Intolerable kisses; the realities of
sobriety- the obliteration of the hymen to the boorish impel of missionary
position and youthful vigor. Sweat pouring from the forehead reaches his chin
as he raises his head in natural response to pleasure. Madeleine turns her head
to the side to avoid more. Bodily fluids exchange; saliva, tears, semen, sweat-
all came of no surprise and though a virgin only moments before Chad (whatever
his last name was) punctured and became the first to enter her tunnel, her
experience as a demivierge introduced her to the fluster of asperity of the
male counterpart. Yet the pain of vaginal intercourse was but a small price to
pay, if indeed, she was to succeed in a higher purpose than finding love.
A man is only as good as his last
orgasm, his last sperm deposit, in nature, procreation is the epicenter of male
existence. The drone, the Sausage Fly, the Praying Mantis, the Rodentia, the
Black Widow all holds the simplicity of the animal kingdom and as a pupil of reproduction;
Madeleine knew her goal to be highly tangible. With a quick finish, Madeleine
forms her legs in a triangle guard hold around Chad to force him deeper inside
as he released, gritting her teeth to a pain so excruciating it nearly rendered
her unconscious.
Once the aftermath of an orgasm
subsided, Chad slowly pulled his flaccid-bound phallus from Madeleine, noticing
a small spill of blood. “You’re bleeding,” Chad discloses with an admixture of
both concern and vainglory.
The bleeding was minimal, not what Madeleine
expected. She’d heard horror stories of friends who’d taken that leap into
womanhood before her who, from their accounts, nearly exsanguinated. Anatomy
varies from one woman to the other, while one may be less equipped for life
from birth, the other may suffer minimal sickness throughout her entire life. By
the time Madeleine returned after excusing herself to clean herself up, Chad
was gone, not to her surprise nor despair; it is both usual for a man a woman
just met only a few hours prior. The taboo would be if he stuck around inasmuch
it is easier to leave rather than deal with the emotions attached. It served Madeleine
schedule honestly- only a few hours from then she would be entertaining yet
another guy, one she knew a bit better. She made a habit of noticing Jamal’s
eyes always burning a hole through her blouse, to her D cups and encouraged his
comments of tongue rings. Once inhibited, Madeleine knew if she was to succeed
in her mission, she’d have to evolve, Darwin’s theory, survival of the fittest.
A tongue piercing wasn’t so bad nor were the lessons and experiences of using
it in conjunction with short-cut shirts that barely held her cleavage; if
pornography is incapable of teaching sexuality to the inexperienced, than its
mainstream culture holds no true value beyond cathartic release. A blowjob
always sets the tone and most men, during the course of, would falter from
their original wist of oral sex and yearn for the entrance into the second or
third orifice. With all the modern knowledge and enthusiasm, Madeleine ignored
the pain still resonating, using special numbing agent in conjunction with a
few Tylenol following a quick shower.
If a woman can handle 919 men in a
matter of 24 hours, Madeleine was optimistic at her ability to handle one more.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but to think of the myth of Negro ancestry and
their male endowment. If Chad could hurt her, what could Brandon do? Her
strategy was simple, once overheard by her stepmother, Kasey Carlyle, the
self-declared “Snicker Liquor,” whom herself once known a black man a few
nights or two, oral sex would be the key; to titillate and manipulate until he
begins to shake uncontrollably, then take him deep inside of her.
Brandon arrived on time, greeting
her as the friend Madeleine believed him to be- but friendship was moot. There
was something much more valuable in the workings, something much more permanent
that made friendship seem folly. Within the first few seconds of the film, Madeleine
initiates, kissing Brandon, allowing his hands to explore the curves he’d been
dreaming of for so long, while simultaneously yet pondering the myth. With
slight rubs to his groin area, she would feel his arousal grow. She adjusted
her back away from the sofa to make it easier to remove her blouse and the
moment it was off, Brandon leaned over and began kissing her breast, both his
hands groping her massive breast before he pulled them free and found her
nipples with his tongue. For the first time that day, she had become aroused
herself and it gave her the pep to get to her knees, pull Brandon’s phallus
free from between his zipper and began polishing it with saliva. He was big but
not as big as her fanciful mind made him out to be and that was of great relief.
