Lorna Felt is lying in bed next to her husband, slightly hungover but relaxed and thinking about Peter’s frightened face after she’d made her modest move under the table. She stares across the room to the picture on their wal . A tantric diagram of a right foot—a print of a classic eighteenth-century Hindu yantra mapping al the inner structure and energy points of the foot, which she had bought on eBay. Mark hadn’t wanted it hanging on the wal , of course. Just as he didn’t want her clients taking off their socks in his living room. Stil , she nestles into him now, as he rouses from his sleep. “Good morning,” she whispers into his ear. He barely grunts a response. Undeterred, her hand slips inside his T-shirt and caresses his skin with a feather-light touch. She slides her fingers lower, unbuttons his boxer shorts, and strokes his flaccid penis as tenderly as if it were a pet mouse. And this soft and careful stroking works, in that it arouses him and he kisses her and they head quickly toward sex.
