When I was in high school, my American Lit teacher had us read Moby Dick. It was a daunting task at the time, but I have always been glad I did it. There is a scene near the beginning of the novel in which Ishmael, the narrator, finds himself in bed on an icy cold New England night. He explains to the reader that while the blankets on the bed are necessary to keep him warm, he likes to sleep with just his nose exposed to the cold air. His cold nose reminds him that the rest of his body is comfortable and warm. 

I think Ishmael was right, but I like to take it a step further. On a really, really cold night, I like to strip down completely and climb under as many blankets as possible. My husband, Ben, certainly liked my proclivities and always said he looked forward to winter.

Tonight is the first really cold night of the year. But Ben isn’t here to share it. In fact, despite the desperate pangs in my chest, I know we are never going to share another night together again. 

Ben was a U.S. Marine deployed in Afghanistan, part of the 3rd LAR Battalion. Last spring, about two months into what would have been his final deployment, his convoy was hit by an IED. Ben and another Marine were killed instantly, or so they tell me. And just like that, he was taken from my life forever.

Ben and I actually met in high school. He played football for our rival high school in west Texas, where we both grew up. Me and a couple of cheerleader friends ran into him and a couple of his teammates after the “big game” when I was a sophomore. I honestly thought he was a total asshole at the time. Looking back though, I may have been a bit of a bitch, so maybe it wasn’t all his fault. 

We met again at a barn dance years later. I had just graduated from college, and he was home on leave. Long story short, we quickly fell in love. We dated as best we could for an active duty Marine and got married about a year later.

I loved Ben with every cell in my body. I still do. He was funny, masculine, brave, and tender all at the same time. He even smelled good. He had a romantic streak you wouldn’t expect in a Marine. And he treated me like I was the most important thing in his life. His first deployment after we got married lasted about six months and it was agony. Ben’s enlistment was winding down, and his next deployment, as I said, was supposed to be his last. And it was, I guess. 

If you had thrust your hand into my chest by brute force and just ripped my heart out, that would have hurt less than what I felt when I learned Ben was gone. All of a sudden, I was a twenty-five-year-old widow. For weeks I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Even now at times and without warning my chest will tighten, my lungs stop working, and the enormous hole inside me overwhelms everything. 

So here I am, alone in a queen-sized bed made for two. I have my blankets on (and nothing else), and like Ishmael, I feel warm on this cold night. But that doesn’t cancel out the aching emptiness that never seems to leave me anymore. 

I have stacked up three or four pillows so I’m kind of sitting up. Thinking maybe it’s time to reread Moby Dick, because…why not? After a few chapters, sleep is lapping up over my consciousness like waves on a, particularly, peaceful shore. The blankets had slipped down toward my waist, I didn’t notice when.

But now something is different. I am no longer leaning—half sitting, half reclining—against my pillows. I feel the firm, warm contact of skin-on-skin. I am leaning back against a familiar chest. A man’s chest. Ben’s chest. I can’t see him of course, but I know these sensations well. I feel his thick, strong, slightly hairy arms wrap around me, embracing me from behind in a delicious bear hug. Instinctively, I relax and melt into Ben’s arms. I am safe and comfortable—for the first time in almost a year. I don’t want this feeling to end…ever.

The sensation of Ben’s hot breath on my left ear and down my neck is exhilarating. He trails his right hand downward, caressing my bare stomach, while his left hand expands to palm my breast. He pinches my pink nipple, lightly at first but with increasing pressure. Soon, both of my nipples are pert and hard as diamonds. 

My breathing is heavier now. And a little ragged. He is no longer just breathing on my neck; his lips are kissing my sensitive skin, sending jolts of electricity through my whole body. We used to say, half-jokingly (but only half!), that my neck and ears are directly attached to my pussy. Tonight is no different, as I immediately feel the familiar wetness between my legs. 

Ben knows this—he knows me like no one else ever has or ever will. The fingertips of his right hand have been tracing circles across my tummy but have been working lower and lower for some time. Now, he is playing in the hairs just above my dripping pussy. 

“You haven’t shaved recently.” I hear his voice for the first time. “I miss your smoothness.”

I can barely hold back my tears. “I didn’t think you were coming back. I thought you were gone. I didn’t see a reason to…” I can’t finish my sentence, and instead suck in an enormous, gasping breath, for at that moment he runs his middle finger right through the canal of my sex. Speech is gone completely. Rational thought itself is hanging by a thread.

Ben is not done. He plays lightly with my lips, first on the right side, then on the left. His movements are smooth and perfect. This is his pussy. He knows just how to make it do what he wants. And he wants me to cum. 

Deftly, Ben hooks his heels around my ankles and pulls my legs wider apart, opening me up to his ministrations even more. I am so dominated in this position, so controlled. But also so cared for. Who am I to resist?

Thus exposed, my body takes over and my mind yields completely. Two of Ben’s fingers penetrate me. I am already so slick that there is no discomfort or even any need to accommodate. They just slide in as though they have always belonged there. Steadily, rhythmically, but slowly, he works them in and out of my engorged pussy. The sensation is beyond delightful.

Unconsciously, I let out a moan that is a cross between a barn cat’s purr and the howl of a north wind blowing through a west Texas canyon. Ben takes that as affirmation and quickens his pace. With the thumb of his other hand, he twice flicks across the exposed tip of my clit. Stars explode in my vision, and a loud cry empties out my lungs. With each flick, my whole body twitches from head to toe, though I am pinned in place by my lover’s embrace and strong legs. Otherwise, we both know I would be writhing all over the bed at this point. I have never been able to hold still.

Ben knows my body as well as I know it myself. Maybe better in some ways. Ever so lightly he pinches my clit between his thumb and forefinger. Then, he gently rolls it back and forth, varying the pressure, but always just right. At the same time, he curls the fingers of his other hand in search of the little ridges on the roof of my pussy that mark the location of my G-spot. Quickly he finds them—he has been there so many times before—and now I am arching my back and shrieking loud enough to wake the neighbors.

There are no words for the pleasure I feel emanating from my sex and rippling out to every inch of my body. Ben is so skilled, and the orgasm he is seeking for me is coming so quickly. I have been feeling the mounting anticipation for some time, but in an explosive instant the orgasmic wave crashes over my whole being, and I scream out from the depths of my soul. How can I describe the feeling? It is as though I have left this world entirely, and I am bathed in beauty, love, positivity, and every good thing, all at once.

After who knows how long, I finally begin to descend once again from my orgasmic height. I am so relaxed and comfortable, and soon all is black.

**********

I become vaguely aware of bright sunlight from behind closed curtains. How long has it been? I am cold. So cold that I am stiff and shivering, blankets uselessly bundled at the foot of my bed. I must have fallen asleep, after…

But I am alone. So completely alone. As tears quickly flood my eyes, I reach for the nearest blanket and clutch it to me. I turn to my side and hug my knees against my chest, tears turning to sobs, sobs turning to gut-wrenching wails.

This hurts so much. I don’t know how I can go on.