Mimi is a hot mama! Ha-cha-cha!
Proof: she’s wet before I kiss her. Way wet, even before I walk in her apartment door, just because she knows I am coming. (Har-har, schoolboy double entendre.) In the library, at a diner, wherever, she gives me a long stare, then something in her face changes. A moment later, Ms. Mimi Moist leans over the table to whisper, “Excuse me for a minute, I have to go change my panties.” Extra panties are in her bag, sometimes two pairs, rolled into the cellphone pocket.
Double-proof of her hotness: she has a total oral fixation. Mimi wants something in her mouth, always. All ways. My tongue. My nipples. The rounded bone on the outside of my wrist. Something of mine always in her mouth, those sweet caressing lips hugging my curvy parts.
Triple-proof of hotness is the fact that she can match me in bed. I know, you wonder, how is that possible? After all, I am Super Stud, the Earl of Endurance, the Ms. Universe of our Nation’s Capital. The fact that she even dares to challenge me is truly a modern wonder, unexplored by science. Because I am The Man. I am always the last dancer to leave the floor. I have the biggest appetite at the table. I am the best lover in the land. Still, move for move, she challenges my powers like no one before. Unbelievable, my Mimi.
Tonight, after many hours of my love-machine action, I am completely exhausted. It’s 5 a.m. The sun is starting to come up, and we’ve been at it since she stripped off my worker-bee bartender tuxedo at, what, 9:30 last night? I am orgasmed out and she is hoarse from panting. My body is heavy, so heavy. My mind starts to turn off and the delicious realm of dreaming descends. Just at the threshold of sleep, Her Moistness shocks me awake with her rough, growling voice, “Are you asleep, J? Sweetie? I want more.” Asleep already? Me? Impossible! Super-Stud?
“Oh no, what can I do for you, M’Lady?” And I rouse myself like a curled-up dog rises to accept the leash for a last walk before midnight. Stiff, slow, pained, but ready. My master commands me to rise. More pumping, more grinding, more kissing, and my shoulders and forearms are rubbery from holding her weight as it bears down on me. I can’t tell if my body is my body or if I am touching her or being touched by her because fatigue is overwhelming my senses. Wake up, J. Show her what you’ve got. Be the gigolo. Make Richard Gere proud. She is suddenly still. What? A few minutes pass. I wait and listen.
I hear her breath as it becomes deeper and an even rhythm begins. Both her legs loosen their grasp, and, praise somebody, she is asleep before me. I did it! Once again I outlasted her cuz I am the Saint of Stamina, the Vigor Victorious! My rep is still intact and I sigh. Life is beautiful, and I go to sleep.
But minutes later it’s the next day. My limbs ache, my hips are cranky, my ribcage feels bruised, and certain skin is raw-red-ripe. It’s also the first day of spring. I turn over, away from the morning light in the window. Where’s Mimi? She’s up. Not just up, but she’s already back with croissants and fruit. She’s still wearing her jacket, as if she wants to go out there again. To go out there in the harsh white April light? To go out there where it was just cold-cold winter yesterday, while I’m warm and sleeping in, celebrating spring in her bed?
“Think how lovely noon will be three hours from now. Three more hours of sleep, and I’ll be right with you, Mimi-licious.”
“Let’s not waste another minute sleeping,” she says. Did she say that? Oh, she said it, all right. “Let’s go for a drive,” she says, and pounces on my day.
In the passenger seat of the car, her boots up on the dash, pants down around her knees, she plays with herself on the drive to Virginia. We play a word game. “Button.” Unbutton. “Lace.” Unlace. “Zip.” Unzip. The zipper word is so powerful, so audible, that I take a thousand moments to sigh and shiver. “Tug your hair.” Snitch your snatch. “Dress me up.” Take me down. “Top me.” Bottom me.
We drive 95 South to 81 West. Typical make-out places on Skyline Drive won’t work for this girl-girl couple. Not in rural Virginia. Not in daylight. We search for an exit that will take us to a road, that will take us to a trailhead, that will lead us to a place by a stream where spring is erupting in wildflower blossoms. We search. Maybe I can take a nap when we get there. Maybe the hike will be downhill. Maybe Mimi will be too tired for more that a few kisses? I am happy to be by her side, but my body is missing her bed.
