Sunday Sermon

On Sunday mornings, we sleep in. On rainy Sunday mornings, even more so. The only chore we have to take care of is letting the chickens out of the coop. Today, I let myself linger in half-waking, on the sleepy side of center. I stick a foot out from beneath the duvet, slide my skin against the soft cotton, flip the pillow over to cool. It’s Soren’s turn to deal with the hens. There aren’t any roosters here. They slip into galoshes and open the french doors. They’re surveying the landscape, rolling a delicate morning spliff with calloused, tattooed hands. They stand outside, just beneath the overhang. I watch them smoke; their hard, steely gaze, their dark rebel hair sticking out at odd ends, a little bit of grey streaked throughout. I laugh a little because, are they kind of a Harry Potter type? And roll over back to bed.

I know Soren by this landscape. They’ve always smelled like wet wood to me. When we first met, I noticed their hands. I had just moved upstate alone. Left the city after nearly a decade and wandered north to put some roots down. I met some hops farmers at a swimming hole my first weekend up here, they invited me to a party. I remember having a good time but I’m kind of introvert so I slipped away without saying much after exchanging numbers with a few locals; a weaver, a potter, a brewer. Everyone was cute and I was digging the bucolic charm. 

This was just after a heavy rain, I got in my car to drive away but it was badly stuck in the mud. After spinning my tires for what felt like ages a cute, wiry queer in a sleeveless flannel came to my rescue; Soren. They said they could give me a tow in the morning but they were getting out of there anyway and did I want a ride. It was dark, their hands were perfect on the steering wheel. Strong, precise, totally genderless. I’m not sure if they really did smell like wet wood or if it was just the forest all around us. That was five years ago and we’ve been together ever since.

I hear the door click shut. Without stirring I watch them enter. Graceful, barefoot, naked except the oversized canvas work coat they slip out of. Cute butt. They come toward the bed, and quietly slip between the sheets, trying not to wake me. With my back turned to them, I wiggle my bare ass over to their side of the bed and press against their cool, misty-morning skin. They press against me to warm up, cocoon me, a hand on my thigh, which then lightly slides all the way up my side, over my hips, resting at the dip of my waist, then a little bit higher, just beneath the breast, “is this okay?” they whisper.

I take their hand and place it over my breast, give it a squeeze as if to say, “go on.” They fondle me in handfuls, pinch my nipple between their forefinger and thumb, roll it around. It makes my hips rock a little. I let out a soft moan.

They slide their hand back down to my hip. I roll over onto my belly and they lift one of my ass cheeks away from the other, which causes the lips of my pussy to gently part. They slowly drop my ass, the lips kiss shut, lift and drop, lift and drop, open and shut. 

I start to rock against a phantom cock and they slowly, so slowly it feels like backtracking half the time, slide their hand down the curve of my ass, between my thighs, and trace up, dipping fingers into my warm, wet, pussy. Resting the heel of their hand on the low-ledge of my sacrum, they press down as their fingers find my clit. They kiss the back of my neck. They take their hand away and I can feel my body begging for it back. 

They bend a knee so their thigh rests just beneath my ass. Under their gentle restraint I’m biting at a pillow, exhaling through a clenched jaw. With their fingers on the nape of my neck they say, “what do you want next?”

I feel breathy, but precise: “I want you to fuck me with the strap. But first, I want you to play with my clit until I climax and just as you feel me start to come, slide inside and fuck me.” I ask for something to bite on, too—the other dildo.

“Yes ma’am.” They get up, go to the drawer, I can hear them taking the toys out. “Stay on your belly,” they say. They know I love to hear it.  

When they come back to the bed, I know they’re wearing the strap. My pussy skips a beat just thinking about it. They place a dildo near my face, I like to clamp down hard on it with my teeth. They put their hands on my calves, it feels like forever as they move them up toward my center. They backtrack, they squeeze and dig into my muscles with a firm touch, and then they lightly trace my skin. Expand and contract. Shiver and writhe. 

