I remember a time when she claimed that she orgasmed before. We were in Cancun for Spring Break, and she said she skipped foreplay, just went straight to sex and experienced something more. I should have been happy for her, but I felt more fucking joy when she admitted that she got it wrong. That she thought she climaxed, but after talking to her sisters, it didn’t seem euphoric enough to be that heightened peak. “You can orgasm,” I tell her. “I’ve fucking heard you, sweetheart.” There’s no answer. I called her sweetheart—I do it unconsciously, and I know every time I say it, her lips rise.
SWEETHEART?
