Libido: Fiction: C is for...
FICTION
Friday Night Bedtime Story, October 6. Print me out... take me to bed!
C Is for Closet, Crevice and Colossus
from The Ecstatic Moment,
edited by Marianna Beck and Jack Hafferkamp

By Johanna Baird

Amicule, deliciae, num is sum qui mentiar tibi?*

Yesterday, I had lunch with a man who confessed that he liked to lay on the floor beneath a woman while she dresses.

"Yes, of course I know, it’s utterly puerile," he said, quickly, "but the excitment it induces in me is nearly indescribable." I found this statement quite disconcerting. After all, I didn’t know him that well and I was put-off that he’d casually drop a line like that and not expect me to stomp out or hurl some shriveling feminist invective at him. In these cases, you either choke on your food or you keep moving, so I said, "Really? Why’s that?"

He actually blushed. I didn’t think Republicans blushed. And that brought up another, more pertinent and irritating issue. What was I doing out to lunch with a Republican?

I remembered. Now that he was no longer in politics, my acquaintance -- he certainly wasn’t more than that -- had gone into international consulting and hired me for one of his Washington-based projects.

"Sure, there’s more to it, but why would you care to know?" he asked"

"I’m big on original sources," I said, trying to sound as flip as possible.

"Well, I suppose, more than anything, it had to do with my favorite German grandmother, Lili. She’s the one who slept with her head at the foot of the bed," he began. "She’d started sleeping like that because her husband had nightmares. My grandfather would wake violently and flail his arms, and twice had inadvertantly broken her nose. Not one to move to another bed, Lili decided to sleep with her feet next to his head."

So maybe this explained how he’d gained a reputation for often bizarre, sometimes topsy-turvy management style. Still, it didn’t explain how he acquired the predilections of an eight-year-old boy.

"After my grandfather died, Lili moved in with my parents and me and I ended up sharing my room with her. There were twin beds, and she slept with her head at the foot of the bed just like she always had. With my room crammed full of a lot of her junk, I retreated to the floor of my closet to play."

Oh, here it comes. The closet. I should have known. He probably likes to wear garter belts under his Brooks Brothers suits.

"For hours, I lay beneath a full rack of voluminous house dresses, infused with the smell of rosewater, liniment and the rancidy odor of her clothes, and played with my toys."

"One afternoon, I was in the closet carefully constructing a battle zone with her shoes when she opened the door and rummaged for a hanger. She stepped right over me, naked except for her brassiere, and provided me with a direct shot of her furry cleft. I froze. Up until then, I’d only heard about these things. My mother had once referred to a woman’s schmuck kästchen -- little jewel box -- in relation to some neighbor who was pregnant. So I naturally thought that females possessed something with a lid which they regularly flipped open to have children.

"What I saw was decidedly much different, something considerably more alive, forbidden, mysterious -- something I wanted to touch. I wanted to know what those puffy banks of hair felt like and where that thin dark crevice disappeared to between her legs. Although I spent everyday in that closet for about six months hoping to catch another glimpse, I only saw Lili’s furry patch maybe a half dozen times. She never seemed to notice me and I never got caught. Then, we moved to a bigger place and I got my own room again."

He paused for a moment. He’d answered my question, but I admit I wanted to hear more. His answer had seemed honest to me, if not a little touching and it all seemed rather innocent.

"So that explains it all?" I finally said. "I mean, this is why you like to -- " I suddenly realized I was asking for more details about a subject I hadn’t initially wished to touch with a barge pole. I felt like crawling under the table from embarrassment. But, clearly, he needed little encouragment.

"I don’t know that it explains anything other than it provided an impetus for more. Of course it all had to do with those early feelings of seeing something I wasn’t supposed to, the fear of getting caught, eyeing the forbidden -- all rolled into one thrilling, tidy package. The fact is, I never consciously incoporated any of this into my fantasy life until my first lover, who was a philosophy major, read Nietzsche to me while kneeling over my face and wearing no underwear. I remember gazing at her lips just inches from mine, close enough so that I could see through the tufts of her red-tinged bush, and observe the changes in color of her lips -- from dark brown at the edges to that lighter, pinkier hue they take on when excitement causes them to part all on their own. It was intoxicating, like the aroma of sycamore trees in full bloom or that tingle you get when you walk into a warm Chinese restaurant and a delicate sweet and sour piquancy finds its way to your nose and makes your eyes water."

