. . . for spacious skies . . .
for amber waves of grain
My hand, just moments ago turning tender pressure circles over my clit, freezes mid-motion while my brain – the part of my brain that thinks having an orgasm would be a grand idea – tries to reason out this sudden intrusion of notsosexy song.
America, The Beautiful? Really? NOW?!?
My singing-head-voice holds its silence at this question, so after a moment of concentrated breathing, I center my energy, concentrating on the ball of heat tightening behind my belly button and conjuring —
for purple mountain’s majesty
Oh, for fuck’s sake!
Stifling a laugh, I clench my my kegels in silent giggles at the ridiculousness of this pre-orgasmic patriotic mental concertina and press on – literally, pressing and stroking and teasing my swollen clit with firm fingers – figuring, What the hell, why not?