And the many times she arched above him as he thrust into her from below were done more to accentuate Jenny’s desire for deep sensation than from any wish to emulate the unnatural poses of hardcore pornography. There was no doubt in both Sam’s and Jenny’s mind that their sexual abandon was both a prelude to and a reward for marriage, along with the delights of the two children born so close together. There were fewer photographs of Jenny in the later years of their marriage and none at all after their shamefaced visits to the clinic. There were no photographs at all of Sam’s other conquests in those years, except for Doris, his secretary, on one of the Accountancy firm’s occasional excursions, ironically taken together with Jenny and the other partners’ wives. Maggie, wife number two, was even less well represented in the photograph collection. Like Jenny, all memories were in black and white, but there were no children and the marriage suffered very early on from his wife’s all too. The event was well-attended, and a collective murmur of conversation melded with the clinking of wine glasses to form a more-or-less continual undertone of background noise. Kate, a lithe co-ed I had been seeing for several weeks, was on my arm, resplendent in white hose and a dress that sported a long, enticing vent that ran up one side. She enjoyed the periodic gallery show, and I enjoyed her, so I often found myself musing artistic efforts such as ones presently on display. The week before, we’d found ourselves wandering a garden of large basalt sculptures that had been chiseled into the forms of various body parts, and I remembered being mildly amused by a five foot high thumb that stuck straight up, as if beseeching passers-by for a lift. Some sort of mica laminate had been used to form the thumbnail. ‘It’s a commentary on the intractably contentious nature of the human spirit,’ Kate said, peering thoughtfully at the same painting that had caught my attention. ‘Look at the way.
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