Have you ever been somewhere and felt ungrounded, like reality was altering under your feet? Four in the morning you wake up unable to sleep but unable to do anything else because you are staying at a friend's place and you're the only one awake. Maybe in the middle of a hallway at school during summer break or mere minutes after you've received your diploma. Someplace familiar or otherwise unthreatening suddenly feels like it is surrounded by static when seen through a different light.
That is what fucking my husband feels like.
Being a novice at physical intimacy, I hardly know what to do when my back is shoved upon the door and Daniel pins his body to mine, so I can feel his arousal, rough hands on my hips pulling me closer. His mouth finds my throat with urgency and I mewl when his teeth pinch my skin, testing the tenderness there. His teeth biting my skin does not hurt; the pressure he exerts is controlled and calculated to not cause pain or draw blood, but a mark or two wouldn't be unexpected.
My hands glide up his shoulders and neck, yearning to touch him before the moment ends. Forgetting self-control and restraint, I lose autonomy over my actions and find myself pressing my body flush against his and grabbing the soft tufts of his hair, encouraging him. If he removes his lips from my skin for more than the moment it takes him to breathe, the moment will be over.
Resisting him is what I should be doing; if not physically then mentally or internally. Instead, I'm wrapping a leg around his hip and grinding with his movements almost as if by instinct.
I've known since birth-since the wedding-that I have no choice but to obey my husband. Now, I've lost my choice and my right to resist him in the confines of my own mind. I'm not even obeying him anymore. I am giving him permission, encouraging him. Without saying one word I am begging him to never stop touching me. I am starved of touch and affection; of love and lust and the ability to want. Even in the shallowest of Gilead's waters I am drowning, and this man is my only chance for rescue or revival.
"Five months I've waited," he growls at the curve of my jaw. "To finally fuck you."
The word "fuck" has never scared or aroused me as it does when Daniel says it to me, even before the word was criminalized. Cursing of any kind was outright criminalized; especially a word so blasphemous and atrocious as "fuck". There is no "fucking" in Gilead. Procreation is only between a fertile man and woman in the constraints of wedlock once a month. There is no sex or love-making. There is not pleasure or lust.
My muscles relax at the sound of his voice and I roll my head back to expose more of my neck to him-willingly giving myself to him. My stomach pits in nervous anticipation and heat pools between my trembling thighs. I lower my head to meet his lips. They are rough an unyielding, teasing at the hesitancy of my own.
His lips are bitter wine, and I am intoxicated.
I knew of handmaids who became involved in affairs with their Commanders; willingly or by the means of threats, coercion, or bribery. Daniel waited. Was he afraid of being monitored and caught, or did he have the small scrap of decency left within him to wait until his wilting wife was dead and buried?
A growl of frustration rumbles out of Daniel's mouth and tickles mine as he struggles to unbutton his shirt and strip the coarse fabric away. When he presses his bare chest against me, I am engulfed in uninhibited warmth. I can't recall the last time I felt human body heat upon me or even close to me. Finally recognizing a comfortable rhythm of molding my untried lips to his, Daniel snakes his hands around my sides and firmly grabs my ass, hoisting me up. I wrap my other leg, still shaking, about his waist and emit a sigh when his silken tongue runs up a column of my throat.
Guiding us backwards, he lowers me onto the bed and releases me from his hold. "I want to see you." he pants, eyes hungrily tracing over the outlines of my figure beneath my robe.
The liminal space is gone. Reality is no longer altered and absent but deafening and biting at my bones. Terror strikes the rose-colored glasses from my eyes and I see everything around me clearly. I fully-realize what is about to happen and that there is no going back. There is no erasing the events that are about to happen; fate and my hormones have already etched my future in stone.
I am dangerously vulnerable. I don't feel like a Wife anymore. I barely feel like a grown woman. I feel like a child trapped in their body but helpless as they watch themselves participate in what will be the obliteration of their innocence.
