by Harte, Roxy
“You can’t understand!” I face Jackie, angry that she can’t understand how I’m feeling. My God, how can she?
I can tell by her expression she’s hurt. She really does want to understand. But how can I explain it?
I was disgusted by my orgasm, I was disgusted by the fantasy Master had shared, but I couldn’t deny the lust that wrapped me so tightly it hurt.
“We had a fight.”
“About Jako and Panda’s scene?”
“No, because he’d made me orgasm. I didn’t want to think about it, not any of it. Not about Jako and Panda, or about Master sucking milk from my nipples, or even my babies sucking milk out of my nipples, but he did make me think about it—all of it—and I came thinking about it. I’m such a pervert.”
Jackie pulls off onto the shoulder and puts the car in park. “You’re just a little bit perverted, and that’s okay. Tell me about the fight.”
“I was screaming and crying—and coming—and Master was holding me tight against his chest while I came. He didn’t let go of me when I finished. He just kept holding me, and I was fighting to get away from him. I started cussing him, calling him every vile thing I could think of, and when I collapsed against him, exhausted, all he had to say was, ‘Feel better?’ Well, of course I didn’t want to talk about it.”
Jackie pats my hand, trying to be a good listener I guess, because she doesn’t say anything and the silence is only making matters worse.
“Please say something.”
“You have no idea how lucky you are. How blessed.”
I hmmph.
“You are a very sensual woman, pregnancy doesn’t change that. I think he was just trying to help you understand your strong reaction to Jako and Panda in the only way he could.”
“I don’t want to understand that it upset me so much because I was turned-on by it!”
She shrugs.
“We have sex all the time, and I think it’s because I’m pregnant. Like he can’t get enough of me. And it’s only because of this.” I point to my stomach. “What’s he going to do when I’m not pregnant anymore? Not want me?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t see that happening.”
“And what about these?” Through the fabric of my shirt, I cup my breasts and bounce them in my hands. They are obviously larger than ever before, making Jackie laugh. “What if he becomes one of those fetishists who wants to share the supply? What if he’s so turned-on by that, he wants me to keep lactating?” As I ask the question I realize just how uncomfortable I’m made by the thought. Actually it disgusts me. “I can’t do that.”
She glances at me, her face a mixture of humor and concern.
I keep thinking about the scene with Jako and Panda, about how upset and horrified she looked when everyone laughed at her public humiliation. I repeat, “I can’t do that. I won’t be a cow for him.”
Jackie nods, but when she says, “I understand,” I bust out laughing. How can she?
I hoot hysterically.
“Maybe we should do a late dinner after we stop by the Primal Birth Center,” she suggests. “Maybe you can find some answers there, talking to a real woman.”
I know she’s hurt and I don’t know how to make that part better. I don’t argue. I just let her pull back into traffic and start driving. I’m still giggling when she pulls into the center’s parking lot. And too soon I am in a small room with Sally Woodward, one of the birthing center’s doulas, and Jackie is outside waiting in the relaxation garden. I’m not sure why it surprises me that Sally has a baby tucked into a cloth sling hung over her neck and shoulder, but it does. It also makes me uncomfortable. I can’t remember the last time I was this close to a baby.
After inviting me to sit and both of us getting settled on low-to-the-ground padded benches, I have to ask, “Is that comfortable?”
She laughs. “For me and the baby. I can get my work done while he sleeps.”
I nod, wishing there was an easy way to start the discussion I want to have, and decide I’m in the wrong place. I should be back at Lewd Larry’s, trying to find a kinky woman who has had a baby, someone who is dealing with the lifestyle and motherhood. I don’t know what possessed me to seek out a vanilla woman.
While I procrastinate the baby wakes up crying. Sally lifts her shirt, pops her breast out of her bra and tucks her nipple into the baby’s mouth so quickly, I’m stunned. I gawk as though I’ve never seen a woman’s bare breast before.
“Does my nursing Liam bother you?”
I shake my head but keep staring awkwardly.
