He doesn’t pretend, doesn’t sayfor what. “That was just the beginning, Jo.”
Oh my. Just the beginning?
Ifthatwas just the beginning…I’m going to really, really enjoy this.
I tumble toward sleep, and yet, even as I do, my mind is occupied with one thing. Not with what it feels like to have an orgasm. Or to be touched. Though, those are the next most important thoughts.
No, what occupies my mind and imagination, as I slip into dreams and slumber, is the realization that what I want now, is him.
What I want next, what I want to explore, is to be the toucher. To explore him. To know what makes him gasp. Groan. Move. Lose his mind. What it will feel like to make him feel the way I just felt. Will he shout my name?
I’m not afraid. Not anymore.
That was shattered into nothing when he made me orgasm.
Now, all that’s left is desire. Greed for the next thing. Another experience. Another first. More. More. More.
There’s a gaping chasm in me, now. It feels like he’s awoken some beast within me.
* * *
I wakeup the next day in pain.
No, no, no. I deny it. Grit my teeth and pretend I’m still asleep, as I hear Wes beside me, breathing deeply and slowly.
I’m not ready for a bad day.
I want more of yesterday. Laughing, happy, feeling good—exploring Wes and my body and my desires and what it feels like to be looked at with hunger and touched with greed.
Nausea sets in with demonic venom. Bones ache. My very soul hurts.
I grit my teeth against the pain, but a groan escapes.
Wes stirs.
No, please God, no. I don’t want him to see me like this.
It was inevitable, I know, but I had hoped for at least a little longer of feeling good.
I try to breathe through the intense sharp ache in my joints and hip bones and breastbone, a pain so acute it causes nausea.
My skin hurts, swollen and tender to the touch where the joints beneath ache.
Wes rolls over to face me, accidentally bumping me with his elbow, causing me to cry out. He immediately bolts upright.
“Jo? What’s wrong? Did I hit you?” He’s awash with concern, worry.
I try to smile, to be reassuring. “You just bumped me. No big deal.” My teeth are clenched, however.
He frowns. “Jolene…”
I close my eyes, irrationally embarrassed by this thing I have no control over. “Bad day, is all.”
“What can I do?”
I shake my head—or that’s the intent; it ends up more of a floppy roll of my head side to side. Like Westley after Miracle Max brings him back from being Mostly Dead. “Just…try to not bump me or jostle me too much.”
“Is there…” A pause. “Is there any, like, medicine?”
