Surely that was a little peculiar?
I opened my eyes. Martin had taken off his starched white shirt, his shoes and socks, and was slipping down his pants.
“Good Lord!” I exclaimed.
“No, just me,” he said.
“Did you give Angel some signal?”
“Yes, this.” And Martin pointed at the chaise where Angel had been baking, pointed to the garage, and made a pantomime of hands on the steering wheel.
“What! Why?”
“Because I want to have sex with you on our sundeck right here and now and I don’t want Angel to watch,” Martin said.
“Oh.”
“Because you haven’t seemed to want to do that lately, and I thought maybe an exotic locale would—stimulate your interest,” Martin continued, stimulating my interest right then and there, in front of God and the big blue sky.
“Martin! Don’t do that!”
“Why not?”
“Well . . . I don’t know . . .”
“Then why don’t I do it a little longer?”
“Ahhh . . . okay.”
“Then maybe I could just move this chaise over by yours . . .”
“Oh. Umhmm. And then?”
“I was thinking you could show me how you put that oil all over . . .”
“And then?”
“Roe, I may be too old for a ‘then’!”
“Oh, not you,” I said confidently.
And I was right.