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Monday Evening

Back from our meeting with Marla at the pizzeria, we ended up on Jefferson’s terrace.

“Look how everything good just keeps happening, baby,” he says to me, “we get all the right trains, we spend so much time having sex that there’s no time for you to spend any money, and just as we’re getting ready to go out to eat, in comes an invitation from Marla, dinner and rough sex talk included.”

“Yeah, darlin, I am probably the only person to come to New York for a week and SAVE money…"

“I really am glad we get so much time together. I like being able to hang out and talk. I just want to know everything about you. Like, every thought; every freckle.”

“Jefferson, it’s amazing how easy this is for me; being here with you…that’s what makes the rest of it so hard… you know, because the hardest parts are already so easy.”

“It’s what makes us ‘us.’ We get it. And don’t forget that I loved you before I ever knew what you looked like.”

“I loved you first.”

“I loved you first!”

I am sitting on his lap, straddling his thighs, kissing him.

“Shall we continue this conversation horizontally?”

“Absolutely.”

I don’t know what it was—our conversation about the book he wanted me to read, or something equally scintillating—that made me so anxious to get him naked.

But I wanted that boy more than anything.

Most of the time when I initiate sex, it is indirectly. I’ll press my ass back against my lover or run my fingers over a particularly sensitive spot or give a look, and that’s that. I get fucked. Tonight, though, I was all about being direct.

Jefferson was lying naked on his back as I undressed and stepped toward the bed. I crawled over him, straddling his body and holding his hands while I kissed him, stroking his chest with mine.

I was quiet. Slow. Deliberate.

I slid my torso down the length of his, and back up again.

His eyes were closed.

I moved my mouth to his right nipple. He sucked in a breath and his hips shifted. I took my time with his nipples, tracing them with my tongue; first flat, then with the tip, then sucking each one. I released his arms.

I traced the hair on his stomach down to his cock, wrapping my hand around it, feeling its pulse and noticing the throbbing of my clit, keeping time.

I took a few long licks and slid my mouth onto his cock, just enough to get it wet. His hands were in my hair.

“Baby… sweety..”

I wanted this to last. But I had to have him in me.

“I need to fuck you now.”

I reached for a condom and rolled it on. He looked up at me, so sweet and blond and pacific. I touched his face, kissed his mouth and lowered my body onto his. The initial sensation was almost more than I could bear.
“Ahhuh---”

My voice caught in my throat.

My pussy started contracting, pushing itself to cum.

I stopped, breathed, and rode him slowly, my feet tucked under his thighs.

The room was quiet, except for our breathing and the constant hum of the air conditioner.

His hands went to my hips and stomach, then my breasts. I was rocking back and forth on his cock, my left hand on my clit, and the right one on Jefferson’s leg. I needed to cum. A lot.

I picked up the pace, my body moving like a serpent, arms at my sides, then pinching my nipples, then lifting my ass, feeling his cock rubbing my g spot while I ground my clit into him.

And then Madeline went away.

This, in itself, is not a new phenomenon. I regularly float in subspace during rough sex and beatings, but this went a step further. I was aware of what I was doing, but the experience was so intense it was as if my body wasn’t mine. Something else had taken over.

I was filled with the souls of women--sisters, mothers, daughters--since the beginning of time: The Divine Mother. The Eternal Feminine.

This had happened to me twice before, when my children were born. I was connected at such a primal level with my body; I literally felt the ancient sexual and spiritual power of women coursing through it.

It is the strangest and most amazing feeling; like I am powerless—me, Madeline—but through this thing, this embodiment, this occupation, my body is the most powerful instrument in the universe.

So I welcome it; I let it take over.

I remember fucking him unbelievably hard and fast and not feeling taxed, not wanting it to end. I know I came many times. I remember my voice (Was it my voice?) moaning.

I remember thoughts and emotions that weren’t my own: Joy, desperation, anger, love and a strange, beautiful, overwhelming sadness. I felt it in every cell of my body.

My heart was breaking.

I laughed.

I spoke.

I wept, my head on his shoulder.

“My darling, my baby, ssshhhh.”

He turned me over slowly. My head was swimming. I was still not myself.

As he made love to me, I tried to focus my eyes on his face; my thoughts on the present. But there was something residual in my head. I needed to get it out.

I looked at his sweet face, staring down at me.

“Fuck me like you don’t know me.”

He hesitated, and then started pounding, harder and faster.

“Fuck me like you don’t care, goddammit!”

He did.

I came.

He shot on my chest.

Tuesday morning

Jefferson’s arm is under my neck where he left it when we fell asleep. I am on my back, his hand resting between my breasts.

I stretch and turn my face to his. He blinks his eyes open and smiles.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi, baby.”

We lay there, silent. I am trying to wrap my head around what had happened; around that Rapture. I am desperately piecing together fragments of the night before, trying to make sense of it. I need to understand it. Except I can't. Finally I speak, my voice barely a whisper,

“Jefferson, that was so…what WAS that?”

He pushes the hair from my eyes, "Are you okay, honey?"

"God, yes, I'm fine...are you okay?"

"Madeline, I'm fine! You were just so...on. What was IN that pizza?!"

I laugh a little, secure now, knowing that we're both in one piece.

"I mean it," he continues, "that sex was something else."

“That sex was Goddamned Pentecostal, is what it was!”

We laugh.

“Testify!”

“Seriously, darlin,” I say, “the only thing missing was a box of snakes.”

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