“Does it bother you seeing my breast?”
Looking away, I blush and giggle. “No. I’ve just never seen…”
“Come closer.”
She pats the extra-wide bench she’s sitting on and I join her, looking down at Liam’s mouth latched tight on her nipple. The baby’s mouth is a deep shade of red, he’s sucking so intently.
“God, that has to hurt.”
“Some. At first,” she admits. “But that is what nipples are designed for.”
We both laugh, though admittedly mine still has a ring of nervous hysteria.
“So what brings you to the birthing center today? You said you have a few questions?”
I look away, embarrassed. God, why did I come here?
Sally pats my thigh. “Don’t worry. I’ve heard it all. You can’t shock me.”
I swallow hard, meeting her gaze. “I used to feel that way.”
She tilts her head, obviously curious.
Taking a deep breath, I nervously admit, “My—” I stumble over the word Master and replace it with “boyfriend” but the word falls flat and sounds wrong as I struggle to form a coherent sentence. “Owns Lewd Larry’s nightclub.” I leave out the Fetish Fantasy part of the club’s name.
She blinks.
Does that mean she’s heard of it? Hasn’t heard of it? Oh hell. I skip the part about Jacques and Panda. Waving a dismissive hand, I say, “Not important. Anyway, my boyfriend is really into sex now that I’m pregnant.”
She looks at me as though she’s waiting for the punch line of a joke.
“I mean, he’s really into it.”
“Oh! I see.” She blushes, eyes widening. “First, don’t worry about being the first woman to come to my office with this problem. Not that it’s a problem, unless you are saying no and he isn’t listening?”
I shake my head. “No, no. Nothing like that.”
“I’ve talked to enough women to know that there are two types of men, the ones who don’t want anything to do with their wives until after the baby is born and men who just can’t seem to get enough of their wives while they are pregnant. Not that there isn’t a happy medium somewhere in between the two, it’s just those women don’t complain.”
I frown. Is that what I’m doing, complaining? “I think I’m just confused.”
She nods. “Okay, let’s talk about that part.”
“I feel like I’m bad because when he is so obviously excited, feeling the babies move inside of me, it’s a turn-on for me too.”
“Ah, like feeling sensual while you are nurturing a new life inside of you is taboo?”
“Exactly.”
“I think that as a society we’ve desexualized pregnant women, but just because there is a baby inside of you doesn’t make you any less sensual, and many women do find that they are a lot more horny once they are past that first trimester. I did. I wanted sex constantly while I was pregnant. I wore my poor husband out.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
I am mesmerized by Liam sucking his mother’s nipple, but not in a sexual way, just because he is so intent. It looks like very hard work. His face turns bright red, he passes gas and then sighs, releasing her nipple. I gasp, realizing he did more than let out a belly full of air.
“Does that happen a lot?”
“Often enough.” She de-slings him and lays him out between us, then grabs the near diaper bag. I get my
first up-close-and-personal lesson on changing a baby boy’s diaper. Sally keeps up with the conversation. “It’s hard to not feel sexual when you are pregnant. A woman’s nipples are more sensitive, and just the rub of her cloth bra can make her body react by becoming horny.”
I nod. I hadn’t thought about it because I’m so focused on Garrett’s sudden new pregnancy fetish, but I’m not saying no. I want it as much as he does. And she’s right, even when he isn’t nearby I feel horny a lot of the time.
“Just be thankful your boyfriend is one of those men who gets turned-on by pregnancy and not turned-off.”
I hadn’t thought about that.
“So I shouldn’t be worried that his interest is going to become a crazed fetish and he’s going to want to keep me pregnant all the time?
Sally laughs. “Well, let’s hope that isn’t the case! I think after you give birth you will find he’s just as happy with you regaining your pre-pregnancy shape. Is this helping at all? I feel like you came in pretty desperate, that more was going on than just your boyfriend’s increased libido.”
I blush, admitting, “He freaked me out by saying he wanted me to share the babies’ milk. I couldn’t believe he was even thinking that.”
