“Am I hurting you?” he asked, over and over, while I thought: Hurting me with what? I barely felt a thing, never mind navigating that belly. I saw behind him a trail of faking women; it was the only reason he could ask, “Am I hurting you?” He walked to the bathroom and back, walked to the window to draw the curtains, with no inhibitions at all, this bulky naked man who so loved his own inadequate bits. I felt he should have had the grace to be even if only fleetingly abashed. “I will do for you what no other man has done for you,” he said, and his lascivious smile repulsed me. As did his
...more
