While waiting for the telephone to ring, I imagined Darren stepping into a phone booth, a smile on his face, and dialling my number. I imagined him in that phone booth thinking of me – missing me, wanting to hold me, kiss me, touch me. I knew he wanted more. I’d promised I would by Labour Day. Something kept holding me back.
“Don’t you love me?” he’d said our last night together. He’d be leaving for Buffalo the next day.
“Of course I do.” I thought I could that night. I wanted to. But when he lowered his hand, I jumped.
“Jesus, Caitlin. It’s only sex.”
I could barely say the word “s*x” without blushing. The one-syllable word was a grenade like “d**k” or “cunt.” As a little girl I knew not to say these words, even before I knew their meanings. Their taboo brought a pucker to the mout
