The house is empty. The wind whistles in the eaves and rattles the trees.
I stare down at the meditation cushion.
I should sit. My mind is a restless mouse, never settling down. The cushion stares back, taunting me. My brother’s girlfriend, Kathryn, meditates and I think I should, too. She told me it will calm me down, and she looked calm when she said it.
I will sit, I think. But first a cup of tea.
I microwave a mug of water until it boils. I dunk the teabag into the steaming mug.
Teabag. I chuckle, thinking of testicles.
I dip the bag repeatedly, as if this will help the flavor of the tea. It makes a plopping sound each time it hits the water. I think it sounds a little like sex, since anything wet makes me think of sex. And sex makes me think of an erection, a bead of syrup at the tip. Which reminds me I’ll want honey in my tea. I lick my lips and tingle down below.
Deep breath, Molly. My heart is beating a little faster. I try to stop thinking about the erection, but I can’t. I dribble some honey in my tea and get a drop on my finger. I suck it, the sweetness coating my tongue. I squeeze my thighs together, definitely aroused now. I’m very aware of the way my tongue feels on my finger, can’t help but imagine a penis in its place.
Or maybe not a penis. Suddenly my fingertip is a plump nipple. A woman’s nipple. Not just any nipple, I decide. It’s Kathryn’s nipple hardening in my mouth. And then it’s her clitoris. Not that there’s ever been anything sexual between us at all, but suddenly I can almost taste her pussy.
Deep breath. I’m wet and achy. Another deep breath.
I remember that I’m supposed to meditate. I walk back to the cushion. It’s still taunting me. Now that I’m horny, I can barely breathe. How am I supposed to sit still?
A really deep breath. In, out. Then I realize what I want to do.
I peel off my clothes, slowly. My fingers are trembling. Shirt, then bra on the floor. Jeans down, underwear kicked off. Socks. The air is cold.
I don’t bother to pull the blinds shut. Nobody can see me, I figure, not more than a shadow.
I settle onto the cushion, cross my legs, straighten my back.
I take a deep, deep breath in…
As I’m breathing in I visualize lowering myself onto a stiff cock. I am a goddess, my hair is fire. My cunt is a fleshy vortex, the heart of all my power. It swallows the cock, milking the god-power from it, absorbing it into my being. My nipples are electric, hard and flashing lightning.
I part my lips, another god-cock in my mouth. The two phalluses connect a circuit along my spine. Divine energy flows from cunt to cock and back to cunt.
I moan. It sounds angelic in my ears. My hips rock slightly. I tingle. Not just my clit, but every inch of skin.
My fingers are restless on my naked thighs. My left finds my mouth. I suckle on it, a surrogate for the god-cock I’m imagining. My right slides between my folds, fingers seeking the aching heat inside me. I moan again and squeeze my eyes shut to focus on my vision.
I’m about to come, my whole body trembling, when I hear the garage door.
“Fuck,” I growl, staggering to my feet. My visualization is immediately dashed to smithereens. I grab at my clothes strewn on the floor and run to the bathroom. “Mother fuck!”
“Hi,” my husband shouts from downstairs.
I lock the bathroom door, furious. I need to finish.
I cling to the vanity and pinch my eyes shut. The divinity of the meditation is dashed, I can’t bring it back. I need something quick.
Kathryn floats into my mind’s eye. Naked, spread. Her cunt deep pink framed by brown curls. Her soft, dark eyes like wells. I sink my head gratefully between her thighs, so glad that she offered up her spirit to get me off.
Her clit between my lips, under my desperate tongue. My fingers rubbing angrily between my own labia. Juices flowing. I can taste her, smell her. Feel the coarse curls of her bush on my lips, her slick honey on my chin. She arches her back, gasping. I squeeze my thighs together around my hand, fucking myself, trying to get off before…
Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m so close, he’s right outside the bathroom door. I lose my momentum with a groan. No, fuck. It’s slipping away. Then… I glance at the door handle, and realize I forgot to lock — too late. The door opens.
