Page 15 of Lessons with the Mothman

"I believe the increased exposure to human values and society makes a difference to those?—"

Victoria raised a finger and pressed her lips flat, shaking her head, but she didn't look angry—that hint of a smile was still in her eyes. "No, don't tell me. I have to reach my own conclusions. Where are we going?"

Victoria studiedthe other patrons of the diner we'd walked to with the same intensity she had Andre, sipping on the single mug of coffee she'd ordered. I'd ordered enough food to feed us both and felt a surge of triumph when blatant hunger widened her eyes as the plates hit our table.

"Help yourself," I said, arranging sides of bacon and sausage, hashbrowns, biscuits, gravy, and pancakes evenly between us.

Our weary waitress in an outdated uniform and apron paused at the periphery. "Anything else for you two?"

"Fruit?" Victoria asked, sitting and glancing back at the spread I'd offered her. "And a western omelet...and the bagel and lox platter."

The woman's eyebrows raised as she turned away from us.

"I had to have something to contribute," Victoria said, grinning and creating what could only be considered a rare miracle.

I sat back, stunned by the force of that smile, the brightness, the laughter in the corner of her eyes. She ate a slice of bacon, licking the grease off her fingertips and lips.

"Why are you doing this?" I hadn't meant to ask the question. In a way, I'd asked it once already.

Victoria's guards went up once more, but it was easier to look at her when she was hiding herself halfway—the full reveal had been blinding. Dazzling. Disarming enough to have me blurting out questions I'd meant to decipher the answer to in secret.

Then she sighed and lifted up a pancake with her bare fingers, folding it like a taco and filling it with a sausage link and a pile of hashbrowns. Rafe would've approved. I wondered what the two of them had discussed, jealous of their time alone.

"I suppose, with all I'm asking others to share, it's a good lesson in empathy to do the same," she said. When her eyes blinked, they did so slowly, as if threatening to remain closed and let her fall asleep. She was tired, and perhaps vulnerable to sharing more than she might usually. I should've apologized and changed the subject. Instead, I leaned forward, waiting for her answer.

"I have trouble achieving orgasm," she said plainly.

"Many do," I answered.

Her lips turned down, and I made myself a small plate of food, glancing at her as she ate.

"That's true. Idon'tachieve orgasm with a partner. Or I haven't in many years. I find the expectation to be…oppressive during intimacy," she continued.

"Is sex uncomfortable for you? Physically?"

She shook her head. "No. And I don't think I have issues with arousal."

"You don't think?"

She stared somewhere in the distance, past my head. "I was in a long-term relationship. From high school until a few years ago. I thought I was losing interest in sex altogether, and then…"

It was a struggle not to drop my fork, to fix myself to every word, to leave room between us for her to answer. Such honesty was shocking, most especially from this woman, who sometimes appeared to be all facade and reflection.

"I had an affair," she said.

I wanted to offer her my opinion—that a relationship formed as a child, one where she was losing interest andfeeling obligated, was not unlikely to make her seek satisfaction elsewhere. But she didn't need an opinion.

"And did you orgasm during the affair?"

She sighed and shook her head. "I enjoyed sex again though. Craved it. And the person I was involved with was less concerned about getting me off. Perhaps that's what I liked."

A selfish lover? I frowned at that. That would prove challenging. What I enjoyed sexually was learning about the other person, discovering what aroused them and then what satisfied them. Selfishly chasing my own release was too easy—boring, really.

"If you were satisfied with your inability to reach orgasm, an equally disinterested partner wouldn't be so difficult to find," I said, tipping my head.

Victoria snorted, resting her chin in her hand and her elbow on the table. "That's true. I want too much."

Tell me what you want, I thought. "I don't think that's true," I said instead, hazarding a guess. "You want a partner who cares about your pleasure, without making you reach some arbitrary marker of that as a means to prove their own skill in sex."

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