Page 80 of Unmatched

Once I’ve got a handle on the vibrator’s basic functions, I skim the lengthy section on masturbation in the “Classic Guide.” It actually suggests starting with just fingers before introducing a toy, which is a tiny relief. I set the rabbit aside, pausing to put on some music so all my overthinking doesn’t echo through my brain quite so loudly. Then I lean back into the pillows and take a deep breath.

I pull at the belt of my robe, shyly parting the fabric and taking in the landscape. I’ve never waxed or anything, but I try to keep pretty well-trimmed below deck. Reclining the way I am, my waist seems small and attractively flat. My breasts are pale and full, falling slightly to the sides. One of my nipples is slightly inverted, which my doctor has assured me is normal. Sometimes it peeks out, especially if I’m cold, but I guess it’s feeling like the rest of me right now because there’s no sign it’s coming out. I squeeze gently the way my gynecologist showed me, and it pops up for a second. Tentatively, I touch both nipples, but it just seems kind of clinical, like I’m doing a breast exam or something.

Loads of fun.

Just to be thorough, I reach down, checking for any signs of arousal. My vagina, like most I’m sure, isn’t a total desert. But there’s clearly not a whole lot of fluid action going on. It seems about as welcoming to my touch as a naked nun. I check the guide again, which encourages using a moist finger to stroke over and around the clitoris. Saliva is suggested as a lubricant, but that kind of wigs me out, so I open up the little bottle from Playful Pleasures. The clear lube is silky and light, and thankfully doesn’t seem to smell like anything. I pour a few drops on my fingers, hesitate, then reach between my legs, searching for the sensitive little nub tucked in the folds just above my vagina.

Per the guide, I start making circles on and around it, spreading my legs open a little for better range of motion. This actually kind of does something. It’s not overpowering or anything, but the sensation is pleasant. Almost like some little bit of me is waking up. I open my legs a little wider and change direction a few times, sliding up and down lengthwise, which is also quite nice. Still not intense, but it feels like things are building, and will continue to build if I keep this up.

The article emphasized paying attention to other erogenous zones like breasts and nipples too, so without removing my right hand, I reach to explore there. Surprisingly, my one shy nipple has decided to come out to play. I give it a light squeeze, and I’m surprised when this time the sensation seems to shoot down between my legs. Almost like the areas are connected. After another minute or two, I realize there’s been a shift in my lower regions. Things feel different—my skin flushed and hot instead of tight and clammy. When I run my fingers over the delicate tissues, they’re moist and swollen—not a lot, not painfully—just enough to make everything feel...well, turned on.

Oh wow. Is that what that means?

I glance over at the pink rabbit lying next to me on the bed, and though my whole body is already warm, my cheeks burn a little hotter. I look again toward the closed door, to my dog sleeping peacefully in his bed, then I roll my eyes at myself and pick up the toy.

It hums to life in my hand, and my memory flashes to last weekend when Anton was the one wielding it between my legs. Are you ready? he whispered, bare-chested, looking up at me. And then he plunged it into my slick, waiting flesh. I imagine him there again as I lower the toy to my center, urging it gently between my folds. I flinch at the sudden contact but start sliding the vibrator up and down, letting it grow slick with my body’s arousal. I find a rhythm the way I’d done with my fingers, and my legs part a little more. My eyes fall closed as I move the toy lower, imagining it in Anton’s hands as the tip hums against my flesh, finding its way to my entrance. My center throbs with anticipation as I pause outside, just the way he did.

Something seems to curl within me then, and I thrust my hips, pushing the tip inside, gasping at both the intrusion and what a relief it is. The strange, unyielding shape fills me again, much like my husband, except also completely different. Slowly, I begin guiding the rabbit in and out of my vagina, its slick, wet sounds making me groan as I explore deeper with each thrust. My muscles tighten around the toy, welcoming it like this is everything I’ve been waiting for, this fullness and friction.

I close my eyes, letting my head fall back on my pillow. My hips buck, and I realize I’m imagining Anton inside me, mimicking his thrusts and attentions. I ache, thinking of his body, hot and strong, joined with mine. And then, with the next rock of my hips, without really preparing myself at all, the rabbit sinks deeper, and its little ears touch down on my wet, throbbing clit.

Suddenly, in my mind, Anton is everywhere. Thrusting inside me, pinching my nipples, sucking my clit all at once. My core tightens and I let out a cry, bucking and thrusting the toy between my legs as my muscles spasm and euphoria rolls through me. I ride the wave, my body’s pulses, urging it on and on and on until finally, regretfully, it slowly fades away.

I find the off switch on the toy and go completely still, letting my hand fall to my side in the silence. I open my eyes, and my gaze lands on the bed beside me. The big, empty space where Anton ought to be. I reach out, tracing my fingers over his pillow, until suddenly I grab it, pulling it to my chest. I crush it against my body, breathing in his scent, desperate for his warmth. My body curls around it, still humming from the fantasy of him as I cry into the fabric.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

“Hello? Lydia, is that you?”

I take a deep breath, hoping my voice will sound right when I open my mouth. I’m just calling to check in on my sister and nephew, get the lowdown on how they’re settling in, making an attempt at being a decent aunt. That is definitely why I’m calling.

I mean, I do care. I hope they’re doing well.

But Celia and I never just call each other to chat. So she’s going to think I want something. And I hate that she’ll be correct.

“Uh, yeah. Hi.”

“Hello,” Celia says again, sounding about as awkward and surprised as I feel.

“Is this a good time? I don’t want to interrupt any um...baby things.”

At this, my sister laughs. And for once, it sounds genuine, not dismissive or forced. “If you mean endless laundry and diaper folding, I’ll let it slide for a bit. Gabriel's napping right now. I could use some adult conversation.”

“Oh. Great.” I’m not sure what to say next. I hadn’t given much thought to anything past dialing her number, which was hard enough. “Are you enjoying being a mother?”

I cringe as soon as I ask this. What new mom is going to say they don’t like motherhood? I cover my face with my palm while Celia affirms the obvious.

“Oh, it’s the best. I don’t sleep as much, for sure, but I’m in love with little Gabriel. Wouldn’t trade him for anything. I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

She sounds like a Hallmark card, and I feel slightly nauseous.

“That’s great.”

I’m struggling to remember why I called, why this conversation was worth having when I could’ve just sent a text without all the uncomfortable silence, but then Celia speaks again and inadvertently reminds me.

“Mom said Anton’s mother was in the hospital.” Her voice is sober. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I...” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Thanks.”

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