M stares at me: naked; hunched over the counter, cheeks flushed; so clear what I’ve been doing.
“Well,” he says, eyeing me.
“Get in or get out,” I snap. I can hear our kid running up the stairs.
He joins me, sits awkwardly behind on the tub.
“You want some help?” he says.
“No offense, I just want to finish,” I say tersely.
He smiles. “While I watch?”
“Whatever,” I say. “But it’s not a show.”
“Okay, got it, not a show. I’ve still got quite a view.”
I lean against the counter and finger myself. My pussy makes wet noises.
He’s sitting behind me. It’s distracting. I’m horny, but I can’t get off. I want to, but every time I get close something pulls my focus away.
“You want some help?” my husband asks me again. This time I nod.
He fingers me, massages my clit. I moan, but don’t come. He slaps my pussy, sending stinging shocks through my nethers. Sometimes that’s enough to jump-start my orgasm, but not this time. I pant and groan as he does his best, as he kneels behind me and uses his lips and tongue. He slurps my labia between his lips like I’m a bowl of noodles. It feels good, but it doesn’t work.
At last I pat him away.
“Just never-mind,” I say.
“Now I’m hard,” he complains, so I let him jerk off on my ass while I bend over the sink. He likes doing that, and depending on my mood I can like it, too. Right now the whole thing feels mechanical, like doing housework. Vacuuming, buying groceries, bending over naked while my husband gets off on my lower back. I’m irritated since he gets to come and I’m left stewing in my juices.
I get dressed. I forgot my socks when I ran to the bathroom. I go find them strewn like garment casualties next to the meditation cushion.
There’s a wet spot where I was sitting on the cushion. The sight of that damp strip of fabric sets up a thrum deep in my belly. I know what to do. I close the door. Lock it. Strip from the waist down, and sit cross-legged on the cushion.
I close my eyes. Take a deep breath. Another. My fingers slip between my labia, teasing my opening. I stroke myself in time to my breath.
Thoughts dash through my mind: a vision of Kathryn, spread for me; romance novels creased at the good parts; my husband, jerking off on me; an old boyfriend fucking me in my dorm room; gods and goddesses copulating in a gold-pillared hall; my ancient history professor in college; the incense I used to buy at the record store; a younger me masturbating, ashamed, in the concealing darkness of my old bedroom; the basket of laundry waiting downstairs; the first time I gave a guy a hand job, his cum surprising me as it spilled over my fist; the taste of stuffed grape leaves; the time my boyfriend took naked pictures of me with his Polaroid; the first time I watched porn; the first time a guy put his fingers awkwardly in my ass…
All of these thoughts jitter through my mind as I touch myself. Gradually, the depraved parade slows. The thoughts are like clouds. I see myself sucking, fucking, from a distance. I see myself from the outside in.
I open like a flower. My cunt is ready to accept universes. I breathe, and each breath is ecstasy. My pussy quivers, quickens. I tremble, straightening my back. I stroke myself evenly, at the exact rate of my breath. My cunt gushes. I glory in my blossom of carnal pleasure.
At last I exhale and come. I sit straight as the agony coils and unleashes, again and again. I’m silent but my breath quivers. The glowing sensation at the seat of my spine is so intense I can barely sit through it. I breathe in, out. I let it flow over me, basking in the exquisite bloom.
I sigh. My pussy stops clenching.
I am just Molly again. Naked from the waist down. A little cold. I feel silly and exalted at the same time.
The respite from reality is brief as a million everyday concerns flood my mind. I’ll make potatoes for dinner. There’s a light-bulb burned out on the stairs to the basement. The kid still needs to do his reading minutes before bed. I need to remind my husband to fill the car.
As I tug on my jeans I glance at the wet spot on the meditation cushion. I’m reminded that I’m a goddess.
I take a deep breath and smile.