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Novels by Mary Marcus
New on the Blog
New Year
Photo: Joel Goodman I “I can’t make love with him. I can’t use words, I can’t ask for what I desire, it is something like what it was with the fool I married. Only the man who wants to marry me isn’t a fool. And I would like to marry him.” Tatiana told me this in her slightly accented English that like nearly everything else about her was so sexy. She reached for my hand… I’m a yoga teacher and Tatiana’s brother had come to one of my classes last year and after class convinced me to meet his sister, and become her sexual surrogate. Maybe he thought that yoga teachers have some special sexual expertise, or maybe he heard that yoga started as a sex cult. She had been married briefly, found the whole physical aspect unsatisfactory and wanted to learn how to have pleasure. I was broke; lots of bills were coming in. I agreed to meet with her. She was beautiful and I guess we sort of fell in love. My face was burning. I was aware of being jealous. “Have you said you’re going to marry him?” “No.” I didn’t inquire, “Has he seen you without your mask on?” Tatiana had always kept the dark holes covered where eyes should have been, until the last time we got together. Then I saw what she hid so skillfully. I’m still ashamed at the horror I felt that day. “It takes time to learn anything, Tatiana, the body needs practice.” “You and I needed no practice.” “True. We were special. It isn’t always so easy.” “Your...Christmas Eve
Right after sex a certain kind of woman wants to tell you everything. He now knew her former house where she once had lived with her two kids was four times the size of this spacious condo. That her kids were off skiing with the hubby and the nanny he had replaced her with. And that the nanny, taking on airs, had hired an interior decorator to do her new house, the decorations, every last detail. And of course all the holiday goodies were brought in from the outside. The nanny did nothing now. Nothing. He did not tell her about his own Christmases, the ones of his childhood in the Midwest: the plastic tree, the pathetic cheap gifts, the Santa hat his mother’s boyfriend of the moment always wore, not to mention the Santa hats the guards wore in prison, or what it was like getting punched in the face by a dick wearing a Santa hat. Photo: Joel Goodman She thought it was pretty great that they met at the church service on Christmas Eve. She wanted to know how often he want to church. “Me? I go in spurts, you know, when I’m feeling Godly.” Actually he could count on one hand the times in his forty-four years he had ever been inside a church. His mother, Alma, had been a rabid church hater, claiming the pastor in her church molested her at age nine. The three of them, his twin, himself and his older even crazier sister, all thought she was God. And he knew that was just the way she wanted it. It...The First
“You don’t remember me, do you?” “No, please remind me. I can’t believe I don’t remember someone as, well rememberable as you are.” “Rememberable isn’t a word.” The truth is, he means it. I can see on his face I please him even if he isn’t attracted to women near his own age. Actually, I’m ten years younger, but to him that’s an old bag. “You said in your email you wanted to talk to me about my businesses. Which one?” “I was one of your early successes, I’m guessing.” “Really! Refresh my memory.” “We were in college, at least I was. You were older, somewhere in graduate school; I met you at a mixer. You courted me. It went on for a month or more. This was way before cell phones and the Internet. I waited by the pay phone booth in my dorm. You took me to your house. We drank a little wine, smoked a joint. You pushed me down–no more foreplay. You took my virginity. Then you disappeared and never called.” Photo: Joel Goodman We are standing in the doorway of his old fashioned white house in Kenter Canyon, up on a hill, where no one can see the front door for all the trees. It is practically like being in the country and perfect for my plans. No doubt he bought the place for three and it’s now worth ten times that. He’s wondering what he should say. He knows I’m right. It had been a little hobby of his in business school: taking girls’ virginity after a little struggle and then well, never...
The New Me
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