by Lucia Parte
(01/19/05)

It's 1:47 on a Sunday afternoon. What Ellie wants: a slow, insistent tongue against her clit and the first two fingers of a confident hand pushing in and pulling out of her. Both of those. At the same time.

What Ellie has: a soft-bodied grey cat nuzzling her leg...and a vibrator. A Wahl Coil Pro with attachments. She bought it online last year. Plugged in her numbers and clicked, "complete." It came discreetly, as promised, and she felt like a cliché. She bought it for her thirtieth birthday, but hasn't had the courage to use it until today. David just moved to Philly and their relationship's starting to come undone. He's not good at long-distance. Fewer phone calls and shorter emails. She doesn't expect him to send a present let alone fly to Hartford to fuck her Happy Birthday, so she's decided to do it for herself.

Before Ellie uses her Wahl she does what the package-insert advises: a lavender milk bath to relax, shaving her legs, lighting candles bought on clearance at Pier One (Spiced Pear). She floats in the cloud-white water and touches herself. Warm but not yet wet. It's okay: she has hours.

The insert also reminds her to try all the attachments, even the Scalp Massager, before she settles on a favorite. When Ellie was clicking last year, she added a few things to her cart: the G-Spotter, the Clit-Tickler and the Twig. She didn't know yet that the Wahl came with attachments -- she needn't have spent the extra money. She's especially excited to try the Twig, a tangerine-colored piece of plastic with two branches. One part goes in you and the other part rubs your button. Yes. At the same time.

Ellie's started visiting porn sites, too. At first she worried about it. David would be able to check, to see where she'd been. She felt shy, so she'd erase her history every night from the blue pulse of the screen. Silly Ellie -- David's rarely there to check or to care. In one porn picture, Ellie saw -- or didn't see -- an airbrushed asshole. Not just small or unobtrusive -- not there. Assholes are unsavory, Ellie. Women shouldn't admit to having them, let alone using them for pleasure. Who believes this? Not Ellie. And of course, there were the wet red lips, plastic tits hovering above a stick-skinny body and chemically-blonde hair. Ellie couldn't see herself, her real body, at all, and clicked next.

In another picture though, Ellie saw a couple. A brown couch. Textured, maybe corduroy. The lighting was bad. Dingy. But her face! Ellie thought. Her face registered pleasure and tension and motion. Real. He was behind her, fucking her from behind. Handling her tits and clit, Ellie imagined. The woman's nipples looked like Ellie's when she gets hot: pink dots screaming out angry and insistent from full white breasts. Firm enough to squeeze. Ellie entered the frame. He squeezed into her and his balls, their follicles, wrinkles, sweat, banged up against her.

Back and forth, back and forth. Ellie could feel their weight.

Even now, as she lies back on the bed with her finger close to the ON button, and her mind wanders back to the dim light of that picture, Ellie's still not sure how she feels about porn.

She came to feminism late, but still she came. Feminism convinced her to buy the Wahl in the first place. Women can want sex too. So Ellie gives herself permission, gives her wide hips and open mouth to the corduroy couple in dim light.

It's 2:17 on that Sunday afternoon and Ellie decides to start with one of the less-complicated attachments for her Wahl, a harmless-looking white square. She lays back into the blue cotton sheets her mother gave her for Christmas. Warm light spills into the room, painting soft stripes across her body, across the bed. Her grey cat mews, half asleep on the pillow above her head. The package insert suggests working through panties or a blanket until Ellie gets used to the sensation, which, depending on the setting, can range from a pleasant tingle to a furious buzz. Ellie starts with the tingle. She guides the buzzing Wahl under the covers and rests it below her clit.

Zap! Tremors and twitches seize her instantly. She moves Wahl away. Waits. Touches herself. Yes, there's her clitoris, soft still, but pulsing. Ellie fingers between the folds, inserts, pulls out.

The first time Ellie can remember a finger was in high school with Adam. Ellie wanted him inside.