She licked up and down his shaft until it was well lubricated and took him into
her mouth, sucking on him with such enthusiasm that his sighs were a mesh of
sensual pleasure and surprise. This time she added the use of her hand,
remembering not to grip his phallus too tightly, as her step mum warned her not
to do, and jacked the opposing of her sucklings. As needed, she added
indulgence, moans, giving off the impression that his phallus tasted good to
her, as though she could suck all day and get all the nourishment she needed,
all the nourishment all true women only needed according to one of her idols
Anais Nin. For the occasion, she wore a short mini skirt, an article that could
have passed off for a piece of lingerie. She couldn’t imagine herself again on
her back being ravished by such a sizeable homologue, so she made the decision
to control both depth and pace this time around. When Brandon was well
flustered, she stood, began pulling down her panties until he took over and
pulled them farther down. She climbed over his legs, placing both of her knees
outside of his, using her light secretion from arousal and the remnants of her
saliva still alive on the head of his phallus, she slowly place him and
painfully and easily used her body weight to ease herself down onto him.
Brandon could see that she was experiencing a bit of pain, so gently, he placed
his hands on her waist until she was all the way down.
“Just
like that, there you go baby,”
-he
murmurs encouragement and it in turn Madeleine gave him something to encourage
always encourage and afterwards, to always crave.
Brandon, feeling the constriction of
her warm vaginal walls against his flushed phallus, instinctually begins to
kiss and lick her neck as his hands guided her hips up and down. The first
fluctuation sent Madeleine into a painful moan that ended with a
pleasure-filled sigh, throwing her head and body back as he sped up the pace,
sucking on her nipples, losing a bit of his gentle nature. Animal instinct took
over, Madeleine was in a full ride, a hard, deep repeating slam onto the base
of Brandon’s phallus, crying out his name followed by blunt “fuck!”
There was an attempt to stay parallel
but pleasure soon over took Madeleine after a bit of pain was out of the way
and she again fell back, enjoying the feel of Brandon going in and out of her,
his hands running up and down her body, the grasp of her breast. Her mouth
begin to water, her voice falling away, her knees now shaking- she was for the
first time, about to experience an orgasm and she did so just as Brandon fell
into neuromuscular euphoria, releasing inside of her, his seed shooting all over
an open cervix that contracted to pull in all of what came from his urethral
bulb.
It didn’t take long till after
Brandon had left that Madeleine was once again inside of the shower, a quick
one, hitting the hot spots; time was of the essence. Drying off very briefly,
she lied on her back in her bed, her legs elevated and held by the side of her walls.
Now all there was to do was to wait and see.
[2]
Sperm in competition are
like men in competition over who will get the prize Madonna and in such a case,
the penetration of the ova by way of shredding through the zona pellucida.
Containing more than 30 elements, semen takes up to as little as an hour to
reach a woman’s fallopian tubes and can live inside of her uterus for up to 5
days. The average male produces 76 million sperm per ejaculation- with two men
in youth with high sperm count, sperm competition would assure that Madeleine would
get the strongest to fertilize her ova. She had timed her ovulation perfectly,
a small window at the end of June, which according to Playboy Magazine, the
month majority of people tend to be deflowered. The female reproductive system
is a consistent one and even so, very fragile. Over 7 million women were
treated for infertility with an estimated 5 billion dollar spent the preceding
year Madeleine decided to become sick with child. With the majority of first
cycle treatments unsuccessful, the average bill for in vitro fertilization cost
$12,500, a select procedure that most insurance companies refuse to cover. Only
42% of assisted-reproduction cycles lead to a live birth with a woman who is
younger than 35. Worldwide 48.5 million couples are unable to conceive even
after 5 years of attempting. Infertility might as well being a rampant plague
to Madeleine, one she felt she was invincible to. The confidence of youth in
life is like a deer being shot while his adrenaline is running full bolus-
because his will to live has kicked in to survive, he doesn’t feel, much less
know of his fatal wound that will end him within 2 miles of an attempt escape
from the greatest prey with the least sharpened instincts in nature. Youthful
flesh and fresh organs free of disease and wear and tear can go much further
than the ones closer to succumbing to Hayflick’s Limit. It wasn’t long before Madeleine
begin to feel the effects of morning sickness and the craving for foods that
she never cared for, that she knew her promiscuity was fulfilled, knew that
only in a matter of months, she would join the legion of mothers who had come
before here, and those who were mothers in the presence, and of course, those
who would see her growing belly and dream to come after.
Madeleine’s mother was practically a
ghost around the house, spending a great amount of time traveling on
conferences and trysts with men around the country; so if an average teen would
lack parents or validation, Madeleine had opportunity to conceal her pregnancy,
until she knew at such time, it was a take it or leave it deal; left to the
mercy of her mother, the fetus would be aborted and Madeleine shipped off to a
boarding school at once. So she decided to wait till the first trimester had
concluded to inform her mother that she had been raped by an unknown
contemporary, at a party that she failed to recollect the address of setting.
