Turn 56 of 226

Celebrate my new place by eating and masturbating after my workout

The workout ends with the seventh round and the bag is swaying and the sweat is running down her body in sheets and the concrete beneath her is dark with it. The warehouse echoes with the last combination chain — the crack of the jumping knee is still in the walls when she drops to the floor and the floor is cold and the cold is a shock that becomes a pleasure and her back presses against the concrete and the concrete is the correct surface. The body is vibrating. Every muscle is flushed and the fat over the muscle is warm and the warmth of the workout and the warmth of the wish are the same warmth now and they are indistinguishable and the body does not know where training ends and the wish begins.

She eats on the floor. The food came from a delivery to the industrial district — the driver was confused by the address and more confused by the woman standing naked in the loading bay doorway, seven-two and three hundred and forty pounds and glistening with sweat — but the food is here and the food is correct. Two trays of roasted pork with rice. A bag of dinner rolls. A gallon jug of sweet tea. She eats with her hands and the pork is greasy and the rice clings to her fingers and she wipes them on her belly and the belly is already slick with sweat and the grease mixes with the sweat and the grime and the layer deepens. The rolls she eats three at a time and the chewing is fast and the swallowing is heavy and the food drops into her stomach and the stomach pushes against the belly and the belly rises and the fullness is a weight that grounds her to the concrete.

The warmth shifts. It has been building since the last combination chain and the building is not the residual heat of exercise — it is the other warmth, the one that lives in the deep tissue, the one that pulses and says mine and says more and says this is what the body is for. Her hands are on her belly and the belly is full and round and the hands sink into the fat and the fat is soft over the hard muscle beneath and the two layers are the body's truth and the truth is that she is enormous and the enormity is the pleasure. The hands move. The left hand stays on the belly, pressing into the fullness, and the right hand moves lower and the lower is the place where the thighs meet and the thighs are massive and the space between them is warm and wet and the wet is not sweat.

The warehouse is dark except for one skylight that catches the streetlight from outside and the light is a grey column that falls across her body and the body in the light is a landscape — the belly rising and falling with her breathing, the breasts heavy and wide and shifting to the sides, the thighs spread on the concrete, the hair dark and matted and covering everything. Her right hand finds the place and the first touch sends a current through her that makes her back arch off the concrete and the arch is enormous — her spine lifts and her belly lifts and the weight of her is suspended on her shoulders and her heels for a moment and the moment is a wave. The pork is still on the floor beside her and the smell of it mixes with the smell of her — the sweat and the grease and the musk and the old piss from the apartment that clings to her skin and the new piss that will come because she does not move from this floor.

The wave builds. Her left hand digs into the belly and the right hand moves in a rhythm that the body knows and the rhythm is steady and the concrete is cold against her ass and the ass is wide and heavy and the cold and the heat are the same thing. The food sits in her stomach and the fullness and the arousal and the exhaustion and the victory and the warehouse and the concrete and the darkness are all one sensation and the sensation is the wish. She comes with her back arched and her mouth open and a sound that echoes off the cinder block walls and the sound is not a word and the sound is the body speaking in the only language it has left. The sound returns to her from the walls and the walls are hers. The floor is hers. The dark is hers. She lies on the concrete with the food beside her and the sweat cooling and the warmth pulsing and the body is home.