She had thought about it, of course, but she wasn't sure of Walter's mind on the matter. They had a bad habit of second-guessing each other about sex. When she asked a question, she could see him weighing the response in his mind, deciding which answer was the safest. They spent so much time trying to determine what the other person really wanted, and not believing the answer. By the time they went through all of the mind-reading exercises, the truth was frustrated and they were too confused and worn out to do more than tacitly agree to a decision that was a mediocre substitute for what they each really desired.

Karen knew Walter was a jealous person. That had been one of those precious rare moments of truth, and it had dismayed and pleased her at the same time. However, there were shades of jealousy. He got jealous of the thought of her being interested in someone else. But he got aroused, his eyes intense, when she became excited by a movie, a book, or a conversation.

Fate had a way of seizing Truth by the neck and yanking it out of the mire of self-doubt. Like a newborn, it might be hideously ugly and squirming at first. But when the muck was cleared off, there was something new, creation in its finest hour, with ten perfect fingers and toes. Acceptance came that mistakes would be made, and the pretension of perfection was traded for the miracle of the unexpected.

At least that was what she hoped would happen.

Karen pressed a kiss between Walter's bare shoulder blades, and rubbed her cheek against his back. She slid her hand under his arm and trailed her finger down the line of hair on his stomach. He caught her hand, squeezed it in warning, acknowledging awareness of her mood. Karen smiled. He thought she was teasing him.

They had decided to lay down in a row, the filling to a sandwich of blankets and unzipped sleeping bags. It was easy to crook her leg and reach behind her to find Marla's calf. With deliberate, not-to-be-mistaken intent, she ran her toes down the slender bone of her friend's shin.

Being a professional dancer, Karen knew it took many coordinated pieces to make a dance come together. The practical performance could be taught. But for the dance to truly live and become art, a synergistic moment had to happen, when every participant understood the song that was driving the dance. One could only hope the seed had been planted in the collective unconscious forged through exhaustive practices, such that all the players could rise to it at the right moment. The key component was the choreographer's faith in the process.

It was the third day of a vacation deep in the mountains, in the seclusion of the property that belonged to Karen's Cherokee grandmother. She and Walter, and Darryl and Marla. Darryl and Marla had been their friends for years, ever since Karen and Walter had gotten married and moved in next to them. They had established a rapport from the beginning, the first couple that were equally Walter and Karen's friends, not just his friends she had adopted or vice versa. They had shared good times, common interests, and the quiet tragedies that come with living out the years of one's life. The connection between them could well be compared to the bonds forged between dancers, tested day after day by grueling practices and by sharing the joy of those moments when all the steps were right.

Earlier in the evening, they had sat around their campfire, next to the hot spring, all of them relaxed by wine. They had drifted to talk of sex, desires expressed under the passive protection of banter and alcohol. They had talked about why men liked to watch two women together, and the joking consensus was that a man liked naked women anytime. Doubling the count gave him double the number of breasts, legs, asses and so forth to view, a visual smorgasbord, better than a tied SuperBowl. Of course, there was also the idea of those women, four hands, two mouths on one man's flesh at the same time…

Karen pressed her breasts against Walter's back, letting him feel her stiffened nipples, rubbing them in a short stroke over his exposed skin, since he had doffed his shirt for bedtime.

He turned his head, a profile in moonlight. "What are you doing?" he murmured, amused. Was that interest in his tone? Definitely. But he didn't imagine it could be pursued. Karen knew better.

She began to press kisses down his spine, slow, wet mouthings that involved a full rotation of her tongue around each bump of vertebrae. As she went lower, she eased her ass into the cradle of Marla's lap. Marla was in the accommodating spoon position, with Darryl curved behind her. While they had all three slept, Karen had removed her clothes, so it was a very bare backside she was placing within caressing distance of Marla's hands.

This was the point in the dance where it all could unravel. Marla might scoot back and pretend she didn't notice, or the first step onto the stage would happen.

"Karen," Walter protested in a whisper, "what are you doing? We can't--"

She felt Marla's hand steal along her thigh. "Turn around," Karen suggested. The triumph shuddered through her, bringing wetness.