Mom
People always talk about how you end up with someone that’s like your parents, which always struck me as something weird and Freudian, until I met Lena. She looked more like my mom than my mom did sometimes, with the same wide thoughtful brown eyes. The kind that remind you of the melting chocolate chips in homemade cookies; warm ,and soft, and sweet.
Her eyes bore into mine now as my tongue wound its way around the wet folds between her legs. She pulled at my hair and I trailed kisses up her stomach as I replaced my tongue with my fingers. I sucked on the flesh that was pulled tight across her collarbones as she bucked against my hand, forcing my fingers deeper. She was warm, and slick, and I gasped with her as she tightened her legs around me. Though my gasp resounded from the sudden prickling of a winter breeze coming in through the cracked window. It sent unpleasant goosebumps across my skin, chilled and starkly different from the smooth warmth of her body on mine. I focused on the heat inside her and the places her body met mine as she moved.
I closed my eyes for a second, imagining wrapping up in a blanket, as warm as she felt around my fingers, not unlike the feeling I got curled in the quilt my mom had made me before I’d left for school. Her moans brought me back to her, I slipped another finger in. I wondered how many fingers I could fit, my whole hand? My fist? Would she like that? I remembered learning that a vagina could stretch enough to accomodate a baby.
I flexed my other hand, definitely smaller than a baby. Another frigid breeze wound its way around my body and my mother’s words echoed, “I kept you warm and safe inside me for nine months”. I imagined that, the warmth and comfort, what it would be like. A blanket, I thought, or maybe more like a cocoon. If a full grown human found itself in another womb, would it emerge as something new?
Without thinking I fit another finger in, then eventually my fist. She pushed into me, she liked it. Her moans were loud and I pushed deeper. She began to thrash at my elbow, her mouth wide as she screamed. I couldn’t hear her though, I only saw those big warm brown eyes of my mother, welcoming me home. I was up to my shoulders by the time the next wave of cold air hit me. It was so jarring in comparison to the smooth warm chamber my arms inhabited, that it propelled me forward. My head dove in, it was quiet, and dark, and above all I wasn’t cold. She’d stopped moving much before this point. I pushed with my legs until my torso was firmly placed in her. I wondered briefly if I would fit totally. I was bigger than her, so I shifted, and tucked my head into my chest as I curled my spine in. Slowly the rest of me followed. The fetal position worked as well now as it had 23 years ago. I was wrapped in a smooth dark cocoon. I felt safe and comfortable, the stress of life seemed miniscule here. Nothing to stress over when encapsulated where life is fostered and protected.
