or For Him
Mostly, she thought of her body as just a tool to please other people. She “enjoyed” sex, of course, like she “enjoyed” taking a shower or “enjoyed” eating a cupcake, neither of which required some huge climactic moment at the end to make the experience feel complete.
It was fun to fill your senses with the intoxicating and enveloping nearness of a man, his hands everywhere on your body all at once like standing under a waterfall, the incense of his desire so thick you could smell it. The sugar rush and spicy darkness when you closed your eyes as he entered you, and the tingling in your blood as he rammed himself into you again and again.
She enjoyed giving him pleasure, and she liked it being all about him. She felt a smug sense of awesome when his eyes finally rolled back in his head and he made grunting sounds like an animal as the veins in his neck almost burst all over her. All of that was more than enough as far as she was concerned. You could say that she was resigned to the permanent state of giving, although she would say she enjoyed it. She enjoyed it, and who even cared about this curious climax thing that everyone was always going on about.
She never thought it would happen to her. Or maybe eventually, but not now. They had been trying for months, rubbing different thumbnail-sized areas, stroking and licking, too high, too low, too fast, too slow, contorting herself into a million different kinds of pretzels. Some sooner and some later, but all men eventually gave up on her.
Or was there something different this time? She felt a strange sense of pressure building up inside of her, a compelling urge like the irresistible one that makes you close your eyes when someone turns the lights on. Or was that just her imagination? She enjoyed her sex just the way it was, and maybe the urge she felt was another compulsion to make him happy. He did seem to want it pretty damn bad, whatever it was.
He began to sweat as he bent over her body, working his fingers in and out of her. No, there it was again, a clenching of nerve endings in her stomach like a flicker of fire building up inside her. Now the drops of sweat were splashing off him and onto her like a Gatorade bath, but she didn’t notice.
Her body began to move of its own free will, her hips thrusting toward him then shrinking back timidly, then driving forward again in a mad frenzy, but she didn’t notice. The sheets were a deep navy blue and they ran in deep gutters from two corners of the bed to her two fists, which clutched at bunches of them, wrenching at their fabric almost to its breaking point.
Her toes were clenched almost as tightly as her fingers.
And then she could hold it in no longer so she let it go. It gushed out of her in torrents. Her limbs detached from her body and floated around the room like an astronaut’s toothbrush. Her heart punched its way out of her chest and paid a good-natured visit to her throat. Someone screamed on a distant, alien planet, foreign to her, and she realized that it was coming from her own tongue.
She grabbed at his fingers still inside of her because they had to stop now or she would die.
They were drenched in something and slippery to her touch.
Then the pieces of her began to fall back to earth, slicing a fiery path through the sky as they reentered the earth’s atmosphere. She collected them calmly in her mind from the exotic lands upon which they fell and tried to reattach the mesh of veins and nerve endings. But this was only to buy time because she knew that she would be slightly embarrassed by the smile that was waiting for her behind the curtains of her eyelids.
Someone turned the lights on.
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