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The Wandering Womb Gets Some

Copyright 2017 Lauryn Pants

Published by Lauryn Pants at Smashwords

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Table of Contents

Chapter One: First Time with a Woman?

Chapter Two: Welcome to the Club

Chapter Three: Just One Thing I Can't Figure Out

About Lauryn Pants

Chapter One: First Time with a Woman?

"Tell me all about your wandering womb," you say. You're sitting on my couch like you're not sure whether to cross your legs, or lean back on your elbows. "How does it work? Does it, like, come up to your ear and whisper strange things, you know, fetishes and stuff?"

You seem very interested. Thank you, Craigslist.

The way you're asking, it's almost like you're taking me seriously. You never know with this online dating stuff. Posting in the Women for Women section means that it's still mostly hetero men who respond, or couples. Still, I post about my wandering womb because occasionally I'll get a bright woman who thinks I have a great sense of humor. Women don't like things that are too easy, so I figure, be honest and they'll think you're joking.

"You want to know about my wandering womb," I say. I'm trying to work out if you think I'm being serious.

I pour you some more wine. I want to see where this will go.

You nod. You're a real find. You're really cute. But you're shy. I can see it. You wouldn't know how to make the first move unless we were playing checkers, and even then you'd probably want me to go first. Never been with a woman? Don't worry, I've got you.

My womb buzzes up to my left ear. My womb knows we're talking about it, and it likes the attention. Right now it has something it wants me to know. It's not words it uses, not exactly. It's a little like having a hive of honeybees living inside you. The only word they know is "buzz" and they get quite insistent about it.

My womb is very excited because you want to kiss me. I can tell by how you keep looking at my lips.

"You want to know the secrets?" I say.

"I want to know everything," you say, flustered. "Were you born with a wandering womb? Do all women have wandering wombs? Were the ancient Greeks right that the womb is the cause of all maladies in both women and men?" You are very earnest in your questions.

My womb zips down to hide under my rib cage. Maybe it has PTSD, if body parts can have PTSD. I place my hand over where my womb is hiding, and tell it that there are no ancient Greeks that will bother it anymore. They are all dead, and if they came back as zombie skeletons, surely they would have other priorities than wombs. My womb is safe.

But you're looking at me with questions on your face, and I can't look too self-involved if I want to get your top off. I also can't tell you too much. It freaks people out when I tell them too much.

So I say, very carefully, "I think there's a lot of stuff online about wombs and the weird things men thought about them. I'm not sure the Greeks thought they were the root of all evil. If they did, they're wrong, although their aqueducts were good."

"That was the Romans," you say. "I think." Your little pout is so cute. You seem to act like you're not sure about aqueducts. Or maybe you want me to see what your lips can do.

I get distracted thinking about what else you could do with those lips. "Probably the ancient world was full of aqueducts," I say. "But when I meet people in the Casual Encounters section, they rarely want to talk ancient history for too long. Anyway, if you take your top off, we'll get right to it."

You seem surprised at first. It's still daylight outside, and I suppose you thought this was more of a coffee date. But your face lights up and your top comes off, along with your bra. Maybe you were just waiting for permission.

I take my time looking. "My, those are quite nice. I love the curve you have there."

"Where?" You say, quite innocently. It's clear you are enjoying yourself. "Why don't you show me?"

My womb moseys up to my heart, where it wraps around my heart muscle like a fist. Fists are the same size as hearts, more or less, so I am not sure how my womb does this. Especially because wombs are more or less the size of a lime. Except when pregnant, then they're more like the size of a coconut.

"I like all your curves. Especially this, here." I'm touching your breast now. Running my fingers along the top, then the side, then the underside, where all of that sensitive skin is. Gently, like I have all the time in the world. Because I do. It's Saturday.

"I've never been with a woman," you gasp. "Are you sure it's legal? Won't it make me go blind?"

"Don't worry," I say. "Most of what you think about sex is probably wrong. You learned it from a man, right?"

You nod, then bite your lovely lip. "Men. I like men, I just, I don't know. I always wanted to be with a woman, I just didn't know how. That's why I was on Craigslist."

"No need to apologize. You gotta start somewhere." I very much would like to kiss your breast. Your nipple is hard, and the skin is soft under my fingertips. But I force myself to slow down because I know where this will lead. We'll be talking about skin care, and commutes, and feelings, and everything else that modern queers talk about while they're having sex. And you'll have five or ten orgasms, and at some point we'll stop for Thai food, and two days later you'll stumble out the front door with one shoe on, saying something about having to go to work, and you'll want to know if you can have a key to my place. But I'm not going there just yet. I want to know if you actually believe I have a wandering womb.

My womb buzzes softly in anticipation.

"Please," you say, "This is all very exciting but I want to hear the details. Your wandering womb. When did you first know you had it?"

My womb tightens around my heart. I hate talking about the first time. You seem like a nice lady. I don't want to frighten you. "Here, why don't you put this blanket around your shoulders?" I have to fuss over you a little bit, it's part of the lesbian code. We all sign a charter when we join. It's a little like Robert's Rules of Order, only with a lot more breasts. The rules are simple. Make sure people are cozy, that people get enough to eat, and don't let them drive drunk, those sorts of things.