She would leave no loose ends nor give any details to give her mother leads to
go about, she even begin to frequent Catholic mass to further submerge herself
in the cloak of pro-life, then duly severing her contact with both Chad and
Brandon, two more loose ends she couldn’t afford, both of whom served their
primary and eventual purpose, sperm donors. And as her belly grew, so did her
confidence, her ambitions. She found herself planning 1, 2, 5, even 10 years
out, the name of her child, whether it would be a home or hospital birth,
whether or not to take an epidural or brave the pains equivalent to 20 bones
fracturing simultaneously in the body; there was so much to plan in so little
time and to her complete surprise, her mother, placing aside what would surely
be her daughter’s forfeit of a higher education, albeit temporarily, in grace
of the certainty of being a grandmother.
Everything was in favor of Madeleine’s quest and destiny, something she had
forged had finally come to fruition with both physical and mental determination
and she felt it thoroughly a privilege to have captured her dreams at such a
young age, and all it took, was a bit of skin and biological maneuvering; who
said reckless sex didn’t pay out?
Then that inevitable day came, when
full-term presented a fetus daring and willing to come into the world via the
trauma of birth. Taking the antiquated method taken by woman who had no choice
but to follow suit with the lack of medical advancements in the past, Madeleine
opted not to see an Obstetrician, take pre-natals or even discover the sex of
her child; every trimester was spent on strolls, planning meals by the day,
scouring the multiple baby showers, congratulations, mommy posts and afternoon
park visits with nannies, mothers and mothers-to-be. There were no Lamaze
classes, not a single consult nor worry to be had; she was going to be a mother
and thus far, all the odds that were and could have been against her, all
flailed and failed, destiny was on her side, time too, a confederate. Her
mother was there and somehow her state of ailing with a child made their
relationship much better, more akin to a friendship than a mother-daughter
dilemma.
Madeleine went into full-blown labor
in record time, four to nine centimeters in a matter of half an hour.
Perspiration covered every inch of her skin as she lied in her mother’s arms,
in agony, pain and pleasure principle both clashing, the pain of feeling as
though she was being split into two and the pleasure of knowing that she had
every will of strength to exit what was the entire being to change her life and
secure her future. But after four hours of labor, no crowning was in sight. A
quick call into the paramedics led Madeleine’s mother to believe it could be a
breach or something could be wrong; who could know, all of the medical work
ups, sonograms, checkups have been skipped, so the possibilities could be
endless.
After some protest from Madeleine
refusing to release her antiquated idea of having her child at home, her mother
convinced her to allow the ambulance to intervene and clinicians to complete
the birthing process. Madeleine despised hospitals, the nosocomial infections,
the ineffective, ineffectual American healthcare system, the decrease in skill
of the healthcare workers endemic to it.
Legs
in stirrups, pain reverberating throughout her body, a doctor and student
intern between her legs, her mother holding her hand, Madeleine struggles, continuously
asking, continuously wondering, exactly when would she be asked to push. But
that demand, that alert never arrived and it never would.
Madeleine, still in pain, looked up
to see the doctor almost in disbelief, asking the intern to run and get some
test, whatever test, she couldn’t make out or understand but she feared, not
for herself but for her baby; after all, that’s what a mother and mother-to-be
does. Despite her worries, the pains became too great to bear and Madeleine saw
a descending blackness upon her eyes, then it was all blackness, a lapse of
time coming to a complete stop, then a sudden halt in the noises of her own
screams and around her, she fell into a world of nothing.
Coming back into consciousness, Madeleine
slowly regained her bearings, looked around and found her mother unsettled in a
chair, a look of worrisome and confusion about her face. As her eyes opened
wide, her mother quickly walked over to her, crossing the room, where Madeleine’s
head stop full on a still enlarged belly.
“What happened,” she asks her mother
groggily.
“Baby,” her mother wipes streaming
tears from around her face, drowning her cheeks, “I don’t know.”
Madeleine finally found panic
bothering her, “Where’s my baby?”
The
only answer she received were sobs, echoing around the rooms as if they were
the only sounds in the world, as if they were bouncing along the walls, knowing
there was no way or reason to leave the air of misery, tattooing itself into
the sheetrock, an intramural prayer that all unfortunate has come or will come
to know.
Madeleine began to go into hysteria,
raising her voice so loud it completely made all sobs from her mother defunct.
“Mom, where’s my baby?!”
Suddenly
she felt if perhaps no one was listening to her, that she may have been in a
dead zone, baring and blaring only a voice she could hear that the world had
gone deaf to. The more she screamed, the more she seemed a mute, no one was
listening, why wasn’t anyone listening? All she wanted was to hold the child
she carried for 9 months, a child she nurtured, rebuilt her life around the
very gestating miracle blooming inside her.
