Where She Needed Him
Scene One. Explicit.
Note: Explicit sexual content.
This is it, she thought, as he tipped his palm up and glided the side of his hand up and along her inner thigh.
Is this what they’ve warned about, this weight in her pelvis rising and radiating down to where she was certain she had no more body between her legs, down to where his beard was on and off her skin, inching towards where she began again. She had never felt herself beyond her body before, pulling in another’s face, another neck, another’s shoulders, another… I can’t see if he is hard. Waiting till the third date is…Oh he’s done this before. His tongue articulated a left and a right of her, and an altogether her, up and down with a little teeth. She reached for his head buried between her hairs wanting to move the bite a little to the right. Does he want me waxed. I didn’t ask— He was speeding up and it was too much or just enough or all of the ceiling with the full gradient of white specks was just enough and too much and she could not tell and inside of her there was more of her sucking in the world with or without him in it, she did not know but she wanted it all.
“How is this?” He looked up at her, smacking his lips, his brows lounging over her belly button. I’m sorry if I taste awful she wanted to say but decided it wasn’t hot to say. Do I say good. Do I say great. What is sexy to say. I can’t say ‘yeah baby’ like the women in porn. He’s not my baby, not yet. She lets out a long breath, smiling. And the smile seemed to satisfy him. She didn’t want him to stop but she could not say it. He was stroking himself now. This is going to go exactly how I’ve seen it go, just without me being sexy in it. She managed her face and watched the head peek in and out of the foreskin like a biological wonder of another creature entirely. All of that is going in me. Can all of that go in me? Should all of that go in me and maybe never again? Should all of that go in me and another and another and not change me?
He was lowering himself on her now and she was glad he was, scrawny and lanky as he was, still wider in the shoulders, still thicker in the neck, his jaw sharp and warm against her cheeks.
“I wish I could see you go in me,” she whispered.
She wanted him inside and yet not at all. She wanted him already inside. She wanted not to have to be here while it happened. He was gentle and slow and it was too much and not enough. She felt a dry pain at the edges of her and twitched.
“Sorry I should have used lube.”
“It’s ok,” her eyes blinked wide and her chest tightened with a relief that he wasn’t looking at her.
Her body accommodated him. There was more space inside her than she knew about. And she was over it. She wanted to be fucked. And still not at all. Not really. She wanted to have been fucked so she can leave her here, just here, so she could be a person who fucked, who fucks, a hot person who fucks. But just here. Just only in the bedroom where the duvet can be draped and puffed to erase this fucking.
She felt the bed squeak before she felt herself around him. Which part is the sin. Is it his pubic hair on mine? He didn’t wax. Do men wax? Is it my pelvic bone against his? Is it my hips thrusting him deeper into me? Is the sin mine or his or ours. She wanted to go to hell and leave the hell here to come back to. Maybe I’ve found someone to go to hell with.
And then she felt herself in his pounding, in the sin of the bed, that seemed to be going no where for her but everywhere for him. She felt the sin sizzle through her legs under his sweat and she did not see it coming. She could summon it all in her hips and she summoned the tip of him and the length of him through and through to the edges of this man and he was all in her, all of him that he was and was not here to give. He could not help it. And it was all over for him when he pulled out and the thick white dripped down her belly and she was going still and gone, with nowhere to be.
“Did you come?” He panted.
“That was hot.” She reached for the kleenex on her bedside table.
“You are amazing.” He took over the tissue and grazed it over her nipples.
She felt her vagina swell for skin, voracious for pressure but she did not want him to watch her reach for herself. She could feel herself close and aching to keep it but she could not ask for his hand or tongue. He was kissing her now, on her nose and eyes and all so far from where she needed him.
“I need to pee.” She squirmed and giggled her way from under him. And the pee came between her lips and she shivered with the stream, and the sin that was almost leaving returned between her and shut itself in. And what she needed badly earlier she wanted it no more and never again and never again.
Reflections
She could feel herself close and wanting to keep it. Have you been there? What stopped you from asking? What were you afraid would happen if you asked?
Which part were you managing—your face, your voice, or your wanting?
Have you ever wanted not to have to be there while it happened?
What would it mean to arrive fully in your own body without the voice in the room?
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