When the preacher in the pulpit warned me about a weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth I thought it was figurative. And yet, here I am in the middle of the night with my desire an open, gaping wound. My sounds hide in the darkness not meant to be heard in sunlight. He is not here. An ocean away. Tide crashes and roils between us as the siren sings. I slither in the no man’s land of lucid dreams as my skin presses into the sheets. Fingers clutch and twist at fabric while I rub the smoothness of my cunt against well-worn flannel. I can feel him, his breath hot at my ear, a phantom riding me hard. If I turn over, I know I will stare into the black nothingness and release the spell. Instead my cheek rubs against the mattress and my mouth opens, lips parting to spill out the wail from the well inside. Legs part and knees press in search of a grounding I cannot find. My center flames, leaking wet and spreading into the ocean of us. I feel his hand wrapping my hair, winding it and pulling it until I’m anchored against him. His needs punish me and I capitulate to the pull of the moon. I am the figurehead carved into his prow, battling sea spray that steals my breath. He slides over me, submerges us both as we roll into the deep, falling a full fathom five.
Juliette van der Molen is a writer and poet living in the Greater NYC area. She writes completely unladylike erotica and other sundry things. She is a recipient of the Zathom Microfiction Award (third place, April 2018). Her work has also appeared in Memoir Mixtapes, Lit Up, P.S. I Love You, My Erotica and The Junction. You can find more of her writing at Medium and connect with her on Twitter as @j_vandermolen. Her debut chapbook, Death Library: The Exquisite Corpse Collection, is scheduled to be released in 2018 by Moonchild Magazine.