2 November 2024
Greg and Mandy finished Greg's dancing lesson, and sat together on the couch. They were silent for a few moments. “Contrite,” said Mandy, finally.
“Contrite? What about contrite?”
“Why do you use big words all the time?”
He glanced over at her. She seemed to be sincere. “That isn’t a big word.”
“Okay, you’re right. Different words – different than most people would use. You have my sister doing it, too.”
“Hold on there, young woman. I will grant I express myself differently than some other people, but your sister does that all on her own. The very first time we talked, I was impressed by her vocabulary, and the way she used words. I had nothing to do with that.”
“Okay, then why do you both do it?”
Greg laughed, but he also put some thought into his answer. “I think we just like the sound of words. You know, there must be a million words in the English language, but I think only about 200 of them get used, regularly. Isn’t it a shame to waste all those others? I mean, you could probably write a whole novel, using only 100 words or so – and it might be pretty good, if the story idea was a good one. Actually, I think it has been done quite a few times. But think how the people or the places in the story could really come to life, if you just used a few more of those available words?
“I’ve been reading all my life. I mean, I have really read thousands of books, and I’ve seen a lot of words. Some of them just seemed worth holding on to, and using again. I think it works the same for Vic. She runs across a word – likes the sound of it – figures out what it means – and adds it to her vocabulary.
“Instead of asking if you were contrite, I could have asked if you were sorry. They mean pretty much the same thing, but I think ‘contrite’ is more interesting. And I wasn’t talking over your head – you didn’t know exactly what it meant, but you knew, generally.
“Think about words used to describe girls and women – cute, pretty, beautiful. ‘Cute’ is your little sister, or what a Senior boy thinks when he sees a Freshman girl. ‘Pretty’ is kind of generic – lots of looks could be included in that description. ‘Beautiful’ seems the word for someone with really classic good looks – you’d see her in a painting - and maybe she’s just a little unreachable for us mortal men. Now, if those were the only words we had to describe the female of the species, I think it would be kind of sad. For instance, the only possible word for some women is gorgeous! Where would we be without that describer?
***
I confess to loaning that speech to Greg. It's the way I feel about words, after about 75 years of reading everything I could get my hands on. There are so many interesting, beautiful, and fun words lying around that almost nobody uses. I think it's a real shame.
Not all words are equal, however. I was appalled the first time one of my Internet essays got a "TLDNR" response. I think those were the initials. Anyway, it meant that the piece was "too long," so "did not read." What a horridly stupid way to think of any communication! At the time, groups on the internet often had limits on how long a comment could be. (Maybe they still do, but I no longer cast my pearls before swine.) I don't recall the actual limits - sometimes, maybe 15 words? However many it was, that's hardly even long enough for a clever bumper sticker slogan. Any cogent (clear, logical, convincing) thought takes as many words as it takes, be it five or 100.
Once I get past the brainlessness of judging writing without reading it, I have to admit that I'm not a fan of wordiness for wordiness's sake. The weight of words shouldn't be judged by avoirdupois (poundage), but by gravity (significance). I have a hard time with some early American fiction (like James Fenimore Cooper) because I seem to lose the story in the sheer volume of the verbiage. Likewise, I have little patience with a modern writer who takes a pretty good short story, or a good 100-page novel, and turns it into a 300-page tome with pages and pages of descriptions of what some room looks like. (Obviously, my opinion is not shared by everyone. Cooper's novels are classics, and 300-page tomes are called best-sellers.)
Oops. It may seem contrary to what I've been saying if I talk about the stories that pretty much decided me on pursuing a career studying wildlife and the natural environment. As I wrote in another essay:
"Thoreau's lengthy description in 'Walden' of the work and war activities of red and black ants was attention-riveting. Arthur Cleveland Bent's 'Life Histories' of North American birds sometimes spent ten or more precious pages on a discussion of a subspecies of bird -- the coverage for the entire species sometimes ran to 50 pages. But 50 pages might be needed to make the bird and its habitat really come alive. When I read in 'Bent' about Colorado great horned owl habitat 'where diminutive junipers struggle for existence among the limestone hillsides, and whose branches, unlike those of the giant sycamores, sweep the ground rather than the sky, I'm ready to be out in those rocky reaches. When I read in a recent ornithological journal that a certain bird's habitat is 'a dry, open woodland' dominated by two species of shrubs, one of which is about nine times as abundant as the other, and both of which grow up to about four meters high -- well, it may be important information, but had I read it in the 1950s, I don't think it would have started me wishing that I could be out there in the brush with them."