You melt a little with the application of the blanket. I feel a flush of honesty and I want to tell you everything. It's been so long since I've told someone about my wandering womb. But not yet. It's probably too much to tell anyone at all.

My womb buzzes. It has a mind of its own, that one. It's going between my right ear and my left ear, as if it can hypnotize me like in that movie, Get Out. Such a good movie. But I'm not letting my womb take control. Not now while things are going so well with you.

You're waiting for me, your lips parted. You're making sure the blanket is parted, too, just in case I might forget about your breasts.

I haven't. I'd like to get back to appreciating them. But you keep asking questions that make me think you take my wandering womb thing seriously. So even though this will probably make you scream and run away, I take a deep breath and tell you the truth. "I really can only speak about my womb. I don't know about anyone else's. I used to call it 'The Raptor' after this roller coaster in the Midwest. When I was younger that was the biggest and fastest roller coaster around."

Your eyes look like they're about to pop out of your head, but then you recover. "So you've known for a while," you say. "About your womb."

You must see my hesitation on my face, although you're spending quite a lot of time looking at my chest. I've still got my shirt buttoned. Perhaps at some point that will change.

"I've been to Cedar Point," you explain. "The Raptor was a big deal when I was a teenager in the late 90s. So you must have found out quite young."

It's marvelous how seriously you are taking this. Either that or your ability to be deadpan is something I must study. Also, I think we're about the same age, mid thirties. About the time when a woman really gets to know her body, and what works for her.

"I'm serious," you say. "I want to hear about it. Anything you want to tell me." You look up from my chest. "Would it help you concentrate if I took off my pants?" You are giving me those innocent eyes again.

"It would," I say, because the only thing I like more than breasts is vaginas. I know that might sound odd, since I have both. But there's no new discovery about your own body. If there was, no one would have sex with anyone else, queer or straight. Our calendars would be too full with discovering ourselves.

I'm still not sure I want to tell you too much about the early days, before I got some control over my womb. The first time I really found out what it was capable of was when this guy I was seeing, back when I thought I had to be interested in guys, got a little too fresh and my womb wooshed out and hit him in the eye. I guess he must have thought it was my labia, but he backed off. Men are really confused about women's anatomy.

"I'll take my pants off," you say. "I'm getting a little hot anyway." As you slide your jeans down your legs, I think about how recently you must have moisturized. Your skin tone is really smooth. It's a good thing my neighbors are gone for the weekend. I'm afraid you and I will make a lot of noise.

You pause. Your jeans are at the knee, and your thighs are delightful. You may have not been with a woman before, but you know enough to tease me. "You were telling me about your womb," you say. "The Raptor."

"Ahem," I say. I guess I have to tell you the truth. I start to unbutton my top, to take the edge off of what I'm saying. "The wandering womb thing started around puberty. There's so many things happening then that it took a while to understand that I wasn't being punished for some sort of original sin. My family wasn't great on the sex education, it was all stuff about an apple and a snake and naked people getting cast out of Paradise, and something about Lot's wife getting turned into salt for looking back. It was all very confusing for me."

"Tough childhood," you say with such sweet concern. Your nipples are awfully pert.

"So when my womb started to wander around and buzz in my ear, and in my heart, and stuff like that, I figured it was something I deserved."

Your eyes seem about to pop. I figured this might happen. So I keep unbuttoning. I don't want you taking what I'm saying too seriously.

"So my wandering womb has been with me since I was a teenager," I say. "It gets a little insistent when I'm horny, or any time I'm upset, or I haven't slept enough." The good thing is I can be completely honest, and you'll probably think I'm joking.

You seem a little horrified. Not when you're looking at my breasts, when you're looking at my breasts you seem very interested. I loosen my bra, and take it off, then put my shirt back on, fully unbuttoned.

"But why?" you ask. "Why does it wander?"

"I wonder," I say, "if it has to do with magic. I don't mean like Magic: The Gathering. I mean, like, women create people. That means we have a magic men don't have. That must be weird for them. I mean, nearly every man alive was created by a woman, right?"

"Nearly every man?" Your pants have gone past the knee and are slowly lowering to the floor.

"I'm not sure about Newt Gingrich."

You nod. It seems like you are about to put your pants back on. I suppose he has that effect on people.

"But," I'm quick to change the subject. "I never could believe everything I was taught about at Bible School about it being my fault that men had problems. How could it possibly be my fault, especially when I didn't even have curves, back then?"

Your eyebrows have drawn together. You're kicking your pants off by now, and I can see the cut of muscle on your calf. You're busy thinking something through. "So here's how I understand it," you say. "Biblical stuff aside, because that's clearly wrong. Some Greek man, Galen or someone, came up with the theory that basically every problem a woman can have is caused by their womb, wandering around the body in savage search for sexual satisfaction."

The sibilant sound from all of those S's has got you looking primal. I would like to kiss your mouth.

