The Storm Before Her.

Ephialtes

"Pillows make fast friends."

As a matter of fact, pillows are every man's best friend. The certain knot of peace, the baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe. It is the poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release. The indifferent judge between the high and low, with a shield of proof to shield me from out the prease. Of those fierce darts, despair at me doth throw; except Sir Phillip Sydney was wrong about me.

Sleep must be the worst thing that could ever happen to me. I close my eyes and all I see is wolves, serpents, cages and a distant rainbow, perhaps from the moonlight that penetrates the windows of my room. I wake up almost immediately, drenched in sweat right under the ceiling fan. What could he be doing at this time? Is he home?

It's been almost three years and there have been highs and lows, more lows, perhaps. I get off the bed to check on my mother, whose soft snores can be heard faintly. It's only three o'clock in the morning and my heart feels heavy. Something is wrong.

I have never been an overthinker. Maybe I was, maybe not but it wasn't so bad. As a matter of fact it, it wasn't bad at all. I double check on my mother and it does not look like she is going to be awake anytime soon. I pick up my phone and the first thing I want to do is call him, but I can't.

Fear.

My greatest demon. The thoughts of rejection runs through my mind, like a river of strong water, flowing with a bind. It makes me feel useless, it makes me feel crammed. I dial the number and end it at the first ring.

'Let's assume he is asleep', my mind tells me.

I pick up my vibrator from my bag and sneak into the living room. It's only reasonable to practice onanism in private but believe me, the living room is the most private place you could ever be in this house. It is where no one can walk in on you without you noticing first. The bulbs are dead, the fans do not work, and no one seems to care as we all find our solace being caged in our respective bedrooms; my mom and I in mine, my brothers' in my dad's and my dad? Gone with the wind.

The darkness envelopes me as I sit on the couch, in the stillness of another night without him calling nor texting me. My body aches with an intimate yearning, and even the thought of his body on mine leaves me feeling unfulfilled. Restless, I turn on my vibrator and the buzzing sound already sends a chill down my spine, igniting a spark within me. I close my eyes and capitulate to the embrace of the couch. As I recall every touch, my reminiscing envelopes me like a plush velvet blanket, a sudden rush of intense desire pulsing through my veins. I try so hard to not so much as moan out loud, so I shove my own braids into my mouth and bite on them, tuning down whatever sound that may erupt from this good sin. My heart begins to beat faster as I brace myself for the rippling orgasm that comes from rubbing firm on my clitoris and pushing the vibrator in and out of me.

As a person who loves exhibitionism, I contemplate video calling him to witness what devilish effects he has on me even though he may be in another woman's room, causing her to feel things that I thought was solely my desire and privilege. I imagine him speaking to me, his voice carrying an undeniable allure, captivating me with its intoxicating cadence in a way no text or call or writing can. The temperature of the room seems to rise, the air thickening with my lustful desires as I push the vibrator further into my body. In the darkness of the living room, my imagination of him becomes a beacon, guiding me towards a realm where pleasure knows no bounds. As the sounds of my wetness erupts faintly as I thrust harder and faster, I come to understand that this, what I feel is not just love, but an obsession; an alchemical elixir that transforms a simple feeling of pleasure into a sensual syphony that resonates deeply within me.

Oh God, I'm gonna cum.

I surrender completely in the moment, lost in the ethereal realm, where the boundaries of reality dissolves and I capitulate to the fantasy of him really being on my body, whispering words of love like a spell and casting a hypnotic enchantment over me, the slow burn of our gazes locking, the magnetic pull drawing me closer and the feverish melding of our lips in a passionate dance upon my couch.

My fingers reach out and tug the hem of my blouse, causing it to ride up and revealing my ample, luscious breasts and gold-pierced nipples. The thought of my mother walking in on me in this position scares me but at the same time, fuels the reckless abandon and blurs the lines of morality- except morality is not what I am thinking about now.

The atmosphere in the living room thickens with a dangerous allure. My breath is caught in my throat, my mind racing with thoughts of his cock straining against his pants. I imagine him eagerly taking hold of my exposed breasts, his lips hungrily trailing down to suck on my hardened, pierced peaks. The sound of my moans sound muffled due to my own hair in my mouth and the tears trickle down the sides of my face. My legs begin to quiver and I know just a few more thrusts, and I will touch the sky.

I spit out the hair from my mouth and moan his name so faintly.

'Oh my gosh...', I try so hard not to scream and-

"Well done. It is in my hall you choose to exhibit your pornographic traits.", my mom's voice breaks the silence I thought I was enveloped in.

I am a finished woman.