The Scheherazade Project's theme for this week:
I guess s/he was just born that way.
This is my first entry in the Scheherazade Project - a prompted writing exercise. As you can see, fiction is not my forte. But I liked the button offered, so thought I'd write something anyway.
Falling into that place between awake and asleep, that place that is neither equally, Serena’s thoughts floated around the room. Her partner’s soft breathing nudged the images along and her baby periodically shifted his position inside.
Grocery list grew.
Milk. Cereal. Rice.
Wedding. That wedding. What will I wear?
Fairy wings. Princess crown. Ruby slippers.
Her baby kick-kicks; it’s getting tight in there. Serena’s hand instinctively goes to her belly and pulls it in towards her heart. It won’t be long.
It won’t be long.
Slipping under consciousness, she slept, her baby loving her muchly.
Touching herself, Serena feels her swollen wetness. Years of checking her fertility hasn’t subsided even in pregnancy. She smiles remembering she is fertile. Very much so.
Rolling over towards Layla, she slips her hand over her soft butt – it feels so much like her own belly did a few months ago. An mmmm keeps Serena close, her hand sliding downwards towards Layla’s own wet. Tongues, moans, nipples, colostrum, fingers and orgasms awaken the women much as a slow sunrise brings the earth to alertness.
Making love in the morning, before the cloistered baby awakens, remains a pleasure the women relish and try to keep going because all their mother-friends tell them it will all end pretty soon. Experiencing newborn hollers while visiting others impresses the issue into their memories and they think about that every single day.
“You are so beautiful,” Layla says while massaging her freshly orgasmed lover’s belly.
“Me? or the baby.”
Her sultry reply: Both of you.
“I think today might be the day.”
“I’ve been in a funny place of dreams all night. Some were really weird.”
“Well, in one, I was driving a cucumber…”
Laughing, “… yeah, well, it was a dream, I didn’t think, ‘Let’s have a phallic driving experience’ – it was just there. Anyway, I was in this cucumber and it was a really highly-prized one, too, because everyone was out on the street waving at me.”
“Cool,” Layla whispers as she absently pulls Serena's damp pubic hair, combing it with her fingers.
“Then I was sitting in the back of it, like a Cinderella waving to the crowds. Doing that silly queen wave all those beauty pageant women do.”
Both women demonstrated the wave, fingers closed, hand semi-cupped, turning the wrist side to side. They laughed at the knowledge of such a silly fact.
“The ride stopped and I was sitting on the curb. Everyone was gone, but the baby was sitting next to me.”
“Yeah! It was a boy, too. Weird, huh? Maybe that was the cucumber connection.”
“What was the baby doing?”
“He was still goopy from the birth. And had gills. I was baffled how he got from my belly to the curb, but he sat there, pretty as you please, inhaling through his gills. I thought, ‘Well, I guess he was just born that way’ and I breathed a sigh of relief that all that worrying about labor was for nothing.”
Both women laughed.
“If only it were that easy,” they both said in unison.
“Who knows, maybe it will be.”
“No gills, though, eh… I’d be weirded out.”
Touching her contracting belly, Serena chuckled and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”