We find a place, just a little turnoff for a few cars near a swimming hole. There’s no one around, no one to bother us or identify us as something other than a hetero couple. Great place for me to catch a few z’s. I’m into it, Mimi. She packed a blanket, and we hike in. We find a gurgling stream that leads into the swim spot. It’s a choice day. Voice of May sounding in April. Resplendent. And yes, there are little purple flowers punching up from the floor of the forest. Lovely, but damn, I’m tired. We pass many good places for the blanket, but Mimi’s search is for something special. I long to recline on the soft, mossy tufts. We pass them. Oh, they want to host my aching body. They speak my name in little green quivers.
A hollow log, yeah, she finds a hollow log where we will both fit, a fortress for our two bodies. Mimi is gorgeous and supple in this noon light, above me. She has a husky thing in her voice, like two throats emit her words, just a shade of difference in tone, one deep, one whispering. She gives me springtime words between kisses. “Marigold, angelica, meadowsweet, hyssop, pokeroot.” Kiss. “Spring equinox.” Kiss. “Juniper, comfrey, dandelion.” Kiss.
A dream begins on the last kiss. My pleasure is infinite. Romantic scenes fill my mind, and my eyes close as she closes in on my breasts. The dream shows me the log is a canoe floating on water now, taking us away. She is kissing my breasts and sending me into high sexual alert. And I know I am awake somehow, and sleeping too. She must know that I just love her mouth on me. That is all that really matters. I go to sleep.
My canoe floats up and out of the water, and her teeth are biting my nipples as I lean over from the sky into her mouth. My body is so happy to be asleep and used for her sexual pleasure. My stunning Mimi with Run Lola Run‘s scarlet red hair and pretty legs that last forever. I am asleep, I am sleeping. Time is passing. Noon becomes afternoon and I am existing in a log with my lover.
A squeaky voice says, “Um, sorry, but, um, but we’re lost.”
I jump with alarm. We’re in Virginia! They might have shotguns! But my Mimi just stops sucking (has she been on my nipples for hours?), leans back to laugh, and tells them, “We’re sort of lost in another world ourselves.”
They don’t laugh. It’s a het couple. They’re wearing U. of VA sweatshirts. They just look puzzled. I throw my forearm over my face because I don’t want to see the shotgun blasts. Death by lesbian lovemaking in Virginia! I am terrified, but my mind is hazy from sleep, so I don’t know what to do. Then Mimi clears her throat and sits up and points, saying, “Follow this trail down, turn right after the footbridge, and that will take you to the road.”
The couple just stands there. Mimi says, “You’re looking for the road, right? You parked your car at the trailhead, right?” The woman nods. “Okay, Miss,” says Lieutenant Mimi, “follow the trail, take a right after you cross the stream, and you’ll see the road.”
The man looks paralyzed. His jaw is slack. We have most of our clothes on, but maybe he saw my breasts. That can paralyze a man, can’t it? I don’t know. But the woman begins to blink, flashes a quick, awkward smile, and gets it together enough to nod her head and say, “Thanks, thanks a lot.”
Mimi says, “No problem. Take it easy.”
The woman continues, “We’re lost, but we saw y’all and we thought your boyfriend, we thought you and your friend could help us find the road.”
“Yes,” says Mimi. “It’s not far. You’re really close.”
“Well thank y’all,” says the woman.
The guy clears his throat and says, “Yeah.” He still can’t move, so his girlfriend tugs his sleeve and pulls him after her and down the trail.
I am still in a fog from REM sleep. Wait. What? Help me with this reality, please. The canoe in my dream was much more comfy than this log. All right, Mimi is here, and she just saved my bum. I have no southern discomfort due to a bullet in my chest. I lean up to look after the couple as they stumble toward the stream. They have no guns, but college sweatshirts and dumbfounded expressions can be just as scary as hunters with rifles when you’re in the woods of Virginia. Ah Mimi, my hero, heroine, my heroin push to states of sweet surrender, thank you for saving my life today.
Then I feel my face blushing. Damn, I slept for hours while she orally fixated on my personal mountains and hollows. Officially, this time, she outlasted me. I am ashamed. My world is turned upside-down. She’s The Man. I am terrified. If she’s The Man, then who am I? The Scaredy-cat? I hide from harmless strangers while she dandily disposes of them? My mind races. Can I be The Man when we get back to her apartment? As the hikers make some distance, I recover my voice and begin to speak. I want to explain, to regain my rep somehow, to say something brave. But Mimi puts her hand over my mouth, unzips her pants, and whispers to me, “They’re gone. Fuck me before it gets dark.”
This article first appeared in Nerve’s True Stories.