I take a moment to observe him: his bare chest is somewhat expected. It is reminiscent of a Ken doll; presenting lean muscle and shallow tone softened by age. It lessens my fear of exposing myself.
My hands quiver as I tug on the belt of my robe and reveal my body unceremoniously to his hungry gaze. His expression changes. I can't decipher if he is disappointed in my appearance or studying the rarely-nude human body in silence. His brown eyes linger on the swell of my abdomen. Suddenly I become self-conscious and yearn to curl up in a ball on his bed, sinking like the Titanic and never to be seen again.
I begin to put my robe back on when he stops me. "No, don't. I'm sorry. I've never seen how far along you are under all that red." He says with disdain at the mention of my old uniform. I am not convinced of his sincerity. "Don't worry, I still want you." he tries to assure me with a thin smile.
He really knows how to woo a woman. I'm slightly insulted and more reluctant than before to continue this exchange. I'm half certain that he is settling for me just so he can stick his dick in someone willing.
Shit. I'm willing.
He kicks off his slippers and raises an eyebrow at me as I scoot towards the foot of the bed. "No, we don't have to do it that way anymore."
I'm increasingly becoming more embarrassed as he continues to speak.
He casually removes his pants and I turn my face away from him out of habit. He laughs and climbs atop me, tilting my face to his. "Don't be afraid."
Had I still been wearing my handmaiden's uniform, one could see this moment as a twisted re-telling of Little Red Riding Hood with Daniel starring as the Wolf.
I am carrying his child in my womb, now as his wife, yet I cannot shake the ugly and stiff feeling of virginity. I shouldn't feel so inferior and immature; this isn't the first time he'd been inside of me.
He enters me slowly, torturously slow. He pauses within me to my great relief, allowing my body to adjust to him. The heat within me is no longer an invasion-it is invited and almost welcome. It is not as painful or rough as it was the first time when he branded me as his property and poisoned me with his seed. I scrape my fingernails along the surface of his skin and he winces.
"Breathe," his lust-laden voice purrs. I draw a breath in through my nose and exhale, relaxing my body around his.
I feel a twinge of guilt. It is a reluctant feeling but one that cannot be absolved nonetheless. The last sexual contact he had was five months ago on the same bed as his decaying wife, and who knows when before that? His patience with me is dwindling as his body stiffens defensively, trying to restrain himself from moving too quickly or abruptly and hurting me as a result. He so badly wants to just fuck me; not slowly or gently. He probably resents me in this moment for my lack of sexual experience.
"Just breathe," his voice hitches in his throat as he pulls back and thrusts into me.
I moan from discomfort. A thin sensation of pleasure begins to seep into all my senses, overpowering and blotting out all pain.
I am giving in to the fantasy that this is what I want. I remind myself that I am going to go insane from isolation and that I should be grateful that a man, my husband, has taken pity on me and given me release.
I am adapting to survive.
Daniel has his arms around me, one hand idly circling my nipple with his forefinger. He listens to my breathing as it normalizes.
I am sore, but I imagine that it will take time before my body relaxes to coupling. If it ever happens again.
"What are you thinking about?" he mumbles with his mouth pressed to my shoulder. His coarse facial hair irritates my skin. He places a gentle kiss on my shoulder and nudges me with his nose, trying to make me answer.
I stay where I am and don't turn to look at him. "Was I…okay?"
Chuckling without mockery, Daniel tightens his arms around me reassuringly. "You were fine."
Fine. That isn't good or bad.
Caring about his opinion of my sexual performance makes me curse myself, but knowing it relieves the small part of me that can't resist affirmation.
"You called me Esther." I state. Multiple times.
"That is your name, isn't it?"
"I didn't realize anyone knew that information." To be honest, I don't know if I am allowed to be called by that name.
"It was in your file." He replies nonchalantly.
"My file?" I echo, rolling over to face him.
