Lucia Finds Her Mojo
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Lucia Finds Her Mojo       
by Ty Spencer Vossler       
                                                        

Her doctor recommended estrogen therapy. Lucia was leery because the list of side-effects was as long as
her arm. Yet, he insisted that with frequent monitoring, there was little to be concerned about.

Menopause had replaced her sex-drive with mood-swings, hot flashes and vaginal dryness. At lengthy
intervals, she performed her wifely duty for the sake of the marriage, but it often left her feeling bitter and
resentful. Lucia’s husband, Wyler, saw detachment in her eyes when she opened for him.

Lately when occasion warranted, he smeared lubricant on his cock-head and pushed into the past—
traveling back in his mind to a time when his wife’s hips churned and her climaxes made her pussy contract
strongly around his cock. When he imagined the Lucia of yesteryear, he didn’t last long. As a general rule,
he spurted on her belly and she appreciated it because his leavings caused itching.

Lucia’s lack of libido procrastinated her search for treatment. She believed that she would wake up one
morning feeling better—that her desire, like a long lost pet, would paw at the door. She had tried
fantasizing, yet the images she conjured so effortlessly in the past were unsustainable—the Spanish artist
who painted with brush and tongue, the Ugandan professor at the math conference filling her with his
thickness, the Mexican ex-boyfriend who just wanted a casual fuck. The images faded before they could
kindle a fire.

Now there was only Wyler, moving slowly between her legs, grunting and leaving an opalescent  puddle on
her lower tummy.  

Lucia didn’t like pills. She explained to the doctor that she was even sensitive to aspirin. He prescribed a
minimal dose of an estrogen cream that was to be applied directly to her pussy. When she returned home,
she used an index finger to administer the first dose.  

“A week or two,” he’d said, “and you should feel a difference.”Lucia

Two weeks later exactly, Lucia was working in her university office when a familiar ache announced itself.
The long lost pet had returned. Braid Theory faded into the background, replaced by a strong urge. She
shivered. Beneath her long Indian skirt, her pussy throbbed insistently.

Wyler was a writer and worked from home. Depending on traffic, home was forty minutes away. He would
be working on his novel. She glanced at her watch—just after twelve—the traffic would be impossible at
this hour. She locked the door and returned to her desk. Furtively, she lifted the skirt, lowered her panty
and rested her feet on the edge of the desktop. Licking her first two fingers, she reached between her
thighs to find the tiny tear-drop hidden beneath her dark pubic hair.

Lucia imagined Wyler lowering her to the bed, lifting her knees and pushing in slowly. She heard herself
moan, closed her eyes, yet Wyler’s image was replaced by a memory. As an undergraduate, she had
boldly visited a favorite professor during office hours, locked the door and presented herself on his desk.
In those days sexuality purred to life with the touch of a button. With the exception of Wyler, she had never
stayed with a man for any length of time. Curiosity drove her always to greener pastures. A few times she
had fucked several different men on the same day. Lucia sifted through memories—the first years with
Wyler—handsome, hypersexual. They spawned as if there were no tomorrow. More than once they’d
fucked the mattress right off the bed.

She paused to add more moisture to her fingers—leaned back into her chair and sighed deeply. She
closed her eyes again and there was Luis. When they met at a seminar eight years ago, he had made it
clear that he wanted to fuck her. She politely declined, yet here he was, scratching at the door, the outer
brown pedals of her pussy slipping over his engorged cock.  

The image shifted and the Cuban professor two doors down from her office came into focus. He liked her
and often stopped by to chat. She imagined him taking her on the desk, lifting her legs by the ankles, his
thick, dark cock pushing down and in, glistening with wetness when he pulled back.

Her fingers moved faster, transporting her back to a particular conference in Morelia—her only actual
infidelity. Pedro, a Portuguese professor from Lisbon, had pushed the right buttons. They lost themselves
in each other for hours. She remembered after the first fuck, he hadn’t softened and they continued even
as his spunk crept onto her asshole. They fucked well into the night and then she returned to her hotel
room.

Lucia kept a thumb on her tiny clitoris and drew a sharp breath as she slipped two fingers inside, curling
them upward to find her sweet-spot.  

She clenched her teeth to keep her pleasure from spilling into the hallway, “Mmm,” the strength of her
orgasm surprised her, “huh, mmm.”

She imagined Pedro groaning, gliding back and forth and her pussy twitched, contracted and squeezed
her fingers. Smaller climaxes followed and then Pedro poured into her. He had wanted to continue seeing
her after the conference, yet she was married and he was engaged. They never connected again, yet the
memory was still fresh.

Lucia cleaned her pussy with a tissue. Each of her fantasies had been suffused with reality. The estrogen
cream had returned her lost pet, and she was determined to keep it from running away again.

There came a light tapping at her door. She hoped that no one had heard her. Quickly she stood, pulled
up her panty, straightened her skirt and ran her hands through her hair. Then she unlocked the door.
The Cuban was there. He offered to take her to lunch. No harm in that, she thought. Yet, even as
gathered her purse and locked the office door, a familiar ache returned.

###

Ty Spencer Vossler (MFA) currently lives in Oaxaca, Mexico with his BMW (beautiful Mexican
wife) and their daughter. Vossler has published novels, many short stories, poetry and essays. He
attributes his originality to the fact that he shot his television over two decades ago.