I don't think I'm talking out of both sides of my mouth. It's still about quality, not quantity.
***
Anyway, getting back to Mandy's and Greg's discussion of the employment of less than usual words:
Mandy was helping Greg decide on a Christmas present for Vic.
Mandy suggested nightwear.
“Nightwear? Like pajamas?”
“Well, sort of like pajamas, but serving a different purpose. Do you know what a ‘pan-war’ is?”
“Pan-war? I don’t think so. Spell it.”
“I’m not sure I can. It’s French, so it’s pronounced entirely differently – p-e-i-g-n-o-i-r, maybe? Anyway, it’s… Maybe the best way is to show you. Let me go get the Penny’s mail order catalog.”
When she had the catalog, Mandy showed him several pages of women modelling filmy negligees and other night wear – definitely not pajamas. He was most taken with a combination shown in six different colors. It was described as “a billowy peignoir of flocked nylon shirred with fluffs of nylon tulle at sleeves and hem.” Underneath was “a sleeveless nylon tricot gown with an all-around sheer nylon overlay.”
“I don’t know what hardly any of those words mean, but I certainly like the looks of the product.”
“You don’t need to know the words. I think their shorter description says it all, and says it accurately: ‘An elegant ensemble for the woman who desires the ultimate in femininity.’ As you can see, it’s a long, sexy, nightgown, with a soft, sexy, jacket – the peignoir – and look, I spelled it correctly! – over the top.
"Obviously, this isn’t meant to keep a woman warm – flannel pajamas would be better – at least, not to keep her warm by itself. It’s meant to heat up a husband or boyfriend to the point that he finds a nice warm blanket, and wraps both of them in it on a nice, comfy couch.”
“Yes, I can picture all of that.”
“So, what color do you like?”
“I like several, but I’m leaning toward the light green one. I think it would really look smashing with her long, dark hair.”
“Smashing, huh? Not a word I use, but I can see that it is very appropriate – my smashingly beautiful sister in her smashing green negligee. I think you will both enjoy it immensely.”
“So, how do I get it?”
And a really good unusual word can be used more than once.
Vic gasped when she opened the little box he gave her. "Greg, they're wonderful!: She took one out of the box. "I didn't know if I was going to wear earrings at our wedding. Now, I know."
"I'm glad you like them."
"I love them." She took the other out of the box. "You know, they're a lot like the ones we bought for Mandy, except mine have an extra stone, so they're quite a bit longer." She held one up against her ear. "Nice, huh?"
"Nice, for sure, and with your dark hair, they look smashing."
She laughed happily, and got up off the bed. "I need to look." She walked to a mirror on the wall, slipped the earring on, and swished her hair from side to side. "It is smashing, isn't it?"
"If it was possible for anything to make you look even more beautiful than you already are, that would be it."
She came back to the bed, and sat beside him. "Then, I think I should thank you properly for them."
"And I should thank you for thanking me."
Is there a particularly good word to address a particularly interesting situation?
Vic sat quietly by him for a moment, then: “I do have one complaint, or at least one concern.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is it something that I can help with?”
“I certainly hope so, as you are the cause of the complaint – or concern, I think is a better word. It’s this: after a certain climactic moment last night, I don’t remember a lot of detail. However, I think I am correct in saying that – now, this morning - I am still a virgin.”
He smiled at her. “I believe you are correct in your analysis of the situation.”
“Okay. That being so, I believe it is fair to say that you, also, are still a virgin.”
”Following your logic, and using the same definition for both our conditions, I’d say yes, you are correct.”