"Were they right? Because I've done my research," you nearly shout. "I've seen the Victorian advertisements about women's cures. I know they invented the vibrator because doctors got tired of doing the 'massaging' to get women relief from their hysteria. 'Hysteria,' Greek for uterus, meaning 'bitch be cray.' They used to blame the womb for everything."

Your air quotes are so damn cute. I want to put my face between your legs. I think it's too easy to blame the Victorians for this. They get blamed for inventing everything weird. Zeppelins: I rest my case. And I really don't know much about the Greeks, only it occurred to me this morning that birth control used to be in the hands of the midwives which meant everyone must have had access, and now that birth control and medicine get regulated by the government, women are subject to the whims of men. But now is not really the time for musings on Victorians or governmental policies. Your face is heated, and you're looking at me with a hunger that is not just sexual.

"I just want to know," you say, "is the wandering womb real? Are you pulling my leg, with your wandering womb talk? I mean, I know Craigslist is full of weirdos, that's fine, but are you like a Victorian fetishist who gets off on playing like your womb is wandering? No judgment, I'll still sleep with you, I just need to know." You seem so intense. It's not anger, not exactly. But you're searching my face, as if it's a map and you're pulled over on the side of the highway, about to run out of gas.

My womb buzzes in both ears. How it does this is beyond me. Left and right, at the same time. It's the size of a lime. It's never been this loud before, and I think it's because I like you. I like you quite a lot. And not just because I want to sleep with you. I recognize your look of desperation.

I often feel desperate myself. Here it comes again, that feeling of desperation. I've never met anyone who took this wandering womb business so seriously. It gives me a weird buzzy hopeful feeling that might actually just be my womb, which has lodged itself in the middle of my chest. Maybe I was tired of feeling like I was the only one with a wandering womb.

I thought I was being clever when I put that advertisement in the Casual Encounters section on Craigslist, my post which was really just cribbed from an article I saw on Vice about how a wandering womb will strangle people and needed to be lured back to its proper place with the application of pleasantly-smelling oils, and smelling salts were invented to chase the womb back down when it was wandering and making a lady feel faint. Because I figured it was just me who had a wandering womb, and there was no point in actually telling people the truth. But at the same time I don't like lying.

I can't tell if you're about to burst into laughter. I don't know. You seem so serious. I want you to be serious.

I want to kiss you. I need to kiss you. I didn't intend to feel like this. I was just happy you came over and took your top off.

But I have to answer your question. Let the chips fall where they may. "I have this thing, when I really like someone I'm honest with them. I know that'll sound all woo woo and Californian, like a salesman saying, 'Do I have your permission to be honest with you?' but I can't help it. Because you'll find out anyway, and then all of the amazing sex we had won't mean anything to you, because you'll run away when you know the truth."

"You voted for Newt Gingrich?"

Your joke makes me smile, and the conversation feels easier. "Never. I'm a lifelong Democrat. It's just, I've never met anyone who could take it seriously. My wandering womb."

My womb is poking out of my nose, to say hi to you. I can tell you see it because of the look on your face, like you just noticed I had a big booger. You seem about to put your pants back on. Then my womb is fighting its way out of my right ear, maybe because it thinks that will look better. I don't mind my womb wanting to say hi to you, I just wish it wouldn't play fast and loose with my eardrum like that. Not even an 'excuse me,' it just barrels its way through like it can make a new eardrum if it blows this one. I suppose it could make a new eardrum, but that's not the point.

"My womb does more than wander," I say carefully. "It sort of jets around my body. That's my womb you're seeing. It's not a booger in my nose, or in my ear. That's my womb, saying hi. It's not a joke. I can't control it. Mostly I just try to make peace with it. It's very excited about you. I hope you don't mind."

Your eyes widen. Your nipples are still entirely erect. Then you jump into my lap.

You kiss me then, and it's a little like being attacked, how fast you move, but I'm right there with you. You taste like wine and your lips are as soft as I imagined. I want you. All of the clothes between us, they must go.

I've got my arms around your blanket, because now I'm on my back on the couch, and your naked thighs are wrapped around me, so close I could touch them and the only reason I don't is that there are so many other wonderful parts to touch. The curve of your jaw I try first, with my fingers and then with my tongue, and you moan something. It seemed like words so I pull away and murmur, "What was that, babe?"

"I thought I was the only one," you pant. You kiss me again.

I'm not sure I heard you correctly, and it doesn't really matter because you're on top of me and your breasts are loose and wobbling right by my face. I'm usually the one on top, the one starting things and doing things, and it's wonderful and a little alarming to have you on top of me. Now you're kissing my collarbone. I could get used to this. I had gotten my shirt unbuttoned, and your fingers are pushing my shirt back to expose my belly.

You ask, "Am I allowed to take off your clothes?"

I want to make some smart remark about it being phrased in the form of a question, like Jeopardy, but it was, and you are so warm and nice on top of me that I'd probably do anything you wanted. Which means you'll break my heart, I know it. What was that you had said, that you weren't the only one? I have to know. Before we get any further I need to know if you're taking this seriously. My womb has never been louder. It needs to know at least as much as I do.

