When we get to the house Debra shares with five other graduate students, I put the question to her.

—Hey, is there any chance I could use your shower? Debra seems to consider the question. Or she’s trying to decide how cruel to make her answer.

—Dennis, you have a choice. You can either (a) shower at my place and thus close the door to any future sex with me or (b) you can use your brain and solve for the problem of how do I not smell like I just fucked my wife’s younger sister?

I really like Debra. I’ve always had a soft spot for aggressive women. We’ve only had sex seven times and the thought of ending our affair hurts me physically and damages my estimation of self. I’ve never lied to my wife about my affair with her sister, I just haven’t brought it up. As soon as she finds out, I will tell her as much or as little as she wants to know. And I can only assume she’ll find out, she’s a very smart and intuitive person. Plus she’s never liked Debra and already suspects her of trying to seduce me at our wedding.

Yes, Debra managed her way into a church bathroom with me without any of her clothes on and without anyone noticing. Except me, obviously. Though I did not have sex with her, I didn’t speak of the incident to anyone and some might say I was bookmarking Debra for sex at a later time. I can’t say because I don’t know.

What I do know is I can’t go home on a Saturday morning at 10:30 smelling like sex. I might dart around the house and jump into our swimming pool, or hose myself off like a dog who’s just rolled around in fifty other dogs’ shit, or drive down to campus, flash my faculty ID and shower in the faculty locker room at the gym. Problem is, all of these possibilities strike me as a little weird, a little bit extreme. I’m not really a fan of weird or extreme. I’m definitely a path of least resistance kind of guy.

So I look at Debra. Proud, self-possessed Debra, and I say, —Do you have a towel I can borrow?