“Here’s the thing,” she said.. “Are you prepared to correct the problem, or ameliorate the concern, as it may be stated?”
He paused. “Well, if I am correct in the definition of, and your use of the term ‘ameliorate,’ then I can unequivocally say yes.”
“Good.”
She didn’t say anything else. “Would you like me to ameliorate it now?”
Still no further comment. He was wondering if some action was required on his part. Suddenly, she stood up.
“No,” she finally said. “My mother will undoubtedly call any moment, and I do not want the amelioration interrupted.”
On cue, the phone rang, and she talked to her mother for a few minutes. She failed to tell her what she had been doing, and with who. She hung up the phone, and came back to the bedroom.
“We will save the amelioration for later. Right now, I want to take a shower; get dressed – although you seem to be enjoying my current state of deshabille.”
“I think your current state is a little beyond deshabille…”
“Nevertheless, I will get dressed. You will take a shower and get dressed. While you are doing that, I will start us a big, calorie-filled breakfast. After we eat, we will go band ducks.
Wow, she managed to slip another interesting word in there. (Look it up.)
And here's another word. He could just give his opinion, but...
“So, despite your knowing what a neophyte I am in all things related to love and sex – and having an immediate example of how little I know– you still would like me to posit a reason?”
“If posit means to offer a possible explanation, then yes. Posit, away.”
“Okay. Well, back in the early days of our country… “
“Greg!”
“Hold on. This really is background for my positing."
John Buchan, in "John McNab," had Archie looking for better words to describe Janet.
‘I am at a loss to describe the first shattering impact of youth and beauty on a susceptible mind. The old plan was to borrow the language of the world’s poetry, the new seems to have recourse to the difficult jargon of psychologists and physicians; but neither, I fear, would suit Sir Archie’s case. He did not think of nymphs and goddesses or of linnets in spring; still less did he plunge into the depths of a subconscious self which he was not aware of possessing. The unromantic epithet that rose to his lips was “jolly.” This was for certain the jolliest girl he had ever met – regular sportswoman and amazingly good-lookin’.’
Getting back to Vic and Greg, Vic found - in an unexpected way - that
somebody besides them knew an unusual word.
“Those of you who have had previous classes with me," the professor began, "Know that I will have a general plan about what I expect to accomplish with you this semester. You also know that I have been known to get ‘distracted’ by other events, and may peregrinate off in other directions when I see something that I think is worth covering.”
Vic couldn’t help smiling, as she remembered her introduction to the word “peregrinate” in a far different context. (Greg, what are you doing? I am peregrinating.) At the same time, a student asked what the term meant.
The teacher had noticed Vic's smile of recognition. “Miss Anderson, you seem to know the word. Can you explain?”
She hoped she was far enough away from him that he couldn’t see her blushing. “It means to travel from place to place, like the peregrine falcon. I think it usually refers to actual travel – going places, physically, but you’re talking about your mind exploring, not your feet.”
“Very good. Yes, that’s exactly what I meant. The thing that incites me to peregrinate today is a letter to the editor about Selective Service, and the military draft.”
She remembered her introduction to the word.
Vic was sitting up in bed. Greg was exploring her torso with gentle fingers and lips. She was not objecting, but her mind wasn’t completely on the activity.
“Greg, do you know what college girls talk about more than anything else?”
He paused briefly. “Not knowing for sure, but guessing, it would be college boys.” His began his wanderings, again.
“Yes, but more specifically, what about college boys?”
He continued his routine. “Again guessing, but logically, I would say sex.”
“Yes.” She seemed to be realizing his presence for the first time. “Greg, what are you doing?”
He kissed her. “I am peregrinating.”
“Peregrinating? What is that?”
“Like the peregrine falcon, who acquired his name from his wanderings far and wide, I am peregrinating. The peregrine’s kingdom is more expansive than the one I survey, but no grander in detail or interest, believe me.” He accentuated that by moving his hands and his lips a little farther down her torso.
“Peregrinating. I’ve never heard it called that. Like the peregrine, you are having a good time, I take it?”
“Yes, I am. Are you?”
