Sweaty, overweight, ageing body limping through the undesirable heat, wondering what strangers see when they look at me. Do they realise how hard it is to lose weight when you can barely walk, exercise properly? Can they guess how furious my inability to walk properly makes me? Walking used to be my favourite form of exercise: I would happily walk for miles just for the sheer pleasure. Now, just getting up a flight of stairs hurts so much I want to lie down and cry.
I stumble home, strip off my sweaty clothing, wash myself down, pull on dry clothing – as few pieces as possible in this heat, but a shared house mostly full of men means that going nude isn’t an option, assuming I’d even dare expose this body to another person’s gaze.
No one I know ever talks about the hot weather making them hornier, but it happens to me. After a bit, I lock my door, pull off my clothes, grab my vibrator, and lose myself in the indulgence of imagining my body (younger, thinner, fully abled) being teased and satisfied by other bodies. Queer, so I imagine men, women, others, taking pleasure in and being pleasured by my flesh.
I gasp quietly as my excitement peaks and I lie back, muscles limp, sated, sweaty again, but for at least a brief moment (before reality rears its ugly head), happy with my body.
The slide of skin against skin as strong fingers thrust and twist. The rasp of tongue over stubble, then quietly muffled laughter as I discover of that the reality isn’t quite as enjoyable as my imagination had led me to believe. The murmur of a deeper voice, appreciative of my touches on his body. Smaller fingers stroke over my back and shoulders, unknotting tense muscles, before her gentle lips follow the fingertip touches, stirring my passions again. Little nipping kisses from back of knee to inside of thigh, and a satisfied sigh escapes me as that mouth finds my centre. A male body at my back, strong arms holding me steady as I begin to writhe in pleasure, and my awareness of hardness pressing against my softness. After my arousal reaches its peak, we change places on the bed and the slide of hard flesh against soft heat elicits moans of satisfaction. Kisses and touches are traded as body moves against body faster and harder until pleasure spills over us all.
Michèle Fry is a bisexual, genderqueer, disabled, introverted woman
about to enter her fifth decade. Although she has been writing fiction
for eleven years, she’s only begun to pursue publication recently. She’s a fan of a
wide variety of genres of storytelling, but will admit to loving SF&F
best. Born and raised in England, she’s been talking about the
vagaries of British weather for too many years. Twitter: @Public_Pers
She reviews books at her website: https://themondayreview.wordpress.com
Image: Le ruissellement du dos du sportif by chris couderc (Creative Commons)