She lifts the baby to her shoulder and pats its back. Smiling, she says, “Don’t worry. That’s also quite common. I don’t think it necessarily means he really wants to, although it might, but it does seem to be a common theme for women who want to talk to me, so you can be assured he isn’t being abnormal.”
Vanilla women have these conversations with her? I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse. I suddenly don’t feel nearly as kinky as I did when I first sat down with her. Sighing, I relax.
“Do you want to hold him?”
Terrified, I shake my head, standing and backing away. That I’m not ready for.
“Tell me you’ll at least stay for a session? This afternoon our topic is Sensual Labor.”
My eyebrows arch. I’m intrigued. Within minutes Jackie and I are directed to an outdoor “room” that is a paved circular space with a thatched roof. A step-down pit area is lined with pillows, and many of the couples are already seated. Most of the women are reclining against their partners’ chests, making me wish Master were with me.
In this we’re at an impasse. Still. He isn’t open to considering Primal Birth as an option even though Dr. Wang is willing to be a supportive member of a birthing team. No, Master will be happy with no less than a hospital, sterile operating room and, if he has his way, a Cesarean section.
Descending the three steps down into the seating area, I take Jackie’s hand and catch her reassuring smile, but I still feel defeated. Without Master’s support I feel as though I’m wasting my time being here. A group of four women are seated in the upper level, drumming. The rhythm is soothing and seems to float on the warm breeze.
It’s nice here. Calm. Peaceful. So different from the constant supercharged sexual atmosphere of Lewd Larry’s or the heavy mood at the penthouse, made even worse since I’ve refused to consider moving. I don’t know if I would feel differently if Thomas hadn’t left town. Maybe I would. If the three of us were able to go house-hunting together it might be easier to consider suburbia because I’d know that we were moving as a ménage.
But then maybe it wouldn’t be better at all. Who knows.
“Deep thoughts for a woman who’s supposed to be meditating,” Jackie whispers against my ear. I realize suddenly that she’s rubbing my tension-filled shoulders and guess she’s probably been massaging me since we sat down and I just didn’t notice.
“It’s Master. He might not be here in person, but he sure is loitering in my brain.”
She snorts. “You need to start charging that man rent. You’re thinking so hard, you’re wearing me out.”
I smile, chuckling.
Anne, the workshop facilitator, moves to the center of the room and immediately starts swaying rhythmically and chanting. In our seated positions we follow her lead, bending and reaching our arms like branches caught in a gentle breeze as we imitate her basic intoned, “Ohhmm,” repeating it after it fades to nothingness. I close my eyes and the facilitator’s voice becomes a measured comfort to my mind. “Chanting engages all the parts of yourself. As your mind memorizes words and melody, your heart applies a deep, primal emotion borne on the tide of beginnings. Tune out the chaos of your life and open your soul to the deeper wisdoms that our society stupidly left behind. Rise up and embrace your authenticity. Rise up and embrace the sacredness of the journey you have undertaken in the moment you created life.”
As the other couples stand, Jackie helps me up and I lean back into her. We sway together, our chant changing, following the facilitator’s lead. It swells and thickens. Likewise my heart expands and I feel a sweet lifting of spirit, a natural high.
Anne encourages,“I want you to let your mind go on an erotic fantasy. The goal is complete and utter surrender. Coaches, you can assist your partners by massaging their breasts, kissing their necks, even rubbing their genitals.”
My eyes fly open. Jackie and I don’t have that kind of relationship.
Jackie presses her cheek next to mine. “Relax. This isn’t sex, this is massage.”
As her hands run over my breasts, kneading, rolling their softness beneath her strong palms, it sure as hell feels sexual. I close my eyes tight, trying to forget that it’s Jackie touching me.
I’m shocked when Anne tells us, “During your labor, I want you to orgasm often. Use the pleasure your partner can give you to help you ride through each contraction, not only pain-free but joyfully.”
Is it normal for the kinky one in the room to feel completely and utterly vanilla?
