Caitlyn," said Pastor Pendleton. "What can I do for you?"

Caitlyn had been staring, caught somewhat off-guard by this unabashed banter. But now she tried to remember why she was here, and everything came flooding back. She sat in a chair and tried not to feel miserable. "Umm... Nothing," she said, "nothing really. I just... Wanted to talk."

"Well, this is a house of the Lord," said Pastor Pendleton, moving to her side of the desk and turning a chair to face her. "Talk is something we do here. What would you like to talk about?"

Caitlyn opened her mouth, but no sound came out. "Umm. Well."

Pastor Pendleton tilted his head. "Why don't we try it this way. Good morning, Caitlyn. How are you?"

"I'm... I'm fine."

"How have you been? You're in church quite a bit, but we never seem to have a chance to talk."

"I'm... I'm doing okay."

"How is everything at home?"

"Oh, everything's... Great..."

"How is your husband doing?"

Caitlyn was starting to feel stupid, giving these halting non-answers to all his questions. "He's, umm... He's all right. He's at work right now."

"How are things between the two of you? Any arguments or problems coming up?"

"Umm... Well... There is... Something."

"I see. Would you like to talk about it?"

"I..." Yes, she would; she very much would like to. But... "I'm not sure what it is."

Pastor Pendleton must have been despairing to himself, but outwardly he simply smiled. "Well, that certainly helps narrow it down.

"I-I'm sorry, I know it..."

"It's okay, Caitlyn, I was joking. And, actually, we can approach it from that angle. Can you tell me about the problems you do know about? If it's not those things, then that helps us narrow it down."

Caitlyn felt strangely guilty, telling someone else about her marital woes. She also thought that 'problems' might be an overstatement; everything was fine between her and Jon. ...Wasn't it? "Well... He's not... He's not as much of a Christian as I would like."

"How do you mean? For about the last year and a half, Caitlyn, he's been coming here with you; I can't think of many times off the top of my head when I've seen you here without him."

"I know, but... For him it's... It's the polite thing, you know? It doesn't mean anything to him."

"Does that make a difference on his behavior? Jon has always struck me as a very gentle, very caring person; and, from what I hear from other members of the church, such as Pastor Larson and Jerri Sloane, they think much the same of him. He's polite, personable, a good talker and a good listener; he's always patient and kind... At least, he is when we see him."

She recognized the opening, but it didn't apply to this situation. Jon was not two-faced like that; where he was concerned, what you saw was what you got. It was one of the things she loved about him. "No, it's not... It's not like that. He isn't... Hurting me or anything." Not even my bum. No matter how weird or uncomfortable it was, no one can deny that he was very considerate and loving about it.

"Okay. Are there any other issues that have come up?"

"Umm... Well, just... I mean, we talk, you know?"

"Always a good thing for a husband and wife to do," said Larry Pendleton with a straight face.

"And we... We come up with things that, maybe, we think, the other person could improve about themselves."

"Which could potentially cause some defensiveness," said Pastor Pendleton, "since there's always an element of judgment involved. Even if it is your husband or your wife, whom you love more than life itself, it can sting to hear that there's things you need to work on."

"Yeah, we aren't... There isn't, like, pressure or anything," said Caitlyn. "He's really good at that. But... The thing is, there's never... Well, I mean. If he says, 'Hey, have you ever tried it this way, you might be happier,' I'm like, you know, Sure, why not. But... When I suggest something..." She thought about her wish to be dominated.

"Mmm," said Pastor Pendleton, nodding. "That's one of the most difficult things to accept about being married, Caitlyn—or, indeed, about being alive. If Jon feels like he's an okay guy the way he is, then you just have to accept that. You can't make him change. You can only make him want to change."

"I know, and... I guess he is okay the way he is." Except for not wanting to tie me down to the bed and have his way with me.

"Are you?" Pastor Pendleton asked. "Okay the way you are?"

Caitlyn thought for a moment. "I... Well, I know Jon would say I am. But... He's biased."

"Perhaps he is, but there are so many people biased against us in life; isn't it nice to have someone biased in your favor instead?"

"Yeah, I guess. But, I just... I mean, yeah, I know I can't make him change. And I know he doesn't feel like this is a bad thing. But, when I think about him in church and how he just... doesn't... Believe, it..."

"If he changed, you think it would be for the best."

"Yes."

"But... I don't know how to make him want to change. I just don't... He's so content now. He thinks he doesn't need faith. And yet, every time he asks me to do something..."

"Oh? Does he expect you to bow to his whims?"

Caitlyn felt herself coloring. "No, he... He's always made it clear that... That if I'm not comfortable with something, or, or if I think I'd be better off without it, that... I can say no."

"And does he mean it?"

"Yeah, actually, I think he does," Caitlyn said, thinking back to Thursday and feeling her face color. "But... I always feel like..."

