“This isn’t quite what I expected,” he managed, as Pia pulled him into the room. She was shockingly deliberate, as she had been on previous occasions, and again, as on those previous occasions, he didn’t resist. Under the circumstances she was a force greater than him, and he was powerless. Pia grabbed at the belt in George’s pants, and he obliged. She then pulled his sweater and T-shirt over his head. Pia pushed him onto the bed and handed him a condom just as she had on the other occasions. He was ready—achingly so—and Pia got up on him immediately. She closed her eyes and looked up, rocking herself rhythmically and hard against him. He knew it was simply sex, that she was looking for the endorphin rush, and she found it fast, shuddering slightly as she did so.

As soon as she was finished, Pia put her hands on George’s chest and slipped off him. She looked right at him, but it was like she didn’t see him. “Thanks. I needed that,” she said. She walked over to her bathroom, turned on the shower, and, after a couple of seconds, jumped in.

George put his hands behind his head and looked down at himself for a few beats. He then slipped off the condom, walked into the bathroom, and flushed it away. From a birth control perspective, it had been a waste. Pia had finished showering and was toweling off. George couldn’t help but admire her athletic body, exquisitely shaped breasts, and deep, flawless, honey-colored skin.

“Would it kill you to kiss me?” George was bemused; he didn’t know what to think. He was being used, he knew, and didn’t understand why.

“I don’t like kissing. Doesn’t do anything for me.”

George could tell Pia’s mind was already elsewhere. There was no point in him saying, “Well, what about me?” He could hear her reply: “What about you?” George didn’t know what else to say. Each time they had sex, George hoped it meant they’d made a breakthrough, that their relationship had climbed out of its curiously stalled state into a level of true intimacy. But it had never been the case. Nor was it now. She was a train running on a totally separate track. In many respects his role was irrelevant, as if it could have been anyone lying there.

“Thanks,” Pia repeated airily as she passed him coming out of the bathroom. There was no modesty, whether pretend or real. In her upbringing there had never been an opportunity for even pretense.

“What for? I didn’t do anything.”

“No, you did! Really. You’ve given me a reboot like what needs to be done with a modem once in a while. You’ve made it possible for me to see what I have to do, rather than sit here paralyzed.”