She let him make love to her. He smelled like new cars and cologne, he moved with a measured rhythm. Her mouth tasted like mint toothpaste. She looked over his shoulder through the white light of the window. She was sweating into her sheets, her breath silent, and her lips thin and tight.

She let him make love to her. Her husband was gone with a girl that he met through the Internet, a girl with pictures of her little waist and little breasts up for abandoned wives to see.

She let him make love to her, and when it was over, she switched him off. His eyes turned from liquid to glass. She forced his eyelids closed, feeling the mechanical tension resist as she clicked them into place.