"Like you have to please him."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I... I don't know. It's just... Jon says it was trained into me, and I think he's right. And, it's one of the things he thinks I should change about myself."

"To be less willing to please? Since he's your husband and the main beneficiary of that trait, shouldn't he want you to stay that way?"

"Well, I don't think he wants me to be, like, contrary or anything, but he says... He says he worries about my willingness to put others first. He says I'm too willing to damage myself for the sake of others."

"Now, that I find to be a valid concern. Does it happen often?"

"I don't think so." She gave a humorless grin. "In fact, the one time I think it happened, it was Jon I was trying to please."

"Oh?" said Pastor Pendleton. "And, if I may ask, what was his pleasure on this particular occasion?"

Caitlyn felt her face flush. What did I just maneuver myself into? And yet she realized suddenly that this was exactly why she had come—for a second opinion, for outside advice, not just on her marriage as a whole but on her marriage in light of this new development. In light of Thursday. "He..." She took a deep breath, determined now to say this without stuttering. "He asked me if I would let him try anal sex on me."

Pastor Pendleton nodded. "Okay."

Caitlyn waited for him to say more, but he didn't. She realized the floor was to her still. "And, it... It wasn't... It was weird, but it wasn't, like... Unnatural. It didn't hurt or anything. I didn't feel like it was something I had to strain myself out of shape for. —Not physically, at least." She was fairly sure larger things had passed through that region at some point—though generally in the opposite direction.

"Physically it was all right then. Mentally?"

"Mentally... Well, I learned to relax a lot," she said with a humorless laugh.

"Spiritually?" Pastor Pendleton said.

That was the tricky question. "I... Well, I thought about it a lot. I mean, Jon didn't just spring this on me, he said it a while ago, and I did a lot of thinking. I know it's proscribed in the Bible, but—well, let's be honest, so is eating shellfish. When Jesus came to us, he gave us a new covenant, and the rules of the Torah don't apply to us anymore unless he specifically underlined them. And there's nothing in the New Testament prohibiting sodomy."

"That much is true," Pastor Pendleton said.

"And, besides, it... Well, I think the best description of it would be a 'technical sin.' God says it's bad, but... It can be done without hurting anyone."

"In this life, at least."

"In this life, at least," she agreed. "And that was what I thought about the longest. In the end, I decided..." She hesitated. She wasn't sure this was the sort of thing you were supposed to say to a minister of God. "In the end, I decided that, if it would please my husband, I was willing to commit this sin. Not to be malicious, not to divorce myself from God, but... Out of love. I'm not saying I would murder somebody, or steal, or... Or something that would really, definitely hurt someone. Not even if Jon asked me to. But for this, which seems so technical, which some religions don't even condemn... That was a sin I was willing to commit, because I love my husband that much."

She felt tears stinging at her eyes again. She had cried too much today already; it wasn't even lunch yet. And yet these tears were not of self-recrimination. She was remembering how much she loved him. She was wishing she had him back.

"I think there is honor in that sort of love," said Pastor Pendleton. "And I think there is virtue in it as well. And sometimes I think we could use more people in this world who have your mindset—who understand the rules, and study them, and know that all of them have exceptions and that sometimes it's okay to step outside them for a while. We need more people who care less about mindless obedience and more about doing good—even if, on very rare occasions, doing good isn't the same as doing right."

She felt his hand on her shoulder, a fatherly gesture. When was the last time anyone had done that to her? Jon, probably, during the months of their courtship; certainly not her actual father, who would probably be threatening her with bodily harm by now.

"Do you regret it?"

"I... Don't, actually, not really," she said. "He... He said that he wasn't sure he would like it, that he just wanted to... Well, to try it and find out. We tried it. We found out. I don't think it's right for us."

"You believe it's a sin?"

"I have no idea if it's a sin or not," she said, maybe a little sharper than she'd intended. "But that's not it anyway. I don't care if other people do it, I just don't wanna. I just... What he and I did, when we were... Exploring that outlet..." Boy, that was more double entendre than she'd intended. "It wasn't... Loving. I mean, he was very kind and considerate, and he always stopped and made sure it didn't hurt and that I was comfortable with it, but, it was so... Detached. I don't think we could ever do... That particular activity... Without having to be, I dunno, clinical about it. Scientific. And that's not how we're called to be together, that's not how we were called to share our bodies with each other. That's not who we were meant to be.

"I love him, and I love making love to him, and if... If anal sex could be incorporated into that, um, into that activity, I would welcome it. Even if it was a sin. And how could it be sinful, if it were strengthening our love for each other. If it was loving, I would be fine with it. But... It wasn't about strengthening our love or our trust or our bond, it was just about... Sex. ...And, I mean, we do that sometimes too, where we really want..." She thought of the times when she lay beneath him as he hammered into her, or was taken from behind on her hands an knees—hearing the smack of his body hitting hers, feeling the raw wanton pleasure of their rampant hormones, driving each other on towards climax. "...Where we really want to have the pleasure of it, to feel those sensations which you don't get any other way."