I ask, "So you're okay with the wandering womb, then? Did you understand me, when I said that it moves around? And I have no control over it? It's real, as real as real can be?"

My womb buzzes right behind my eyes. Then it slips down my throat and lodges itself in my lungs. Someone might think this is metaphorical. I can assure them that it is not. Also, I am really attracted to you. If you're going to break my heart, let's at least screw first. Quite a lot, if possible.

"I just thought I was the only one." You're straddling me, and gently, ever so gently, running your hands over my belly. "The only one with a wandering womb." And you so clearly mean it that I am stunned into submission.

"I first found out about my wandering womb," you say, "when I went to the gynecologist for the first time. It was a man doctor. My mother's doctor. And I didn't understand why he had a woman in the room with him. I was sixteen." You've got your hands on my belly, unbuttoning my top the rest of the way. You're working your way towards my breasts, so slowly and gently that I want you now. I want your hands on my breasts, even though what we are talking about is really, extremely unsexy. Probably there's someone in the world who'd get off on your mother's gynecologist going at you with a speculum, but it's not me, and it's clearly not you.

"They had me on the table, you know, and he went to poke at me and something came flying out and whapped him on the hand. It must have hurt because he yelped. I thought I must have pooped, and I don't know what he thought, maybe he thought he pinched himself in that horrible cold metal thing he was about to put in me. But that was the last time I went for a PAP smear." You look thoughtful. "That's probably not good for my cervix."

"You might try a female gynecologist," I say. I feel the blood running out of my face because I really thought I was the only one. Until you, I really thought that I was alone. Not crazy, I know I'm not crazy, only I never expected to meet someone else who had the same thing I did.

I see your womb poke out of your nose then. I can tell because wombs are kind of pink and boogers are yellowish or greenish. That's when I know you are the real deal. Not just amazingly cute and charming, but you are like me. I didn't think that was possible.

All of the words I've been holding back spill out. I say, "I had a similar experience, except it wasn't a doctor, it was a boyfriend who got a little ahead of himself. At the time I thought my vagina punched him. I didn't really know much about how the anatomy worked, back then."

And then you kiss me and it seems we will be occupied for some time. You're working your way down my neck, kissing and licking, and then you have your face between my breasts. My top is all the way unbuttoned. We stay there for quite some time. Your hair, you have quite a lot of it, is a pleasant distraction for me. Keeping your hair from getting in the way of your mouth seems to be my main contribution to events. Your hair is about as uncontrollable as my womb, and I've got my hands in your hair and it's wonderful to touch.

What you are doing is even better. I'm on my back, and you’ve got one hand around each of my breasts. You are stroking the skin with your thumbs, and you are going from one nipple to the other with your mouth. Every time your lips close around a nipple, I feel a jolt between my legs. I want you to keep doing what you are doing. Your lips part and I can see your tongue working on my nipple. For someone who says they have never done this, you are remarkably good at it. You must have spent time thinking about what to do.

You are also clearly enjoying yourself. You move to my other nipple and look up at me, and you can't help but smile, but you keep licking. Licking my nipple, then around my nipple, then as if you can't wait any longer, the nipple goes in your mouth and you moan and my thighs clamp together because I want you.

But then you remember my other breast, and you tongue your way over to my other nipple, and I can't bear waiting for my nipple to be in your mouth. You kiss and lick the skin around my nipple, as if you know how badly I want your lips around my nipple. You get closer, and lick the top of the nipple, then run your tongue around my nipple, then finally your lips close around my nipple. The sensation of your mouth, the wetness and pressure, is exquisite. The fingers of your hand find the nipple on my other breast, and you rub the wet nipple with your thumb and forefinger. The combined sensation from both breasts is almost enough to make me come.

I can't bear for it to stop, and at the same time, I need to feel your nipples in my mouth. I need to touch your breasts. I need to kiss you. Another woman with a wandering womb. I never thought it was possible.

I cup your chin with my hand and nudge your face towards mine. When your face rises to meet mine, I kiss you with everything I've got. You're on top of me, your weight presses on my groin, and we are rocking, gently and then not so gently, as we kiss. There's something so electrically satisfying about rubbing up against you, yet I'm aware that you have no pants on, and I have pants on, and these things must be made even. I wouldn't want the fabric I am wearing to chafe against your delicate skin.

I want to take my pants off. Just to make things fair. My womb buzzes softly. It's down where it belongs, as if it's waiting for you.

But first I need to taste your nipples. "Put your breasts on my face," I pant. "Please."

You are quick to oblige. Your breasts are large and when you lean forward your nipples brush my cheeks. I reach up with my hands, marveling at the smooth, soft skin. Every curve of you is perfect. I kiss the curve between your breasts, and run my fingers along the skin underneath your breasts, where the breast meets the ribcage. I can feel your heart beating fast underneath your ribs. I cup your breasts so I can feel them pressing against my cheeks, and I open my mouth to lick your breasts in earnest.

