Ann Baillie has written for such diverse publications as Gale Group’s What Do I Read Next database, HUES, The Albion Review, Conversely, Clean Sheets, and Washtenaw Parent, as well as writing reading comprehension tests for the Harbor Springs Public Schools. She’s a single mother, a homeschooler, a musician, and a delinquent scrapbooker who doesn’t get anywhere near enough sleep.
I was so good today. I never looked at your picture even once. I kept it turned away from me covering a list of German vocabulary words. But somehow, about an hour before I finished work, you crept in, kissing me between my legs like warm rain. By the time I was done for the night, I was frantic with need for you.
I found one of my erotica Web sites and started reading, sliding the head of my dildo just in and out and across my clit until I wanted you in, then I leaned forward, pressing the base of it against the chair, riding it as though I was sitting on your lap. For so long I rocked like that, slowly, reading bits and pieces, one finger on my clit, trying to find something that would take my mind off of you, but it didn’t work. I felt you reading over my shoulder instead, trying to maintain the same plateau of arousal and distraction, knowing that when the explosion came, it would be six times as intense for having been put off for so long.
The closer I got, the more aware I was of you, the more I could hear your voice, the more I felt you inside of me. When I drifted into what I knew would be the last story, I heard you whisper in my ear, “Would you like me to do that to you?” first in German, then in English. Oh, yes! I wanted you to do that to me someday, and then I lost track of the story completely and fell onto you. It was really you beneath me, your hands on my hips, my finger brushing your cock where you went inside me, both of us breathless with anticipation. I was going to come, but it was taking so long, oh God, I was so swollen, so wet, so sensitive, but it was building so slowly.
I begged you to wait for me, in a babble of English and German: Bitte, bitte wart auf mich! Please! It’s strange coming in another language. But with you, it makes perfect sense and when I went over the waterfall, you were there, really there, I could smell you, taste you, feel your arms holding me up as my mind went blank and my body went limp, and I cried out even though I didn’t want to wake my son sleeping in the next room.
For all that, I could come again, this time as if it were your turn and you shifted our positions so you could go in as hard and fast as you wanted to. I thought that this was all I really needed, you wanting to come inside of me and me wanting you to, inviting you in so that it could be like this and end only when all other possibilities had been extinguished. I wanted everything from you, everything. Gib mir alles, alles was du hast! I wrapped myself around you, felt the power hidden in your arms and shoulders, felt your lips on my neck, your breath hot in my ear. And when it washed over me a second time, different but no less intense, I felt you come inside of me, felt you bury yourself deep and cling to me, as helpless as I was just thirty seconds ago, felt the pulse, the warm flood as you filled me to overflowing.
Then it was over, and reality hit so hard that it left tears streaming down my face. I am here and you are there. But it is still so good with you. I thought I knew what sex was, thought I enjoyed it, but I was dog-paddling when I could have been diving until the stinging fingers of anemones brushed my thighs and schools of tiny, brilliant fish swam through my hair. It has never been so good, but you are not here, and the grief I had been sitting on all day broke through at last, leaving me just as breathless as orgasm. I turned your picture over at last, and I wanted you again and again, immer wieder, ganz tief, so deep in every possible sense and place. And when I finally whispered your name, I wondered who else there could ever be but you. I am still wondering.
Oh, I miss you, my darling, meinen Schatz! Ich warte auf dich.
© 2001 Anne Baillie. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.
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