before I get on top doesn't mean I don't love you!'
Karen turned her back on her husband before he was through. He didn't understand! He would never understand! 'You act like a-an – animal!' Karen blurted out, catching the new tears with her wet hands. 'That's all right, too, I guess?'
Allen remembered going through this scene so many times that he gave up in disgust. Besides, he would be late to school if he didn't leave immediately. He'd never get his degree in accounting. It would mean so much to both of them. Why didn't she see it? Did she want him to be a clothing salesman at the department store all his life, never making enough money to support a family? 'Forget it!' he mumbled, slamming the door behind him.
Once he was gone, Karen breathed a sigh of relief and immediately stopped crying. At that moment she hated Allen. She threw herself across the faded and torn couch and wondered why they had ever gotten married in the first place.
But then she remembered how much she had loved him when they were going together, and wanted him. Allen Martin was the first boy Karen had ever really known. She had been too busy with school, her widowed mother, and making her home pleasant, to think of dating boys. She didn't remember her father, and men and boys had always made Karen uncomfortable – she never knew how to act with them. But with Allen – it had been different. He had been as shy as she.
Karen had been attracted to Allen's slim boyishness as she had never been attracted to the aggressive masculinity of the more popular males at school. She had felt safe with Allen. She had always felt vaguely threatened with other boys, as if by size alone they might suddenly overwhelm her. His first kiss had been so gentle, so shy and hesitant, that Karen had been the one to laughingly pull his face back to hers for a second.
She had agreed that they should wait until Allen finished his schooling before getting married. Allen had stressed that he didn't want his wife to work to support him through school, nor did he want a marriage in which the first few years were pure poverty. He wanted them to have every chance for happiness. Karen had been impressed when Allen very practically recited to her the statistics on divorce between young marrieds in the United States.
But when her mother died suddenly after graduation, Karen had become terrified at the prospect of remaining alone for several years. She had pleaded with Allen and cried, until, reluctantly, Allen agreed that they might as well get married at once. He had wanted to wait until he could afford a wife, but Karen seemed so lost he could not bring himself to resist. He immediately got a job as a salesman, and was forced to fit school in around his working hours. It would take much longer this way, but he allowed himself to be drawn into Karen's enthusiastic plans with some excitement. However, the plan which had promised such happiness for both of them turned into chaos on the first night of their married life.
Neither could she explain to Allen what had happened that night. He hadn't been too rough, nor had he been unkind. But, having felt the shocking pain of the first intruder her tender insides had ever known, Karen had tightened up immediately, making further entrance impossible. Allen, unbearably aroused by what was also his first introduction into sex, couldn't hold back. With a low grunt he rolled off her to his side of the brand new bed.
Karen had wanted to throw up. All the beauty, the emotional and physical ecstasy for which she had been preparing herself had come to a callous numbness which left her feeling used and deified. Speechless, Karen looked at the man from whom she had been expecting such pleasure.
'Relax, baby,' Allen had said, trying to sound experienced and understanding. 'Girls are always a little nervous the first time. This time it will be better.'
And then he was on top of her again. She was too stunned to cry out, too tense to protest. But when she felt him begin to groan and breathe heavily again, Karen tried to push him away. Allen mistook her motion for passion and, with a final strong lunge, finished. Karen cried out finally with misery and despair. Allen, tired and content with the happiness he believed he had brought both of them, rolled off her aching, bruised body and, with a light last kiss, fell asleep.
Karen's hand, childishly small and protective, covered the violated flesh until she fell asleep also, her eyes wet with tears of fear and disappointment.
But Karen was realistic enough to admit later that Allen hadn't been deliberately cruel. He had simply not understood. He had not been, nor was he now, sensitive enough to be aware of her needs. He had tried for months afterwards to make his young wife enjoy sex. But, somehow, just at the point when Karen thought she might become aroused, Allen would mount her and the rest of the act would be a repeat of the first night – Karen would lie there, feeling used and cold. She knew that Allen thought she was frigid, and lately, Karen had begun to wonder if he might not be right.
No! she thought, hitting the old couch with a curled-up small fist. It was he, not she. A gentle lover, a thoughtful, sensitive lover would surely deliver her to the heights she had heard of so often. There were times, even with Allen, when she thought she might feel the first tremor of real desire, if only he would slow down, caress her more, let his mouth and teeth cling more to her firm, tender, pointing nipples…
Karen got to her feet unsteadily. She had to get away from the house for a while. She couldn't stand another night of looking at the walls. That was another thing – she was so lonely. Al was gone so much of the time, and when he was home it seemed they were either on the bed, or they were fighting about her reluctance to get on the bed. Or he would retire to the bedroom alone to study.
She appraised herself honestly in the mirror. She knew she was unusual looking, not so much beautiful as adorable, like the frilly drawing on a box of fancy chocolates. Her heart-shaped face was smooth-complicated and the large brown eyes made her naturally blond, shoulder-length hair look even lighter. Long dark lashes made moon shadows on her cheeks and her lovely lips were naturally bowed. Her small, womanly body was a perfect complement to the child-like, woman-like beauty of the girl. But her looks brought her no pleasure now. Her body, a thing she had taken pride in from the time it began developing at an age when other girls were washboard thin, had brought her only agony. She scooped up her purse and ran out of the house.
It was a drab house in the rundown section of Santa Monica, a house they had decided to rent because it was so close to the beach which they both loved, and because it was so cheap. But Karen hated the tired looking neighborhood. Somehow it reminded her sharply of her life, her marriage. She walked to the beach, liking the emptiness and majesty of the never pausing ocean as it crashed rhythmically against the infinite sands.
The sun was rapidly sinking into the gray-green ocean. It was a big ball of brilliant tangerine. Karen felt better as she walked. She took her shoes off and let the sand form into tiny dunes between her toes. She hadn't realized how far she had gone until she saw the queerly lit coffeehouse called, rather whimsically, Karen thought, Neverland West. She had been by the restaurant many times, had wanted to go in, but Allen had dismissed the place as a 'hangout for weirdos' and wouldn't take her in. Now, remembering the dollar in her purse, Karen pushed open the door and walked in.
The girl found a vacant table, sat down and pushed the windblown strands of blond hair out of her eyes before looking around. She felt an instant uplift. The people, the paintings on the walls, even the mismatched furniture, sent images to Karen's brain that made her feel strangely alive for the first time in months. The people were, for the most part, young and attractive. The men sported beards and longish hair, although one broad- shouldered giant proudly displayed a face as clean shaven as his enormous skull. The girls were uniformly appealing, with fine bodies shown off by clinging leotard outfits. They wore their hair long and Indian straight. But, like the hairless man, there was one girl who stood out sharply from the others. Once Karen noticed her it was almost impossible to tear her eyes from the girl Karen wanted to study the interesting paintings that coated the walls more closely, but the girl held an irresistible fascination for her.
The short blunt cut of the girl's hair served to outline the perfect oval shape of her head and the exquisite features of her face. Her cropped hair was a rich brown, and the blemishless skin was dark, contrasting vividly with the lightest blue eyes Karen had ever seen. The girl looked taller, slimmer, and a little older than Karen. She wore tight jeans and a short-sleeved sweat shirt. The blackness of her apparel made the beautiful face with the oddly disconcerting eyes appear to float bodilessly in the smoke-filled room. Karen noted the one pierced ear from which dangled a small silver cross.
Karen admired the girl openly. She wished she could look more like her. It wasn't so much the dark girl's undeniable beauty that Karen envied, it was more the feeling of absolute freedom the girl generated. She looked like a bird in her black clothing, prepped for flight at a moment's notice. Karen took in the easy, relaxed way the
