I studied myself in the mirror and watched my hands glide over my body, down over my breasts, my abdomen, my pubic mound and then, separating my thigh..., feeling the heat on the inside of them. I was learning by the second and by the inch about a sexuality I never knew existed. I concentrated on my image in the mirror and watched my hand left hand feel the erectness in my nipples and my right hand’s extended middle finger make accentuated circles around my clit. It felt unexplainably natural for. His wife gave him this news with a grin, like it was sitcom-funny that he was going to be home alone to deal with a teenager who'd probably be a little secretly drunk, as though he was a sitcom husband who had miscapades -- escapades? misadventures? -- every time she turned her back. Oh, he loved his wife, he'd kill a puppy for her, but he hated the way she fell into those stereotypes. He made dinner as often as she did, and they unofficially alternated laundry duty. He'd been separating whites. More

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