" She took off her jeans and panties,
put them on the chair, and came back from the dresser with a condom.
Oliver lay on his back, numb and floating, as she teased and rolled the
condom into place. Her eyes were huge as she straddled him. "Fifty,"
she said.
He wiggled into position and gave himself to her voice and the long
slow thrusts of her body. At thirty, her voice cracked. By forty, she
was whispering and beginning to tremble. At forty-five, she gasped
sharply and slumped forward. She caught and braced herself with her
hands on his shoulders, crying out with each new number as he strained
up into her. At fifty, he exploded; a blind white jet took them
drenched and mingled into the universe. He heard her laughing in the
nebulae, and then he collapsed. She lowered herself forward. A button
dug into his chest. Her hair pressed against his cheek. Awkwardly, he
brought his arms over her head and cradled her as best he could.
She was half off when he awoke. She removed the condom and came back
wearing a white bathrobe. "You are beautiful," she said, pulling tight
the cotton belt of her robe. He felt his cheeks glowing. "Beautiful.
Would you like some tea?"
"No, thank you.
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