her notion of true love, but in Lina’s brain and in her heart, her version of the truth is the only one that matters. To defend herself, she will say that kissing is more important to her than anything else in the world, than money and help around the house, and she has hated Ed for keeping his kisses from her. And now here is Aidan, sucking her deep into his own mouth.
That night Lina is menstruating. She uses pads instead of tampons because she has endometriosis and tampons aggravate the condition. Being a mother and having reached a moment of sexual self-actualization, Lina speaks freely of feminine blood, of anything that happens between her and the toilet, not because it’s cool to be unguarded. Lina’s openness is organic. She tells the lumpy parts like they are beautiful parts.
So she tells Aidan she is having her period.
At first, he ignores this. He pulls off her shirt and bra. She undoes the belt of his pants and he lets them slip down. She tries pushing him against the wall but he’s a trunk and doesn’t move and this turns her on so much. She could throw her husband up a stairwell. She kneels down before Aidan and she’s thinking she is so lucky, she is so happy. This raw need being met. This raw man being hers right this moment.
After a few minutes he gets her on the bed. He rolls on top of her and his face is close to hers when he says, So, you’re raggin’?
She laughs, retelling this to the discussion group. He’s a country boy, you know.
Lina grew up in a family she has grown out of and she knows how easy it is to get stuck in the stuff you were christened in. San Pierre, where she’s from, is one of the most racist towns in America, she says. Aidan says many things Lina apologizes for. When he asks if she’s raggin’, she’s not turned off. Nor is she turned on, but she accepts it.
Yeah, she says, breathily. Being in love with someone means being okay with all of him. She looks around, trying to take in everything of this night she hadn’t expected to happen. It’s a big room in the Hilton Garden Inn off the highway. Below, there’s a lone Subway in the middle of the street, glowing yellow in the dark.
I want to feel you inside me, she says.
Uh-huh.
Want me to go get a towel? I’ll go get a towel.
She comes back with a towel and turns off the light. She’s been picking her face a lot. Nerves and anxiety and depression. She is worried about the ingrown hairs around her nipples. Then she is on the towel in the dark and he gets on top of her and the weight of him is crushing and wonderful. He’s drunk and she’s thinking she doesn’t want him to sober up and come to his senses. Or sober up and be disgusted by the marks on her face and the inflammation around her nipples. But he is about to make love to her while she is bleeding, which makes her feel he is a real man, as she always knew he was. She and Ed have done it during her period maybe eleven times in eleven years of marriage. Here with Aidan her period is not a hazard but a fact of life and of the evening. He is on top of her and he’s French-kissing her and the head of his penis is about to go in and she says, Wait. She puts her hand to his chest.
Wait a second. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with another man. Eleven and a half years.
He murmurs acknowledgment.
She grabs his rear, guides his body closer so that the head is touching her, and says, I’m sorry if I’m a little tight.
The words come out strangled. He is squishing the breath out of her with his great heft. He doesn’t seem to notice how much he is pressing down on her. For her part, she wouldn’t mind dying this way. She reaches between their bodies and grabs his penis, which feels like a ruby, and rubs it against her inner lips, painting the opening with wetness to make it slide in. And then she pulls him deep. And right away he’s slow and not fast like she thought he might be. Slow and doing this rhythm she enjoys so much. It goes on for a