She arched her back and flexed her spine, stretched it taut until she thought it would snap like a twig, dried by the brittle winds and ferocious sun of the Harmattan season. She was determined to achieve that orgasm today. She spread her legs as far wide as they would go and dipped her waist. Her inner thighs screamed in protest and they started to shudder involuntarily. Sweat dotted her brow and she knew there was more trapped on her scalp by her hair which was “due”, thick with undergrowth.
She wiped her forehead with the edge of her blue tank top, managing to catch a drop just in time, as it rolled toward her left eye. No, no pain from sweat in the eye, she thought. The only pain she desired today was of the more primal kind; of deliberate cause and anticipated effect.
She braced herself for more of the bittersweet pain as she spread her legs what could only have been half an inch more, but felt like two, so great was the pain it was almost numbing. She dropped her head further down towards the floor and held the position. The feeling was indescribable, a cold shivering sensation crawling through her inner thighs, straight through her pelvis and into her head. And that was how she felt, heady. Blood rushed into her eardrums and every sound was amplified-water dripping tap tap tap from the leaky bathroom faucet, the rustle of a polythene bag in the kitchen, the faraway chirruping of birds in the tree that towered above and spread over the house. Her legs felt like they belonged to someone else, tingling, interspersed by an alien tensing that caused waves of sensation to course through her limbs, her thighs, pool in her belly, and rocket through to her neck and finally, dizzyingly, her head.
With every shred of willpower she had, she held the position, stayed there as tremors racked her and heat suffused her whole being; she stayed there as she felt a familiar tightening of her crotch, then a slackening lethargy as the waves started to muster and whirl. She reached into the farthest corners of her mind for a distraction, an anchor, something to take her mind from the battle that waged below-a gathering climax and protesting muscles.
As her mind spun, poised on a crest and prepared to tumble into a sea of nothingness, as her face contorted into a grimace and a soundless scream started at the back of her throat that sounded like a keen, an eerie empty sound, her mind broke, her legs pulled together as though someone had placed a magnet between them that yanked them into its force field, her head snapped up like a string puppet whose master had just awoken from a nap and his first unthinking impulse was to jerk the strings lying limply in his hands.
She yelped in disbelief. Tears formed in her eyes as she looked around in dismay at her yoga mat, her dumbbells, her resistance band, all the paraphernalia of her now wasted endeavour. She could not believe she had given up, just when she was so close.
Now she did not know if she believed in exercise-induced orgasm anymore. She had strained to breaking point, to the point where she could almost imagine her muscles making warning noises, giving off a pinging electronic sound very similar to a life support machine, attached to a seriously ill patient. How much further did one need to go, what more did one need to do to experience this coregasm? In fact, she decided, this thing is not real. And all the oyinbo women who claimed they had experienced it were lying.
She got off the floor, rolled up her mat and prepared to go visit Soji. For the real thing.
Culled from a story I’m not planning to write. But I hope it inspires someone to work out today.