She thought she was ready. They wore sweat pants on dates, navy blue and red ones, soft. They touched each other quietly at the movies, pressing fingertips into soft skin divots. Played deep inside elastic waistbands. Then came home to her large white colonial to dry-hump on the couch while her parents and sisters slept upstairs. Ellie remembers the way it felt to come like that -- onto Adam's hard newly discovered cock wrapped in double layers of jersey. Ellie said, Put it in me. I want it. But Adam wouldn't. He was older, said he knew her, that she wasn't ready. Ellie was wet and angry. Ellie wanted it, wanted to know what it felt like.

Sex, he said, feels this, Ellie. Feel my thumb inside you. He moved into her, working up to the joint. It's not much wider than this, he said as Ellie came, gasping on the blue flocked couch downstairs from her sleeping family.

Ellie sometimes thinks of David when she masturbates. Other times, she thinks of other people. Adam's fingers, Charlie's tongue. Charlie was from high school too. He'd take Ellie out in his blue sedan and park behind the Grand Union, lay her across the bench seat with her legs hanging out the open door. Ellie remembers sticking to the vinyl seat in the summer, juices pooling under her while Charlie's tongue worked circles and swipes, the smell of her arousal sticking to both of them. Humid and wet. She'd come that way, in the parking lot under fluorescent light, holding Charlie's head hard to her body. Ellie's thinking of Charlie right now.

David doesn't go down on Ellie anymore. He's only done it twice in the last 2 years. Once, in the beginning. A gift. Lay back, Ellie. Let me taste you. Then one other time when she asked him. A bribe: If you do this for me, I'll take you down my throat. I'll make you come so hard. Ellie doesn't want to ask David again. She sucks his cock every time they're together. She loves the feel of it hardening against her tongue. She loves the way he looks at her then, like she's a treasure he can't believe he's found. Ellie loves the moment just before David empties himself into her mouth -- a tug of tenseness, quick breath, hands clutching her hair.

David masturbates even though he never talks about it. Ellie knows. In the shower, in the bathroom at work, in the morning when she's at school. She wishes he'd ask her to watch. She imagines him standing in the shower, feet firm, one hand braced against the wall, the other surrounding his cock. Water running down his back and apple-ass onto his balls.

Or at her office. Sitting in the chair next to her desk with the door locked in the middle of the day. His pants down, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth slightly open, his cock jerking in his hand until he shudders and sprays. No sound. She imagines going to him then, standing between his knees. She'd kiss his forehead and then bend down, lick the softening head of his cock, lick him clean. Ellie wonders what he thinks of when he touches himself. Her? Her with another woman? Another woman? It makes Ellie too sad to ask.

She eases the Wahl back under the covers, struggling with the cord.

Ellie went down on a woman once. Her name was Christa and she had breasts just like Ellie's. Heavy fruit. She had short, short hair and a slim neck. Rolling, solid hips. Tight blue T-shirt and silver hoop earrings. Christa put her arm around Ellie in a bar and Ellie, drunk, said, are you hitting on me?

She flicks the switch.

Bold Ellie kissed Christa in the bathroom at the bar, inside the stall, and felt sexy. Christa kissed back and said, I want to lick you. Ellie, come home with me. Christa took Ellie to bed and fingered her until Ellie screamed and whirled. Christa moved between Ellie's legs and kissed the hair growing there like praise. Two fingers in and a tongue slow along the side of Ellie's clit. In and out. Not yet, Ellie, not yet. We have hours.

When Christa kissed Ellie after, her lips all shimmer and salt, Ellie knew she had to do it. Climbed over Christa and onto the top, nipples skimming; her knee a hard circle against Christa's cunt. They kissed that way for minutes that were as slow as hours, Ellie slow-grinding Christa, Christa sucking Ellie's tongue. Ellie could hear the party downstairs. Guitars and clouds of pot smoke. Ellie felt high as she slid her lips over Christa's nipples, down to her round belly. Slipped a finger first into her mouth and then into Christa. Shuddered as she did it. Christa's hips came up hard and Ellie moved her mouth to meet them. Oh my god, thought Ellie, her lips and tongue, her whole face, encased in Christa's wet folds. Oh god. Her fingers drew deeper, reaching. Ellie couldn't breathe and yet she breathed Christa. Like air. Like sweet smoke. When Christa held Ellie's head to her cunt and screamed, I'm coming Ellie, oh girl make me come, Ellie stopped moving so she could hold that instant forever.

