Intercourse
“When you've got everything else in a marriage going for you, then it's the icing on the cake.”
“No, don't like icing, so I wouldn't call it the icing on the cake. Much too sicky sweet. It's more like the apples in the pie.”
Intercourse: is it the icing on the cake? or the apples in the pie?
This draws a good line between people's concept of it. An us and them sort of thing.
And then you have a rough, mean man: with him it's really more an intercoarse. He's like sandpaper working away. No touch.
Others are like a bug; they barely crawl up to you, queasy and nervous. They try, they mean well, but still its an uncertain bug coldness that comes out of them. They feel rather buggy. A buggy little thing crawling on you. They might as well be a cockroach scampering about. Inwardly a petrified cockroach with its tail between its legs.