Pastor Pendleton was nodding. "You want to have an orgasm. You really want to—please forgive the word, but it really is the most accurate term here—you really want to fuck each other."

She blushed to hear him curse, but he was right: 'making love' was too romantic, and 'sex' too scientific. In the word 'fuck' was a layer of pure raw sexuality that those other terms didn't have. If she treated it as a description and ignored the fact that it was a dirty word, it was completely accurate.

"And there's nothing wrong with that. Orgasm is part of the gift God gave us. And it's a mark of the trust and intimacy between the two of you that you can abandon yourselves with each other and indulge in such pleasure like that."

Caitlyn nodded. It underlined the point. "But, even at times like that... Even when we're... well.... fucking... It's something that makes us love each other more. We couldn't have it if we didn't love each other. We couldn't have sex of any sort if we didn't love each other. And most of the time it's not about chasing the orgasm, it's just about... Loving each other, and being close to each other, and sharing these physical sensations which are so intimate, because we've never shared them with anyone else... The orgasm almost doesn't matter. It's about making love.

"But when we were, um. Exploring that outlet..." Pastor Pendleton gave her a wry smile. "...it wasn't about love. It wasn't... It wasn't even fucking. It was just... Totally physical. It was just... Sex."

"And that's how you knew it wasn't right for the two of you."

"Yeah. It was just physical sensation without the love underlying it, and... That's not what interests me. And I know that isn't what interests him either. We were both virgins, and I know he could've changed that about himself if he wanted to. But he didn't. He said he wanted to find some woman to fall in love with, and then have sex with her. When it meant something."

"When it reflected a strong emotional bond."

"Yeah. Why would he do that if all he wanted was just... The pleasure?"

"No good reason, unless he was totally incompetent with women. And I think we can rule that out." Pastor Pendleton smiled, and Caitlyn surprised herself by smiling too.

"Do you think less of me?" she said.

"Of you? Of course not," said Pastor Pendleton. "Caitlyn, everyone makes mistakes; that's something that's true of everyone who ever lived (with the sole possible exception of our Lord and Savior). And besides, I don't think this was a mistake. You and your husband decided to experiment with something, and found it wasn't to your liking. I'm sure the two of you have tried new things together before—both in and out of the bedroom—and that sometimes they just don't catch on."

That much was true. Though, to be fair, this was the first time they'd ever tried something that was going to be categorically ruled out; "But... If this wasn't a bad thing, why is it making a difference?"

"Is it making a difference?"

"It... I don't understand it. But... Ever since we tried it, there's this... Well, maybe not 'wall,' but... We're both more hesitant. He doesn't initiate sex as often, I don't initiate sex as often, we've barely had a real conversation since... When we do have sex, it isn't... Neither of us gets into it."

"That definitely sounds like a problem," Pastor Pendleton said. "And you don't know what it is."

"That's why we started listing all these other things," said Caitlyn, without humor.

"And it's not any of those?"

"Not to my knowledge," said Caitlyn. "Of course, if we wanna start listing all the things I don't know, that might take a while."

"Well, if some insight does occur to you, I'm always available," said Pastor Pendleton. But Caitlyn went home, got herself some lunch, and then went off to her harp lesson without any occurrence of that helpful flash-of-insight phenomenon. There wasn't anything from Jazz Theory, either; evidently there were to be no helpful comments from passersby or classmates to shed some light on the subject. She needed to get home and spend some time in prayer, but somehow she wasn't sure that would help either. God could be deeply inscrutable when He chose.

Jon didn't call during his lunch break, which was unusual; but then, it was a Tuesday. Maybe he remembered she'd be in a lesson. He did call as she was leaving the Jazz Theory classroom. "Hi, sorry I didn't call earlier, I didn't get my lunch break until now."

"It's all right."

"So, um... Any thoughts on what's going on?"

"Not really. You?"

"Not really. But I've been busy. I mean, I just got my lunch break."

"I went to talk to Pastor Pendleton."

"Really? Man, I wish I could've come. He's a good guy to talk to."

"Yeah."

"Did he have any ideas?"

"No."

They talked a little more, but it wasn't really a conversation, and when they hung up she felt like nothing had changed.

It wasn't until Caitlyn had gotten home and was applying herself to her homework in a desultory fashion that the next phone call came. It was from a voice she hadn't heard for a couple weeks. "Hi, this is Harold."

"Oh! Umm. Hi, Harold. How are you?"

"I'm really good, thanks! How are you? How was your Valentine's Day?"

"Oh, it was... Really good. We went out to a fondue place, which I'd never done before, so, that was fun." In light of the more traumatic events, it was sometimes hard to remember that Thursday had actually been fun. At least, before the trauma started. "Umm... How about you?"

"Oh, it was great! Did I tell you? I got a girlfriend!"

