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Show 132 in normal times Yvonne had never been one to take her sweet time playing games while the nerve endings heated up. He was too embarrassed to say so, but he liked a little frustration at the outset. He suspected this was abnormal. He suspected it was the sign of an arrested development, and for this reason he had never told her that she might, if she wanted to, and only in jest of course, sometime when she was feeling wicked, coax him to a frenzy and then whisper in his ear that that was all for the night, and turn over and pretend to go to sleep. She would be puzzled, and would think badly of him, so he had never breathed a hint of it to her. He suspected, though, that even normal people liked playing around a little bit before getting down to business. Yvonned seemed not to have thought of that. The first time they had made love she was moaning before they hit the sheets, and it had gotten worse in the last few weeks. She now crashed through the act of love as though death flapped outside their bedroom window and if she did not come immediately the chance was lost forever. With a wide saturated brush he began moving a heavy blanket of orange across the upper third of the canvas, from left to right, scumbled at the edges to let the undercoat glow through. It thickened as it approached the negative space reserved for the chair and resumed past the gap, deepening to a hateful mercurochrome red. He hadn't counted on that. She was desperately unhappy about something and was trying to conceal it. That much was clear. You overplayed your role so that what you were hiding did not show up in your movements. He almost felt sorry that she had to try so hard on his account. He stared at the orange overlay and tried to remember why he had put it there. He wasn't sure how to go about modifying that red while it was still wet. It climbed into any color you tried to lay on over it, it turned into an angry mud when you tried to mix a neutralizer |
