Sunday, April 6  

Sex

Vic wakes up full of lust. The blinds have their legs spread laciviously, small tight spaces that drip with honeyed sun. It crawls into bed with her and kisses her awake. It feathers over her face, softs round her shoulders. She kicks the thick covers down to give it access to her naked ribs that slope to hip.

Even though it’s been 3 months, she remembers what it’s like to have sex. It’s like being tongue-bathed by sun.

sex noun 1. respectively female or male 2. sexually motivated phenomena or behavior

While in Vic’s sticky experience, sex of any kind is almost always tasty, it’s only ever mounted the peaks of gourmet with a few delicious partners. Whether the others were just unskilled or uninteresting or their spices just didn’t mesh, she doesn’t regret even the loveless fucks, the apathetic, the dried out, the stale. Even those she ate up with joy.

But to those that burst with juice under her bite, those whose skin were thick with butter, sparkling with sugar, who came to her, with her, inside her, on her with love and a hunger that equalled her own. To them she assigns a special remembrance on this sun-suckled morning.

She slips her hands between her legs and remembers them. Andrew with his pale, lithe body and sensitive neck, letting her create herself inside him every afternoon, morning and night for the months it lasted. Louise’s perfect breasts, her small hips moving faster, faster, lips bitten and red. Daniel’s strong hands, his way of turning her around, holding her down in posh hotel rooms, hair pulled tight.

She writes them each a letter on her body:

I miss your bodies like a methodone user misses heroin. When it ends, I can’t imagine that anything will feel quite the same as how it was when we fucked. And even when it does, it doesn’t erase you. I think about your cock and your thighs and your tongue and your hands -- how they were after all, just cock, thighs, tongue, hands. Things any number of people have and could put to good use inside me. But there’s that last element that was a part of us; that electric, that honey, that spice that made me feel my depths around you. Religiously wet, keyed to C, ready to take you on, in, over, always. The way we’d fuck deep, knocking at new doors inside this body I thought I knew so well. Places I’ve never even thought to get fucked before. And your hoarse whispers, I feel mute without your encouragement. And all those things we felt together, my fingers inside you, mouth around you, stiff nipples passing over each other and our skin-high skin over and over again like new every time. Every time as aroused and excited as the first time tasting like gin and the sweetness of fingers dipped behind underwear. And all the things we did in our perverted zeal to discover and molest each other in new ways. The bruises, the scrapes inflicted in a blind pant to get further and fuck faster, grip harder.

God, I miss all of you. We were such good lovers. We could have been world famous for our fucking.

When she turns over onto her side to catch her breath, she whispers, please, please send me another. I want more.