Caitlyn felt her jaw hit the floor—for a moment, she thought it had actually become detached from her body and fallen off. Then she realized she'd dropped the cup she'd been holding. Fortunately it was plastic, and mostly empty. Mostly. She wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder and reached for the paper towels. "...Really! That's... Wow, that's incredible!"

"I know, isn't it? You remember the last time we went to hang out? Well, after you guys left, some girl came over and talked to me. She said she'd heard some of our conversation and that she felt sorry for me—"

Hold on, she what?? Did he really just say that? Caitlyn for a moment imagined her forehead in the center of Harold's crosshairs. "Oh?"

"Yeah, she said that you were trying your best to be a good friend, but Jon was kind of holding you back."

"...Oh," she said. What was the right response to that. "Umm. I'm sorry. Jon can be kind of..."

Harold chuckled. "No no no, don't worry. Heck, maybe I should thank him: if it weren't for that, I would never have met Pamela."

Caitlyn let out a silent breath. "Still, I want to apologize. Jon's rudeness helping you get somewhere still doesn't excuse the fact that he was rude. And the next time we see you, I'll make sure he does as well."

"Well, actually..."

Caitlyn held her breath again. Oh, now what?

"Talking with Pamela... Well, we talked about a lot of things. And she said that, if Jon didn't want to be there, I shouldn't make him. So, you don't have to bring him. Actually, don't bring him at all. Pamela thinks he's kind of a jerk. And, actually, so do I."

The fact that this Pamela person was right, under these circumstances at least, did not mitigate her indignation. "Where Jon isn't welcome, I'm not welcome either, Harold. We're married. There isn't a line you can draw between us like that."

"Oh, well, that's too bad. Oh well. I guess I'll see you around church then?"

It took Caitlyn a moment to process this statement. He's... He's just... "Umm... Yeah. I guess." He's just cutting us off?

"Okay. It's been nice knowing you, Caitlyn. Take care." He hung up.

Caitlyn stared at the phone. Who poured a quart of fresh guts down his throat? He had a hunch her name started with a P and rhymed with -amela.

Jon was right. Harold was a jerk. Up until now he'd been a lame, friendless one, to be sure, but... A jerk nonetheless. After all we've done for him—being as nice to him as we can, being supportive of him even when he annoys us... And now he just wants to... I can't believe it! He wouldn't even know her if it wasn't for us! She wondered if he was getting laid. Might that be the source of his new-found confidence?

Jon was right... But so was Harold.

Jon had done his best to be patient, and she knew it; but there was probably no way to hide the fact that he didn't actually like Harold, and she knew that too. They had been counting on Harold remaining so self-absorbed that he didn't see what was right under his nose: Jon's boredom—and, for that matter, Caitlyn's boredom as well. Now that the long affair had been played out and there was no pressure, she could admit it to herself: she didn't like Harold either. Perhaps this Pamela found his ego and constant chatter endearing; Caitlyn, for her part, had wished for a sock to stuff in his mouth. She had done it only because it was the right thing to do; and, no matter how much she tried, virtue had not been its own reward in this case.

And yet it wasn't Caitlyn's mistreatment Harold had zeroed in on. It was Jon's.

Jon didn't care. And even more than that, Jon didn't even try to care. He just judged from the start and didn't give Harold a second chance. The fact that Jon was right doesn't excuse him; he could've just as possibly been wrong. Jon just... Judges. He decides, and then he sticks himself in that rut, and he doesn't... He doesn't ever give anybody a chance. He doesn't listen to anybody. Not to God, not to other people... Not to me.

She knew then what the problem was.

It was a long, tedious wait until she saw him again. She had to sit around the apartment, trying to do homework or housework, checking the clock for progress. An hour would pass and she would glance at the digital display on the wall only to find that, no, as a matter of fact it had only been three minutes. Then she had to go to orchestra practice, where everything seemed chosen deliberately to make the time drag: no one had their music, none of the instruments were in place, people were late, people forgot what they were doing, Professor Felman forgot what they were doing... Everything that she could imagine going wrong, did; and then something went wrong that she couldn't imagine: the membrane on the timpani ruptured, causing some sort of damage to the instrument, which would only increase the repair costs. And then, of course, Felman had them stay late to make up for lost time, further delaying not only her reckoning but her evening meal. By the time orchestra practice let out at 8:11, she felt ravenous, and five years older.

When she got home, Jon was pacing anxiously, but she thought this was an improvement from zoned out, sitting on the couch. "Where were you?" he demanded.

"Orchestra practice ran late," she said. "Everything went wrong."

"By forty-five minutes?"

"Yes, by forty-five minutes. When I say 'everything,' I mean 'everything,' Jon. Did you know that, if a violist accidentally strings his instrument with two C-strings, that's a bad thing, and he has to stop, take off the wrong string and put the right one on again? And that, since he's the soloist, we have to all sit there waiting for him?"

