With a minimum of effort, she had begun to rotate on the lunar wheel.At night, when the light was off, the attic normally was as black as the franks at a firebug’s weenie roast. In that part of the world, however, the full moon always rose in the east, and on those nights when the moon was biggest and brightest, a shaft of its light would spear the one clear windowpane and pierce her sleeping body. By May, she was menstruating regularly at the new moon, just as the ancients did, and in July she observed that she had begun to ovulate when the moon was full, as will any healthy woman whose nights are not polluted by synthetic lighting. She could always tell when she was about to ovulate because her vaginal mucus would become wetter and more abundant than usual, and more smooth and slippery, too. Her glands were greasing the tracks, as it were, for the Sperm Express. Of course, testing for ovulation can be hazardous, since a primed vagina, in its enthusiasm, can mistake an exploratory finger for a serviceable phallus and try to draw it in.
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