Gotta Have It by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Author:Rachel Kramer Bussel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2011-01-13T05:00:00+00:00

AFTER TEN YEARS

Christen Clifford

I get in bed, naked. We’ve been married almost ten years. I still like his body, his cock, the smell of him. (In all previous relationships, I went off their smell after a while.)

It’s my body I don’t like anymore: the cellulite, the flabby arms, the belly. It’s so unfair that women’s bodies change more than men’s. I’ve had two kids, my cunt is ginormous, I weigh more than I ever have in my life.

The lights are out. I cuddle up to him; we are facing each other. I’m not expecting anything. I sigh. I’m tired. My left arm goes over my head.

Suddenly I feel good. Maybe this pose is working for me. I feel like a sculpture, like my curves would look good. He once compared my thigh to a Brancusi. I want him to touch me. I move the covers off my side and place his hand there.

It stays.

I take a breath. Two.

We’ve been together so long, so much has come between us. There’s no glamour here. There’s being present for two beautiful, but difficult, children. There are papers to grade, food to cook, egos to work. We’re going to come closer together, or apart, soon.

Another breath. “Touch me,” I want to say. A few more breaths, his hand rising and falling lightly on my waist, like a skeleton. On the next exhale, I’ll let it out.

“Touch me,” I say.

And he does, lightly, softly. I feel like he is really touching me—the me he used to know and fuck. He traces the curve from my rib cage to waist to hip, slowly, up and down. He adds in my shoulder and thigh. I feel, not exactly beautiful, but well-shaped, for the moment. I breathe there with him; I leave my arms above my head as if I’m bound; I don’t start in on his cock. I lie there and let myself be touched.

He brushes my nipple. The next time he gives it a tight squeeze. I exhale, moan and voice an intake of breath. I turn to him for a kiss. His mouth is hot and wet and open and searching.

Now his hand is between my legs. I hate that my wetness doesn’t drip anymore; he has to go in and find it and coax it out. But it’s there. I shift so my back is to him. I have a very sensitive back. He reaches around so his hand is still on my cunt, the other on my nipple. I want him to hurt me a little. He’s never liked it when I’ve asked him to hurt me in a big way, to slap me or hit me; he can’t do that kind of violence to me. That’s okay. We have our limitations.

Another breath.

“Bite me a little,” I say.

He does. Hard. Ouch: fuck, yeah, I like it.

Again, harder. I can feel adrenaline rushing to meet the sex. Yes. That one will leave a mark.

I realize I’m being so selfish I don’t even know if he’s hard.

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