"Wait, seriously?" said Jon.

"Seriously," said Caitlyn. "You know Felman. He's a nice guy, but if you mess up he really lets you know." She blinked at him. "Why, what did you think had happened?"

"Uhh... Nothing," he said.

She looked at him.

"Well... Something, but... I don't want to dignify it by saying it out loud."

That was fair enough; how often did she feel like it was better to keep her thoughts to herself? "Okay. Well, I'm here. And I'm sorry for making you wait."

"It's okay. Umm. It's just leftovers, so..."

The dinner was civil, and they talked rather more than they normally did; these things gave her heart. He joked about things that had happened at work; she, now able to laugh at the various errors at orchestra practice, related some of those. But just as conspicuously, there were things they didn't talk about; just as conspicuously, he kept his hands to himself. Normally it was as if he could never get enough of her, as if being physically apart from her for more than a few minutes was too much; sometimes it was wearying, but sometimes it was endearing too. Today its absence screeched like a singing wineglass.

Caitlyn suddenly saw herself: sitting at this table with as genuine a smile pasted on her face as she could manage, trying to be polite, feeling completely helpless. Her marriage, once as reassuring as a cathedral, now seemed riddled with cracks, liable to fall apart if touched the wrong way; they had instinctively avoided anything that might cause the whole house of cards to fall apart. Is this what it comes to? We married, we loved each other; but now... It this all our love amounts to? This is the man I decided to spend my life with. Is this all it takes to rive us apart?

"...I have to go to the bathroom," she said.

Their toilet was off in its own little room, barely more than a closet, for no good reason she could understand. She closed the door though the resulting room was claustrophobic. It felt like she did.

She stayed in there a long time; she almost couldn't bear to come out. When she did, Jon was on the computer, and the food put away, including the meal she had half-managed to consume. She microwaved it and forced a little more down. For the first time in her life, she understood what people meant when they talked about food tasting like ashes.

Finally, she was out of excuses. She put the plate down and faced the door to the bedroom. Beyond it, Jon was still clicking away, doing God-only-knew-what. She envied him his calm. She envied him his distraction.

"J-Jon?"

He looked up immediately. "Yeah?"

"We... We need to talk."

A swift series of emotions crossed over his face; he made a few more mouse clicks, presumably pausing whatever activities he was doing, and stood up to walk to her.

She envied him his calm.

"Did you figure it out?" he said.

"Yeah," she said, "I think I... I think I get some of it."

"Okay." If his heart was anything like hers, it was flip-flopping in his chest, but it still didn't show on his face. Darn him.

"I, umm. I spoke with Harold today."

"Okay. And?"

"Well... He said that, actually, he has a girlfriend now."

She was expecting disinterest, and Jon did not disappoint. "Excellent, now we can stop wasting time on him. Did he say how he got her?"

"Jon, no one is a waste of time."

"He is. I wonder how this girlfriend of his puts up with him."

"She likes him because, to her, he is not a waste of time," said Caitlyn, a tad more sharply than she'd intended.

"Well, fine," said Jon, "to her he's not a waste of time. But, seeing as how we aren't either of us this girlfriend of his..."

"Jon, don't you get it? Christ calls us to keep looking. Christ calls us to try and find out how he isn't a waste of time."

"So you mean Christ calls us to be his girlfriend? Both of us?" said Jon.

She didn't let him derail her. "Christ calls us to turn the other cheek. To give Harold a chance—to give him as many chances as he needs—to show us who he truly is, so that we can appreciate him that way."

"So, what?" said Jon. "Are you saying I didn't give him a chance?"

"I don't have to say it," Caitlyn said quietly. "You know it's true."

To his credit, he didn't try to deny it.

"And so, I should add, does Harold," Caitlyn said.

That got him. His eyes went wide and he stared at her. "He noticed?"

"Yes."

"...Shit. That sucks."

"Would you like to know what he said to me?"

Jon grimaced. "No, I wouldn't, but I think I need to anyway. Tell me."

"He said that he could tell. He said that he was tired of being treated that way by you, and he said that, the next time I go hang out with him, I shouldn't ask you to come along."

Jon mopped his face with his hands. "Shit. I didn't... Caitlyn, you know I wasn't trying to... Shit. I wanted him to feel accepted. I wanted him to feel liked."

"Then why didn't you do it instead of faking it," she asked quietly.

"Well... Because... Well, I mean, come on, Caitlyn, I don't like him." He gave a rueful grimace. "I think he's a jerk."

And as she knew all too well, that was an accurate assessment. "Well. I guess that's the way the cookie crumbles."

"So, how'd he meet this gal, anyhow?"

"After we left, she came and talked to him. She said she felt sorry for him, having such half-assed friends."

Jon gave a guffaw. "So you mean it's actually our fault that he has a girlfriend? Ha! I hope he thanked us."