Jackie’s hands slide down over my abdomen. Her touch does feel good, relaxing. I can imagine Thomas embracing the idea of orgasming through the pain of labor and I allow my mind to drift, imagining his hands sliding under the curve of my belly, massaging, teasing.
Anne says, “An orgasm is twenty times more relaxing than a tranquilizer.”
My pussy tightens with need as Jackie’s fingers drift lower, teasing my mons through the stretchy yoga pants I’m wearing. My arousal makes me uncomfortable, but as I crack my eyelids open to see how the other couples are reacting to today’s instructions, I see that they are all participating enthusiastically.
“Sexual arousal will expand your vagina as much as two inches, which is why it is so very important for both of you to be comfortable with clitoral and vulva massage during your labor. Some of you may have a doula or midwife present. Now is the time to have a frank discussion with them. Discover their comfort level and decide whether they wish to step from the room to give you privacy during your contractions or if they are willing to stay.”
Jackie’s hand slides between the juncture of my leg, pressing against my labia, and need shoots up my spine. I push back against the pressure, enjoying the pleasure of her touch.
Anne confides, “For several days prior to delivery, I felt like the time was near. Using olive oil, I massaged my perineum every few hours. My husband brought me to orgasm several times each day, and when my contractions started we concentrated on reaching orgasm as the contraction peaked. Yes, there was pain. I won’t say my labor was completely pain-free, but the pain and pleasure blended. It was so erotic. My heart and mind and soul connected with my husband’s in a way that was so powerful. The energy of our sexuality cradled us. My husband admitted that to him the experience was like being high.”
“God, I wish Garrett was here. If he could only hear what the birth could be like—”
“Take a few moments to reground, talk to your partner about how they’re feeling, and in a few moments we’ll start the next exercise.”
I don’t want this activity to end, but as the facilitator eases us back down we slowly retake our seats. I look shyly at Jackie and she laughs.
“Girl, I told you I could be a good coach.”
“So how do I con
vince the hospital staff that I need to orgasm through my contractions?” I smile, still slightly embarrassed, and we both laugh at the image, making jokes about their shocked principles, but it really isn’t funny. “I wish Garrett would just open himself to the idea.”
The facilitator asks suddenly, “Who has done their homework? Who can tell me what endorphins are?”
A dozen hands go up and she takes two answers.
“Endorphins are hormones, the body’s natural painkillers.”
“Endorphins transport you to an alpha state.”
She smiles. “Exactly. Endorphins are responsible when someone reports they had a painless childbirth.”
Smiling faces radiate hope around the room. Of course we all want a pain-free labor and delivery. I feel my own face tightening as I imagine a sterile room, masked doctors and a bloody scalpel. “Oh God.”
Jackie pats my hand, looking concerned, and I force a smile.
The facilitator keeps speaking. “The more endorphins you produce, the better you will feel. You’ll be able to surrender to the experience. Likewise, the baby will enter the world more relaxed, calm, and I know you all want that for your baby.”
Oh I do. I do. I rub my belly, feeling my babies move and roll inside me. I have to figure this out, I have to find a way to get Garrett to understand how important this is to me.
“With memory set smarting like a reopened wound, a man’s past is not simply a dead history, an outworn preparation of the present: it is not a repented error shaken loose from the life: it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing shudders and bitter flavors and the tinglings of a merited shame.”
George Eliot, Middlemarch
Chapter Twelve
Thomas
Standing in the shower with hot water pounding my shoulders and steam rising around me, all I can think about is naked bodies, specifically the arch of Sophia’s back, the curve of her hip; the flat plane of Garrett’s stomach, the veins that stand out on his erect penis. It has been only minutes since I had sex with Abigail, but my body hardly registers the contact. I need—not sex—to be loved on. I close my eyes and feel the ripple of my abs under my soaped hands, imagining Sophia’s touch. I turn my face into the spray, pretending the tears leaking from my eyes are just water runoff. I never imagined being away from her and Garrett would be this hard.