“I’m finding it stimulating, but it is distracting me from talking about sex.”
He raised his head to look at her. “You would rather talk about sex than….?”
She grinned at him. “I refuse to answer on the grounds… Well, you know the grounds. Suffice it to say that, in this situation, I want to talk about something specific about the subject.”
***
Talking about language, in the senses of new words and interestingly-formed discussions seems to lead inevitably to a discussion of conversation and romance. Well, it probably isn't inevitable, but it seems to go that way with Vic and Greg.
Foreplay - the combination of emotionally and physically intimate acts meant to create sexual arousal and desire for sexual activity - is usually thought of, I think, in the physical sense - what you do to get yourselves ready for what is to come. I suspect that many couples have found that it is what you say that is as important - maybe more so. Words set the stage, and create the mood.
Not everyone agrees, of course. In "The Pajama Game," Sid made it quite clear to Babe what he thought about that: "I don't want to talk small talk, now that I'm alone with you... I've got something better for your lips to do, and that takes no talk, at all."
The Mamas and Papas were pretty cynical: "Words of love, so soft and tender, won't win a girl's heart anymore... Worn out phrases and longing gazes won't get you where you want to go."
And Eliza Doolittle, in "My Fair Lady," was absolutely vehement: "Words! Words! Words! I'm so sick of words... Tell me no dreams filled with desire... Sing me no song, read me no rhyme - don't waste my time! Don't talk of spring, don't talk of fall. Don't talk at all! Anyone who's ever been in love will tell you that this is no time for a chat!"
Well, none of that sounds very supportive of my premise, but let's take a closer look.
Sid loves Babe, but he's kind of a primitive he-man, who doesn't see a difference between sex and romance, and sex is definitely (in his mind) not about talking.
The Mamas and Papas are correct that romance has progressed well beyond the June-moon-tune-spoon lyrics of past years. However, they forget - or don't know - that there are some pretty interesting and provocative sentiments in some of the popular songs of the 1940s and '50s. They are as good today as they ever were.
As for Eliza, I think we have to overlook her outburst as a reaction to her weeks of hard, very impersonal lessons in language from Henry Higgins. When Freddy Eynsford-Hill begins to woo her with how her voice sends him "winging with the birds," and her touch makes his "heart crumble," it's just too big a contrast to take in. As she says, "I get words all day through, first from him, now from you. Is that all you blighters can do?" When she says "Quit talking, and show me!" she means it.
Nevertheless, if a lover attempted to seduce her with words from "Kismet,"
would she resist?
They drove to the motel, checked in, and casually (they hoped it appeared that way, anyway) walked to their room. With the “do not disturb” sign on the door, he led her directly to the bed, and sat her on the edge. He kissed her gently, then seemed to be thinking about the experience.
“You’re sweet like the meat of the lichee nut.”
“What?” she asked.
He lowered her down onto the bed, and kissed her again, - a little deeper, and a little longer - and again paused, as if thinking about it.
“Combined with the kumquat rind.”
“Wait!” she said, when she could catch her breath.
He kissed her more deeply.
She pulled away. “Wait! I know this!” He pulled her back, and finished the kiss.
“The kind of confection to drive a man out of his Mesopotamian mind!” he chanted, softly.
“Kismet!” she exclaimed. “Ra-had-la-koom!”
“And you, my love, are more addicting, more alluring, more intoxicating than Rahadlakume, or any other aphrodisiac.”
“I am?”
“Definitely.”
“What would Howard Keel say to that?”
“Howard Keel? Oh, you mean Hajj, the poet. Hajj is an old man. Proximity to you would kill him, either from a heart attack or excess ecstasy. I’m young and strong, and yet even I fear for my sanity when I’m near you. Even so, I’m willing – nay, eager – to test my defenses against your charms.”
“You are?”
“I am.”
“Well, get to testing. No, wait a minute." She smiled up at him. "Are you sure you want to do this right now?"
"Well, let's consider. I could read a book. I could go out and price used cars..."
"Then, help me get my sweater off."
He did.