He stopped to take a breath and I ceased eating.

"I admit there haven’t been that many women, including both my former and current wife, who’ve indulged me in this capacity. I don’t exactly understand this because, after all, it seems fairly innocuous. Anyway, I’ve experienced the whole gamut -- from one woman who wanted to turn me into the police -- this after we’d been sleeping together for four months! -- to another who threw a drink in my face and called me a pervert.

But then there was Jan who took it to a whole other level. Jan was working on her doctorate in Mycenaean anthropology and was studying up on this whole woman as earth goddess schtick long before it got to be a trendy Book of-the-Month-Club topic. While she wasn’t exactly what I’d call a lesbian, men to her were basically carbon-based life forms with a dildo attachment. Her line, I might add.

One night, stretched out on the floor with a glass of wine at her place, I asked her if she would stand over me while she dressed. She had just gotten out of the shower and was toweling her hair dry and the look that came over her made my Boy Scout compass point magnetic north.

Nice touch, I thought. At least he’s being subtle when it comes to body parts.

"‘Sure, I will,’ said she, licking her fingers and sliding them between her legs. But you keep your pants on and I’ll just pretend you’re not here. She walked over and stood directly over me, and I felt I was looking up at the Colossus of Rhodes. Jan was taller than me, probably six one or two and her legs seemed to go on forever. Her tiny pointed breasts seemed to be somewhere in the stratosphere. While her fingers danced a slow rhythm in her pubic hair, she talked to herself. Probably won’t get laid tonight better get myself off now loves to finger me but haven’t seen his, nice feelssogood I think I’ll wear no underwear tonight see if he notices he probably won’t likes to discuss finance a lot. She talked like that and it made me crazy. Still standing over me, she bent her knees slightly and began to rotate her three middle fingers in a furious circular motion. I swear I had never seen a woman masturbate before. he likes this I think wonder what he sees if my cunt is bigger to him swollenred can he see inside I’ll put a finger in and show him Jan slid a finger inside herself and for the first time I noted how red her pudenda was, as she called it when she was being coy. Fra Filippo Lippi opened and bowed in a wet oooooo and then stretched back into a vermillion slit as she spun her fingers at an increasingly furious pace. Every now and then I caught a whiff of her sex and it was all I could do to keep myself from pulling her down and washing my face in all that warm musky dampness. But I decided to play by her rules for as long as I could stand it. As it was, she fell to her knees over my face at that moment and made this preternatural noise that emanated, I thought, from somewhere deep between her legs.

‘O.K. now, baby banker, lick me dry as if you were a mama cat.’ She lowered herself over my face until I was barely able to breathe, let alone get my tongue out of my mouth. I slid around and for the first time felt her pleasure button with my tongue -- the size of a big spring pea I might add -- from underneath. I stroked and played with it because that’s all I could do given that she had me locked in her favorite Mycenaean goddess submission hold and I was trying to make the best of it. If she wanted me to dry her, whatever I was doing wasn’t working because everything was feeling considerably wetter. But it didn’t seem to matter. Whatever I did manage to do made her whole pelvis grind into my face so that I could feel her labia in all their slipperiness wash my nose like two little tongues. She pulled away slightly, let me breathe for a bit and then used my chin to get herself off again. Finally, she stopped, sat back on my chest, and gave me a look that indicated she was extremely pleased with herself. If you can believe it, she actually reached back to feel if I was hard. Apparently, I needed only the slightest touch because when she pressed me there I was screamingly erect, and I did what I hadn’t done since high school which was to come inside my pants.

Hard to believe, isn’t it?"

"No!" I said, more vehemently that I’d wanted to, stunned that I’d answered at all.

"Well, that was Jan for you." He stopped talking. What else could he say? For that matter, what else could I say? We weren’t exactly going to start discussing profit margins. He sensed my embarrassment and said, "Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you an unwitting voyeur but I guess I have. Let’s skip the business stuff and meet up again tomorrow. Same time, same place?"

Without waiting for my answer, he stood up from his chair, paid the waiter and left. I finally made a motion to leave some ten minutes later, but only after I’d made sure no one saw me flip the cushion over that I’d been sitting on.

* Baby, sweetheart, would I lie to you?