Diana scratched his head and he hugged her with energy. His soul was still on the bathroom floor on a nest of three green bathing suits. He stood and gave Louise a firm embrace, making sure she caught the full effect of his rigid wang against her waist. Her eyes widened but for a change she said nothing.

Gretchen and Louise left then, and Warlock led the fair Diana into the living room. He turned out the lights but left on the subtle glare of the TV test pattern. He drew down Diana’s jeans and bent her over the leather footrest and whammed away. Then he chewed at her vigorously for a half hour until she kicked over a lamp that had been an obtuse wedding present from his dad. Then they went at it again. It was four A.M. by the time they dragged off to bed.

“See. Wasn’t that a lot better than jerking off?”

“They’re not mutually exclusive,” said Diana, peering into the closet.

“Give me a break.”

“Where did you put your magazines?”

“I burned them.”

“The diplomas are gone.”

“I burned them. And that sex toy, too.”

“Are you flipping or something?”

“Just changing my life. I don’t want to talk about it until it jells.”

“Okay. I love you, darling. It was great.”

“But you won’t admit it’s better?”

“Why does it have to be better? It’s just a different thing.”

He awoke from a nightmare at dawn when a thousand songbirds were singing. He felt strong and fearless, having lived through the nightmare and the successful day it had followed. He felt curious and juicy about life which he would continue to meet full tilt and head on. It was warm and Diana was above the sheets, her bare fanny aimed at him like some impossible aperture. If that’s not beautiful, what is? he thought.

Chapter 8