Similarly, could Eliza willingly be enticed to bed, by her lover's story
about why he didn't buy her a sexy Valentine's gift?
Greg had presented them with two delicious chocolate and cherry truffles, seated atop a red handkerchief. As they ate the chocolates and sipped wine, Vic was considering something.
“There is one unanswered question, still.” Vic took the red handkerchief from the box. “My knowledge of you and your mind makes me think that this hankie is not just to set truffles on. Am I right?”
“You do know me, don’t you? Yes, there is a story that goes with the hankie. Do you want to hear it?”
“Of course.”
He reached for the wine bottle, and split the remaining liquid between their two glasses. “Okay. I had thought about buying you one of those frilly, slinky, red nighties – you know, the kind that is mostly just holes held together with little bits of fabric? I saw one that I thought would look especially good on you – well, delicious, I think is the adjective that came to mind, in thinking how it would fit you. Well, obviously, having planted that vision clearly in my brain, it was hard to look away. But I did. Unromantic as it was to do so, I looked at the price tag. The price was large. Well, maybe it wasn’t, for the product considered as a whole, and with the benefits that might accrue from its use, but it seemed like a lot for the very little amount of fabric actually in the garment. I saw the handkerchief at the same moment I saw the nightie’s price tag. I would say that the hankie has approximately the same amount of material as the nightie – maybe a little more - but it only cost a fraction of the price.
“Still, I couldn’t just walk away from the nightie. I thought how cute you would look in it – the adjectives ‘desirable’ and ‘delectable’ joined ‘delicious’ in my mind – but then reason asserted itself for a moment. I remembered that I would only see you wearing it for maybe five minutes – maybe less, if I was feeling especially Vic-starved at that moment – and, after that, I would only see it folded on a chair by the bed, or perhaps in a heap on the floor near the bed. I opted for the handkerchief.”
After a moment of silence, “It must have been real torture for you,” Vic said. “You know, I told Nancy that you wouldn’t buy me any red – what did you call it, non-sleeping sleep wear? – but I got the reason all wrong. I thought it would be because you already had the choice of me in my delectable flowered pajamas, my delicious silky white pjs, or my dynamically desirable pale green peignoir and nightgown combination. But no, your decision was purely economic."
They finished their wine, and talked a little more. Eventually, Greg led Vic over to their bed, sat her on the edge, and began to help her get undressed. It seemed to be taking a lot longer than was necessary, but neither seemed to be minding the delay.
“Oh, I should get my pajamas,” Vic said, at one point.
“One thing at a time,” replied Greg, as he continued to remove clothing. When he had taken all there was to be taken, he stood back and observed his handiwork.
“You look happy,” Vic said.
“I am happy,” he replied.
“I’m still working on my definitions,” she said. “Am I correct that, once we are both in this bed, and we decide to not go immediately to sleep, what we might have would be called loving fun?”
“You would be correct.”
“Good. I think I have it worked out, now. Just one other question.” She held out the red hankie. “What are we supposed to do with this?”
“I’ll take care of that.” He took it from her, then lifted the blankets so she could slide into bed. He removed his own clothing in much less time than it had taken to remove hers. He slid in after her, and turned out the light.
The red hankie spent the night on the table next to the bed.
Would Eliza be willing - nay, eager! - to embrace a quickly contrived "legend,"
concerning the magical and highly erotic qualities of a filmy nightgown?
Greg got up, reached behind the couch, and brought out a long, prettily colored box. He handed it to Vic, and she opened it. “Oh, my god!” she said, as she first beheld the filmy folds of pale green. As she took it out of the box, and smoothed it across her lap, it took on the character of a lovely long nightgown. “Greg, what have you done!”
“I’m not an expert on terminology, but what I have presented to you I think is called a negligee. Also included is what I think is called a Pan-war. It’s a French word, maybe spelled p-e-i-g-n-o-i-r. for the sexy little jacket that you wear over the negligee. The jacket won’t keep you warm, but I think it might heat both of us up a little bit.”
“Yes, I know what a peignoir is, and it all looks – and feels! – really lovely. Should I try it on, now?”