"Still, Jon. It's true that our poor friendship ended up helping him, but that doesn't excuse us for being poor friends. It doesn't excuse you for being a poor friend."

"I never said it did," he said. "I was just pointing out that it had a beneficial effect—"

"So that you could cop out of the responsibility?"

"Caitlyn... It's not my responsibility to be his friend. Unless I say it is."

"Didn't you?"

"No! Caitlyn, I don't even like him."

"Then why were you trying to do something nice for him?"

"I..."

"And why, for that matter, couldn't you have done more than a half-assed job at it?"

"Well... I..."

"It's because you just decided," Caitlyn said. "You just... You make up your mind, Jon, and then you don't let anyone dissuade you. Not even things like, say, facts, or the truth."

Jon looked stricken. "I thought that was your parents' purview."

"Evidently it's not exclusively theirs. Doesn't it take one to know one? Jon, this is even true of our love life. I want you to tie me down and have your way with me, and you won't entertain the thought. You want to do my ass, and I consider it, I prepare myself for it, I let you do it—"

"Caitlyn, I have moral objections to that, as I've told you—"

"Jon, I had moral objections to letting you do what you did on Thursday. But I did it anyway."

He was silent.

"I know there's a lot of stuff going around about whether the Bible is still applicable, and some of it is pretty valid. But there's no harm in playing it safe, is there? Even if you're not sure, why not avoid it anyway? But you didn't want to. So I did it. For you. I let you do things to me that made me uncomfortable, that didn't feel comfortable, that maybe have put my standings in the afterlife in jeopardy."

"You didn't have to."

"I know. And I thought about it a lot. And you know what I decided?" Once again the tears were threatening. This time they weren't joyful. "I, I decided that, if it would please you... It was worth it. It was worth the risk. I love you so much that I'm willing to put myself in a bad position to make you happy."

"Caitlyn..."

She heard the pain in his voice, but didn't let herself stop. "Jon, I sinned for you." Definitely crying now; maybe he was too. "I let things get to be too much, because I love you. I walked down the path of sin for you. And yet now you won't walk down the same path for me. Heck, you won't even walk the path of virtue for me. You just won't move. Because you've made up your mind, and you aren't going to listen to anyone anymore. Chuh. You are like Harold that way."

He was silent for a moment, and Caitlyn felt the world shying under her; there were many millions of responses he could make, and most of them were the wrong ones. But he said, "What do you think I should change," and hope soared in her heart.

"I just... Jon, I want you to try being more open to... To changing your mind. To listening to people. I want you be willing to give people a chance."

"To turn the other cheek."

"Yes, to... To be open. Nobody ever knows the whole story, Jon. Someone may rub you the wrong way, but that doesn't mean you know them, or that they're going to stay like that forever. You just have to give them the benefit of the doubt."

He looked at her. "What happens if they just keep rubbing you the wrong way?"

"Then you just keep trying."

"That could take a while."

"Jon, it's about being willing to love. Don't you believe in that?"

"Caitlyn, you of all people should know that some people aren't easy to love."

"Then you just keep trying. You don't let yourself get knocked down. You don't let yourself get stopped by setbacks. Perseverance is a virtue, Jon."

"I know, but... What about if it's a lost cause?"

"There is no such thing," she said. "People will be wonderful if you give them the right chance. Jon, you taught me that. No one is a lost cause to God."

"To God, perhaps, but... We here on Earth have kind of a different perspective," he said.

"But isn't that the point of faith?" she said. "To become closer to God? Pastor Pendleton likes to say that a husband and wife should form a triangle with God, so that to become closer to Him is to become closer to each other."

"Yeah, I remember," he said. "Your parents have that pinned up on their refrigerator."

"What did you think?"

"I... I dunno. It just... It's a good way to think about it."

But not a way he liked. She tried a different tack. "Weren't you the one saying that pursuing Christ was important to you? That you wanted to follow Jesus' example?"

"Yes, I do," he said. "But within reason."

"And what does that mean?"

"What it means," he said, "was that Jesus was the son of God. As such, it's a lot easier for him to do those things."

"You said you believed in him even if he isn't divine in nature," she said.

"Well... Okay, fine," he said, and she knew she'd headed something off. "Fine, so that argument doesn't work. But I still think it stands."

"How?"

"Look, sweetie, Christ was all about self-sacrifice."

"Of course. 'For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son...' " John 3:16 was, arguably, the cornerstone of Christianity as a religion. ...that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

"Right, so, God's into self-sacrifice. Jesus set an example by allowing himself to be martyred. He let himself die for the sake of the world."

"Okay," she said, not getting his complaint. "So?"

"...So..." He seemed to be struggling with a concept too strange to articulate. "...So... That doesn't strike you as suicidal?"

She gave him a look of confusion. "What?"

"Look, sweetie, God gave us that as an example. Christ tells us that you should be willing to give up anything—anything—in His service. Including your life. Including everything that's important to you. Doesn't that scare you?"

