My husband, Tim, came home on his lunch hour, and we had sex on the floor next to the oven. I could see our reflection in the black glass door, and when Tim turned his face toward it, I saw his flared nostrils, his neck thick with effort, and I turned my head to look at the island in the middle of the kitchen instead. Near the end, I saw an ant scuttling through a tiny hole at the baseboard. It went toward the living room. I remembered the coffee I'd left on the coffee table, and wondered if it could smell the coffee from here, and if it would drown in pursuit of the sugar I'd stirred in, but I was still able to come.
Concerned, our black Labrador, Marky, came over and started licking at the beads of sweat on my face. I pushed him away, and he trotted around the island to sniff between my legs, his wet nose flitting at the inside of my thigh. I clamped my legs together and his head got caught, and he yelped.
"Hey, hey, hey," Tim cooed, still on his knees. He scooted over to Marky and scratched his ears and under
his collar. "Want me to rub your belly? Let me rub that belly, there we go." Marky lay on his back, his paws jerking with pleasure.
Tim took his sandwich to go and called me from the car. I could hear him chewing. "I'm still hard," he said. "I liked that. Love you." When we hung up, I gave Marky a bacon treat.
After I cleaned myself up, I went to the fence. I went again just before Tim came home. He thought I was out there to greet him, and I let him believe it.
That night I woke up to Tim's hand on my arm, trying to roll me over. "Hey," he whispered, "come here." When I turned to him I saw, over his shoulder, that it was 5:13 a.m. His breath was hot in my face, and he didn't bother pulling my underwear all the way down — just enough so he could maneuver. He guided me onto my back, then he lay on his side and I folded my legs over his, my underwear stretching from knee to knee. He held me by the hip and pushed himself in. He was done quickly, and he fell asleep with his head on my shoulder.
Marky never stirred from his place at the foot of the bed, though he did begin to dream, his legs jerking and his mouth quivering, a low whine coming through his nostrils.
When Tim left for work, his hair still wet from our shower, his fingers playing with my zipper, I turned on Animal Planet for Marky, removed
The fence is invisible, but it's there. |
his collar and went to the fence. It runs the entire length and width of our property, but I have my favorite corner, right where the gravel driveway stops and the grass starts, where I can see the road and, if I stretch, can touch our mailbox. The fence is invisible, but it's there. I wind the vinyl part of Marky's collar around my hand, holding the plastic receiver in my palm, then I press the cold metal stimulator against my underwear, step forward, and the jolt is delivered. Like a million ants biting. Like teeth. Like the g-spot exists. Like a tiny knife, a precise pinch. Like fireworks. I can't help it — I cry out; my underwear is flooded with perfect warmth. I lie back in the grass and see stars.
I try and think of my husband when I go to the fence, but he becomes a distraction, and sometimes when I conjure him up I can't go through with it, and my trip is ruined.
That night Tim barely made it through the door. He pushed me up against the doorjamb, tugging at my zipper. His was already open; I could see his bouncing penis through the glass panes at the door as he walked from the garage.
My pants fell around my ankles. We were at an awkward position — my legs couldn't open enough — so he spun me around and bent me over the table he threw his keys on each night. Its top was intricately tiled in the shape of a large green turtle, its legs splayed and its eyes weirdly on top of its head. My front tooth caught some of the grout during one of Tim's thrusts, and when I cried out, he said, "Yeah. There we go. Like it, don't you." Still, I came, shuddering until my knees buckled, nearly rocking the table onto its side, and then Tim came, heaving at my back in long dry sobs. Marky lazily watched us from his place on the couch, his eyes slowly shutting and then bursting open at every new sound.
"God, I'm starving," Tim said, his mouth hot and wet at my neck. "Do we have any M&M's? Peanut?"
He left soon after that, a red Dixie cup full of M&M's in one hand while the other swatted at his crotch. "Sore. In a good way. You too, I hope," and his eyes were so full of genuine interest that I pushed him out the door, bowing my legs in answer. He mimed stepping over the invisible fence and looked back to see if I was laughing. I wondered if my trips out there had caused the sudden urgency in our sex life — if he could sense something was different, if the fence worked on him, without him even knowing it.
I watched his car back down the driveway, then I waited for the cloud of dust it kicked up to settle. Then Animal Planet, collar, jolt,
I'd been trying to work up the courage to hold the collar to my bare skin. |
wet explosion and sleep.
The phone was ringing when I came back inside. I put Marky's collar on and let him out, then I answered it.
"I just saw you laying in a heap in the grass," came the female voice on the other end. "I told Fred to stop, but he said you were probably just sunning yourself. I told him if we see on the news that our neighbor was found dead in her yard and we didn't stop, I'd never forgive him for as long as I live. So you're fine? You're alive?"
"I was just playing with Marky," I said. "Playing dead." Cradling the phone at my shoulder, I peeled off my pants and underwear. I could see the bruise under my pubic hair, a sunburst of purple and blue. It was tender, and sent a zing of pain through my groin when I touched it.
"I didn't even see Marky. Well. You want me to come over? You want to have tea?"
"Some other time," I told her. I'd been trying to work up the courage to hold the collar to my bare skin; the brightness of the bruise wouldn't help.
"Kiss that husband of yours for me," she said. "Bye-bye."
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