Altar
“Pussy fairy on the way…” Jhené Aiko quietly sings through the speaker on my nearby altar. I tug at the cuff of his flannel and walk us into my sanctuary, my room.
M is over for the weekend and it’s been three weeks since we last saw each other. He works a few hours plus a ferry ride away from me, living his dream as a mountain guide in Washington. And I’m living mine– working and learning on a farm on the Olympic peninsula– playing in the dirt, working with plants, and eating fresh, real food every day. Our relationship has naturally developed in these periods of distance as we both live and work seasonally. Climbing, working in the deserts and mountains of the west, and skiing in the winter– we drive hours to see each other whenever we can, wherever we are.
It’s been nice to soak in the sun with him this afternoon, but we are both craving the other's touch as the autumn light sinks behind the trees. Dried chamomile and yarrow hang drying above the doorway. The white petals delicately flutter to his shoulders in a little mess of calming medicine that I want to be spoon fed. Yesterday's patchouli incense still hangs in the air, mixing with the soft red of my himalayan salt crystal, all humming vibrations. My altar strewn with desert rocks, goose feathers, and friend’s loving letters all bleed their happy poetry into my room. He smiles in acknowledgment.
I wordlessly undress myself and lay back onto the teal wool blanket I got a few years ago in a lonely Texas gas station. Its desert memories warm my skin as M starts softly kissing my stomach and hips, my body immediately tingly remembering what it is to be caressed like this again. He uses his broad nose that characteristically features in his visage to brush scars from a past surgery just under my navel. He traces back up my torso. Unconsciously, I arch myself to narrow the gap between my stomach and his pelvis, this shadowy pleasure at the base of my spine awakening, while sensible me stealthily retreats.
His lips have found my nipples, decorated with piercings that heighten every sensation of sucking, swirling, nibbling goodness that he’s practiced into a dance. He is lost in goosebump mountains and curvy valleys of my nipples, his hand deftly tugs and twists at the silver stud not in his mouth.
~~~
M and I have been together for over two years. We no longer have that slightly unknown thrill that comes with new sex. It’s turned into something powerful, intense and exploratory that comes with communication and vulnerability. Orgasms that make you sob, and sobs that make you wonder why you still can’t set a boundary.
There were a handful of nights over the first year that he wanted sex and I didn’t, but I still offered my body as a comfort and felt used. Why couldn’t he accept no? What hole was sex filling? Our relationship almost crumbled under the heaviness of those questions. I needed to feel there was no expectation of sex and he needed to feel wanted. We’ve been building this bridge to meet each other in intimacy ever since. Strong and sure sometimes, weak and faltering others.
~~~
Breaking from the sheetless music of our hurried breaths, I find his face and pull it to mine, our hot mouths meeting with need. I break our contact and meet his eyes as I find the coconut oil handy by the bedside. He waits as I lather its silky smoothness on my freckled hands, anticipating the glistening slide they will deliver. I inch forward to place a neat kiss on his lips that quickly turns into a tugging bite, at the same time sliding my now dripping hands around his full cock. He moans and I smile against him, strengthening my grip and cupping his balls in my other hand.
That shadowy pulsing energy at the base of my spine is luxuriating in this control, and responds anew when M switches to pull me around onto my forearms and knees. The orange-pink glow of the salt lamp brings a flushed hue to my already pink cheeks. The blood rushes to the surface of my skin from friction and a brisk slap on my ass.
~~~
The bridge building between our sexual selves has been work, and then some.
Firstly, I’m not big on physical touch and—to him—physical touch was how he made sure I still existed. How to disentangle affirmation and love from constant physical contact? How could I compromise and allow more caresses? Maybe that’s why the distance worked in some ways.
Along with the physical touch, M liked using sex for comfort. When he was unsure, tired, stressed, anxious—he wanted a release. I often found him the least sexy in those scenarios. How to shift expectations and decompress in new ways?
After many conversations surrounding these issues, we started to establish better accountability and boundaries. The big breakthrough came when M started to plainly voice that a kiss or touch held no expectation of sex. He’d find me after a shower with my towel on, gently brush fingers across the lower dip of my ass, and say, “I need nothing from you and have no expectations.”
It became his sexiest phrase. A few more versions of this over the next months and I started to believe him. We would lie naked together and need nothing else. Foreplay became longer and the larger part of the story. Our shared sexual language developed, I learned that I loved sexting, and we relished exploring each other.
“How does this feel?”
“Faster. Fuck me.”
“What do you want me to do to you?”
“I love the way you taste.”
“Are you okay?”
We are still evolving, but we’ve cultivated a sexual space that allows for us to both arrive fully into our bodies and sexuality when we lavish in intimacy. Now the questions are unspoken gestures that explore new limits.
~~~
There is no need for words tonight. Hands meant for climbing, physical labor, pull me closer to his face. My ass is in the air—so ready to surrender—and my pussy drips from his precise tongue flicks that range from questions to demands. Inside my soft cunt, he’s exploring the folds of my labia and migrating towards that pause between my asshole and pussy. Bridging the gap, he gently laps at my asshole causing new waves of pleasure to seep from my pores.
The silky rhythm of Jhené Aiko still thumps in the background and I feel his hardness on the inside of my thigh. I reach back to grasp it and feel his strong and steady perfectness in my hand. Familiar and thick, I allow myself to soften more. Something he must notice, since he places his hands back on my hips to steady me and guide his juiciness inside me. God, he feels so good. Being fucked from behind has always filled me with this mingled longing and intense satisfaction at once. And he knows. Slowly filling me and retreating. Stroking me into more sensation. Another finger finding my exposed asshole, gentle pressure that just heightens the senses through my stomach and pelvic floor. His longing overcomes mine and I can feel him throbbing, about to cum.
“Don’t,” I say. “Lie down.”
He wants to resist, but knows this edging game and readjusts. I take my time moving over him, place my knee between his legs, and come back to his mouth with mine, then his neck. The energy builds again and his arms pull me in. I finally settle my hips onto his– the shadowy goddess in me unfolding into this perfect limelight– and start to find a rhythm that is irresistible to us both. I slowly glide myself up his length, settle deep onto him and rock my hips back and forth, we both throw our heads back at the combined sensation of penetration and deep stimulation. The deliciousness of this dance makes me so wet I feel like I could keep this pace far into the foggy night. I moan at the contrast of my empty to full pussy.
The feeling overcomes me and I push us one too many strokes past the edge. He clutches at my hips as we both meet this deep and delicate orgasm. The warmth radiates to the tips of my fingers, like a timelapse of a flower blossoming. We built this beauty from ashes.
Photo by Rahul Pandit