Women’s Talk

By Claudia Ross

The woman, in order to have sex with her husband, had to write it all out after it happened. When they were young, before the kids, and they had sex more often, this meant that the writings bled into each other even just over the course of one day. They would have sex, she would write about it, and then they would have sex again, and she would write about it. It was one long and continuous thing.

The narration during the event and the writing after it were very generous to the man. He is so handsome when he __________. I love it when he ___________. That was the kind of thing she wrote down, except that she didn’t excise the obscene parts, like I have. It’s funny that the thing we consider the most obscene is the thing everyone does, unless you are a nun. She wrote: That’s when I ______ to ______ and _____.

Her husband complained. He didn’t like his actions getting narrated after the fact. He accused her of not being present during the sexual event. He said that she was writing in her head. 

You are composing sentences, he said. 

She tried to tell him that the point was just to compose sentences until the composing became impossible. Until excitement took over. He seemed satisfied with that, even though he wasn’t a writer. He worked in data, but even numbers had to be translated into words sometimes. The husband had composed enough sentences in his life to know what it means when you can’t do it anymore. 

Over time this writing became a topic amongst her friends. The sex journal. It even helped a few of them. When they got old enough, and their relationships became less interesting to the world, writing about their sexual lives helped with the situation.

Eventually a publisher that was her friend became interested in the sex journal. It would be an unflinching depiction of married life. She didn’t know about that: unflinching. There was plenty of flinching in her view. It was just for marketing, the friend in publishing said. 

When the book was published, it had a thick glossy cover. Lots of people bought it. The husband read it at night, under the lamp in the living room. He grew angry, and then sad. There were terrible details. Ones like: He heated up chow mein for dinner. I told him about what Tracy wore to the board meeting. He reached across the table. The kids were asleep. 

The details threw some part of their lives into relief. Against what, I don’t know. 

How can you live like this, he asked her, reading out loud from the book: I burned the carrots. Janine called. 

In reply, she said: You have to situate the reader in time. They have to know the where, the when, the who.

________! They don’t care about the details. That’s what the husband said.

It is exactly as it happened, the woman said. 

The next woman that the husband married was from another country. He thought he was safe from his ex-wife’s problems. One day, though, he found her collection of store receipts. It was everything they had ever bought together. He broke up with her on the spot. 

About the Author

Claudia Ross’ writing has appeared in Joyland, Forever Mag, The Baffler, Hobart Pulp, and others. She is an MFA candidate in Creative Writing at University of California, Davis.