A running gag for the new book is that every night, the protagonist, Oliver, tries to make love to his girlfriend, Effie, but there's always something that either interrupts them or prevents their getting to it in the first place. To add to the piquancy, Oliver's frustrated yearnings are deepened by incidents and appearances that only intensify Effie's attractiveness -- catching her unexpectedly half-dressed, for example.
I've just reached another one of these moments -- to be interrupted again, alas. It begins promisingly with Effie disrobing in the moonlight in Oliver's bedroom, slipping out of a blue summer dress, which turns out to be the only garment she was wearing. But I can't decide which method of undressing is sexier -- the unzipped-back-and-cascading-to-the-floor option or the pull-up-over-the-head-in-one-swift-movement-hair-floating option. I've been picturing both, trying to come to some conclusion, but . . .
Ah, it looks like I'll have to keep on imagining. Down to the floor? Up and over the head? Down? Up? Which is more erotic? "I'm working," I explain crossly to my wife, as she catches me gazing into space with a faint smile.