Margie Meditates

Margaret Rice stretched out her arms towards the sun. It planted soft little kisses on her skin like a tender lover. Actually, it was more of a lover than any human she’d ever made love to. There was no human, except for Friday, she loved more than him. There was one, once; Friday’s father. But she gave him no thoughts. He had left her and his daughter to fend for themselves. Margie had hated him, cursed him for destroying her life.
But then, she had learned that she didn’t need him. Her love had left, but the sun had stayed. It had kissed her everyday, better than her husband had. The wind had caressed her, better than any man could. The sea threw her body around, stronger and more assertively than any young stud, the rain had covered her, more thoroughly than a hundred men could. Margie had realized she didn’t need a man’s body. She only needed her own, and that of Mother Nature. Margie had learned to love life, nature and eventually herself.
That didn’t mean she didn’t partake in the pleasures of men and women; it just meant she didn’t need to to feel happy anymore. Now, fully content in her skin, she truly lived. When she made love, wether it was her dear friend Angela, her husband Henry, the earth, the sun, the rain, the sky or herself, it was a meditation, an exercise in connection to herself and the world around her.
Angie and her students kept her in contact with the human world, aside from Friday of course. Most called her weird, or woo woo, with her crystals and her mandalas and her naked yoga. Still, a lot of women, young and old, came to her for guidance, both inside her yoga studio (a room at the local sport center she rented on Saturday morning) and out. During those morning sessions she helped women find the peace she had found.
She thought back to this morning, in which her students started stressed and frustrated after keeping up with modern society for a whole week, and ended up in a trembling tangle of orgasms, relaxed and thoroughly cleansed. Once you’d been in one of what Margie called her ‘love nests,’ you knew what sisterhood truly meant. All left with a feeling of support and rejuvenation.
Her yoni got soaking wet thinking about it.
She laid down on her mat, spread her legs to the sun, and imagined his warm rays enter her.
Halfway through her third solar orgasm she heard her daughter speaking to her maybe-boyfriend. The fruit of her womb had brought the one in whom she might find true love and connection. Perhaps she would become a mother herself. Margie realized his first impression of her would be that of an experienced, free and sensual woman, making love to herself in her backyard.
Good. He’d see her truly as she was. He’d have to decide for himself if he would love the daughter of someone like that.
“Hey mom.”
Her orgasm was still going, shaking her to the core. She let go completely, her deepest earthly voice calling out to the heavens, like Mother Earth to Father Sky.
Then she stood up to greet them.

#

“It’s alright,” she said, “take as much as you want.”
“Thank you, it’s great Mrs Rice,” Brandon said.
“Please, Margie.”
The boy was too polite for his own good. He hardly even showed surprise of her nudity; most people found her nudism odd, even if it was just at home and during yoga. He didn’t, or if he did, he hid it well. He was tall, strong, worked at a supermarket while studying history and playing rugby. His dark haired, blue eyed confidence contrasted with Friday’s golden-brown bashfulness. Yin and Yang.
“Right, I’m sorry. Margie.”
He hoisted some more salad and couscous into his bowl. They’d settled onto the lounge chairs in the backyard, enjoying the last bit of sun.
Margie loved watching their little displays of affection, him caressing the back of her neck, her kissing the head of his lingam. He had a good one, thick.
After dinner she got her turn.
“Would it be to forward to ask you to make love to me, Brandon?”
His hardening lingam, only minutes after he’d come into her daughter’s mouth, gave her the answer first.
“Not at all,” he said, “I would love to.”
Friday’s smile widened. She knew her mother approved of him.
Margie laid down on her yoga mat, the top of her head towards the west, so he would come in from the east, like the sun. For now, she was Mother Earth, as Friday would be to him, receiving Father Sky into her body. She sighed deeply as he did.
Yes. He was perfect for her daughter.