Caitlyn shook her head. "God would never ask those things of us if He didn't plan to give us more, and better, in return."

"Tell that to six million Jews," Jon said. "Tell that to victims of ethnic cleansing in Bosnia. Tell that to the orphans in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the fatherless kids here in America too."

"True, those people suffer, but you're making the mistake of assuming that this human frame of reference is the only one that matters. The benefits of those fates may only become clear later in life, or even only in Heaven. What matters is not that we understand, what matters is that we persevere."

He shook his head. "You can't really believe that."

She looked at him, bewildered. "I do believe that. I can't explain how or why; that's faith, Jon, that's personal. That's something you have to find for yourself. All I know is that I do believe. I believe that, when God calls, I should listen. And I believe that, whatever God asks of me, however onerous it may be... There are blessings on their way."

He shook his head. "You may believe that, but I don't. I just... God plays His chess without consulting His pieces. I can't help but worry that He would move me away from you."

"Well, it's okay if you don't believe it yet," she said, "that's part of the faith journey everyone has to make. But as to the other... It may be true, but He still wouldn't split us apart."

"Why not?"

"Well, because He meant for us to be together, didn't He? If that's the case, then nothing can keep us apart."

"And if He didn't?"

She didn't like to think about that, but there was no way to not lie: "...Well, if that's the case, then nothing can keep us together. But that includes not having faith in Him, Jon. That's like closing your eyes and pretending I can't see you."

"Caitlyn, I just can't trust that God is going to do what's best for me."

"Yes you can, Jon. And besides, how do you even know what's best for you? None of us knows what's actually, really, truly right for ourselves in the end. Besides, if you can't trust God to know that, how can you trust other people, who know even less?"

"Well, at least they're there. At least I can explain it to them."

"And maybe they'll listen, but that still doesn't make it right."

He gave her a cross look. "This is about Thursday, isn't it."

"No, it's not about Thursday," she said. "...Actually, no, that isn't true. It is about Thursday. It's about every Thursday. And Monday, and Tuesday, and Wednesday, and every other day. It's about everything, Jon."

"Oh, great. I've been married... What, ten weeks? And now I find out I've been messing up every day of the whole time."

She touched his shoulder. "No, not messing up, just... Maybe making a few missteps."

"Do you really think Thursday was a sin?" he asked.

"I... I don't know," she said. "I don't... Boy, I just talked to Pastor Pendleton about this, like, twelve hours ago. Let's see if I can remember it. Jon, I just felt that... That it wasn't the right path for us. I don't mind exploring, and we've certainly found things that we like, but... This isn't it. What we did... It was just purely about sensation."

"We've done that," he protested.

"No, we haven't," she said. "We never did anything that was only sensation. We've done things where we love each other and we're... Really going at it... But never something where we're just really going at it. And that's why it's wrong for us. Everything we've ever done in the bedroom has been about love... Except this one. This wasn't about love, it was just about sex. And... I don't think there's any way we could make it be about love. It's just too... Weird."

"But is it a sin?" he asked.

"No," she said, "it... I mean, like I said, I don't think it's right for us. But that doesn't mean I can condemn it totally. If other people can make it work, can turn it into something that deepens their love for each other, then how can I denounce that? We're just not one of those people."

"Fair enough," he said.

"But that just brings us right back to where we started," she said. "How come you aren't willing to take a chance on what I want?"

"It would strengthen our love for me to tie you to the bed??"

"Yes," she said. "I know that sounds crazy, but it's true."

"What, is there something in the Bible about this too?"

"Jon, shut up. You do realize that almost all of our sexual relationship has been about you convincing me to try things that you knew I actually wanted in the first place, even if I didn't realize it. This is just the logical extension of that. We already said that we were going to put rules in place, that we wouldn't be allowed to do things while tied-up that we wouldn't do free... I'm submitting because I want to. Because you know my body better than I do, so I might as well just let you have your way with me. Because, if I do, we'll both be happy. And because I like the idea of being helpless in your arms."

"Caitlyn, I don't know if I like that idea. I think it's important for you not to get too—"

"Ugh!" Her frustration finally exploded out of her in a shove that rocked him back on his heels. "Jon, why can't you just try it! Why do you have to think all the time! Can't you once, just once, put your faith in me and believe I might know what I'm doing?"

"Because that's what I see you doing all the time, and you seem content to let that lead you to the grave!" he retorted.

She said nothing.

"Can't you think every now and then? People ask you for stuff and you just say Yes blindly without thinking through the consequences. Maybe virtue is its own reward, but that doesn't mean it compensates for what you give up to get it."

"What do I give up to get it?"

