of moments before the love-making would begin. She would see to that, all the way back through the winding streets to the Via Margutta. And tonight was perhaps the night.

The moon was high. We stood high up over the remains of the temple of Minerva. The wind was cool and refreshing. I stood in back of her. She took my hands and placed them firmly on her breasts. I kept them there, enjoying the novelty of the pose. I was pressed tightly against her buttocks. I was the instrument of her pleasure and I took every cue. There was a silly smile on my face as I thought of us there in the wind, too innocent, really. . .

We went much further than usual, excited and emboldened by the splendor of the panorama and the drama of the moment. The wine from the meal had lingered and dissipated inhibitions. I satisfied her again with my fingers and again until she was almost fainting against me with overflushed desire and its recompense. We walked back to the Via Margutta, she leaning against me, a withered reed, and I, walking erect, strong, feeling impossibly masculine, almost Italian myself.

When we got to her pensione, I took it for granted we would go up to her room. Emotionally, I was ready.

"We can't tonight," she said simply.

"Oh, why?"

"It's my fertility time."

"Oh...

99

"I figured it out. These are my fertile days. It wouldn't be good for us to try it now. I mean

.

"I understand."

"You're not upset, are you, Roy?"

"Of course not."

"I feel wonderfully satisfied. But I guess you're not."

"Well yes, I am. Yes, sir. I mean, yes, Madam."

"Now, don't be funny!"

"We can do it again, here . . .”

"I'm tired of dark corners and shadows. I'm beginning to see the virtues of bed... and lying prone

دو

We argued in a friendly way for a few more minutes and then I kissed her good night. She left Rome two days later. Her uncle had had a heart attack. She had received a telegram.

"I'll be back as soon as I can. Let me know where you are. I'll come to Belgium if I have to . . ."

"Maybe it would be better to consummate whatever we are going to consummate back in the Bronx. It's only poetic justice."

28

She looked up at me with eyes that were eager to cry.

"You see ...", she said simply, "I'm a virgin."

"Oh..."

"I'm not exactly inexperienced with men. But, technically, I'm a virgin." "Well thanks for letting me know."

"Does it make a difference?"

"Of course not."

I held her in my arms.

"If I thought it would make a difference, I wouldn't have told you."

"I should have known. Should have, that is..."

I walked her to her train. We kissed good-bye like the lovers we weren't.