I've been reading The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell, and I came across a passage describing the night of consummation between two that have just been married: One, an astronomer and the other an AI specialist and former child prostitute (long story, read the damn book!):

     "One afternoon Jimmy had lain next to Sofia, marveling at her small perfection and his good fortune. He had never assumed that she was coming to him an innocent and so, tracing the pure line of her profile with his finger, he looked down at her, his deep-set smiling eyes filled with erotic speculation, and asked in low tones of intimacy that left no doubt about his meaning, 'What pleases you, Sofia?'
     She burst into tears and said, 'I don't know,' for it had never occurred to her that anyone might ask such a thing."

What an intensely sad thing. 


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