Claire's Belly

"But you didn't."

"No. I never did."

"Why not?"

"The first time, I thought I was going to piss myself. Between worrying about that and trying to hold it in, I lost it."

"Were you by yourself?"

"No. In fact, that's why. He was... you know... hitting it at a funny angle. You know?"

Yes, girl. I think I know.

I didn't dare contemplate who the partner was.

"And you worried about pissing on him," I said.

"I did," she said, rueful. "But I think the thought of it would have grossed me out even if I'd been by myself."

"How many other times?"

"Just once. I was by myself. I don't know what did it. It was partly the pissing thing, and partly that I couldn't figure out what started it, so I couldn't keep it going."

I contemplated asking her: did you steal my blanket so you could try again?

But she seemed like she was getting comfortable with me. I didn't want to ruin that.

"Now it's my turn to say something that might be a little TMI," I said.

She didn't say anything.

I pressed, "Is that okay?"

She nodded.

"I taught myself to do it," I said. "When you're alone as long as I've been and you're not ready to give up on having new adventures, you learn to be your own partner. You explore stuff about your own body."

"What's there to learn?" she said.

"Plenty," I said. "If you keep trying new things, your body will keep surprising you with what it can do."

"How did it happen?"

"The first time was kind of a disaster. I was masturbating."

She bristled.

I added, "We don't have to talk about this. If you're uncomfortable, just let me know."

"No, sorry," she said. "I just... you're his mom. And he's so far away, you know?"

"Yeah."

Don't remind me of my son don't remind me of my son don't remind me of

"But I interrupted you," she said.

"Okay," I said. "I was masturbating. It was just one of those special days, you know? I had the house to myself, I had nothing important to do, and I was horny. I'd already come a few times with a vibrator."

"I have a rabbit."

"I have one, too. This was a magic wand, though, which is a bit more... intense. I was feeling really relaxed. I touched myself and I was surprised at how relaxed it had gotten. And sort of puffy."

"Did it hurt?"

"Oh no, just the opposite. It felt wonderful. And I didn't have any intention at the time, but I felt like having something inside me for the next round. So I grabbed a dildo."

"You have a dildo?"

"I have a bunch of them. I had several, even then. This one was long and curved and skinny. I wasn't grabbing for any one in particular. That was just the one I grabbed."

"Does it matter?"

"Oh yes. I was kind of reaching around under my butt with my legs in the air. Which I guess isn't the most flattering image, but that's what I was doing, and I think that was crucial to how it happened."

"I bet you looked good," she said, in that way that girls do when they're bigging each other up.

There was no way she was picturing me, with my big thighs and my hairy pussy and asshole spread wide open, and thinking I looked good.

But still, that was sweet of her.

"Anyway," I said, "I was fucking myself with the dildo--"

No point in holding back now.

"--And I felt so full and heavy inside, like I had to take a piss. And I was so swollen that the head of the dildo was kind of grabbing onto the roof of my vagina and pulling on it."

"And it made you squirt?"

"No. But it gave me the feeling I get right before I squirt, and I'd never felt that before. All it took after that was using my other hand. Nothing specific, just a little extra stimulation."

She was staring at me. I don't think she realized it. She seemed enraptured by my tale.

I could tell I was looking flushed. My skin felt hot, from my bosom (looking resplendent in a low-cut black tank top, if I do say so myself) up to the tips of my ears.

"What did it feel like?" she asked. She was almost whispering.

"Not like an orgasm, where you get contractions and a sort of wave of heat. It was more like everything was pushing outwards, like a feeling of relief. It's a very different sort of release.

"I thought squirting was an orgasm."

"It isn't. But if you squirt and have an orgasm at the same time, it's just... wonderful."

"Is that hard to do?"

"Not as hard as you might think. I've gotten pretty consistent with it."

"Do you still do the..." she mimed reaching around an invisible ass in the air.

I laughed. "Sometimes. I've gotten better toys for it. Ones that are made to reach your g-spot and stay clear of your opening. But, honestly..."

This was the part that I thought might put her off.

But I might as well tell her.

"Since I learned to do it, it just happens more often than not, even when I'm not trying. If I'm masturbating, and especially if I've already come once or twice, it comes on its own. It can get messy."

