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direction of your pants. At no time do your hands move away from your sides. You wouldn’t know where to put them even if you were inclined to put them on some part of him. You have definitely not had enough to drink, but you suspect that if you hadn’t had whatever number of drinks you’ve had, you might be in for a fair amount of physical pain. To be sure, once it’s in, it feels like nothing approaching good, though there’s little in the way of sensation, leaving time to contemplate the pointlessness of this exercise. Your intention was to “get this over with.” Should you call it a success? That’s a stretch. Steven makes some unattractive noises before his body goes limp on top of you, rolls himself off. Jesus, why would anyone want to do this more than once? You look up to see if you can reach the rum, have to stretch a bit,almost knock it over, take one more swig before getting up to go. Okay, I’m gonna go. Better to at least pretend as though he hasn’t already set a timer on this. Okay.
    Outside the room, Steven’s roommate and a couple of other guys you recognize are sitting on the floor, laughing. They might be laughing because Steven just got some with you and you’re now slinking away, or they might be laughing because someone made some joke about something else entirely, but the effect is the same. You plot ways to avoid running into any of these people ever again, which could be challenging.
    When, a few weeks later, your period is three days late, you have cause to consider your options in the event that you might be pregnant. Your period’s been late before, but this is the first time there’s been any reason to worry about it. But there’s no worry really. You are pro-choice. It’s a bunch of cells. There is not even one fragment of a thought in your head that this could be the beginning of a baby, or that this is a medical procedure with any risks, however minor. You know about Roe v. Wade , although you don’t know who was who pro or con, or why, and you honestly don’t even care to be grateful for Roe or Wade or whoever it was who is totally doing you a solid right now. All you have to worry about is where to get the money for it. Otherwise, there’s no more than a vague I’ll cross that bridge if I ever come to it , and then your period comes, so the bridge is still at a safe distance. You might have three or four other pregnancy scares in the future, but those bridges aren’t even built yet.
    Still, you won’t do sex again for a while.

Bright Future
    T he fall after you and Dad get married, he takes a year in Germany as a Fulbright scholar. You are twenty years old and have never traveled out of the country before and you are terribly thrilled. You ship a box of books and sewing supplies ahead of your arrival, as you’ll need something to do. Your main objective is to be a perfect wife. You rent a small furnished studio apartment near the university; there’s not much to it, but you will do your best on your tiny budget to make it homey: a couple of small plants, a fine linen tablecloth from the flea market for five marks (it has a small coffee stain, but you read Heloise and know just how to get that out with a little baking soda). During the year you will pick up more things along the way: a watercolor from a street artist ( It’s so dear, Mother, and just two marks! you write home), patterned curtains you whip up from some fabric remnants she sends. On weekends you and Fred explore parks, wander through museums, attend concerts at the university, budget down to the penny for a bus tour of Europe. You purchase a harpsichord on layaway, which is beyond over budget, but a piano is out of the question financially (not to mention that you wouldn’t be able to ship it home), and you will both make good use of it.
    Early on, there’s an audition for choristers for an upcoming recital. You ask Fred