Supple they are. (Erotica)
I gave birth three months ago, and I am always tired but also feel beautiful. I am no longer in a state of fascination about wearing a new body, my curves fuller, the horizontal scar across the bottom of my stomach. By the end of my pregnancy my belly was taut, my nipples were huge and darker than usual, and my hips and thighs thick and solid. My hair, skin and nails were blessed with pregnant lady hormones — and while I felt intensely all the aches and pains as I remained pregnant past my due date, I felt ripe and filled with health.
My labor was over thirty hours long, painful and complicated. My baby girl was born from my belly, the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck and her long, graceful body. I was not able to see her precious face for nearly ten minutes after she was born. I was stitched up while she was bathed and swaddled. She was placed in my arms while I continued to shake, both from the remaining anesthesia, and the adrenaline and terror of watching her heart rate plunge lower and lower on the beeping monitor. Recovery has been slow and achy. Doing too many errands in one day, carrying and picking up my six year old daughter and the never ending to-do list cause my scar to turn bright red and ropy. I try to slow my movements, to forgive myself the piles of dishes, baby bottles and laundry.
I catch myself stroking my body all through the day. For weeks after returning home from the hospital I felt as thirsty as someone who had just finished a marathon. A gallon of water a day has plumped my skin and makes me want to be nibbled on like a peach. I think about making love while I wash myself in the shower, as I dress for the day and while I drive back and forth from my oldest girl’s kindergarten. My pre-pregnancy and pregnancy fantasies were about being tied up, held down, taken -– in dark rooms humming with a touch of fear. Now I imagine lazy, tipsy, rocking afternoons in rooms filled with sunlight, open windows and views of Mount Tamalpais. I am calm.
There are four hands on and in my body. One set of hands are deliciously callused and strong from a few decades of physical work, the other hands are tender and smooth without being fragile. These four hands pull my hair playfully, enter me simultaneously, hold my head between one another’s legs and trace my lips as I reach with my tongue to suck on their fingers.
He kisses me with his tongue, taking my face in his hands before pulling away. She grins playfully while I lick her neck and chest, brushes her lips against my lips and brings his face close to mine again. Their skin is golden from years spent at the beach, floating in the water, working and playing outside, sitting with dear friends in the sun, drinking beer and wine at the end of the day. They are a bit older than I am, teasing me about the decade spanning the late 80’s and early 90’s when they were young adults and I was still a child, enamored with the music they listened to and the clothes they wore.
One or two days in the week when the baby is asleep in her crib and my oldest is at school, I can forget the laundry and dishes, errands and to-do lists. I open the curtains and look out to the mountains cradling the San Geronimo Valley. I climb under the covers and stroke my breasts and the light brown hair between my legs, rubbing myself against the bed, face-down on my belly.
He is on his back and I am astride his face. While he licks and sucks, I brace against the wall behind the bed with the palms of my hands. She is behind me and straddles him, raising and lowering herself up and down slowly. She kisses the magenta orchids tattooed between my shoulder blades, then kneads my lower back, pulls apart my ass and grips the back of my thighs while I rock and grind against his lips and tongue. He holds tightly onto my hips, pumping up and into her at the same time.
I come and she comes and then he comes. I want to sleep between them for an entire night, my head on his warm chest while his breath rises and falls. She will sleep on the other side of him, my hand in hers, placed on top of his stomach. I will wake up in the early morning with his lips on my forehead, and as she sleeps awhile longer we make love quietly. She is lovely and dear, but I see only him and me in bed now. Kissing and laughing, his fingers filling me everywhere, we eat and bathe together until it is night again when we will sleep for hours and hours.
All these new thoughts and the almost ache of love fill me with a sweet drowsiness, blanketing the exhaustion my body has undergone. Since giving birth I dream all day long of being touched. I dream of being wrapped in quilts, of my hair being washed and brushed, of oil being poured slowly over my body. I dream of being cherished and circled in adoration.