Jane pointed to a framed picture of a farm surrounded by mountains. “Is that a real place?” she asked.

I squinted as if I’d never seen it before and walked past Jane, purposely smashing my head on the picture. “Uh, no,” I said, “I guess it’s just a picture.”

She frowned. “I meant does that place really exist somewhere?”

“Yeah,” I said, massaging my nose. “I’m sure it exists somewhere. I don’t know, probably someplace in Arizona. That’s what I always figured, anyway.”

Jane stayed in the middle of the room and cupped her elbows. I sat on my bed, but she didn’t join me.

“Why do they call that guy ‘Tommy the Wire’?” she asked. “Did he used to be real skinny?”

“No. His name’s Tommy Dwyer and everyone pronounced it Tommy de Wire and, I don’t know, it just became Tommy the Wire.”

Both of us knew that this was it. Jane was pretty open-minded but she’d refused to consummate things in a church, railroad yard, junkyard, or cafe. Those were the places we’d been forced to resort to for privacy. I got up and kissed her, then pulled her down on the bed so that we were laying on our sides, facing each other. Put my hand on her chest and she began breathing heavier. I slid a leg between hers and tried to unfasten her belt, but her hand was clenched over the buckle.

“You got a good defense,” I said.

We kissed again for a couple minutes, and when we seemed to be reaching some kind of mutual crescendo, I tried to cram my hand down her pants. She grabbed my wrist.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Nothing. I’d just like to keep my pants buckled.”

“Well why didn’t you just say so? I’ll buckle them right back up after I get them off, silly.”

I felt for the metal clasp again.

“Please, Dunph, I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because I like the position we’re in now. Come on, cut it out.”

“All right,” I groaned.

Then I kissed her. Passionately. Jane was the one who finally stopped it.

“Duuh-unph.”

“What, I can’t kiss you anymore?”

“The kissing’s fine, but what do you call this?”

Meaning why was I humping her leg.

“It’s a nervous tic,” I said.

Jane smiled and kissed me. I took it as an invitation, but again she intercepted my hand. “No, seriously. Cut it out.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t.”

“What do you mean, ‘because you can’t’?”

I suddenly thought I understood. “Are you on the … uh … bad time of month?”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Well?”

Jane sighed. “I just can’t.”

“Listen, if you’re worried about getting pregnant, you can relax. I’ve been spayed.”