I Imagined Her Between My Legs on a Hot Night

I came home with my body utterly spent. It had been twelve hours on shift, on my feet, smiling at people who didn’t even look at me, and all I wanted was to collapse into bed and disappear until the next day. I took off my shoes at the door and left a trail of clothes down the hallway, like breadcrumbs, until I reached the bedroom.

The problem was that, once I lay down, sleep never came.

The night before, it had poured down hard, one of those storms that seem hell-bent on bringing the windows down. But today the sky had taken its revenge: it was sticky, heavy heat, the kind that gets under your skin. I lay on my back, watching the ceiling fan spin weakly, stirring the hot air from one side to the other without cooling anything.

I took off the T-shirt I’d gone to bed in and threw it on the floor. I was left in my underwear and the thin sheet over me, but even that didn’t help. The heat wouldn’t let up. It was as if my body were asking for something else, something exhaustion couldn’t cover up.

And then she appeared.

Not physically, of course. But I saw her with a clarity that scared me a little. I saw her lying beside me, in the empty space in the bed, propped up on one elbow, looking at me with that half-smile she gets when she knows something I don’t yet. She was wearing black lace lingerie that clung to her body as if it had been sewn onto her. I know her in passing, from the gym I go to on Tuesdays, and I’d never dared think of her like that. Until tonight.

The truth is I’d been noticing her for weeks without wanting to admit it. The way she tied her hair up before getting on the treadmill, the sweat shining on her neck, the absent-minded way she bit her lip while counting her reps. A couple of times our eyes had met in the mirror and I’d looked away too fast, like a teenager. She, on the other hand, held my gaze a second too long, as if she were giving me permission for something I wasn’t brave enough to ask for.

I shouldn’t be thinking about this.

But heat calls the shots, and tiredness lowers your defenses. I closed my eyes and stopped fighting the image. On the contrary: I invited her to stay.

***

In my head, she came closer slowly. First the brush of her leg against mine, her skin a little cool compared with mine, which was burning. Then her hand, sliding up my side, unhurried, like someone with all night ahead of her. And finally her mouth, finding mine in a kiss that was anything but shy. A hungry kiss, the kind that nips at your lip a little before letting go.

I imagined her straddling me, her weight on top of mine, her knees on either side of my hips. From there she looked at me as if I were something she planned to devour at leisure. Her hands found my breasts over the fabric of my bra and began to massage them, soft at first, then squeezing, until a sigh slipped from my mouth all on its own.

I took my own hands to where hers were in the fantasy. I undid the front clasp of my bra and let it open. The hot air touched my skin and still every inch of me prickled. I touched my nipples the same way I imagined she would, teasing both at once, rolling them between my fingers until they hardened.

In my head, she lowered her mouth to my left breast. She licked it slowly, circling around it, like someone savoring an ice cream they don’t want to melt too fast, while her fingers stayed busy with the other nipple. I pressed my legs together without even noticing. I was already wet, and I’d barely begun.

***

The problem with fantasies is that they whet your appetite. The more I imagined her, the more I needed something concrete, something my hands on my own breasts couldn’t give me. I wanted her face between my legs. I wanted the weight of her head down there, her breath, her tongue.

I sat up in bed, my breathing already rough, and looked around in the dim light. In the armchair in the corner was the huge stuffed animal I’ve had for years, a ridiculous, worn-out bear I never threw away because I felt sorry for it. That night it stopped being ridiculous. I grabbed it, got back into bed, and opened my legs.

I settled the stuffed bear’s head between my thighs, with its nose right where I needed it. I closed my eyes again and imagined her in that place. The brush of the nose against my sex was close enough to what her tongue would feel like for my mind to fill in the rest. I started moving against it, slowly, searching for the angle, while my free hand went back to my nipples.

It was a delicious sensation, the kind that makes you want more the second you taste it. I took off the underwear I still had on and went back to the same position, now completely naked against the fabric. My lips, already swollen, rubbed together with nothing in between. The tip of the stuffed bear’s nose found my clit with each movement, and every time it brushed me a sound escaped me that I didn’t even recognize as mine.

If it were her, she’d be licking me right there now.

And just thinking it made me wetter. I imagined her lips closing around my clit, sucking slowly, her tongue drawing circles while she looked up at me from below with those eyes. The fantasy was so vivid that my body responded as if it were really happening.

I stopped for a moment, just to make it last longer. I drew in a deep breath, felt sweat running between my breasts, the pounding pulse down there, impatient. There’s a point in desire where stopping hurts more than going on, and I’d reached it. I began moving against the stuffed bear’s nose again, this time with more purpose, letting the image of her mouth guide the rhythm. With every sway I let out a louder moan than the last, and I was grateful to live alone, with no one on the other side of the wall who might hear me.

***

But then came the moment when even that wasn’t enough. I wanted something inside. I wanted her fingers inside me while her mouth kept working above.

I slid a finger in. God, it felt good. My body took it without any resistance, I was so soaked. But one finger wasn’t enough that night. I slid in a second, and it got better, though still not enough. That night I wanted more. I imagined her fingering me with three fingers, filling me, and my own hand obeyed the desire.

I began the rocking motion slowly, feeling every centimeter, giving myself time to register everything. With a bit of effort I managed to arch my neck and run my tongue over one of my nipples. The wetness of my mouth above and my sex below met somewhere in my body and drove me insane. I was playing with one breast while I fingered myself, and the stuffed bear’s head stayed firm against my clit, giving me the third point of pleasure I needed.

I sped up. I was doing it faster now, deeper, chasing the orgasm with the image of her nailed in my mind. I thought about what her face would look like slick with me, about her smile afterward, about what she’d whisper in my ear. The wet sound of my fingers sliding in and out filled the room, obscene and delicious at the same time, and far from embarrassing me it only set me on fire more.

I curled my fingers until I found that spot deep inside that changes everything. My body gave a jolt. I was burning hot, getting wetter and wetter, and I knew I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. My other hand left my breast and went straight to my clit, rubbing in quick circles, adding pressure to what the stuffed bear was already doing.

***

The orgasm gave me no warning. It hit all at once, in waves, and I arched my back against the mattress as my whole body tightened and let go at the same time. I felt something release from the deepest place inside me, a warm gush that even surprised me, accustomed as I am to my own body. Squirt, they call it. That night it was generous.

I lay there, panting, with my hand still between my legs and my heart hammering against my ribs. The bed ended up soaked, a large dark stain beneath me, and I didn’t care at all. I’d change it in the morning. At that moment I only wanted to stay there, feeling pleasure slowly withdraw, like the tide.

The heat was still just as heavy, but it didn’t bother me anymore. My body had finally said what it needed to say. I opened my eyes and looked at the empty space beside me, where a little while before I had seen her so clearly.

Next time, maybe I’ll work up the nerve to say something to her at the gym.

I smiled at the thought, moved the stuffed bear aside, honored in the service it had rendered, and settled onto the dry side of the bed. The sleep that hadn’t come before arrived at once now, and I let myself drift off with the image of her still warm in my head.

And as I fell asleep I thought that the best fantasies aren’t the ones that stay in your head. They’re the ones that one day, with a little luck and a little heat, find a way to become real.