Russian Doll
"My husband had an affair."
She's never had sex with a woman before. She's wanted to, but she's been married for so long, and believes that her days belong to her family and routine. That she won't feel a new body against hers again. She is eleven years older than me, she works in PR. She is a mother and a wife and she is achingly beautiful.
"He had an affair and I thought it was the end for us. But it actually meant we were able to talk about things for the first time, talk about the things we wanted and the things we needed. It's why I'm here now, it was his idea."
She has very long black hair. She looks effortlessly graceful, and I wonder how much time that effortless grace takes in the morning.
"My husband cheating on me was the best thing to happen to our marriage."
She's older than me, but I feel protective of her, she's vulnerable with the risk she’s taking. She speaks so confidently but I can see she's nervous and hopeful all at once. Later when I kiss her, her eyes brim with eager expectancy. It makes her look so young. I am taller than her, assertive, a decisiveness that she responds to with animation. Her body is compact yet giving against mine, more angular and masculine.
We met at a party of my friends. An everyone-here-is-probably-going-to-be-fucking-tonight party. Wide loft, low lighting, high tension. The guests were invited based on this shared understanding, mostly women, all queer, united in an aim to treat bodies with the shared worship they invoke. This common understanding produces a unique atmosphere at once calm and a certain kind of tension.
Everyone is talking freely, but inside each conversation, like a Russian doll, is the question, ‘Do you want to fuck me?’
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