You moan, and rub your crotch against me. I quite like this position, with your butt sitting nicely on my groin, your legs straddling me, and your breasts right by my mouth. I haven't yet made my way to your nipples, and I can feel you squirming, trying to work your nipple into my mouth. I kiss my way over to one of your nipples, which is achingly erect.

I tongue your nipple, gently at first, and then earnestly. My lips close around your nipple, my hands are full of your breasts, and when I suck on your nipple I am not sure which of us is having more fun. I love the feel of sucking on you. Your back is arched and you moan.

"Oh, yes," you say. "Oh!"

I run my tongue around your nipple, to slow things down for a moment, then dive back in. My lips tighten and I suck on your wonderfully pert and sensitive nipple.

"Harder," you moan.

I am not one to leave a lady hanging. I tighten my grip and draw your nipple a little deeper into my mouth. I tongue your nipple, my lips tight around it.

You shudder and let out another moan. "Yes!"

But we have forgotten something very important. In all of the need to pay attention to this breast, the other one has gotten neglected. I run my thumb over your other nipple, and you squeeze your legs together tight around my hips.

"Ah!" you moan. You seem to be a little beyond words now. I reach my fingers into my mouth to grab the nipple there, and keep steady pressure around it, so it won't have to go without sensation for even a second. Rubbing your nipple is such a nice feeling for me. I love how erect your nipples are.

I move my mouth to your other nipple.

"Yes," you say. So you are not beyond words. Just down to little ones. Single syllables. Words with lots of vowels.

"Yes," you moan.

I love the taste of your skin, and the feeling of your pert nipples in my mouth. The soft and smooth curve of your breasts I could explore at length, but I feel like now isn't the time to go too slowly. My womb buzzes softly, down where it's more or less supposed to be. It tends to calm down while I'm having sex, for whatever reason. Maybe it's getting what it wants, I don't know. I love licking your nipples. We could be here a while.

But there's somewhere else on you that I would like very much to lick. I put my thumb and forefinger in my mouth, around your nipple, so that both nipples will be cared for sufficiently and I can free my mouth up enough to speak.

Before I can ask you if I may go down on you, you're kissing me and I'm lost in that sensation. Your mouth and your tongue on mine, I just can't get enough. I'm careful to keep pressure on each of your nipples, you clearly like that quite a lot, and I'm kissing you, and I'm gradually noticing that you're grinding on me, and moaning, and you seem to be ready for me to pay more attention to that lovely part between your legs.

I'm not about to disappoint you. But I like to treat a lady right. I need to take you to bed. I think it's fine to mess around on a couch, but when things get really wet, it's best to have some sheets to wipe your face on.

"Come to my bed," I tell you.

You grin a wicked grin and stand up before I have quite let go of your nipples. I never like pausing the action, but we do have a lot to look forward to.

I stand and point. "The bedroom is just down there, and the bathroom is in the hallway, on your way, just so you know." If you needed to take a moment to yourself, now would be good. I will be wanting you all to myself soon.

I also want to watch your ass as you walk. You oblige by bending to pick up your clothes in a way that clearly shows the curve of your backside. I'd like to bury my face in those curves. I want to experience the smell and taste of you. My womb buzzes softly inside me, like a vibrator that's been left under a pillow.

I watch you walk away from me, into the bedroom. You turn back then and say, "I really thought I was the only one. The only one with a wandering womb, I mean."

"Me too," I say. I feel a little light headed, as if my body is floating. I suppose I have some good reasons for that. The taste of your skin lingers in my mouth. I take a few moments in the bathroom, allowing the anticipation to build. Then I enter the bedroom, and close the door behind me.

You're on the bed, on your back, naked.

"It's as if you read my mind," I say, and you giggle.

Your breasts wiggle with your laugh, and I want very much to put my face in between them again, but there are whole realms of you which I have not yet had a chance to explore. And a quick conversation we should have, which there is never a good time for.

"By the way, I'm clean," I say. "Last tested a month ago. Not seeing anyone currently or since then."

"It's been over a year," you say. You seem to sink into the pillow a bit. "I've been tested twice since my last partner. I'm all good."

What's a gal like you doing single for so long? I think but do not say. You'll have your reasons. Whatever they were, they brought you here.

"Well, then," I say. "We'll have some lost time to make up for, I'm sure."

I start with your thigh.

"Is this all right?" I ask, kissing the inside of your knee. I know it is from the way you sigh, like you're relieved but also desperate. I like to ask anyway.

"Please," you say. "All the way. Whatever you want to do. I love oral, I love penetration. Probably up for anything, really."

This is promising, but I sense in your voice that right now is not the right time to get up in your ass. That's okay. I'm in no hurry. It's like I've bought a ticket to a theme park, and I've just discovered that there's a whole other part to the park that I didn't know about, and I'll need to buy a separate ticket for it so I'll probably want to come back another day, but now I know it exists so I'll be sure to come back. Like how some theme parks have a water park attached, and you probably want to bring your swimsuit. For some people, the ass theme park is totally closed. It's their loss, I suppose.

