The Sportin' Life Read Online Free PDF Page A

a darker shading in the middle of your cheek and that creates cheekbones. It turned out that she knew all about this technique, but she explained to me that she already had cheekbones of her own and didn ’ t usually bother with much makeup. “ I like my face pretty much the way it is, ” she said.
    I liked it too, although I have to say that I can be very susceptible to women with more feminine artifice than Liana, who seemed to have none at all. She took being a woman for granted and didn ’ t even act as though there were all that much difference between men and women. Maybe that was because she enjoyed the company of men so much, I don ’ t know. No matter how soft and curvy and feminine she seemed, it didn ’ t matter, for she had the sort of keen intelligence that required you to take her as seriously as any man, despite her killer looks and seductively long hair.
    The real thing about Liana was her eyes. Even now I can ’ t quite decide the color, although the vision of her face is as clear to me as if we had just been together and not as time and dozens of other women ’ s faces have intervened. They were blue eyes, or gray, or green, I don ’ t know, but they were wide and clear as the ocean and they contained this light that I have never seen anywhere else — knowing, aware, keen, intelligent, yet open and unafraid and filled with affection, willingness and ultimately love and approval.
    Women always try to be sexy around me, and I really don ’ t know why that is, but as the cliché goes, if it ain ’ t broke, don ’ t fix it. That ’ s one of my favorite things about them. Liana never had to try to be sexy — she was too natural for that. She was never shy about reaching for me or letting me see how much I turned her on. Even after I left her, I ’ d lie in bed and remember how sexy she was and year for her lips, her body, her company. Sometimes I just wanted to hear her voice, because Liana had the sexiest voice, so soft and clear and precise. I would dial her number then and wait for her to answer, hoping to get her machine so I could listen to the whole speech she ’ d recorded. If she answered, I got to hear her say hello a few times before the connection was broken.
    In fact, once I commented to her about her voice, and she laughed at me the way she always did and replied, “ I know. I have a voice that can give a guy a hard-on over the phone. ” She was right. Somehow I thought she didn ’ t know that, but the thing about Liana was that she always knew what was going on. She knew what she was all about and nothing about it embarrassed her. That seemed a little sinful to me somehow.
    I keep my cards a lot closer to my vest than Liana ever did, and perhaps it was ultimately her openness that made me leave her. I don ’ t know. I never really know why I leave them, only that I feel a sense that it is time to move on and there is always another pair of arms, lips, breasts, to lure me away. What was it that she said that time? I know — we were sitting on a blanket in Central Park one day and she was talking about the beach. “ Pretend we ’ re at the beach, ” she sighed, “ lying in the sand. I love to lie in the sand because I can wriggle down into it, making it curve to fit against my body. ” I feel that way too, and maybe everyone does, but it seems somehow in bad taste to say it, and I communicated that fact to Liana. There was heat and imagination in her eyes as she looked at me and laughed as usual.
    It was that heat, that willingness to realize and express her responses to the various forces of life and the desire to enjoy every one without apology that got to me. It ’ s one thing to be open during sex, and I am in no way a prude, as hundreds of women would no doubt tell you, but I like to maintain a certain degree of circumspection, and Liana never cared at all what anyone thought about anything. I could just see her confiding this fantasy to my boss while he blushed and