I never knew what to say to children. When June lowered her eyes, the revelation began. She was knitting booties for her second baby, we were in her livingroom, among prints of French impressionist paintings, books, end tables, and coffee cups. Jensen was reading the paper, in a big leather chair in the corner. He wasn't listening. June was telling me about her visits to her doctor, how considerate Jensen was with her, doing the dishes and heavy housework, how he let her go to bed early at night. "Of course, I've had plenty of sleep since I've been married," she said. She looked at me. I hadn't thought there was anything strange about what she said. She lowered her eyes, and took up her knitting again.

It made me wonder.

And then I noticed the silence of other couples when it came to the subject of sex. I was willing to talk about it, though it embarrassed me to know too much; still, it was something I could have in common with the others. But when I talked, they hardly answered. Once, I saw the two women I was with look at each other. Then we talked about other things.

Even Anita and Arnie, whom I had known for years, and who were sleeping together for at least two years before they got married, were quiet about sex. They went steady for four years, and they were very close, emotionally and physically. I envied them. that. But since they were married, I never saw them put their arms around. each other, or Anita sit in Arnie's lap, like in old times. I was very close to Anita; she seemed to be the only one of my friends I stayed really close to after she was married. She seemed to me more original than the others.

One day I came right out and asked her: why couples I knew didn't refer to sex at all, and always avoided the subject. I asked if it was a matter of married propriety. She seemed to want to change the subject. But I kept at it,

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using the example of her and Arnie. And finally she let herself look me in the eye, and said, "I don't know that I can tell you. It's an unwritten law. I'd be afraid. . . ." I guess she saw I was hurt she sensed my feelings about marriage, and how I felt left out and she thought for a moment, then said, "You have to promise not to tell anyone. This is something it would be bad for others to know. You may be shocked, or surprised. Promise?"

"I promise," I said. My heart was pounding, but I tried to appear calm.

"We don't... married people don't have sexual relations. There is no sex in marriage. None at all. Arnie and I ... when we were married, we didn't know. No one knows. I've talked with others, and none of them knew. There just isn't any sex. Arnie and I were so happy when we went together. We were so close, and sex was a way of getting closer, and it was joyful to both of us. When we were married, we were so happy, we thought we would have years of joy, of physical union. The ceremony was so lovely, we were so happy. And then . . . the wedding night.

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I tried not to show any reaction. I was afraid she wouldn't go on. But she smiled bitterly, and went on:

"Marriage was a consummation of our love, a confirmation that we would make love for years to come, and it would all be right, because we were married, and we were right to make love before, because marriage made it all right, because we knew we were going to get married before we did. Do you know what I mean? After the wedding, at the hotel, he took a shower, and I did. and it meant so much to us, and then we lay down together on the bed, and, well, nothing happened. There suddenly wasn't anything to do. We were married, and we were together, and we loved each other, and we were lying together on a bed. That was all. We couldn't understand. We were afraid to look at

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