The first trimester, I had a near-constant queasiness that made wanting to masturbate a rare occurrence. Then, by the time I was feeling up to it again, Barry had moved in, so the only good times to myself were: one, when he showered (too quickly, by the way—hasn’t he ever heard of spending time chilling in the hot water?); two, when he was at practice (usually coincided with my post-work nap); or three, when he was traveling for away games. The last option was best because then at least I could be sure I’d have the house to myself, no interruptions.
He didn’t have a road trip again until tomorrow, but he did have a team dinner he was expected at, and I was desperate, so I foolishly believed a nice session with my vibrator would go uninterrupted. I thought he would be gone for hours yet, so I didn’t bother closing the bedroom door, only put some headphones on to listen to the audio erotica app Josie got me a subscription to for my birthday and got to work. The audios turned me on sometimes, but usually only when I imagined Barry was the disembodied voice on the other side, which wasproblematic for my attempts to not be thinking about him likethat.
This was well and good, but my ideal orgasm position was flat on my back, and you’re not supposed to lay flat on your back when you’re as pregnant as I was, so I had to be reclined on pillows, including the big pregnancy one. And then there was the fact that reaching around my large belly was a little harder than it used to be—nothing about getting off alone was proving to be easy—and every time was more frustrating than the last, but I just kept gettinghornier. The cycle was driving me insane.
Google said it was all the blood flow down there. Sure. Whatever it was, I was eleven minutes into attempting to find my bliss with no progress when I saw movement at my bedroom door and yelped.
My first thought was, reasonably,intruder, and my second thought wasself-defense. At no point did I thinkroommate, or, I don’t know,Barry. Somehow this combination led me to throwing my vibrator as hard as I could in the direction of the door, where it landed against the chest of the intruder.
The intruder, I now saw, was indeed Barry. He grunted at the impact of the vibrator, and I scrambled up the bed, pulling a blanket across my naked legs and taking my headphones off.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, panting.
The vibrator was still on, buzzing against the floor, and I covered my eyes with my palm like if I closed my eyes this mortifying ordeal might not actually be happening. When I peered through my fingers, it, in fact, was still happening.
Barry stood in the doorway, looking with shock down at the still vibrating toy.
“Go!” I said, anguished.
“Right, fuck, I’m sorry,” he started in the direction of the baby’s room, then spun on his heel to go to the living room. After ten seconds of wincing and inwardly groaning, I pulled a pair of shorts on and grabbed the vibrator, silencingit finally. I tossed it into my drawer where I anticipated it would stay for the next six months because I’d probably be too mortified to ever attempt to masturbate again during this pregnancy, and then it would probably be months before I was allowed to after birth. Right? I needed to research more about post-birth vaginal health.
I debated closing the door and staying in my room until he went to sleep, but that was many hours from now and I was already a little peckish. No way would I be able to go that long without peeing, either. The tiny girl I was growing loved kicking or punching my bladder, it was her new favorite in-womb trick.
“Hannah?” Barry called tentatively from the living room. I knocked my fist on my forehead ten times, silently chantingwhy, why, why, why.
“Please forget it,” I said.
The floorboards in the hallway creaked and I exhaled deeply, waiting for him to appear in my doorway again. A moment later, he did.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“You have no idea how little I want to talk about it.” I met his gaze, hoping to convey how serious I was. A silent moment passed before I groaned and, against all odds, started laughing. Barry did too, his hand bracing him on the doorframe, and I lay back down on the bed while we laughed at the sheer humiliation and awkwardness of the situation.
“What were you listening to that you didn’t hear me yell when I came home?” Barry asked, both of us still laughing, but calming down marginally.
“Just like a dude moaning,” I admitted, setting off a new bout of giggles. “Please, I am begging you to just bleach the horrible image of me trying to get off while seven months pregnant out of your mind.”
Barry sat on the edge of my bed, his weight making me sink a little closer to him until my shin was touching his thigh. I thought it would be weirder to pull away from the contact so I stayed unmoving.
“It was not a horrible image,” Barry said.
I made a high-pitched sound and covered my face with both hands.
“Barry.”
“What? Come on.” He pulled one of my hands away from my face so I would look at him. I complied, but I was sure I was fire-truck red. “I’m not saying I saw anything in the split second before you threw your vibrator at me, but if Ihadseen something, it would have been, surely, very hot.”
I turned my head so my face was pressed against the blanket and groaned again. He laughed and grabbed my calf, shaking it lightly.
“I’m serious! It’s a compliment, you’re beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled into the mattress, then turned to him again. His closed-lip smile pressing into his cheeks made me feel better. When did he become such a source of comfort for me? Someone so steady? “That’s nice of you to say.”
He shook my leg harder, making me laugh again.
“Are you calling me a liar, Harvey? You think I’d lie about the very serious topic of how sexy you are?”
I gasped and lightly kicked him.
