Tales of the City 08 - Mary Ann in Autumn

this?”
    “Lots of women are like this, Mouse, especially when they get to my age. You don’t know. Viagra is not our friend.” She curled her feet under her butt, turning defensive in the face of this interrogation. “Yes, I told Calliope.”
    “Shit.”
    “I know . I should’ve guessed she’d do anything for money.”
    Michael nodded. Mary Ann thought he was finally grasping the heinousness of what had happened, but, typically, he had drifted in a different direction entirely.
    “You know,” he said, leaning back, as if sweetly ruminating on the shape of a cloud. “I’ve never heard a man complain about having to suck dick … a gay man, I mean. I’ve heard women complain about it a fair amount, but never men. Men don’t say: ‘Damn, do I have to do that again?’ It just doesn’t happen.”
    She could hardly believe what she was hearing. “Am I on trial here, Mouse? Are you telling me this is my fault?”
    “No … I’m just sayin’.”
    “Well, stop sayin’.”
    “It was an observation, Mary Ann. Not a criticism.”
    “Why are you defending him?”
    “Who? Bob? I don’t think I’d even like him. All I know about him is what I hear from you.”
    “And stop making it sound like I’m off sex.”
    “Isn’t that what you just said?”
    “No! Every now and then is fine.”
    “ ‘I have always preferred an occasional orgy to a nightly routine.’ ”
    “What?”
    “Aunt Augusta said that. In Travels with My Aunt .”
    She didn’t have the energy to ask him what the hell he was talking about. “Whatever.”
    “I’m agreeing with you, Mary Ann. I think it’s a lot better if it’s an event. Ben and I plan our week around it sometimes. We make a date for Sunday morning. Or whenever, depending on our schedules. If Bob was getting tedious about it—”
    “God, you guys are all the same.”
    Michael raised an eyebrow. “ We guys ?”
    “Men.” He’d obviously thought she meant gay men and was already set to pounce on her homophobia. “ All men. Sex is all you ever think about.”
    “Not always. But it’s a good thing.” He smiled. “As Martha says.”
    “Aren’t you just getting tired of it? How can you even do it anymore on a regular basis? You’re the same age I am.”
    He shrugged. “I have help.”
    “Viagra, you mean.”
    He shook his head. “That stuff’s not good for your heart. And it hasn’t been working that great lately, to tell you the truth.”
    “Then what?”
    He took a sip of his cocoa. “Sure you wanna hear this?”
    “No, but tell me anyway.”
    He set the mug down again. “I have a shot.”
    It didn’t register right away. “A shot of what?”
    “A shot shot.” He mimed using a syringe—and aimed it in the direction of his crotch. “My doctor prescribed it.”
    She was sure he was kidding. “Right.”
    “Well … you asked.”
    “You give yourself a shot in your penis?” She winced as if she had one of her own and was already feeling the pinch of the syringe.
    “Oh, God, no,” said Michael. “I could never give myself a shot. Ben does it.”
    She had a concrete image to work with now, and she wished like hell that she didn’t. “And he doesn’t mind?” she asked incredulously.
    “ Mind? It turns me into a dildo for two hours. Why should he mind?”
    “Mouse!”
    “Sorry. You asked … I told.”
    “Doesn’t it hurt?”
    “Oh, no … Ben does yoga, you know. He’s amazingly—”
    “The needle, Mouse! Does the needle hurt?”
    He shook his head. “It’s just a little prick.”
    This whole exchange could have been a setup for that stupid joke, but she knew that it hadn’t been. She did her best not to register her instant revulsion, moving away from the specifics as quickly as possible “Isn’t that a little … unromantic?”
    “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? It’s not, though. It’s the most romantic sex I’ve ever had. I mean, most of that has to do with Ben, but … the shot adds a whole other dimension. It leaves room for tenderness. It gives you that … leisure. You’re thinking about the other person, not your dick … well, not your dick—”
    “Shut up,” she said in the friendliest way possible. It was hard enough to picture Ben and Michael, but now, perversely, she was wondering if Bob and Calliope had heard about this stuff, and if it was figuring prominently in their Italian idyll.
    “Am I oversharing?” he asked.
    “When aren’t you?”
    “Well … when you’re talking, for one