"That is all completely excellent," I say, and then I get to kissing the inside of your thigh. I'm in no rush. The skin here feels different than the skin on your breasts, and I want to take my time and appreciate it. The skin on your breasts was thinner, softer, while the skin on your thighs is sturdier. Big muscles tighten under my lips. I get the sense you work out. I lick and nibble the inside of your knee, the inside of your thigh. First one side, and then the other. I could be here a while.

I can smell your pussy from here, and it's enough for now to know that it is close.

"Oh," you moan. You reach back to the headboard, as if you need to grab onto something.

I get that feeling of wanting to grab and hold onto something stationary. A new lover is always a little disorienting to me. I'm awash in sensation. I have my weight on my elbows and knees, and I'm running the fingers of one hand over your thigh. With my other hand I grip the sheets, just for a moment. Just to remind myself that this is a moment to live, and that soon enough you'll be gone and it'll just be me and the sheets and my memories of right now. For now you are still mostly a mystery, a precious mystery to be explored.

I look down your leg, to your ankle, and then back up. There's no real surprises to be found in the human anatomy, you would think. Yet I need to look at you, and take all of your body in. I saw you were naked, when I first came into the bedroom, but I need to take my time and appreciate your nakedness in detail. From here I can see the fine bones of your ankle, and if I look the other direction, I see the curve of your vulva, which is appropriately hairy. I like hair, it shows you are a grown woman.

Past this is the soft curve of your belly, which is raising and lowering as you breathe, the twin protrusions of your rib cage, and then the wonderful curve of each breast, and your erect nipples like maraschino cherries on top of ice cream. I'm taking it all in as I go.

Slowly I kiss my way up your thigh. My womb purrs happily inside my belly, right where it's supposed to be. It's rarely happier than when we are having sex with someone we really like. And I'm not sure I want to tell you this yet, but I really like you. I like the smell of you, and the taste of you, and all of the delicate curves of you.

I trickle the fingers of one hand up your thigh, over your hipbone.

You gasp, and moan, and it seems like you are perhaps past words again. Words are hardly necessary right now. The sensation of your skin against my lips is quite enough for me, thank you. My wandering hand works its way up past your rib cage and finds your breast. Your hand closes around my hand. You want me there. I find your nipple and rub it.

You moan, and buck your hips a bit. It's clear you're ready for me, but I want to make sure you've been thoroughly teased. I kiss and lick all the way up one thigh, then go back to the knee on the other side. When I'm quite close to where you clearly want my mouth to be, I take some time on your inner thigh to show you the different things I know how to do with my tongue. Circling, like this. The standard licking up, over and over. Nibbling. And then the alphabet, capital letters because they're easiest to do with your tongue although sometimes I'll get mixed up in the heat of the moment and put lower case letters in there. A. B. C.

"Oh, God, I need you," you say.

I take this as my cue, and hover my face over your most lovely part. You've moved your hands down to pull your outer lips apart for me, to make access easy. I kiss your clitoris, and you shudder and moan.

I part my lips and lick you. You taste sweet, and human, and you smell fantastic. I lick you again, and again. I keep the pressure consistent, not too firm.

You moan.

My weight is on my elbows and I have enough room to maneuver that I can get both of my hands on your breasts. I've got both of your nipples between my fingers. I know you like constant pressure, but I also believe that varied stimulation is wonderful when it comes to a female's pleasure. So while I lick you, and kiss you, and occasionally wipe my cheeks on the sheet while I take a moment to breathe, I'm thumbing your nipples, or caressing your breasts. Varying techniques, as it pleases me. Sensing your reactions, and repeating things you like.

"Oh, yes, yes, yes," you moan. I wonder if I'll get a chance to finger you before you come. It seems like you are enjoying this so much, I'd hate to take it away from you. Or from myself. I have breasts in my hands, and nipples in my fingers, and a clitoris in my mouth, and if I was meant to be doing something else with my life than this, whatever higher power that made me shouldn't have made this feel so good.

I guess people think sex is about getting off, and I understand that. But for me, the experience is more about the whole ride. Roller coasters aren't about the part where you get off, they're about all of the twists and turns and sudden thrills that keep you wanting more.

And yet, you seem close. I can tell by the way you've gotten louder. Your breathing is faster. You've still got your hands on your vulva, helpfully keeping the lips open so my mouth has unfettered access. It's very thoughtful of you to do that.

You let out a long vowel sound, and I know from the sound of it that you are very close, possibly past the point of no return. I am serious about my work, licking you at a steady pressure, thumbing your nipples at the pressure level you seem to like best.

And then you shudder, and moan, and pant, and I can feel your muscles clenching, and I keep licking, and licking, because I can feel you are coming and I want you to get every last bit of it. I don't know how long you go for, but I am enjoying you so much that I haven't stopped until you've moved your hands away from your vulva and said, "Okay. Just. Woah. I." You're breathing hard.

