Matecumbe by James A. Michener

Ann always feared getting involved with yet another man who would demand sex constantly. Her ex-husband terrified her with his non-stop need for sex. In comparison, she now had a degree of freedom, living the life of an unmarried woman, with no live-in lover. Before Paul came into her life, she would “stray,” as she put it, only once or twice a year.
    When she was about ten years old, Mary Ann had her breasts fondled by one of her uncles, but she never told her parents about the incident. In the intervening years, she purposely excluded from her memory all thoughts of male family members, possibly blocking the recollection of additional incidents with the same uncle.
    The child abuse in her past, Mary Ann believed, may be the reason she never experienced orgasms such as those she had read about or been told of by other women.
    “I’ve never screamed during sex,” Mary Ann admitted to Paul, “and I probably never will.”
    The boat ride on the Sunday before Memorial Day was the highlight of the entire weekend—as far as the girls were concerned. Five miles off the coast of Ocean City, they had their first experience with deep-sea fishing.
    All told, their group boated two dozen sea bass, a scattering of sea robins and junkfish, and three small flounder.
    The next day, their visit with “Lucy The Elephant” excited Mary Ann even more than it did the kids.
    “Lucy,” an imposing, three-story-high former hotel adjacent to the beach, was constructed in the shape of an elephant. Inside were antique slot machines that dispensed commemorative coins for every win. With a total investment of six dollars, Mary Ann was able to coax the machines into giving up four of the large, elephant-decorated coins—one for each of her girls.
    Whenever they walked the boardwalk that weekend, Mary Ann and the girls would collect armfuls of stuffed animals—as a result of playing wheel spins, coin toss games, and assorted carnival teasers. Paul tried his hand, too, but without any luck.
    Melissa was proud of the pink flamingo she won by knocking three bottles off a stand with a single pitch of a softball. The operator of the game tried to give her a larger stuffed flamingo, but Melissa had insisted on the smaller version.
    “He has a sad face, Mommy,” Melissa commented. “I’ll make him happy.”
    At the conclusion of their vacation, during the long drive home, the girls were busy with their drawing and crayon coloring in the back of Paul’s new station wagon. At least two of Mary Ann’s girls seemed to have legitimate artistic ability.
    “Their art work seems excellent,” Paul noticed, “but it would probably be better if they could spend more time reading books. When I was in high school, my favorite English teacher always told our class, ‘The dummies draw, and the smart kids read.’”
    “When I was in high school,” Mary Ann reacted, “my best subject was art. My favorite teacher thought I had a future as a commercial artist. But I never followed through on it. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t need to work as a weekend cashier to make ends meet, and I’d have more time to spend with my family.”
    Immediately, from embarrassment, Paul felt a blush. He was hoping, however, that his sunburn could hide it. He made a silent vow to make up for his insensitive remark as soon as possible.

    Daybreak in Key West was instant warmth. To Melissa, the breeze that pushed its way through the open window felt like a tingling, toasty air current—the kind that a heating vent spews into a room during a mid-winter’s day in Philadelphia, returning the wiggle to snow-frozen toes.
    When they awoke on the bed, Melissa and Joe were still entwined, arm-in-arm. The absence of clothing led them to a logical, natural response—and so, they made love once again.
    During this tender intermingling, Melissa felt overcome with passion. It was, she felt, her turn to steal the lead from Joe. And, like a dancer who can encourage a partner into the most