“No sex?" He looked at me in disbelief. "Well if you can't have ze sex, what can you do?"For the sake of simplicity I took my left arm and lined it up just under my collarbones. "Nothing below here," I said. I took my right arm and lined it up to my knees. "Nothing above here.""What about your armpit?" he asked. "Can your boyfriend do anything he wants to your armpit?"I thought about it. Armpits seemed pretty harmless. "Yeah," I said optimistically. "My boyfriend can do anything he wants to my armpit.""This is good," the Frenchman said. "He can stick his penis in and out of your armpit, and if you grow hair there it is almost like vagine."Is it too late to change my answer? I wondered, pulling a cardigan over my bare shoulders and covering any hint of an invitation.”

“He wagged his finger in my face. "You're not SUPPOSED to do anything. YOU'RE the one trying to change ME. Remember? As far as I'M concerned, YOU can do anything you want.""Except criticize you.""Hey," he said, "if that's how you want to spend your life, getting on my case"--he threw out his arms--"be my guest." He turned his deep blue eyes on me. "And anyway--" He let it hang there. He was smirking.Suddenly I felt as if I were on roller skates. "What?""I know why you're doing it."I stopped. He walked on."Doing what?" I said. "What? Why?" I think I was babbling.He flipped his answer as blithely as a candy wrapper over his shoulder: "You know.”

“I love the sound of it," Trina whispers, as if speaking too loudly might interrupt the drumming patter of the rain outside. "It makes me want to sleep. Snuggle my head right up in your armpit and snore for three days.""My armpit?" Mark repeats. "Good thing we all showered up in the storm this morning. My pits smell like roses. Go ahead and get comfy.”

“Once, as he inhaled with his customary vehemence, I had a thought that made my armpits come alive.”

“Your deodorant smells like my armpit. And yet I get no royalty from the manufacturer.”

“Max, you can change your mind.” His voice was like autumn leaves droppinglightly onto the ground.“I don’t know how.”Then my throat felt tight, and I rubbed my fists against my eyes. I droppedmy face onto my arms, crossed over my knees. This sucked! I wanted to be backwith the oth-Fang’s hand gently smoothed my hair off my neck. My breath froze in mychest, and every sense seemed hyperalert. His hand stroked my hair again, sosoftly, and then trailed across my neck and shoulder and down my back, makingme shiver.I looked up. “What the heck are you doing?”“Helping you change your mind,” he whispered, and then he leaned over,tilted my chin up, and kissed me.”