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Fit Into Me: Book One, Fragment Three

He is purple. Hard. Awake, he reaches with both arms and pulls the tea house woman toward him, onto him. They are—no, we are—chest to chest, and I am in your ear now whispering, You’re going to make me come. This is new. My husband always finished first, even on our wedding night, and he apologized the way men do when they come too soon, and I hugged him and felt almost like myself, comforting him, until it got to the point where, listening to him snore, I would roll over and stare at the ceiling, trying to convince myself that next time would be better. Inevitably, during those early hours and before the rest of the kitchen staff arrived, I would find myself downstairs with Nell, letting her console me over a pot of coffee and a plate of hot cinnamon rolls: Well, she would say, decorating petits fours, have you experimented with this? Or, while cutting biscuits out of trifold dough, Maybe you could wear that? Eventually, even she threw her hands into the air, where they left little puffs of flour, like clouds, and said, Men, what can you do? Tell me what I can do for you, you say, your hands clamped around my hips and rocking them forward and back against yours, my hair falling long down the sides of my face, nearly onto your face, your eyes watching mine for instructions, signs, and I don’t know what I want or how to ask for it until you stop. Let go. Stunned, waiting, aching for your hands and hips to send us back into motion, Please, I beg, don’t stop, and you flip me over, still inside me, onto my back, Yes, deep inside me, not thrusting in and out like other men but pushing, Yes, pushing, just like that, as I push back against you and begin to moan, pulling you closer with my arms, Oh God, pushing myself back under your weight, God, yes, and forward, Yes, until you fall heavy on top of me, your eyes finally closing when we are—they are—again chest to chest, and, as her young lover rests his left temple in the cradle of her right shoulder and jaw, the tea house woman stares up at the ceiling, caressing his neck and back, and thinks, at last, My God.

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