"That's why you have the blankets?"

"Yes. I use them every time, whether I think I'll need them or not. Because I never know."

"What about the first time?"

I laughed again. "The first time was a little different. It didn't quite have the 'oomph' that it got later on when I got really good at it. Only a couple spurts made it into the air. The rest didn't."

"Oh god," she said, "where did it end up?"

"Straight down the crack of my ass. Just a dribble that felt like it would never end. And my pussy was on fire the whole time, which was actually pretty frustrating. It soaked through to the mattress."

"Wow."

"Still want to learn how to do it?"

She blushed. "If I'm being honest, I haven't stopped thinking about it since we talked about it that first time."

"Okay. You can hang onto my second blanket then. But if you want to borrow anything in the future, just know that you can ask."

She nodded.

We lapsed into silence for a while. She finished her toast. I finished my coffee.

She pushed her chair out and stood up. For just instant, she was illuminated from behind by the low, warm sunlight pouring in through the window of the sliding door at the back of the kitchen.

In the silhouette, I could see the shape of her body, lit up in profile, in sharp detail. Her tits, the points of her nipples, her tiny track shorts, her dangling drawstrings.

Her belly.

Then she moved, just a few inches, out of the sunlight. And it was gone.

Before she left the kitchen, she looked back at me.

"Why'd you get a second blanket, anyway?" she asked.

In that instance, I badly wanted to tell her how she had consumed my fantasies, how the frequency of my masturbation had increased exponentially ever since it had been the two of us.

How, even now, the thought of touching her belly was circling on and on in my brain, how I was boiling inside, in between my legs.

"I got it just in case," I said.

She nodded, then headed down the hallway and out of my sight. I heard the bedroom door click. I strained to listen for the sounds of masturbation. But I think she was just getting dressed.

"Just in case."

She never asked in case of what.

I leaned back in my chair. I slid a hand under the waistband of my bike shorts, down below the roll at the base of my tummy, and touched my fingertips to my vulva.

Just that one little touch, the gentlest pressure, was a badly needed belief.

I brought my fingers back up and held them up. They shone in the light, slick with my secretion. I sniffed them. Over the years, I've come to enjoy my scent. I'll always sniff.

I considered jilling myself off right there, considered daring her to come out and catch me, to witness me in my moment of intimate vulnerability. Oh, Claire. Claire, Claire, Claire. This is for you.

I wiped my fingertips on my leg, got up, poured another coffee, and booked it to my room. I made sure the door was shut.

***

She never said anything about how it was going, or if it was going. In fact, the subject never came up at all.

It was as if we'd never talked about it, had never breached that frontier of familiarity. It was so frustrating.

I'd risked my own humiliation by showing her, at least in her imagination, the specactle of me on my back, my legs in the air, frantically masturbating and leaking a trail of girlcum down my ass.

I felt she owed me.

Nevertheless, she never volunteered any details, and I never asked. Nothing further passed between us, until the night of the bathtub.

I was in the kitchen, having my usual nightcap. It had been months since I'd had to worry about her nude walk-ons, so I'd stopped having the nightcap in my room. I also started having it naked again.

I'm a woman of simple pleasures, okay?

I heard something, and I thought it was coming from outside, until I realized it was the sound of a girl crying and that it was coming from the bathroom.

I got up and rushed up the corridor to the middle of the t-shaped hallway. My room, with my robe in it, was at the end of the hall to the left. The bathroom was at the end of the hall to the right.

Thinking she might be seriously hurt, I decided to forget about the robe. She would just have to forgive me for my nakedness later. I went to the bathroom door and threw it open.

She was sitting up in the bathtub. It had no water in it that I could see, and I could only see her from the shoulders up, but I was pretty sure she was naked.

She was staring down at something in the vicinity of her lap, behind the tub wall. When she heard me burst through the door, she looked up at me in shock.

"Are you okay?" I asked, a little breathless.

I hadn't yet put together what I was seeing, and it wasn't occurring to me that I could step back into the hallway to hide my naked body. I still thought she might be dying or mortally wounded or something.

"I'm sorry," she said, between great, rattling sniffles. "I didn't mean to scare you."

