I also think:this should not be happening this fast.
I lie with that.
I think:I do not care how fast it is happening.
I lie with that longer.
I put the hand back between my legs.
This time I do it with my eyes open.
I look at the armchair.
I touch myself again, slower. I am not trying to come. I am trying to keep the feeling in me moving. I run two fingers down the length of my slit. I lift them wet, and I run them along the inside of my thigh, and I put them back. I take my time. I picture her walking in the door right now. I picture the look on her face when she sees me like this.
I hear the truck.
---
I do not stop.
It is the first clean choice I have made in a decade. I hear the truck come up the drive and I do not move my hand. I hear the truck cough and shut off. I do not move. I hear a door open and close, hear boots on gravel, hear boots on the porch, hear the front door open. My breath is faster. My hand is moving faster. Heat is high up in my throat. I picture her coming down the hall.I do not know that I am still picturing her, because now she is actually coming, actually down the hall, actually at the door.
The door is still the hand's width open where she left it.
She stops in the doorway.
I see her without moving my head. I have my face turned toward the door. My hand is between my legs. The quilt is across one knee. One breast is bare. The other is half-covered. My mouth is open.
Her eyes find me.
I watch her find me. I watch her register the bed, the angle, the hand, the mouth. I watch her process it the way she processes a room, top to bottom, the way she would size up a hallway. She does not look surprised. She does not look away. She stands in the doorway with her jacket on and her boots on and her hair still wet from being outside, and she looks at me, and her jaw moves once.
I stop.
It's automatic. My hand stops. My breath is loud in the room.
"Hi," she says.
Her voice is low. A little rough. I have heard this voice once before, this morning, in the chair.
"Hi."
"Don't stop on my account."
My breath catches.
"Okay."
"I want to watch you."
"Okay."
"If that's all right?”
"It's all right."
"Say it again."
