The barrier of polite speech was gone between them and being crude about the realities of their interaction was not meant to be offensive; if anything, it was a term of endearment, a testimony of their intimacy, but also a turn on for him.
“I don’t think I was so exhausting, you didn’t have a problem keeping up with me.”
“That’s not what I meant. I was referring to your mis-en-scene. The outfit, your actions, everything was perfect, like a movie moment really. That’s what I hadn’t had since too long to remember: a beautiful woman, who’s not afraid to be perfect, who creates a night like that, who turns screwing into a phantasy… or the phantasy into real sex… I don’t know. You know what I mean.”
“Sure. You like me because I’m not real. Or you think such a thing cannot be real. And I agree with you.”
“So… what do you think? Was I what you expected?”
“Of course,” she muttered, looking away distracted.
Everything and more… so much more. But that’s something to carefully dissect and think over at home.
For more sample fragments from Parallel Lives, see: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/396169
…. and iBooks, of course. 🙂