“By all means, but I think I should tell you a little about it first. There is a legend that, when the right woman wears this outfit in the right situation, it pulls all the sexy, erotic thoughts and impulses from her, and mixes them with the fabric of the negligee. If her lover happens to touch the fabric when she has it on, all his erotic energy flows to meet hers, and… Well, the result can only be imagined. No, I take that back. It is too unique, too intense, to be compared to anything that they’ve known previously. It’s.. well, we just need to be sure that you only wear it when…”
“Wow! I don’t even have it on yet, and I feel… Greg, do you think any of that is true?”
“Well, I said it’s a legend, but I think it’s pretty clear that most legends arise from some previous truth. Of course, legends grow with the telling – but, I mean, who can really know?”
She got up off the couch. “I’m going to put it on.”
“Are you sure? Is there anything else that needs doing this evening? I mean, if the legend is anywhere near true…”
“Let’s take our chances.” She disappeared into the bedroom, but then reappeared at the door. “Do I wear anything underneath it?”
“There were no directions, so I assume it’s personal preference. It seems to me that soft, filmy fabric would feel rather nice against one’s bare skin, but…”
She still stood in the doorway. “I have to ask. Did you buy this for me, or for you?”
He smiled. “Well, I think it will look a lot better on you than it would on me. However, as I think I mentioned, I do hope to derive some benefits from you wearing it.”
“That’s what I thought.” She disappeared into the bedroom, again. When she came out, clothed in billows of beautiful pale green, Greg found he couldn’t speak for a moment.
“Oh, my!” he finally got out. “I knew you would look spectacular, but this is beyond all imagining.”
“So, you’re saying you like it?”
“I am saying that I am overwhelmed. Please come over here, and dance with me.” He held out his arm to her. She took hold, but tentatively. “Dance with you? Can you dance?”
He pulled her to him. “We need to find out, don’t we?”
“But you’re touching me in the gown. Isn’t that a potential problem?”
“We need to find that out, too.” He held on to her, and began to waltz. “You can dance!” she exclaimed. “And pretty good, too!”
“Still a beginner, but with a few lessons. I’ve wanted to dance with you so badly for so long, but I wanted to do well enough that we could really concentrate on one another.”
“Mandy, right? I knew there was some big secret that she wasn’t sharing. We know each other too well. And this was the ‘other reason’ for the charm bracelet?”
There was no music, but they kept moving effortlessly around the room, with him remembering how to smoothly turn them when they came to an obstruction. “I’ve imagined how this would be, ever since I sent you off to your prom with someone else. It’s even better than I imagined.”
She stopped them. “Sent me off to the prom? You didn’t really even know me, then. We joked about me getting you a picture, without my date in it, but…”
“I know we’d hardly talked, and I didn’t think I had any romantic interest in you, but I felt what could only be jealousy. I ached to take you to that dance, and hold you in my arms!”
“And that’s why, when I talked to you after I got home, you said that about maybe, someday…” She put her arms around his neck, pulled him close to her, and kissed him very hard and very long. When she let him go, she whispered, “We can’t dance, anymore!”
“Why not?” he asked.
“The legend isn’t just a legend. You need to take me to the bed, right now!”
***
Well, we can only guess how Eliza would react, but we know how Vic did.
Speaking of Vic, we've been considering her mostly as the willing seducee of Greg's seduction. However, she was not unaware of how to use words to get what she wanted.
After dinner, Vic suggested to Greg that they take a little walk.
"There's something I wanted to talk about, and it'll be best if we're alone."
He looked at her quizzically. "Okay, if you want."
"Daddy, we'll be back in a bit," Vic called, as they left the house. Then, rather than going for a walk, she directed them to Greg's abode. She settled in the big chair. He sat in a kitchen chair in front of her.
"I was just thinking..." Vic began.
"Oh, no. Not that."
"Be nice, Greg. I was thinking - or maybe wondering - now that we're married, is it all over for us?"
"All over?"
"Well, I've heard it said, and read it - sometimes as a joke, but not always - that all the excitement and anticipation of getting married kind of ends when you actually get married."
