She was several days late. She was starting to get alarmed and stressed. Emotions filled her body. Her breasts were plump. All the signs that something was off. I felt like the first time I was a man trying to navigate the treacherous waters of a woman’s emotions. She didn’t know why she couldn’t stop crying. Why things seemed much harder than they had to be.
Perhaps there could be a shift. Maybe I was putting too much pressure on her. I wanted to see her as a woman, as an equal, but the fact of the matter was she was still 22 years old. Still trying to find her voice. Trying to figure out who she was.
Perhaps I could take the pressure off her. And take the pressure off myself. Offer empathy. The moment I surrendered to this was the moment she finally decided Miriam wanted to be fucked. Sex was medicine, administered like a ceremony between us. I instructed her to bend over the bed with her arms spread out. I started to massage her sides, making her moan from her depths as I carved into her back. I pulled her hair by wrapping her ponytail around my fist with one hand while my fingers caressed her throat. I pulled her head back, noticing Miriam’s eyes were closed in ecstasy. She began to moan.