Thrashing around at my cruel touch, she arches her back as if in pain, and as the sound of flowing water rings in my ears the same as the sound of the wind chimes rattling behind her ribcage, the nature of her muffled cries tells me it’s almost time. Her moans are subdued, partly due to her befuddled state, and partly because of my left hand covering her mouth. She tries biting it away, but I bite her just the same, and with one last pinch of her soft spot, she thrashes and groans beneath me as if suffering some kind of grand mal seizure.
“Give it to me, Meeko,” I beg, but I needn’t bother saying another word, as just like that she parts her legs and squirts a stream of liquid that showers the entire bed. The mattress is drenched right through, but before I have a chance to ponder the consequences, that thing called time seems to stutter, and the bubble we exist in is as ageless as it is wet.
“Kami! Kami! Kami!” she manages to splutter.
“Sweet, sweet girl,” I sigh in reply while bringing my hand up from her clit to her belly button before absentmindedly fingering the small hole as if it were worth exploring more.
“Kami…” she says again, and then falls silent out of exhaustion.
As she dozes, the waters of her womb dance before us, and in the countless beads of liquid, I see images of God and water nymphs and the pets from my childhood that have been dead longer than I’ve been alive. Together, for just a few seconds, they celebrate not only life but her body, and as their images shimmer and shine in each liquid sphere that carries in the breeze coming through the window, the line between what’s real and what’s not is as exactly as I wish it to be.