Heartbeat

“You’re so fucking beautiful, it’s literally impossible. Just look at you.” 

With all of her soft curves and her body’s warm, magnetic pull, Elia is like a gorgeous, swirling, stormy planet and I’m a moon in her orbit, I can’t resist the gravity. She’s thick and curvy, and there’s a graceful movement about her that pulls me in like some kind of spell. Not to mention she always smells amazing, like vanilla and jasmine. She has gorgeous curly black hair—I catch it in my fingers.

Loving Elia is the best thing I’ve ever done. Growing up the way I did, I got used to everything carrying a certain weight of shame, and sex was more shameful than anything. For so long, I did not know part of myself, not even when I came out at eighteen and broke up with my boyfriend of nearly two years in an event that shocked my family and turned them on me in terrifying, confusing ways. None of it matters anymore—

“Can I fuck you baby?”

“Please,” she whispers, almost like a whine, “Yes.” 

I want her wetness in my mouth while her legs buckle around me. I’ll tell her she’s doing so good because she is, holding her pretty ass up for me like that, acting so unbelievably slutty. 

We have a history together, I know her. We’ve been together long enough I know what makes her tick, I know that she loves when I flatten my palm and rub her pussy in circles, that when my fingers are inside her she wants it either very fast or very deep, that when it's fast she wants my fingers curled and when it’s deep she wants it slow, making sure I go deep enough to hit her g spot with the tip of my finger. When I’m touching her clit she doesn’t want it too hard, she prefers those light feathery touches that seem so slight but make her legs buckle. 

I know how much it means for Elia to give this to me, her body’s most vulnerable places. I do everything right, I know what to do. I love when she wants to cum, all cute and squirmy and desperate. It’s not time for her to cum yet though, I didn’t say to cum for me. 

She told me I fixed her relationship with sex, that there was a time she thought she’d never love again. I told her it was an honor to be that person for her, I want nothing more than to make her feel safe. I also told her that it was her achievement, not mine, healing her trauma, recovering from abuse, and feeling safe. It was years of patience with herself, of education, learning about herself. She did that work, I might have helped but it was all her, I will always be proud of her. 

“Too hard on my clit,” she says. I’m doing that thing where I’m rubbing her clit with one finger, the other two inside her. 

“Sorry baby,” I switch gears and replace my finger with my flattened palm, rubbing gently. “Do you want it this way?” 

“Yes, god, yes,” she throws her head back on the pillow then grabs the back of my neck, pulling me closer to kiss her. Her tongue dances inside, warm and soft in my mouth.

“I love you.” 

That first summer together we fucked everywhere. We had a date once in a private room at a hot tub spa, she was the only thing hotter than the water. I told her to sit near one of those jets and then we kissed, panting, while I put my hand in her bathing suit. Something about the water and the lack of gravity seemed to bring us closer together with flushed faces, she turned around and I kissed the warm flesh of her ass, leaving little marks. She told me to do more so I left several, I spelled out the word “love” in tiny bruises. Then we fucked in the shower, she bent over and I used the strap-on we’d brought while warm water trickled over our bodies.

I have another core memory of her, pressed up against the car window in the backseat at midnight in the library’s empty parking lot, breath fogging up the glass and her naked lower half writhing, leaving little white streaks on the black leather while cars drove by—we felt naughtier than ever. Then there was last year, the first time I came from being eaten out, pushed up on the passenger seat while she knelt on the car floor. Last week, I sold that car so we’d have enough money for our apartment’s down deposit. 

“Remember the car?” I ask her. “The hot tub?” I give her my fingers again and her back arches. 

“Fuck,” she says. “You always do it so well. I’m close.” 

I’m enjoying this too much to let it be over yet. There’s so much to experience and think about, like how if everything goes well we’ll be moving into an apartment where we can be as dirty and slutty as we want everyday. I imagine us there instead of in her mom’s basement, manifesting. 

I want to edge her until she can’t take it anymore and begs me to cum, all soft and warm and gasping in my ear. Then I’ll let her have it, her body so tense, shaking legs. But not yet. I know we have forever to fuck each other—that doesn’t mean I don’t want to stretch this time as much as I can, extend her soft warm moans like a soundtrack on loop. 

I pull away and pat her pussy a few times with my palm, a little harder each time, teasing her. I spank her again and tell her I want her under me. 

“You’re being so fucking good.” What else is there to say, I’m literally in awe. 

“You’re fucking me so good.” 

“You’re fucking amazing. Look at what you’re doing to me, your gorgeous legs.” I run my hands along them, gripping her thighs. Her legs are thick and tattooed, her skin is so creamy and soft. I do that thing where I kiss her inner thighs, close enough that she can feel my breath on her clit, I can literally feel her pulsing.

I kiss Elia slowly with her hair spread out on the pillow, soon gathered in my hand as I grab the back of her neck, holding it gently. I press my knee hard between her legs and she grinds against it, so wet and beautiful and desperate. 

Like many queer people my age with a religious and culty background, coming out was wrapped up in a lot of struggles. Even once I was out, there was still so much I didn’t know about myself—a lot of it had to do with sex. Something so normal and instinctual was, for me, tainted by restrictions I did not have the capacity, at the time, to unpack. I had other shit going on too, struggling to get jobs, to secure housing, dropping out of school after losing my parents' help, struggling to define my gender—my vagina was dry and occupied. Nobody could enter that space with me until Elia did three years later. 