The doctor Madeleine vaguely
remembered came rushing into the room, joining her mother in trying to calm her
fluttering anxiety. Everything around her seem to go red, her skin crawled with
the want, the need to see her child, the product of so much long before she
entered the door of her first trimester. She screamed and screamed as she heard
the voices to try and calm her begin to add up, though she saw no one and
nothing she could distinguish from the veritable crimson, ever-gradual, so deep
she could have believed herself to be going blind if not so mad with color. The
only thing she could hear was the doctor telling her mother, “this is normal,
it’s a side effect of her condition, expect it to come and go for the better
part of a month or two at the most.”
It took about half an hour to
completely calm Madeleine, her fatigue from thrashing and screaming aiding the
medical intervention. When she was all settled and once her breathing returned
to normal, her vision began to return to its original state of sharpness, her
hearing lost its acuteness.
The doctor approached her, pulled up
a chair and sat next to her bed.
“It’s
going to be hard for you to hear this Madeleine, there isn’t a baby, there
never was.”
“I..I
don’t understand, did my baby die, was it stillborn?”
“Madeleine,”
the doctor reiterated clearly, “there was never a baby.”
She
found the strength to sit up, still hoping that she was in some kind of cosmic
tragicomedy, or that her mind was playing tricks on her, overplaying its hand
at night terrors.
Once
the doctor saw she was in a position where she was fully comprehensive, he
continued, “It’s called Pseudocyesis, a false pregnancy.”
Now
Madeleine found herself so lost in confusion, all she could do was repeat what
the doctor’s words were.
“uhh…false?
I carried the baby, I had morning sickness, labor pains, swollen limbs..”
“Yes,
it’s difficult to explain because currently science can’t explain it. The best explanation
is at some point your Endocrine system, the system that secretes all the
hormones your body needs to function, must have gone haywire and begin to
secrete the hormones we see in women carrying a child.”
Madeleine
was rendered speechless, unable to form any thoughts, any opinions to give, any
more rebellion to a situation that seemed definite, final. She just lied back
in her bed and stared off at the wall, drowning out the world by pure will. An
incredible sadness overcame her as she still waited for the nightmare to
subside. But it never did.
Madeleine was taken home a few days
later by her mother. She was in almost a catatonic state, barely eating, barely
taking in fluids, lost in disbelief, like an invalid in an eventide home. Her
mom took a sabbatical from work to look after her, to see after her, as the
Psychiatrist told her of her daughter’s frailness, giving her information on
sudden and spontaneous chemical changes in the body of someone suffering from
what was an extremely rare phenomenon in the human body. So her mother reminded
her to shower, helped her to shower, practically forced her to eat the little
she did, made sure she left her room, visiting regularly to ensure she wasn’t
hanging at the end of a rope from the ceiling and that is how life inside their
home was regulated until such time Madeleine’s mind was able to regulate a more
self-suitable standard.
After about a month of the tiresome
routine of ailing from the colliding chemical aftermath of being “with and
without” child, Madeleine convinced her mother that she was well enough to go
out, knowing that the fresh air would do her well, remerging into the world
where the beauty she’d forgotten existed and also the beauty she’d been denied.
How does a woman return to a state of grace once she comes full circle to see
the dream she has been dreaming had been just that, a dream, and awakening,
what else has she to hold on to other than the reality of having nothing to
hold?
Madeleine found a park she’d never
seen before in a neighborhood she’d never before visited. She had no bearings inasmuch
bearings didn’t matter, not much more did. Sitting on a bench, she appeared to
be the most unkempt, disheveled woman, the saddest woman anyone can ever hope
never to see. Although she received sporadic stares of inquisition, there were
all vague, brief enough for Madeleine to escape the radar detection parents
tend to have to protect their offspring from lurking danger. I mean, what was
it that they would be fearful of? It was just a sad woman on a bench, having a
moment and feelings to her, bothering no one else in the world, just herself in
her world.
The children scattered the park,
playing with no a care in the world; chase, hide and seek, cracking the whips,
a festival of complete chattering. It was then, there, at that moment,
surrounded by all the life denied to her, that Madeleine felt her feet carry
her, movement without effort, towards a gorgeous little girl playing near the
trees by herself. She seemed so lost in her own fun, needing not entertainment
from the other kids. Madeleine walked up to her as the little girl turned,
looked up at her, “Good morning, you alright?”
“I
am now.” And only for a moment, Madeleine wanted to pick her up, just hold her
a minute and so she did, lifting the little girl to her hip without a fuss or
fight from the child and began to walk away from the park, her pace increasing
to a full sprint away.