"Time with me," he said. "Time to yourself. Sanity. You're doing better now, because we're together more, but have you already forgotten what it was like when you were still with your parents? Everyone wanted everything of you. And you always felt like you'd only find yourself if you gave it to them. Well, that's just wrong, Caitlyn. The only place you're going to find you is inside yourself. It's not from the satisfaction of serving other people. It's not from making sacrifices to make other people happy. It's from knowing who you are, what you want, and being able to say No."

"I believe in a faith that always says Yes," she said.

"Well, I can't do that," he said.

"Maybe you can't now," she said, "but if you give it a little time—"

"I don't mean now, I mean ever," he said. "Caitlyn, the only way you know yourself is if you say No. That's the only way to have a self: to have boundaries up where people can't cross, to draw a line in the sand and say, 'Beyond that is Me; nobody touches it without my say-so.' What do you think I've been encouraging you to do for the last twenty months!"

"Say No," she said, feeling wooden.

"Yes," he said. "To say No. So that there's a place for you to fall back on. So that there's a place you can go when you're all Yes'd out. So that there's a place Yes can come from. That's the other argument I have: that if you give and give and give of yourself, eventually there's no You left. You're totally willing to destroy yourself like that, and, fine, I guess I can't stop you. But it's not something I can do. Not me."

"So..." Her lips felt numb. "So, what are you saying?"

"I guess..." He sighed. "Caitlyn, I just don't think this is right for me. Christianity, I mean. Caitlyn, I will support you. I'm your husband; I love you. If you want to go to church and be involved there, I'll come with you. And I'll believe all that I can. But you can't ask me to embrace something that makes you willing to just... Destroy yourself like this. Suicide is a mortal sin. Even in pursuit of God."

Caitlyn felt a dropping sensation in her stomach, like the roller coasters she sometimes went on—as if the floor had simply gone out from under her.

This was too important to her to abandon. This was too much a part of who she was. This was too much a part of who and what she needed Jon to be. She was a Christian woman; it was her calling to love, and love, and love, no matter what it cost her. She had thought that Jon—Jon, of all people, who had been love to her for almost two years now—would understand. She had hoped that she could bring him around. If we were meant to be together, nothing could tear us apart. She could already feel tears threatening her eyes, for the umpteenth time today. If we aren't...

"Jon, I... I don't think this is right for me."

He looked at her, his eyes confused. And something else, too; something wild. Something desperate. "What do you mean?"

There was no stemming the tears now; she forced the words out as best she could. "That's... I can't be with someone who feels that way. I can't be with someone who isn't going to be with me on that journey." There were tears outside; inside, though, she felt nothing but empty. Curiously hollow, as though something had simply withered and died. "You once said that, when you marry someone, when you choose someone to walk down the road of life with, you should choose someone who's walking to the same place you are, and along the same path. If you aren't... If Jesus isn't something you're aiming for, then our paths are not the same."

"Caitlyn—"

"I don't know what we'll do about... Everything," she said, now unable to look at him. Now she was not hollow; now there was pain. Jonathan, my heart, my everything, my all... Jonathan, who knows my body better than I do, who knows my heart better than I do... Jonathan, whom I trusted... "We've spent a lot of money together, and bought things together. Maybe we can..."

"Caitlyn—"

She couldn't look at him. It was too scary to imagine what she would see.

"We'll— We'll work it out. We'll work it out." Now that we have nothing to work out anymore.

"Caitlyn, you can't mean that, you aren't—" He was reaching for her; she felt his hands on her shoulders, the brush of his chest as he tried to draw her to him. It was too much; his touch burned on her skin. Jonathan, to whom I gave everything. She shied away from him.

"I'll call you," she choked out, and ran.

She actually collided with the wall. But then, what else would you expect when you were too blinded by tears to see?

Outside, she stood in the cold, feeling more than seeing her breath frost on the evening air. She had nothing on her—no phone, no driver's license, no money, none of her homework assignments; she had not thought to grab her backpack on the way out. She didn't even have a sweater.

She could not stay out here. And she couldn't go back in. She felt almost betrayed by what she had learned about him, by what he had said; she needed this space, needed this distance, no matter what.

She didn't want to live without him.

She didn't know if she could live with him.

This thought threatened another flood of tears. Caitlyn bore down hard until she had a grip on herself.

Tears could wait. There would be plenty of time for them later.

It was a five-minute walk to the Shellview State campus. There was a pay phone there. She would call her mother. She would explain the situation, and ask if she could come back. She would be at her mother's mercy. There was no one else she could call; the only people she might trust in this situation, even remotely, were Zach and Christa Crane, and God only knew they would probably try to put them back together. Caitlyn didn't know if she could stand that right now.

It was the bed she had made for herself. Now she had to lie in it.

Caitlyn scrubbed her eyes with her sleeves, and then her nose. She lifted one foot, moved it forward, put it down. Then the other: up, forward, down. This was called walking. She knew how to do it. She had done it all her life, in fact; and most of the time she'd done it, she'd been alone.

She'd just have to get used to that again.