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It stings a bit and my back pucker clenches, but it’s exactly the edge I need to take my mind off life right now. Once I’m sitting with the toy fully buried in my bottom, I grab my vibrator and press it to my clit again.
“Oh!”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I don’t think. I just let my body drive and start pumping my legs, moving my body up and down, fucking my bottom with the stiff shaft. My skin is on fire, and everything is tingling. I rotate the vibrator against my clit as I cram the toy in harder and faster inside until my thighs are shaking and climax is rolling over me, crashing like a tidal wave.
I open my eyes when I hear the woman shout. Her body is convulsing as orgasm hits, and mine reaches a new peak.
“Oh god! Yes!” I cry, pumping my hips faster. The pulsing intensifies as my climax soars, making my whole body spasm. I rock violently, big breasts bouncing while the waves ripple and then crest to a shocking new peak.
“Unnnnh!” I scream. “Oh God, yes!”
White lights burst before my eyes and I let out another long, piercing scream as my entire body shudders. Then my vision goes black and I collapse onto the mattress, panting and heaving with satiation. Oh god, I’m sweaty and my curls are sticking to my forehead. But I’m finally calm and worn out enough I might be able to get some sleep. Thank goodness for the blessings of the internet.
With that, I shut off my phone, and safely tuck everything away before lying down. Then my eyes drift shut, and as the warm waves carry me away, I vaguely hope that tomorrow will somehow be better than today.
3
Mimi
“Ugh,” I groan as the sunlight filters in through the windows in my apartment. Nothing like a bright sunshiny day when I’m depressed and don’t have anything to do. Sitting up in bed, I rub my hands over my face and look around my apartment. “How am I going to fill up all these hours if I don’t have a job?”
Since there’s no one here to respond, I force myself out of bed and put my robe on. Then I walk over to my small kitchen, make a coffee in my Keurig, and toast a bagel with cream cheese. Once it’s done, I carry my little breakfast with me and sit on the couch in my robe.
While I nibble on my bagel, I start scrolling through social media on my phone, but seeing posts about people complaining about having to go to work quickly sends me further into a depressing spiral, and I toss my phone to the other end of the couch. Lifting my knees into a ball, I bury my face in my hands.
“This is what it feels like to be unemployed, I guess,” is my moan. “I’m all alone and a loser.”
The silence and lack of response doesn’t do my mood any favors. It’s just another reminder that without a profession, I don’t really have much of a life. I can’t remember the last time I dated anyone whom I really cared about. I have Jemima, and she’s a great friend, but she’s married with a baby now, and I don’t want to drag her down with my self-loathing. My buddy doesn’t have time for that.
Forcing myself to my feet, I grab my phone from the other end of the couch. “I’ve got to get out of this house,” I tell myself. “But what is there to do? Go for a run?”
The thought makes me shudder because I hate running with a passion. Why people would subject themselves to the sheer torture of pounding pavement is beyond me. But then an idea strikes. On occasion, I take art lessons at the OnDemand Art Studio, and I still have some credit left on my membership with them. I pull up their website to see if they have any classes open this afternoon. This could be fun, and it presents a way to get out of my house. Plus, maybe under the guidance of an instructor, I’ll actually be able to create something more than the blank canvas still sitting on the easel in the corner of my apartment.
Ah ha! They have a figure-painting class with some open slots in a couple hours, so I put down my name and head to the shower to try to pull myself together. I don’t want to look like I was crying for hours last night.
By the time I’m dressed with my hair semi-done and a light coat of make-up, I pack my art supplies into a back pack and it’s time to go. I make it to the school with only a few minutes to spare before the figure painting class is scheduled to begin. There are three models at the front of the class wrapped in large silk robes, and I recognize the teacher talking with them on the dais. Her name is Ms. Weathers, and she is a bit of a character, which is why she’s always been my favorite art teacher at OnDemand. Of course, I love them all, but Hiney Weathers really takes the cake.
