SEX FOR POETS - 05 - LAVA
SEX FOR POETS - 05 - LAVA
a rough draft, released chapter by chapter
WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT
Reader discretion is advised for scenes of unique and creative sexuality, pervasive lewd imagery and language, and down the line, scenes of violence that may be offensive to some readers. If you have delicate sensibilities, best move along.
CHAPTER 5: LAVA
4 weeks after the festival
CLARA
“Something’s different about you, Doc. I can tell.”
Silence settles across the room as the therapist chews the inside of his lip. He looks like a shy little boy who’s just received a smile from a pretty little girl. He looks younger. Newly birthed. He looks…happy.
“Doc?”
“I want to speak frankly with you, Clara, but it goes against every oath I’ve taken as a professional.”
Clara has the distinct impression that if she responds, he’ll retreat. She remains quiet, relaxing into the sofa and crossing her legs. She brings her hand to her chin as if to say, Go on.
And he does.
“Patients come to me for answers. They come to me when they feel alone, when they can’t find a way out of their self-created prison. Because I’m the one with the key.”
The therapist cradles his head in his palms as though grieving, but when he lifts his face and meets her eyes, there’s something in his gaze that Clara can only define as wonderment.
“And yet here you are, sitting before me, and I want to tell you everything. I don’t know how this happened, but somehow I feel like you are guiding me. You are my key, Clara.” The therapist shakes his head. “This is not how it’s supposed to be. I’m so sorry, but somewhere along the way, I have failed you.
Clara leans forward, studying the glow across the therapist’s cheeks. “You’re awake now,” she whispers, “aren’t you?”
Doc is wearing a new Hawaiian shirt, one Clara hasn’t seen before. But it’s not Friday. It’s Thursday. A button is missing.
“I wouldn’t call it that,” he says. “It feels more like dreaming, doesn’t it?”
“Tell me your dreams, Doc.”
The therapist closes his eyes as though searching his memory. He pushes a hand to the center of his chest.
“Her lips,” he begins. “My God, Clara, you were right. They are magnificent. Married for four years, and I’ve only just begun to truly know my wife’s body. I feel like something’s been stolen from me. Something I can’t ever get back. Time. Why do we keep such boundaries with one another? I am a mental health professional. I should have some theory, some understanding of the mass confusion we’ve been living in. How can I continue to guide my patients when I am so inexplicably lost, myself?”
“How did it feel,” Clara asks, “to see her in that way for the very first time?”
“Scary.”
“Surely there was more to it than that.”
The therapist runs his hands through his hair. His mouth hangs open, searching for words, and Clara grants him the time necessary to process his thoughts. This is a whole new world for Doc. Hell, it’s a whole new world for everyone.
“Honestly, Clara,” he says, “I feel like a monster. I should’ve had more concern for her well-being in that moment. She let me see her, but she was frightened. She cried, Clara. My wife does not cry, and yet she wept as she spread her legs for me. Like I was a criminal holding her hostage.”
“But you did it anyway.”
The therapist winces. “I did. She held her hands over her face as I examined each of her layers, and I was grateful she hid because I didn’t want to see her face. I’ve seen her face for years, Clara. I know every shade of it, every pore, by heart. But this.”
“What did it look like?”
“It was so soft.”
“You touched it.”
“I couldn’t help myself. It was a magnet to my fingers. I swear I would’ve died right then and there if I didn’t touch it. When she jumped, the light reflected off her flesh like a pool of water at night. Her chest heaved with her sobs, but she didn’t stop me. She didn’t say a word as I drew my fingers across each fold, separating and squeezing the layers. It’s so complex, Clara. So many different textures and colors to explore. I slipped my finger down every crease, and eventually my thumb found her entrance. I’ve never seen her body move like that. Her back arched and she grasped the sheets with both hands. I could hear her teeth grinding. Maybe I hurt her. I don’t know. But still, I couldn’t stop myself.”
“What did it feel like?”
“It was so warm, like the core of the very earth. Smooth, molten lava.”
“Yes,” Clara says, “exactly. Every woman has this seething volcano just under the surface, waiting to erupt. We feel the tension of expansion, a maddening, rolling boil. Maybe that’s the masculine in us, Doc. We’ve spoken about it before, remember? That natural balance that the universe craves? I think that’s our dominance and bloodshed. We could destroy the entire planet with the force of that need.”
Doc seems to stare at nothing at all. He licks his lips, sucks on them. His breathing becomes languid and cyclical.
“Did you taste it?”
The therapist raises an eyebrow at her.
“What did it taste like?”
“Sharp,” he says.
“That’s not a flavor, Doc.”
The therapist tries not to smile, but fails. “Then you haven’t tasted it. It’s like an electrical current. Like touching the tip of a battery with your tongue. There’s a creaminess, too. And I know—that’s not a flavor either. But it’s real, nonetheless. There’s an earthy taste, but also something aquatic. Slippery and green.”
“Green?”
“Almost like grass. Fresh and dewey. Like licking condensation off a plant. And the deeper I pushed my tongue inside, the sharper the flavors became until it felt as though I’d been injected with a sedative.”
“Can a woman orgasm? Like a man?”
The therapist looks away. “I honestly don’t know.”
“You bring up an interesting point, Doc. If her flavor is not salty or sour, but it’s not sweet or bitter either, what do you think that means? If our tastebuds aren’t equipped to process it, does that mean it’s against nature?”
“Who are we to question nature for another wasted moment? When we experience something new, why must it always be bad? Maybe it’s a gift. There are flavors in this world we’re only just beginning to experience. I think it’s a miracle.”
Clara smiles. “You want to taste it again, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he chokes out. “My God. We really are animals, aren’t we?”
And Clara says, “Yes.”
“I worry about society, Clara. A lot of people won’t be able to handle this new world. I barely have a stronghold, myself. I am floating, unable to tell if I’m awake or dreaming. Change can be dangerous if it happens too fast. The mind is fragile. It can only comprehend so many experiences at once. It begins to bend at first, and I think that’s where we are right now. We’re bending, stretching. And the mind is trying to keep up, but it can only bend so far before it snaps. And what happens then, Clara? What happens to our way of life if everyone’s mind has come undone?”
“You’re the doctor,” she says. “You tell me.”
The therapist shakes his head, and it’s the only answer she’s going to get.
Clara’s heart begins to race. She’s radiating more heat now; she can feel it. Her own personal core. Plates shifting. Steam venting. Lava, trembling and beginning to dome. An explosion poised for release.
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