"Every handmaid has a file. It gives date of birth, given name, past stations, successful and unsuccessful pregnancies prior to this assignment. There's no personal details, if that's what you're wondering. The file only provides information that is necessary to know."
I bite my lip and ask quietly, "It didn't mention that I was a virgin?"
Shaking his head, he replies, "I suppose Gilead doesn't care how many times you've had sex, if at all, as long as you can produce a healthy child."
"Well, I guess we both work." I try my hand at a joke.
I am getting too comfortable here. He is getting to comfortable with me.
"Yes," he grins, placing a hand on my stomach. "On the first try…" he says in awe.
His hand dances over the curves of my stomach, experimenting with the authenticity of the physical manifest of a child. His eyes wander across my skin, trying to visualize the fetus growing in my body and beneath his hand. It is the first time that he connects with being a father, the first time he understands the gravity of our situation. He removes his hand from my stomach as if he has touched something forbidden. My womb is heaven, and he has not earned the sight to see what lies beyond the gate.
The little monster is in a paradise that I cannot help but expel him from to face the hell of Gilead.
"Forgive me if this is too personal,"
I am laying naked in your bed, pregnant, post-coitous. That ship has passed.
"Why weren't you intimate with anyone before me?"
I want to roll my eyes and tell him that it wasn't about him.
"Um," I mumble unattractively, "I guess that I never found the right time or the right person. I was too busy to date and I didn't want to hook up with a random person."
"Wait," Daniel pulls away from me and gazes at me wearily. "You never went out on a date?"
There goes my pride.
"Nope." I giggle nervously to hide my embarrassment. Heat tickles my ear and blazes across my cheeks.
There is a heavy silence before Daniel states, rather than asks, an even more uncomfortable question. "Certainly, you've been kissed before?" I bite my lip and shake my head. I wished to make a cocoon in the sheets and hide. "Oh."
Daniel holds me close to comfort me, though it does little for my ego. He tilts his head down and searches for my eyes, but I am far too mortified to meet his. He places a soft kiss on my lips and does not try to make me kiss him in return. The kiss is a gift to me and he expects nothing in return. It is tender and deep, almost as if he loves me.
Almost.
When I awake, Daniel's hand is resting on my stomach with another on my breast, and the returned firmness of his length pressing upon my back. I close my eyes and decide to rest a while longer, before the little monster wakes up and decides to voice his opinion on the previous night by kicking me awake. Behind me Daniel stirs and mumbles something unintelligible. I grin, wondering if his hand on my stomach is upsetting the little monster.
"Whoa!" Daniel exclaims. His voice is raspy and strained from sleep.
"He wants us to get up."
"Mmm…" Daniel mumbles in acknowledgement. He tightens his hold on me and makes it clear that he does not agree with his son. After another kick, softer, Daniel grumbles in surrender. "Alright, I'm up!"
Rolling over, I hum with content at the feel of the sheets against my bare body and watch Daniel rise from bed to stretch out his stiff muscles. I notice the shapeliness of his ass, a pleasant surprise I had overlooked the previous night. Turning, he catches me watching him and admires the disheveled state of his bed.
"Come here," he requests, opening the door to his bathroom and shuffling out of view, expecting me to follow him. I hear the shower sputter to life as I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes. "Come here," Daniel's disembodied voice repeated more sternly, steam rolling through the doorway.
Sliding my arms into my roble, I saunter over to the doorway and remind him, "I just showered."
Not wanting to risk the shower water running cold by starting the sink, I extend an arm into the shower to gather enough water to wet my face and scrub away the natural oils on my face. Daniel's arm catches my forearm like a whip, wet fingers coiling around my flesh and making my hair stand on the back of my neck. Before I can object, Daniel wrenches me into the steam-filled space, directly under the showerhead, drenching me so that my robe clings to every curve and corner of my body.
"What are you doing?"
Leaning in, breath hot against my mouth he purrs, "Baptizing you."