She'd been staring at me for what must have been at least 10 seconds before it occurred to me that she wasn't hurt, and that I was presently serving full frontal nudity to her for no good reason.

"Sorry," I said, starting my retreat into the hall.

"Don't go," she said.

I stopped. I still felt like I wasn't supposed to be in there, and she shouldn't have to see me like this.

But she seemed small and pathetic, like she needed me.

It wasn't a horny thing. At least, not entirely. I went over to her, closed the lid on the toilet, and sat on it next to her. I put my hand on her shoulder. It felt absurd, but my heart made me do it.

I was fervently trying to divert my attention from her body.

From my vantage point, looming on the toilet, I could see down the front of her. She was naked indeed. Hunched as she was, her abs didn't stand out, but it was still a challenge not to fixate upon her belly.

Next to her, in the bottom of the dry tub, was the rabbit vibe.

"What happened?" I asked. "Are you okay?"

I think she'd gotten over the worst of the crying, but her voice was distressed in that way that crying always causes.

"I was so close," she said. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I started crying. I was so close, and it didn't happen, and for some reason it made me cry. I feel so stupid."

I tore off a few squares of thick, soft toilet paper--simple pleasures, right?--and passed them to her. She blew her nose, making an ungodly wet machine gun noise.

I hunched over, crossing my arms over my knees, trying to hide the round parts of me. I took a deep breath.

"It's okay to cry," I said. "Sex is an emotional release. It can bring stuff up that you didn't know was in there."

She nodded, not looking at me.

"I tried to get it to happen in my room," she said. "I thought I was close. I got the vibe in and I could feel it hanging onto me in... y'know, inside. But I kept thinking I was going to piss."

"So you thought you'd have less to worry about if you did it in here."

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

She started crying again. Not the great, wracking sobs of before, but it was there.

She said, "It was so much closer than before. I could feel it coming. And... I don't know. I just felt like I had to pee. I was going to pee all over myself, I could feel it. And I got stuck on it."

Something about her manner made me ask:

"Are you on something?"

She nodded. "Just a little X. I thought it would help."

"That would help explain the emotional component."

She nodded again.

A thought crossed my mind, and I immediately wanted to bury it back down in the depths of my brain where it came from.

But I might never be alone with her this way again, with her feeling so vulnerable, so suggestible.

"Why are you so afraid of peeing?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "I don't know. It's gross, I guess."

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"I could do it in front of someone. It would be so embarrassing. I'd never want to fuck again."

"Would it really be that bad? If it were just an accident that happened because you were trying something new?"

She laughed mirthlessly. "I'd never live it down."

"If you did something embarrassing in an intimate moment and the other person held it over you like that, do you really need that person's opinion?"

We fell silent for a moment.

Then she said, "No, I guess not."

"I think you should do it."

"Do what?"

"Pee. Right now."

"On the toilet?"

"No," I said, forcing myself to be bold. "In the tub."

"On myself?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

I was horny about a lot of things, but pissing wasn't one of them. This was a matter of the heart. As hot as I was for the beautiful creature in my bathtub, I was in nurturing mode.

I said, "Because I think you need to prove to yourself that it's not such a big deal. That it's just a thing that happens, and it's not the worst thing in the world."

"I do have to pee really bad."

"Okay, then," I said, taking my hand off her shoulder to get up.

She turned her head to look at me. Instinctively, I sat back down and crossed my arms in front of my body, resting my elbows on my knees. As if hiding my breasts and my belly would make her forget I was fat.

"Can you stay?" she said.

She looked so pitiful.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said.

"You want to piss in the bathtub in front of me?"

"I don't think I want you to watch," she said. "But maybe you could sit with your back to me?"

I got up, giving up on trying to hide my unhidable parts from her, and sat down on the floor. For a second, the tile was so cold on my bare ass. I turned my back to her, resting against the side of the tub.

"How's this?" I said.

"That's good," I heard her say from behind my head.

After a few moments, she said, "Ooh, it's warm."

At about that moment, my nose detected the scent of urine.

"How do you feel?" I said.

"Okay, I guess," she said. "Wet."

"Do you feel gross?"

"The smell is kind of gross. Other than that, not really."

