Love aural sex? Us too. You can listen to the audio recording of this piece here...
Between 4 and 8am is my favorite time of day. When the sky begins to transition and the sun groggily rises with the rest of us. Most creatures in this world rely on instincts, coffee or an alarm to knock them into wakefulness at this hour, but not I.
I rely on a mirror. The faded shades of blue from dawn’s break seep through my blinds to ripple and dance across exposed brick, turning my room into an enchanted cave where I, the goddess that dwells there, steal lustful glances of my reflection through low, red eyes.
Stubbing out my morning blunt in my trusty nightstand ashtray, the mirror holds my gaze. It sits atop a large dresser before my bed, where it has perfectly captured every captivating orgasm. Crawling on my knees, I seductively move towards the end of the bed, diving down slowly to let my barely-there T-shirt reveal a tiny, stretch marked ass, daring the sun to kiss it.
What I lack in the ass department I make up for in breasts. They are unashamedly my favorite part of my body – 32E means they’re big enough for me to grab a handful and let them both spill out like Play-Doh (they’re just as soft). I used to hate my saucer sized areolas but now my tongue runs over every bump of them, only stopping periodically to flick my nipples. I never take my eyes off myself and if you have a brain, you wouldn’t either. My barber, Shear’s in the southside, gets my haircut just right every fucking time. With a low-cut fade? It’s like I’m even more naked.
I throw myself onto my back and rub my body from tits to pussy. Listening to the slow, then quickening breaths I was taking. Masturbation, meditation; tomato, tomahto. I have to be quiet because if I don’t, I’ll miss that anticipated gasp when the pointer and middle finally enter inside. I’m always surprised at how wet I can get in a seemingly short period of time. Feeling my waters roll down my fingers and onto my hands as I go in and out, messily. I never give a fuck about a neighbor or any other person whose name ain’t on this lease, so ya’ll gonna hear me. “Fuck” is my favorite cuss word and I scream it repeatedly between moans and whispers. I catch my eyebrows furrow as my face, pleading into the mirror, says, Enough! But my body knows this just means let’s hit this shit from the back. I flip over, face down, ass up, and watch as I shake it from side to side. Marveling at every loose jiggle of my little booty. I give it a hard slap before recommencing self-love-making. I enter faster this time, knowing within the next few moments my water will flow into cream. The bed squeaks and scratches across hardwood as my body moves to its natural rhythm. Sometimes I use toys. I’m pretty sure I left my favorite dicks in my very, very southern Baptist parents’ basement when I moved out (I really need to go get those). For solo sessions like these though, there’s nothing and no one who can do it better than I.
Like clockwork, the elderly lady next door starts banging on my walls and threatening a noise complaint. Ha, such a funny way of saying, “Get on your knees, sis!” but I always listen to my elders. It’s time for the grand finale anyway; from Extended Puppy I ease into a tantalizing Hero Pose. Never slipping my fingers out and letting them play with my clit instead. You have to grind the pussy slow while the hand works a mile a minute clockwise. My secret is I never tap out. You have to make yourself work for it if you ever want to enter the goddess cave again. I slide them in and now I’m on top and I control the motion. If I called bae over, this would be the time when I tell them not to move, then pinch my knees into their sides so they couldn’t. I’m already halfway there, so now it’s more like a homerun or being up by 20 with 3.2 seconds left in the game. Hopping on my knees, I watch breasts clapping against my chest and think, with a face like mine, you’d be missing out if you didn’t take in every love face I make. Sex is a performance. Give me drama! Give me lust! Give me Jill Scott!
The sugar water stream pours onto my favorite throw blanket on top of my comforter. I don’t care. Just like a kid isn’t thinking about a cavity on Halloween, and my shit’s sweeter than anything a pumpkin bag could hold. I can hear the traffic outside as people race to work. I look in the mirror once more as I put two fingers in my mouth and suck off the remaining residue and smile triumphantly.
I’m really beautiful in the morning.
(header illustration by Melanie Lee)