You push me open, first one finger and then three, I feel your fingers in my cunt, pulsing, moving slow. Each finger moves like a starburst, curling around my questions, stilling me. Stopping me. Making my breath pause for what is eternity until you begin. Again. Your hand pushing further, further until your hard fist fills me, a gentle tugging wave of surrender.
And I lean back. And I say yes. Oh yes.
It wasn't always this way, she and I. I was patient. I was persistence itself, with so many letters edged under her front door, emails tapped away in the darkening nights. Letters filled with pornography and longing. Desires described, celebrated, drawn. I took her this way. Piece by piece, I surrounded her with the knowledge of my long fingers waiting. Pictures of my soft fingertips which I pressed gently into her hands. Never a word spoken. I never gave her my voice. Just my body. Just my hands. But for my voice I made her wait.
In response she sent emails without text. Blank pages that I slipped under my pillow, dreaming of her cloud of red hair against my sheets. I sent her directions to my house. I sketched her my front door, open. I invited her. I waited. I sent her silk scarves and told her I would let her tie me. To whatever bedpost she desired. I drew the outlines of my hands. My fingers, my long fingers. The emails with no words flooded my inbox, her email address a barcode of desire on my calm computer screen.
Yet I was wet all night and hard all morning. I grew restless, anxious, angry. So on Saturday night I wore my biggest dildo and strutted the length of my house, the leather straps of my harness tight. I strapped my chest, put on a crisp clean shirt. My black trousers. My hair slicked back. A hundred percent woman. A hundred percent man. And I went out.
In the club I drank. I smoked. I saw the butches looking, scanning. I pushed my fingers through my hair and met the eyes of a girl I once knew. Her skirt was high and her heels silver. Her eyes asked me questions I didn't know answers to. I let my eyes shift, move across the room, but came back to her. Her silver heels caught the light and she touched my lips, gently. She tried to speak but the music filled the air. I couldn't hear. I didn't want to. I just wanted to fuck her. In the corner of the room she pushed me. Bodies pressing up against, music pounding. When she kissed me my hands found her breasts, her hair, her arse. I cupped her body to me. I was aching. I was all need. But she wasn't the one I wanted.