Still Me?

This is my ninth contribution to:

The 750 Word Project 2024

I'm on the couch. Like hundreds of times before. Propped on cushions. A towel protecting the leather. And nude. It's normal. It's me. But is it?

Still sore. Mentally as much as physically. She had said it would be OK, just the same. I don't feel the same. I don't feel the same at all. But let's try.

I close my eyes. Think of him. He's close of course. He's been there for me. Keeping his vows. I wouldn't have gotten through without him. But I'm not ready. Not ready for us. Baby steps.

Babies? They are with his folks. Some alone time for us. But I have no idea what us will be. Behind the support, I can see pain in his eyes. He'll never say, but I know him well. Baby steps.

It was for him as well. But mostly them. The girls need their mother. This was to be safe. And for me also. To put the half-yearly terrors behind me. No more fear that this time the news would be bad. It was sensible. It was right. Remember, population risk. How much had I craved that normalcy? But there was still a cost to pay. A Shylockian baragin.

Enough. Think of good things. Think of him. The body I know. His desire. His eagerness. His urgent heat. His heart pounding. His excitement manifested in surging blood. That's what I want back. To be me again. To be us. Just try.

And I recall us, recall sweet moments. And familiar feelings also return. This is good. My hands find flesh. But now familiarity ceases abruptly. Foreign objects. Objects inside me. Different. My own soft warmness no more.

I had said I wanted to be the same. For so many years I had wanted more. To be more of a woman. Now I grieve for my lost modest tissue. At least the surface survived. Preservation they call it. A touch, a tentative pinch. Both still make nerves tingle. It's OK. It will be OK.

I pause. A tear falls. Be a brave girl. You can do this. Push past it. Focus on his face. On him inside you. On the closeness. The intensity. The love. OK. Keep going.

Hands slide lower, run along horizontal scars. They will fade. They will fade. Then all is OK. But for too little a while. Incisions. Made with the precision of computer-guided machinery. Incisions through which they removed my being. My womanhood. It's OK. It's OK. More tears.

Lower. They didn't take this from me. Finger-tips trace a smooth dome. Lower again. Hooded flesh. Concealing lips. Still the same. Still the same. But now a façade only. Masking inner emptiness. Masking what had been ripped untimely.

Breathe. Just breathe. Nerve bundles are intact. Outer anatomy unchanged. The rest doesn't define me. I'm a woman still. The girls are testament surely? Try. Just try.

Finger-tips to my mouth. Moisture borrowed. Touching. That's OK. Nice even. Keep going. Better. I'm clenching a little. It's sore, but bearable. Breathing quicker. Heart thumping. Back arching. Ow! Maybe not so much. But it's working.

Dare I squeeze. Different. Very different. But not bad, no pain. Less feeling. But not zero. And there. There is me. I still thrill to touch. Thrill to the pressure of finger and thumb.

Now wriggling. Steps on a path well-trod. It's coming back. It's coming back. More tears, but happier. Quicker movements. The old responses. Yes. I'm smiling and crying. But most of all throbbing as sensations flood me. Consuming me. Lifting me.

Panting now. Faster. Harder. Yes. A stifled moan. Dormant fires rekindled. Flames licking higher. Taking my breath away. And arching again! Pinpricks of pain swamped by a tsunami of pleasure. Crashing into me. Overwhelming me. As I tense and scream and yell in unbounded joy and release.

Panting. Chest heaving. Recovering. And beaming. Glowing. Relief flooding me, following the channels unblocked by stimulation. It's OK. I'm me. I'm still me.

Aching, yes. But a small price to pay. Inflammation will subside. Flesh will knit together. I now know I can be whole again. And we can be us again.

And with that, I shout his name. He's here in an instant, concern etched into his face. "It's OK, honey. It's all OK."

He holds me so tight, our tears mingling, we share kisses. Share I love yous. "Thank you, my angel. Thank you."

I inhale. I exhale. Cheeks flushed. Eyes bright with emotion. "And, honey, I think I'm ready..."