Ellie lets the Wahl touch her, and this time she's able to hold it there. One one-thousand, two one-thousand. And then she takes it away, shaking.

It's 3:34 on that very same Sunday afternoon and Ellie rolls on her side and sighs. Rolls out of the wet patch on the blue sheet where her lower back just was, pushes the grey cat, a soft warm body, off the bed.

Ellie's getting there -- but not with the Wahl. Not today. Not yet.

She grabs the smooth end of her hairbrush, slides it in and out. God, Ellie loves penetration. She imagines fingers, tongues, cocks; she uses fingers, bottles, handles. The Wahl has a long blue plastic attachment for her G-spot, but Ellie finds she can't take the vibration there for long, even with it set at pleasant tingle. With her finger on the button she's too much in control. It's too easy to back off.

David first kissed Ellie in the front seat of his silver Camaro, behind the bank after bar close. He undid the white shell buttons of her pink cardigan down to her cleavage and kissed. Brought her nervous fingers to his mouth and sucked each one all the way down and all the way up. Bit the nails before letting go. Ellie thought, yes. Felt spasms. Fell.

But recently, Ellie's been having trouble with David. He just called to say he's not coming for Thanksgiving, and Ellie's sick of it. Even when he's here, he makes her feel bad about sex. David only wants to fuck her in the morning. That's fine for David, but what about what Ellie wants? What about between teaching? Home for lunch? Sunday afternoon in front of Turner Classic Movies? David's not like that. When she asks him, he laughs. Wind turns you on, Ellie! David makes Ellie embarrassed; makes her feel like she's too hungry.

The last time they were together, David came before Ellie was finished. This happens sometimes, and Ellie doesn't mind. Sex is more than coming. But that day, Ellie really wanted to come.

David started to roll away, but Ellie grabbed him. Asked, do you mind if I play? Slid her hand down and picked a rhythm to move against. It could have been quick, but Ellie wanted to linger. Wished David would help, wished he'd slide two or three fingers inside while she slid over her clit. Wished he'd whisper, Yes, Ellie. That's it; make yourself come for me. But David lay tense against her as she tensed with only her own pleasure.

Ellie knows David's disappearing. Already she misses his hair -- loose, long ringlets, almost black, that he ties back with her elastics. She loves it most when it's wet. She threads her fingers in and out of his silk. David has the softest skin she had ever felt on a man. Girl-soft. In the beginning, she'd lie in his single bed with him at night, curved around his bare back like a comma. I don't want to hurt you, he'd say, and not fuck her. It was months. She'd rest her breasts against him and pull her knees up to cup his ass, trace her finger tips down the length of his too-soft arm and bury her face in his hair. Tremble. Please, please love me.

The bristles of the hairbrush dig into her palm. Ellie squeezes harder.

It's 4:31 on a Sunday afternoon. The cat turns circles at the foot of the bed, wanting to be fed.

Ellie closes her eyes and inhales. Commits herself to finishing. She pulls the blue G-spotter out of her and chooses the hard plastic square again. She moves the Wahl back to her mound and turns it on.

First, gently. She moves it around. Finds a tender spot through the blanket, through her panties. Waves of pleasure. Turns up the speed. Ellie feels the room shift. All of a sudden, it's happening fast. Faster than she's ready for.

She feels her clit swell to a furious buzz, a drop of liquid slide down the seam of her ass. Ellie's slow fingers tease her nipple, taut and tense.

Ellie's pinned to the bed and coming so hard that she calls out. She needs to catch her breath but the Wahl is still holding her, still stroking her, still electrifying her. Oh my god.

She doesn't even have time to imagine anyone else with her, to put a name to her pleasure. It's just Ellie now. Ellie loving Ellie.

Oh god.

4:34 and it's that good.

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