The Complacent Sex

Hannah, a woman who habitually walks with shoulders back and a small sway, a woman since adolescence 'noticed' by men, a woman who sometimes leans her head against the shoulder of a laughing girlfriend, is at this moment a woman who sits at the window. The window is a bedroom window and from it Hannah looks down at a girl much younger than herself, who is sitting at a café table on the pavement, in a deep green-painted wicker chair which she tilts backwards to and fro. She has tumbled off her shoes and pushed out long bare legs which she bends and straightens dreamily. Her dress has ridden up and Hannah wonders whether she knows. She guesses that the girl never thinks about it. At the girl's side sits a boy with rounded shoulders who perches on the very edge of his own green chair, his heels tucked up, hugging his knees and leaning forward to address her. A boy towards whom she only occasionally glances then looks past. Hannah watches him making brief little advances towards her for he is trying to amuse her and emits little laughs at the end of each sentence, advances which are only occasionally recognised by a twitch of a smile from her. She brings a glass of sugary liquid to her lips then holds it there in both hands for a while. The boy seems to be struggling. Then recalling a particularly funny story (no doubt) something which she surely must enjoy, he starts off with sparkling eyes, and to make a point he pats her leg and tries to make the act look natural and carefree. The final bout of his laughter falters however when she pointedly flicks his hand away from her bare leg, and he is forced to attempt to recharge the laugh, unsuccessfully, until it finishes in a falsetto shriek.  

From her vantage point at the window, Hannah certainly envies the girl her youth, and yet the girl reminds her of her own youth, and she could if she wished it summon up many pleasant memories. She sighs; and her husband steps up behind her and slips his arms beneath hers. He tightens his hug around her waist until she grunts then gurgles with laughter. She walks over to her bed. Lying supine, she rolls her shirt up to her neck, unhooks her underwear, and frees her breasts. Then folding her arms behind her head, she closes her eyes. She feels her husband moving on to the springs next to her. He falls quiet. Puzzled, she opens her eyes and looks across at him. To her horror, the man is lying supine like her. The man is lying with his shirt unbuttoned like her. The man is lying with his chest exposed like her. His eyes are closed. He is exposing her to the laziness of her variation on the feminine - and nobody has dared do that to her. She knows that this is no little joke on his part, and she finds herself gasping for she is suddenly out of breath.