"Could we safely say that you just pissed on yourself and nothing bad happened?"

"I guess so."

"If you felt like you were about to squirt, would it be the worst thing in the world if you accidently peed?"

Very quietly, I heard her say, "Not as long as it's with the right person."

I didn't know what to say to that. To me, the silence quickly grew awkward.

Then she said, "K, piss gets cold really fast. Maybe you could let me shower and I'll meet you in the kitchen."

"Okay."

***

I was disappointed that she'd shooed me out of the bathroom instead of inviting me stay while she showered.

There would have been no good reason for it, of course. She was the ingenue; I was her more experienced mentor. No ulterior motives involved, right?

I grabbed my robe from my bedroom and went to the kitchen to wait for her. I'd debated with myself about remaining naked, but, again, no plausible reason for it.

She came in after a few minutes, one towel around her slender body and another around her hair. I offered her some uncaffeinated tea and she accepted.

Before I could ask her anything, she blurted out:

"I think I'm breaking up with him."

"Oh," I said.

"I thought I could make things more spicy," she said, "but he's just getting more and more distant."

"Is that the reason for the sudden interest in squirting?"

She thought about that for a moment.

"No," she said. "That's just for me."

I said, "Sometimes, we need to remind ourselves that we have an inner life of our own, a part of us that doesn't belong to anyone else."

She nodded. "Exactly."

"Did something happen between you two?"

"No. At least, not any big thing in particular. We're just fizzling out, I guess."

I knew the feeling.

Timidly, she said, "You're not going to kick me out, are you?"

"No," I said, "absolutely not. You can stay as long as you want."

She smiled. It was a tired, heartbroken smile. I wished I'd known sooner what she was going through.

"We can talk about it if you want," I said.

"Maybe some other time," she said. "I'm feeling weirdly okay right now."

"That's probably the drugs."

She laughed. "I think the X is why I finally noticed I could be vulnerable to you about this stuff. You're so..."

I leaned in, infinitesimally, very curious as to what the end of that sentence was going to be.

Instead of finishing it, she went quiet.

"Do you feel okay about tonight?" I asked. "I hope I didn't talk you into doing anything you wouldn't have done if you were straight."

"Maybe you did," she said. "But I was already coming down by then, and I'm fully aware of what I did. I don't regret it or anything."

I nodded, grateful that she hadn't called attention to how I'd worded that sentence: I hope I didn't talk you into doing anything you wouldn't have done. If you were straight...

I was obviously still hoping, somewhere deep in my subconscious, that she'd discover a powerful lust for me that had no choice but to be sated by immediately dropping her towel before my hungry eyes.

Nope, nothing uncomplicated about that scenario at all.

Alas, instead of getting naked, she appeared to be getting lost in thought.

She giggled, "I can't believe I pissed on myself. With you sitting right there."

I sighed. "I can't believe I barged in on you like that. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," she said. "All's well that ends well."

"I could have at least had the modesty to put some clothes on."

She shrugged. "It's nothing I haven't seen before."

Oh shit.

"What do you mean?" I asked, trying poorly to sound nonchalant.

"All those times you were in here naked with a drink in your hand."

"Oh god," I muttered.

She laughed. I was fire red from head to toe. I could have died, but at least she was in good spirits.

"I figured you had seen me naked, too," she said. "I didn't mean to be overly familiar, but at least we were even right away.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "I guess it's not quite the same thing."

"What do you mean?"

"You're young and beautiful. I'm old and..."

I gestured at my body.

"You're beautiful, too," she said.

"That's nice of you to say."

Her hand slid across the table and touched my arm. I looked into her face, and she arrested my eyes with her gaze.

"I mean it," she said.

For a moment, we just sat there.

The kitchen was starting to tint orange, the earliest rays of morning light.

"Fuck," she said, "is it that late?"

I nodded.

She got up, then so did I.

Before she left the room, she said, "Thank you for tonight. Thank you for being you."

Then she hugged me, her body hard against mine through her towel and my robe.

My hands slid down her narrow back over the texture of the terrycloth, coming to a rest just above her narrow rump.

All I had to do was move a hand to her hip, slip inside the folds of the towel, and right there would be her belly, literally at my fingertips.