Milk Fed - Melissa Broder Page 0,44
was maybe desire, trapped in there without anywhere to go. I rubbed my clit and the opening of my vulva quickly, not thinking about any images, only the anger and the feeling down there. Then I imagined Miriam, not from the front but from the back, lying fully nude on a bed with her hair wet. No, I would not allow myself to fantasize about her. Instead, I imagined another woman, one I’d never seen before, who had the same body as Miriam’s but with very dark hair. Yes, I would create a woman right there in the Schwebels’ basement. Esther! I was going to fuck Esther.
I rolled over onto my stomach and put one of the pillows between my legs. I was the Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel of that fucking pillow. I was Adam, and the pillow was my rib, or whatever. From that pillow, I could create my dream woman.
I imagined how Esther’s ass would look: how big and round, like two gibbous moons. I imagined rubbing my pussy against each of her ass cheeks, humping and riding them. I imagined biting at her back fat and sucking on the rolls there as I fucked her ass cheeks. I realized that in my fantasy, Esther was not saying a word (it figured since she’d been so passive with the evergreens). Did I want Esther to speak? No, I liked it like this, her silence, her passivity, allowing me to move freely and have my way with her body. I felt no judgment from Esther, totally free to do what I wished. It was probably because I could not see her face or hear her voice. Also, Aunt Puah was dead.
CHAPTER 38
When I woke up the next morning, I had no idea where I was. Then I remembered. I felt strangely safe and relaxed. The basement had a window, and the sun shone white through the glass. It was 11:30, and I realized I’d slept late because of all the wine. Someone had brought down clean clothing for me—a long skirt and a long-sleeve shirt—but I decided to put back on what I had been wearing the day before. I didn’t take a shower, but I fixed my hair as well as possible with sink water.
I went upstairs and found Miriam and Mrs. Schwebel sprawled on the avocado-green sofas in the living room. They were drinking tea, and both of them had little plates of crumbs—the remnants of what looked like challah. There was also a plate with a half stick of margarine on it and a bowl of dried fruits and nuts. At this point I didn’t know where I stood with food at all.
“Well, you’re finally up, sleepyhead,” said Miriam.
She looked so happy to see me. But what did she even know about me: that I was Jewish, ate frozen yogurt every day for lunch, and lived far away from my family? Was that enough to make a person like you? I supposed it was.
I could only look at her and grin. Her mouth was wet with tea. I wished I could go over and pull her close to me, give her a big warm kiss. I wondered how she would kiss, if she’d know what to do from studying old movies or find her way intuitively. How would she react when my tongue entered her mouth? Would she prefer me just to suck on her lips lightly, or would she follow my lead and put her tongue inside my mouth? I wanted her tongue in my mouth. I wanted to swallow her tongue right there in the living room.
“Would you like some tea?” Mrs. Schwebel asked.
Of course I did. I wanted to be part of their little party, whatever they were talking about. They’d been gossiping, I could tell from the tinkle of laughter as I approached.
“We will be having lunch, but not until one o’clock,” said Mrs. Schwebel. “You must be famished. Let me fix you some challah with margarine like we had for breakfast.”
“Okay,” I said.
It was amusing to think of an hour and a half as too long to go without food. In my old life, I’d considered anything less than four hours easy. Four hours meant that food was on the horizon, and it was the idea of forthcoming food that mattered most: an edible future. I’d subsisted on ideas, fantasies. But in this house, an hour and a half of hunger was not to be suffered.
The three of us talked