Sleepwalker

The fourth time it happens, I wake up standing on the bathroom vanity, unscrewing the last light bulb from the fixture and dropping it into a pillowcase already full of light bulbs. I'm wearing nothing but my panties, the nested layers of cotton holding the pronged end of the hammer shoved down the front stiff before me, the smooth metal of the head parting my inner lips. I stroke the handle rocking the varnished wood against my swollen clit, hungry and over-sated at the same time. I climb off the counter and hoist my pillowcase in one fist, filling the other with a second case, also stuffed with light bulbs, just outside the bathroom door. It is Saturday, and late afternoon by the light coming in the windows. Alan could be walking home from the train station now, for all I know. I swing one of the cases as hard as I can against the wall.

It's easy to lose sight of myself in the experience of smashing all the light bulbs in the house. The rhythm of each arm swinging its shrinking case, the arc of the bags of glass and metal shards, the WHUMP-tinkle of each hit against the walls, the floor, the bannister - the sensuality of each perfectly-fitted piece leaves no room for me to wonder why I have unscrewed every bulb in the house to break. I just have. I just do. I rain the spidery remains down the stairs from the second floor balcony where I first woke up from walking.

My steps crunch as I swagger down, impossible not to with the handle of the hammer slapping against my bare belly like a truly impressive erection. The friction breaks me out in gooseflesh all over and I claw the bannister the last few steps, knees shaking, breath shallow from orgasm. I can't maintain and end up kneeling on the floor, jerking the hot metal head of the hammer inside myself to build from one orgasm to the next, seeing their borders etched as clear and bright as my bleeding footprints on the hardwood. I can hear Alan on the front steps. He's checking the mailbox. With a groan, I pull the hammer from my panties and swing with all the strength in my shaky arm. I bury the claw end in the wood of the door. Alan rings the bell to let me know he's home before he digs into his pocket for his key. So polite.

Which of us will open the door?