I love her. She’s my favorite woman in the world. Doing these things to her makes me feel so crazy, there’s a heartbeat in my pussy, a pussy I usually ignore, and it makes me feel so much, I want to be so close to her. I want to kiss her so hard and have her hold me so tight I feel like I’m going into her skin. I want to do slutty, crazy things, grind against her leg like a freak. She better call me that later when it’s my turn, her little freak. 

The sexiest thing in the world is this: everything I do to her she wants so desperately. This insane, wild feeling—it goes both ways. Her favorite place for my fingers is interlocked with hers throughout the day, then sliding along her clit at night. Or they’re inside her when I decide it’s time, reaching for and pressing her g spot when I’ve touched her long enough that she’s a dripping mess on the bed, begging for me to fuck her so deeply.

I’m kissing her breasts and her soft chest rises and falls with anticipation because my knee is still where my fingers should be. I’m making her wait while I kiss and suck, leaving little marks so that when she gets dressed in the morning she can look at her precious soft chest and think of me. She’ll think about it and her pussy will get a heartbeat. Her focus level at work will be lower. 

The thought of Elia thinking about me throughout the day, horny and reminiscent, I love that. 

“Please fuck me, baby,” I hear softly in my ear. She’s pulled me close and I’m in her neck now. I guess grinding against my leg like a little slut right now isn’t enough. 

So I touch her slowly again, giving the illusion of a slow burn, before I use my fingers to suddenly fuck her so fast that her breath catches in a sexy little moan, she throws her head back, she clutches the sheets. She grips my free arms, fingernails grazing me gently. I tell her to dig deeper, “scratch me.” 

“You’re doing such a good job, keep holding onto me.” 

“I feel like I could fly off the bed,” she gasps. 

“Keep holding on,” I say, giving her a special smile. “I want you right here.” 

I fuck her like that for awhile, so fast until she’s breathing heavy, her body wriggling around, so sexy. I take a break so she’ll cum later, not now. I grab Elia’s waist and kiss her again. 

Now I want her spooned against me with her ass up against my bare skin so I can reach over and fuck her from there. I reach deep and curl my fingers around her g spot and then fuck her slowly keeping my fingers curled inside. 

She loves when I do this, my boobs against her back and my breath on her neck, fucking like this and moving her hair away from her ear so I can tell her how beautiful she is, how sexy, how gorgeous and overwhelming, how good she’s doing. 

When she’s almost there I take my fingers out, flip her over under me and wait about a minute, making out passionately and heavy before I touch her clit again. 

“You drive me crazy.” 

“I know, I love watching you lose control like this.” 

I do love watching—Elia struggles with control. This space we’ve built together gives her a chance to let loose, let her guard down and feel things freely. 

I kiss her, her neck, her breasts again, her adorable soft stomach and the warm, wet inside of her thighs. I kiss her while I’m still touching her gently before I replace my fingers with my tongue. 

Elia’s legs wrap tightly around me, clenched around my head. Her back arches. I love the way the soft skin between her legs feels on my face, I also love the way she tastes. It feels so intimate. It’s my favorite taste in the world and I’m the only one who knows what it feels like on my tongue. This flavor is mine alone.

I know exactly when to overwhelm her with hard, quick flicks of my tongue, and when to slow down, to kiss her, to give some suction and watch her crumble with pleasure, to move my tongue inside her at intervals, lick her clit in circles. 

“Baby,” she says, “I’m so fucking close.” 

I switch my tongue with my fingers really quick, so I can keep stimulating her clit while I go up to kiss her mouth and say into her ear: 

“Well then cum for me about it.”

And then I bring my tongue back where it belongs, I go fast and consistent in the same spot. I curl my fingers in again and press up against her g-spot in the same rhythm, she’s all wetness and warm and beautiful fluidity, my brain is completely lost in dreamy brown eyes, flowing black curly hair, soft curves, warm gasps. 

When Elia comes, it’s like the entire world stops but at the same time, spins faster. My brain is blank, and all I can think about in those seconds is her orgasm and how much she deserves to feel this good, how she shakes, moans, tenses, then her body slowly relaxes into soft warmth and gentle gasping. Instantly she pulls me up to come lay on her, and I settle my head on her chest. 

This is our aftercare, and it’s so important. I let her hold me while her body draws shaky breaths, coming back to earth. Then I gather her in my arms and kiss her forehead. I grab the water bottle and a snack from the nightstand, I get the towel from the side of the bed so she can wipe off before she goes to pee. 

“You’re beautiful,” I tell her. “I have never looked at you and thought anything but beautiful.” 

“You’re beautiful, too,” she smiles. “That was amazing.” I can tell that it was, because she’s still gasping for air.

We kiss and then she nuzzles into me. I pull her close and hold her gently, playing with her hair. Then I grab the TV remote and put on something we can listen to in the background while we sit here and hold each other, just letting it all sink in. 

If love is magic, sex must be a spell. I will never not be bewitched.

Photo by Maria Kashina