deeper, in a quickening pace, until he touched the mouth of her womb.

With the smoothness of a dream, they exploded, unfolding out of themselves in a flurry of involuntary sounds and movements.

He fell back towards sleep like falling into a dark pit but caught himself as he hit bottom, and came instantly awake again. Her body stirred, and he shifted off.

They separated, their sex organs sliding apart last.

It disturbed him that they had not kissed and that, recently, their love-making, what little of it there was, always took place in the dark or with eyes tightly closed. It had not always been that way.

M. Vincent read the glowing red digital numbers on the bedside clock. It was after 6:30.

He got up, bumped around the room, washed and dressed, went downstairs, slipped out the front door and locked it behind him.