He tried to judge how serious she was. "I'd been thinking a little differently. You know, the radio, and the telephone, and the movies that we know may just be passing fancies..."
"That's very nicely put," she interrupted him. "It's almost like song lyrics. I had what is kind of a similar thought. The Rockies may tumble, Gibraltar may crumble. They're only made of clay."
"Vic, you know it isn't nice to steal from the same source that I'm using. Nevertheless, I was getting to the next line. Whatever is going on now - whatever comes and goes - our love is here to stay. Definitely, here to stay!"
"Oh, I know that. That's been a 'given' since the day we met. We'll always love each other sincerely and deeply. That's not what I was referring to."
"You are thinking in terms of romance?"
"Well..."
"More specifically," he interrupted her. "You are thinking about sex."
"Since you put it so delicately... Yes, that is what I was referring to. They say that romance is all about conquest, and once the conquest is made, you don't need it anymore. And sex - well, it's the ultimate conquest and satisfaction, but then... Well, after marriage, sex with the same partner is just repetition, isn't it?"
He seemed to be thinking. "Well, take romance. You conquested me pretty early in our relationship. Whatever romance I offered you wasn't really necessary. Maybe it was even superfluous. Maybe it was wasted effort. But it was fun, wasn't it?
"As for sex after marriage not being as good, we've actually considered ourselves married for some time. Why do I remember some rather excellent sexual encounters and performances during that time?"
"Well, we weren't legally married in the eyes of the Law. Maybe that makes a difference."
"Okay, we'll consider that. Sex on our first actual legal night was perhaps a little sedate, but that may have been because my parents were in the next room, and we were both so exhausted we couldn't keep our eyes open. In its own way, it was still pretty nice, wasn't it?"
"Yes, it was."
"And last night - our first legal night that we were alone and well rested - that might not have been the most memorable performance of all time, but it was certainly well up in the 'Top Ten,' wasn't it?"
"Yes, but that may well have been our final big night - our 'good bye' performance, so to speak."
Greg stood up, and moved the kitchen chair off to the side. "I feel that you don't believe what you're saying, and that you have some ulterior motive for this conversation. Just let me say that I am ready to prove that we still have some very sexy times ahead of us."
She let her eyes roam down his body. 'Yes, I can see that."
"Are you ready to participate in a little experiment now to confirm my belief?"
"Yes, I believe I could be convinced to join in your experiment."
"There is a nice bed right near us. Are you prepared to make use of that bed in the furtherance of fact finding?"
"I am."
He held out his hands to her. "Then, let's be about it."
Quite a while later, Vic asked, "Do you think Daddy will be worried about us?"
"Very doubtful."
"You don't think he'll wonder if we've been devoured by wolves?"
"No."
"Should we go back over to the other house, just to show him that we're okay?"
"This is a very nice bed, and since we've already mussed it up, I think we should stay here."
"But I didn't bring a toothbrush."
"I have a spare one, unused."
"I don't have any pajamas to wear."
"I'll keep my eyes closed."
"Okay, then. Turn out the light."
***
I don't know if that really explains why I like words so much, but I had fun reliving it. I hope you did, too.
I'll finish with one of my favorite passages from another author. I'm not quite sure why I like it so much. It's a well-formed scenario. It's sexy, without really telling how or why. Its ambiguity leaves me with some interesting questions.What happens next?
From the conclusion, ‘The Folk of the Air,” by Peter S. Beagle:
"Farrell drove Julie to work for the last time. Neither of them spoke at all. They held hands all the way, even when Farrell had to shift gears. When he parked near her office, she got out by herself, walked around to the driver's side and pulled him halfway through the window to kiss him. 'Be careful,' she said. "You're the only one I've ever had.'
"There was no way to avoid asking the question, and they were both laughing when she replied, 'Ah, if we only knew that. Wouldn't we be somewhere then?' She kissed him again and walked away without saying good-bye. Farrell found this oddly hopeful and reassuring, since he had never known Julie to say good-bye, and they had always seen each other again."
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