I take all of this to mean you'd like a moment to recover. I release my hold on your breasts, and move away from your vagina. I have the taste of you in my mouth, and the sight of you panting in front of me. A light sheen of sweat covers your naked body. I can't take my eyes off of you.

"Wow," you say. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me. Thank you. And you're welcome."

I wipe my face on the sheets. This is why I wanted to get you away from the couch and into my bed. Sex is messy, at least it is if you're doing it well.

I expect you need some time to recover. I don't expect you to reciprocate right away. If you didn't reciprocate at all, that would be fine too. I feel a twinge in between my legs, thinking that might be all we do today, and I might have to finish myself off later, thinking about your breasts. That would be okay, too. I'm just glad to be with you.

"That was amazing," you say, and you're a little angry when you say it. "It's like, I don't know. I've had lovers who were almost that good, but only after we'd been making love for years and they really got to know me. Why, just, why are you so good? Is it because you're female?"

I shrug. Your compliments have me feeling warm and gooey inside. "I don't know. I've been studying the manual." I gesture down my body, my breasts and hips.

You smile. "You're a good student. You probably could write the manual. Maybe you should."

I shrug again, not sure what to say. I feel like I must be glowing from the praise, as if your warmth has literally made me incandescent. You seem to want me to explain more, because this has been so different for you. "I'm also not in a rush to get you off. I'll take my time and notice what you like."

You sit up, breasts bouncing, and lean over to kiss me. "I like you," you say. I'm a little self conscious about kissing you, because not all women are down with their own taste on their lover's mouth. You don't seem to mind. Then you pull back and smile at me.

"Excuse me, I'll be right back," you say, and swing your legs over the side of the bed. "My momma taught me always pee after sex, because you don't want to get a UTI," you call after you.

"Good policy," I say. Nobody likes urinary tract infections. I remember back to sex with men, when I was younger and before I had figured out that really, I prefer women. Moments like this always felt awkward with them, when one person wanted to take a moment to themselves in the bathroom. Maybe I felt like it was my responsibility to always be entertaining them. As if they couldn’t entertain themselves for just a moment while I went to pee. Now that I date women exclusively, I relish a moment alone. A pause in the action, to build anticipation. I exhale. I'm pleased with myself, happy about the fact that you are naked in my home and I've just made you come. If there was something better to do with a Saturday, I don't know what it is.

Chapter Two: Welcome to the Club

You come back into the room and settle on the bed next to me. You have this silly grin you can't seem to get over. It's insanely charming. If I thought I liked you before, I really like you now.

"What?" you say.

I shrug. "You're just so happy. It's wonderful."

"You're the one who's grinning," you say. You glance at my breasts, then below my waist. In all the excitement I have not managed to take my pants off yet. My shirt is at least on the floor, along with my bra.

"May I?" you ask. You seem shy again. "I'm afraid I won't be as good as you. But whatever I lack in experience, I'll make up in enthusiasm."

"Done deal," I say. As if I would say no to you. "I like everything," I say, unzipping my jeans and exposing my yellow panties. Sometimes I wear men's underwear, maybe because it feels neat, but today it's the standard Hanes you get at Target.

You act as though it's not yellow panties, but a treasure chest full of gold. Maybe to you it is. Maybe, like you said, you've always wanted to be with a woman and never knew how to achieve it. Maybe this is the pot at the end of the rainbow to you. And my little pouch of belly seems to delight you, so who am I to feel self conscious about my curves? I like yours so much, it seems only fair to let you have a chance to appreciate mine.

At your prompting, I remove my panties and settle on my back. You are so earnest in your explorations, going over my thighs and belly with your tongue and hands, that I can't help but adore you. I won't use the L word. Love isn't what this is, but love may come of it. I don't want to think about it right now, and anyway I'm losing the ability to think as you kiss your way up my stomach to lick my breasts. You can't seem to get enough of nipples and breasts. I guess if this really is the first pair of breasts that you got to play with, other than your own, you really do want to take your time and enjoy them. Men are all angles, compared to women. Women are all curves.

You’ve got both of my nipples wet, and you're rubbing them between your fingers, and you're kissing your way down my stomach. My womb flutters in anticipation. This is all very exciting to me. In between my legs, my clitoris is alive. There are live wires connecting it to my nipples, and the whole system is on overdrive. I want you on my clitoris, I want your fingers fucking me, and I want your hands on my nipples. Is all of that too much to ask? I know it's biologically impossible for a single human to do, but I want it.

You hesitate as you get to my waist. You clearly want to keep your attention on my breasts, but your real focus is between my legs. I know how I can help you with this. I find my own breasts with my hands, and start to rub the nipples. This frees up your hands, and you work your way down my belly with your mouth, your hands exploring the inside of my thighs.

I moan, both because I'm really in the moment, and because I want you to know you're doing it right. I toy with my nipples, to keep the sensation going but also to let you know I'm really into what you're doing. Perhaps I ought to pull my outer lips apart, the way you thoughtfully did for me, but now you've beaten me to it.

I'm throbbing. I can feel your breath on my clitoris. It's all I can do not to buck in your face.

