I woke up at 8.30 on Saturday morning. Even with only four hours sleep, I still felt good. Last night had been great, just what I needed to take my mind of things. I could still feel the pounding energy of the dance music, and I could still smell the vodka, the dry ice, and James’ cologne. I had danced with James, a lot.
Then I stretched, and the tangy aroma from my armpits hit me. I had sweated a lot, and I needed a shower.
But as I sat up, I realised something else. Last evening’s brief adventure with the dildo, while being fun, hadn’t really done the job. Either that, or a new course of desire had begun as I danced with James and he stared at my breasts. Whatever the case, my vagina now lay between my legs like a huge exotic flower, demanding special care and attention. Every move I made, I could feel it tremble.
I placed my hand down there, moved a finger in amongst the hair, and found myself wet and slippery, like melting jelly.
I knew exactly how I wanted this situation to end, and so I got up and put some music on, Portishead’s first album, loud enough so my neighbour would not hear me in the final phases.
But the question was, how to begin?
I put an experimental finger on my clitoris, and found after a couple of gentle passes beside it that I was probably only a few minutes away from having the first in a string of light, lovely orgasms. I could get my small vibrator and settle back for a half- hour or so. Why not?
But then I toyed with my labia for a few seconds and they broke open with eagerness, leading me inside. With two fingers I played gently with the opening, and immediately felt a dark hunger welling up in the back of my vagina, and also, in my breasts. This wasn’t a clitoris type of a day, after all. I wanted to be taken care of in a different way.
So I walked to the dresser and got out a large vibrator, big enough to fill me nicely, and I eased it inside on a medium setting, putting my pants back on as a way to keep it in place.
Then I got some massage oil for my breasts, and I lay down and made love to them, thinking about how they had been the centre of attention the previous evening.
I placed my fingers underneath them and gently smoothed them upwards, teasing my nipples on every second or third pass, but never pushing downward, and never moving them in a circle. I removed the pressure after each stroke was completed, and returned my fingers to the place just below each breast, to start the upward motion again. I built up the pace slowly as the minutes ticked by and the vibrator slowly built up a huge pre-orgasmic glow in my pussy. This was going to be a big orgasm. Like, “visible from space” type big.
The Portishead album was about two thirds over when the phone rang, on my bedside table. I still hadn’t come yet.
I saw a long number on the screen, maybe international, and panicked. Was it about the fellowship?
It took me almost a minute to get myself together, switch everything off and pick up.
‘Is this Joanne Marsh?’ The voice was American, and older man, slightly reserved.
‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘Hi. My name’s Davis Malone, from the New York Design School. I just wanted to let you know that we made our decision earlier today. I know it’s a Saturday over there but I thought you would want to know.’
Oh My God. It was about the fellowship.
‘Yes?’ I said excitedly.
‘We’d love you to come over to New York and work with us, Miss Marsh. Your portfolio was great and you were strong in the interview. You will get an official call on Monday but I figured you’d want to know. Congratulations.’
I thanked him profusely, not a thing I normally do, but he told me that I was the strongest applicant by far and that I’d be very welcome in New York. We talked for a while about how long it would take me to move over, and he said they wanted me there as soon as possible.
Then, the call ended. I cued up Portishead’s other album and then I lay down again and kept going. But I couldn’t finish. I was too excited. And also, still a bit worried about what had happened last night.