[WP] I asked if it would hurt, she said only for a year or two.

I asked if it would hurt. She said yes.

So we just lay there after that. Under the low hanging ceiling light, that faded yellow kind of light, I lay there in my sweat and in her’s. There was this latent summer heat even in her basement room. I looked around me. Her bedside table had two drawers that slid out unevenly. The knee height shelf at the end of her bed had boxes full of photos and jewelry. Her walk in closet housed professional pant suits next to bathing suits, athletic gear along with sweat pants, and push up bras she wore only with low cut shirts. 
At first she was nice enough not to touch me. She had called the covers up her chest, covering her breasts, though she let her legs dangle out below. I just lay there exposed. I looked down at myself. At my chest, my stomach, my now flaccid self. 
After all the heavy breathing, that panting and her last gasp of whimpering, had subsided I asked her “This is going to hurt isn’t it?” And maybe for the first time, she answered with simple candor, “Yeah.” 
She slid onto her side and she reach one hand over, laying her palm flat against my chest, her fingers sifting through what little chest hair I had. I looked over at her and she was staring straight back. For all the apologizing she’d done, all the slumping into herself on the sofa, there was nothing in her eyes now. 

“How could you fucking do this to me,” I had said to her. In retrospect I should have screamed it. I should have sent my fist through her kitchen cabinets. But in that shock of discovery I could barely speak. So I had confronted her there in her barren kitchen. The only pans we’d ever used sat above the refrigerator. Our regular plates dried in the drying rack until we’d use them again the next night. And for a while she had nothing to say. She just sat there in her wooden chair, the white paint chipping off in flecks. She sat there and stared at the ground, caught. 
Without words she had stood and come to me. She had kept her eyes on the linoleum the whole way across the kitchen until she stood inches from me. She had looked up into my eyes and slid her arms around me, locking her hands behind my back. 
“I’m so sorry,” she had whispered. 
Sorry. I’m so sorry. That’s it. 
“Let’s go downstairs,” she’d said. 
I had known what downstairs meant. Downstairs meant she’d unbutton her flannel shirt and let me unlatch her bra. Downstairs meant she’d pull my shirt over my head and undo my jeans. Downstairs meant the same thing it always had, but any kind of excitement I’d have usually felt, any kind of pining for her, was replaced by imagined images of her and him. We had gone downstairs all the same.

Her hand rubbed slowly at my chest. Her eyes searched my face for some sign, some hint as to what would come next. Maybe she actually thought that we’d fucked and made up. Maybe one day I’d be glad that I fucked her one last time, I thought. But in that moment, with her hand rubbing my chest, her sweat mixed with mine in the sheets, her room around me, it was little consolation.
She leaned in and kissed my cheek. She nuzzled herself into the crook of my neck. Her hand slid down my body. She stroked and kissed me and she apologized in the only way she knew how and I closed my eyes. Part of me tried to wish her away. Part of me tried to stay soft but she took me in her mouth. There are some things you can’t stop. Sometimes you can’t just stop loving someone. Sometimes you can’t help but try and forget the facts. 
She mounted me and began to move in her familiar rhythm. Her breath began to quicken. At first I let her move, her hands planted on my stomach and her finger nails digging into my skin, rising and falling. But in the darkness of my closed eyes I saw them together and every move she made only served to clarify the image in my head. I stretched out my hands and grabbed her waste. I lifted her off me and lay her on the bed. I turned her over. I opened my eyes. I saw her face down in the pillow, the cloth caught between her teeth. I saw her body curve up towards me. I saw her legs spread apart. I tried to get one last thing. But all I felt, was dirty. 
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