Her work now entailed much more travel than ever before, with trips to the west coast or New York several times each month. More and more frequently I...found myself alone in our penthouse in Cambridge, resentful of what at the time I thought was her obsessive career. When she was at home, she was always exhausted. She never refused me sex, but it was no better than necrophilia, and gradually I stopped bothering. I deeply regretted selling the house in Tiburon because I would have surely gone. “Just think of it,” she said in her tiny voice as she tugged on my earlobe. “Women will be sitting there reading your story and will suddenly feel a tiny hand or tongue on their nipples.”Another imp popped up onto my right shoulder. “Or if they are lying down while reading,” she said, “We will be able to sample the nectar their arousal is creating.”The two of them then said firmly, in unison, “You WILL publish what happened.”The remaining ten morphed back into their scary hag personae and added. More

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