They perch, straddling my ass, and rub my back, my shoulders, a firm and comforting touch all over. They rock my pelvis back and forth a bit and breathe on my neck. Kneeling between my legs now, they play with my ass, tell me how smooth it is, squeeze it. Tease me. I tell them how much I want it, and I can hear the mischief in their smile. 

Finally, they slide their fingers all the way up to the very top of my thigh until the pad of their middle finger finds my clit. We both gasp at how wet I am. They start slow, taking their finger away a bit between strokes to tease me. As I get hotter, and moanier, they land their finger firmly on my clit and make tiny, rapid, light, circular motions. They know just how I like it. They keep playing with me, my body feels a rush, I rock my hips, I brace into the sensation. Gasp toward the crescendo. The climax feels like a gentle warm shower of light all over my body.  

As promised they take my hips to slide the cock inside me. I lift up to meet them. They fuck me slowly, at first, but firm. They squeeze my butt and rock their hips, and I can hear their breath getting shorter, more rapid. I send my hips back, press my chest and face down to the mattress, bite into the dildo. They lift their hips away, pulling out, but not all the way. They trace circles with their hand on my ass. We both know I want a spank. I ask them for it with a “please.” 

Their hand lands with a smack on my butt, we can’t hold back any longer, they thrust deep inside me and I feel them rocking and surging against the fucking pleasure of it all. I lay myself out on the bed, my pussy throbs and oceans gush out. They shiver a little post-orgasm twitch. What a Sunday sermon.  

~~~

The afternoon comes in greys. The woodstove is softly roaring. The whole place smells like coffee and wet wood. I shrug my robe off. Before heading out to the garden, I slip my apron on over my naked body. Place felcos in the front pocket and step into my galoshes. It’s somewhere between mist and light rain, overcast. I carry a basket in one hand. I’ve come out to collect mustard greens, sorrel, fresh herbs. My tits sway a little as I walk.

I bend over in the garden and can feel Soren watch me through the window. I gather the greens. It’s raining a little harder now, but I don’t mind. The raindrops run down the contours of my ass, disappearing between my thighs. I grab a big handful of carrots and radishes for roasting. As I walk back to the house the rain feels cold and fresh on my skin. My hair clings to my shoulders, chest, and back like a wet, viney plant. Hard nipples and goosebumps all over. 

Framed by the window, I can see Soren adding another log to the stove, a steaming cup of coffee beside them on the floor. 

The door clicks shut behind me. It’s just us. I hang my apron and take off my shoes. I walk past them to grab a towel from the closet, and they beckon me to come sit with them in front of the fire. I walk over to them, dripping wet. They’re in sweatpants and a flannel, naked beneath.

I crouch in front of them, take the back of their head in my palm and lay them down, slowly. I’m on all fours, a knee between their thighs. One long, wet lock of hair falls on their cheek. I firmly kiss the side of their neck. I like to press them down, restrain them. They don’t resist. Their hands reach for my ass, as I press my thigh against them. We rock there for a bit. I lick their mouth, rub my lips against their clavicle. 

I tell them to get up, and position them in front of the picture window, forearms resting on the sill. The rainy, green expanse rolls on forever. I kiss the back of their neck, standing behind them with my hands on their shoulders, then their ribs, their belly. 

I ask if I can take their pants off. They nod “yes,” so I slide the stretchy cotton waistband down their thighs, to below their knees. With my hands on their hips, I pull them toward me and they hinge forward. I get down on my knees, lift their ass cheeks, tilt their pelvis all the way forward and slip my tongue up between their thighs. I’m hungry for it, so I lick them, press lips into the soft, warm, wet skin. Lay my tongue flat, then feel with the tip for just the right spot, a droplet of juice drips down their thigh. 

Just then, the sound of tires in gravel and a flash of headlights from the driveway. I take one long, last sip. I pull their pants back up, punctuate the moment with a firm pat on the ass, and promise, “more later.”

Photo by Masha Raymors