“Oh.” Cynthia’s dress clung damply to her legs and sides. Dark stains spread out from under her armpits. “Would you like to play a game of chess or—something?”
Cynthia’s eyes were strangely intense. She took a step closer to him. “Wolf, I’ve been wondering. You’ve been celibate on this trip. Is there a problem? No? Maybe a girlfriend back home?”
“There was, but she won’t wait for me.” Wolf made a deprecating gesture. “Maybe that was part of the reason I took this trip.”
She took one of his hands, placed it on her breast. “But you are interested in girls?” Then, before he could shape his answer into clumsy words, she whispered, “Come on,” and led him to her room.
Once inside, Wolf seized Cynthia and kissed her, deeply and long. She responded with passion, then drew away and with a little shove toppled them onto the bed. “Off with your clothes,” she said. She shucked her blouse in a complex fluid motion. Pale breasts bobbled, catching vague moonlight from the window.
After an instant’s hesitation, Wolf doffed his own clothing. By contrast with Cynthia he felt weak and irresolute, and it irked him to feel that way. Determined to prove he was nothing of the kind, he reached for Cynthia as she dropped onto the bed beside him. She evaded his grasp.
“Just a moment, pilgrim.” She rummaged through a bag by the headboard. “Ah. Care for a little treat first? It’ll enhance the sensations.”
“Drugs?” Wolf asked, feeling an involuntary horror.
“Oh, come down off your high horse. Once won’t melt your genes. Give a gander at what you’re being so critical of.”
“What is it?”
“Vanilla ice cream,” she snapped. She unstoppered a small vial and meticulously dribbled a few grains of white powder onto a thumbnail. “This is expensive, so pay attention. You want to breathe it all in with one snort. Got that? So by the numbers: take a deep breath and breathe out slowly. That’s it. Now in. Now out and hold.”
Cynthia laid her thumbnail beneath Wolf’s nose, pinched one nostril shut with her free hand. “Now in fast. Yeah!”
He inhaled convulsively and was flooded with sensations. A crisp, clean taste filled his mouth, and a spray of fine white powder hit the back of his throat. It tingled pleasantly. His head felt spacious. He moved his jaw, suspiciously searching about with his tongue.
Cynthia quickly snorted some of the powder herself, restoppering the vial.
“Now,” she said. “Touch me. Slowly, slowly, we’ve got all night. That’s the way. Ahhhh.” She shivered. “I think you’ve got the idea.”
They worked the bed for hours. The drug, whatever it was, made Wolf feel strangely clearheaded and rational, more playful and more prone to linger. There was no urgency to their lovemaking; they took their time. Three, perhaps four times they halted for more of the powder, which Cynthia doled out with careful ceremony. Each time they returned to their lovemaking with renewed interest and resolution to take it slowly, to postpone each climax to the last possible instant.
The evening grew old. Finally, they lay on the sheets, not touching, weak and exhausted. Wolf’s body was covered with a fine sheen of sweat. He did not care to even think of making love yet another time. He refrained from saying this.
“Not bad,” Cynthia said softly. “I must remember to recommend you to Maggie.”
“Sin, why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“We’ve just—been as intimate as two human beings can be. But as soon as it’s over, you say something cold. Is it that you’re afraid of contact?”
“Christ.” It was an empty syllable, devoid of religious content, and flat. Cynthia fumbled in her bag, found a metal case, pulled a cigarette out, and lit it. Wolf flinched inwardly. “Look, pilgrim, what are you asking for? You planning to marry me and take me away to your big, clean African cities to meet your momma? Hah?
“Didn’t think so. So what do you want from me? Mental souvenirs to take home and tell your friends about? I’ll give you one; I spent years saving up enough to go see a doctor, find out if I could have any brats. Went to one last year, and what do you think he tells me? I’ve got red-cell dyscrasia, too far gone for treatment, there’s nothing to do but wait. Lovely, hah? So one of these days it’ll just stop working and I’ll die. Nothing to be done. So long as I eat right, I won’t start wasting away, so I