Lucia Finds Her Mojo
by Ty Spencer Vossler
Her doctor recommended estrogen therapy. Lucia was leery because the list of side-effects was as long as her arm. Yet, he insisted that with frequent monitoring, there was little to be concerned about.
Menopause had replaced her sex-drive with mood-swings, hot flashes and vaginal dryness. At lengthy intervals, she performed her wifely duty for the sake of the marriage, but it often left her feeling bitter and resentful. Lucia’s husband, Wyler, saw detachment in her eyes when she opened for him.
Lately when occasion warranted, he smeared lubricant on his cock-head and pushed into the past—traveling back in his mind to a time when his wife’s hips churned and her climaxes made her pussy contract strongly around his cock. When he imagined the Lucia of yesteryear, he didn’t last long. As a general rule, he spurted on her belly and she appreciated it because his leavings caused itching.
Lucia’s lack of libido procrastinated her search for treatment. She believed that she would wake up one morning feeling better—that her desire, like a long lost pet, would paw at the door. She had tried fantasizing, yet the images she conjured so effortlessly in the past were unsustainable—the Spanish artist who painted with brush and tongue, the Ugandan professor at the math conference filling her with his thickness, the Mexican ex-boyfriend who just wanted a casual fuck. The images faded before they could kindle a fire.
Now there was only Wyler, moving slowly between her legs, grunting and leaving an opalescent puddle on her lower tummy.
Lucia didn’t like pills. She explained to the doctor that she was even sensitive to aspirin. He prescribed a minimal dose of an estrogen cream that was to be applied directly to her pussy. When she returned home, she used an index finger to administer the first dose.
“A week or two,” he’d said, “and you should feel a difference.”Lucia
Two weeks later exactly, Lucia was working in her university office when a familiar ache announced itself. The long lost pet had returned. Braid Theory faded into the background, replaced by a strong urge. She shivered. Beneath her long Indian skirt, her pussy throbbed insistently.
Wyler was a writer and worked from home. Depending on traffic, home was forty minutes away. He would be working on his novel. She glanced at her watch—just after twelve—the traffic would be impossible at this hour. She locked the door and returned to her desk. Furtively, she lifted the skirt, lowered her panty and rested her feet on the edge of the desktop. Licking her first two fingers, she reached between her thighs to find the tiny tear-drop hidden beneath her dark pubic hair.
Lucia imagined Wyler lowering her to the bed, lifting her knees and pushing in slowly. She heard herself moan, closed her eyes, yet Wyler’s image was replaced by a memory. As an undergraduate, she had boldly visited a favorite professor during office hours, locked the door and presented herself on his desk.In those days sexuality purred to life with the touch of a button. With the exception of Wyler, she had never stayed with a man for any length of time. Curiosity drove her always to greener pastures. A few times she had fucked several different men on the same day. Lucia sifted through memories—the first years with Wyler—handsome, hypersexual. They spawned as if there were no tomorrow. More than once they’d fucked the mattress right off the bed.
She paused to add more moisture to her fingers—leaned back into her chair and sighed deeply. She closed her eyes again and there was Luis. When they met at a seminar eight years ago, he had made it clear that he wanted to fuck her. She politely declined, yet here he was, scratching at the door, the outer brown pedals of her pussy slipping over his engorged cock.
The image shifted and the Cuban professor two doors down from her office came into focus. He liked her and often stopped by to chat. She imagined him taking her on the desk, lifting her legs by the ankles, his thick, dark cock pushing down and in, glistening with wetness when he pulled back.
Her fingers moved faster, transporting her back to a particular conference in Morelia—her only actual infidelity. Pedro, a Portuguese professor from Lisbon, had pushed the right buttons. They lost themselves in each other for hours. She remembered after the first fuck, he hadn’t softened and they continued even as his spunk crept onto her asshole. They fucked well into the night and then she returned to her hotel room.
Lucia kept a thumb on her tiny clitoris and drew a sharp breath as she slipped two fingers inside, curling them upward to find her sweet-spot.
She clenched her teeth to keep her pleasure from spilling into the hallway, “Mmm,” the strength of her orgasm surprised her, “huh, mmm.”
She imagined Pedro groaning, gliding back and forth and her pussy twitched, contracted and squeezed her fingers. Smaller climaxes followed and then Pedro poured into her. He had wanted to continue seeing her after the conference, yet she was married and he was engaged. They never connected again, yet the memory was still fresh.
Lucia cleaned her pussy with a tissue. Each of her fantasies had been suffused with reality. The estrogen cream had returned her lost pet, and she was determined to keep it from running away again.
There came a light tapping at her door. She hoped that no one had heard her. Quickly she stood, pulled up her panty, straightened her skirt and ran her hands through her hair. Then she unlocked the door.The Cuban was there. He offered to take her to lunch. No harm in that, she thought. Yet, even as gathered her purse and locked the office door, a familiar ache returned.
Ty Spencer Vossler (MFA) currently lives in Oaxaca, Mexico with his BMW (beautiful Mexican wife) and their daughter. Vossler has published novels, many short stories, poetry and essays. He attributes his originality to the fact that he shot his television over two decades ago.