"I want you," I manage to say. "Please."

But you seem to have taken a page from my book. You are allowing me to linger in anticipation. I pull harder on my nipples, needing you.

"Please," I moan.

And it seems that "please" really is the magic word. You kiss me then, and just the touch of your lips is almost enough to make me come. I'm not normally a light touch, and I gasp and moan.

"Is it okay?" You seem worried.

"Please don't stop," I say.

You kiss me again, right where I need you, and I moan. Then I feel your lips part, and your tongue emerge. Your first lick is tentative, and then you get the hang of it. You're licking me, steadily, and it feels so good.

I moan, so there is no question about whether you are doing this right. I’m breathing faster and faster. I can't control it. My thigh muscles are clenching.

"I'm close," I say. I don't want to take anything away from your first experience of a woman. I just know that with what you are doing, I won't last very long. The buildup of pressure inside is strong already. I want to come.

You're right there. Right where I need you. Licking with a steady pressure right where I need it. What you're doing feels so good.

And when I come, it rushes over me like a waterfall. I can feel my muscles vibrating. I'm breathing fast, in little gasps, and everything inside me is clenching, and releasing. "I'm coming," I say, because it's true and you should know that you have created this orgasm for me.

Afterwards, as my breath is slowing down and my clitoris slows down its throbbing, I feel I have no words.

You've moved your head to the side. "The sheet is all wet down here," you say.

I laugh. "You can find a dry spot if you want to wipe your face."

You get that this is why the sheet is wet. You seem to marvel that two human bodies can make so much moisture.

Chapter Three: Just One Thing I Can't Figure Out

I excuse myself and go to the bathroom where I take a moment. I'm shaking slightly. The sex was good, but even good sex doesn't usually make me shake. Perhaps I'm hungry. Or perhaps I'm about to be emotional. I use the toilet and wash up and look at myself in the mirror. "You're fine," I tell myself. I drink a little water from the tap. It helps, but this is still an emotional moment. I like you. My womb purrs softly inside me. We like you quite a lot.

I dry my hands on the towel and come out to join you. I'm happy to see you're still naked, and ready to cuddle.

"We have to do that again," you say. "I think I need more practice."

I have it in mind to apologize for coming so fast, but I learned a long time ago that apologies make people feel awkward, and so I shouldn't apologize unless I've really done something worthy of one. "You were great. We'll do that again. I'm sure we can come up with other things to do, too. We've only just touched on what's possible."

You relax. "I just didn't know," you say, and the sense of wonder in your voice is like you've just discovered there's a ladder that goes all the way to the moon. "I didn't know that it would be that good with a woman. Why does anyone sleep with men?"

"Beats me. Once I figured it out, I never went back."

You look to my breasts, then back to my eyes. "There's just one thing I can't figure out."

I resist the urge to tell you that sex isn't about figuring out, it's about feeling. Maybe men just don't get that, and that's why they have to come up with stuff like the Oedipus complex, because they think there must be reasons and explanations, when really it's hormones and feelings. But I'm not the kind of person who wants to tell people they're wrong, so I just say, "What's that, love?"

"Why do we both have wombs that wander? I mean, can I even believe that wandering wombs weren't just something that was made up by Greek perverts? Or is it like, every woman has this and none of them will tell me about it except you? I just don't get it." Your face is so earnest, like you've genuinely been kept out of some club and I'm the person who's supposed to let you in.

Except I don't know. I thought it was just me. I thought I was just a weirdo, until I met you.

I'm not sure why our wombs wander. I would have thought about it earlier, except we were so busy doing things that seemed extremely important at the time. My brain is still coursing with feel-good hormones, and I can't quite think right. "I don't know," I say, after a long pause. "Before you, I thought I was the only one."

My womb hums happily in my belly. Even my ovaries seem to be a little wiggly, normally I can't feel them as separate, it's just this loud and insistent beehive that gets worse when I am angry, or horny, or a man is trying to tell me what to do. Except now my womb is quite satisfied. It's not like a beehive at all. It's more like a muppet, happy and slightly fuzzy.

"I know my womb is happy now," I pat where it is, in my belly. "It's not buzzing around, trying to get my attention."

"Mine neither." You're patting your belly. "I'm so happy right now. I don't want to leave."

"No need," I say. "Do you like Thai food? I'll order some in."

And with that, you're back in my arms, and you're covering me with kisses, and I'm happier than I've probably ever been. I'll save your question for another day. Because probably there is a reason why our wombs wander, and I owe it to myself to figure it out.


About the Author

Lauryn Pants is a Midwestern mother of two. No one knows that while the kids are outside playing, she's writing trash. She believes that now is the time for funny, sexy writing that's full of feels, juicy, real, and a little weird. If you like Lauryn Pants, please rate and review her books so that others can get Pantsed. Someone's bi-curious daughter will thank you.

The Wandering Womb Gets Some is the first book of The Wandering Womb Chronicles. More titles are forthcoming soon. All characters depicted are 18 years of age or older, and all sexual acts are consensual.

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