Robo-Cigarette Lighter… in case you are too damn lazy to strike a match…
Sometimes you just fuck. You meet. You talk for a bit. You like her accent.
It was late for supper. I sat at the bar. She was nearly done eating. I smiled at her. We struck up a conversation. That accent. I love an accent. It doesn’t matter from where. Hers was clearly southern, but from where? A little backwater. Creole. Raspy. She looked like she had always been wild and always gotten away with it. I got her talking about back home. Her father. Her crazy mother. An aunt somewhere in the picture. Fishing. What the sunsets were like and how she’d lay on her belly in the wet grass and watch the sky light up. We smiled at each other. This fit.
Easy. Straightforward. This is about fucking. Yes or no. I finished my burger and she grabbed my thigh and ducked her head down to look me right in the eye, close. “I can’t read you,” she said, “Are we getting a drink?” I nodded, “Sure,” I said, “That seems about right.” She slapped me hard on the back and spoke a little too loudly, “Good! But not here. I know a great little bar a few blocks towards the water.”
We walked side by side. The energy buzzing. A fast pace. Loud laughs. She grabbed my neck and squeezed it. “You’re good,” she said, “This feels good.” I laughed. I wasn’t talking much. Usually, I’m the one telling stories but she had plenty. I wasn’t used to her level of energy. I’d been out with a lot of shy girls, reserved girls, the girls who wait for a kiss. She was not one of those. Tall and lanky. A shadow of a mustache. Eyes the color of ice water.
The bar was perfect. Dark. Sticky. Stiff drinks. No one looking. She held my thigh hard between her fingers and told me more small town stories. I kissed her in the middle of a sentence. I was feeling done with the pretense. I liked her energy. I wanted to fuck. She wanted another drink. I had a bitters and soda and shook my head clean.
She had a small studio down there. Near the water. Everything changes near the water. The air. The smells. The sounds. It’s softer and cleaner but somehow, also, so dirty. Dirty gutters. More piss on the pavement. Broken meters. You can smell rotting things. The fish, the algae, the dumpsters. Brown banana peels and thrown away leftovers strewn in fields of weeds behind chain link fences. Dirty blankets. Tarps. A shoe.
She didn’t live here. Just shared a small studio space with some other artists. We didn’t talk about her art. I don’t know what she did there. Painting maybe. Everything was covered by sheets. There was a broken down couch covered in a brownish red corduroy with wide stripes. The couch was covered in sharp dried bits of things. Paint, clay, ketchup.
We fucked there. I sat on her lap. She opened her knees wide and let her hands fall next to her hips. She guided me gently with the tips of her fingers until I sat close, so close to her. My face above hers. Her head resting on the back of the couch. I touched the buttons of her shirt but she grinned and grabbed me quick, moving my hands to my own clothes. Button by button. I watched her eyes move down my chest. I pulled my shirt off, slowly eased my arms out of the sleeves and listened to it fall. She lifted one arm and tugged at the neck of my undershirt. I grabbed her head and pulled her mouth onto my tit and she sucked on my nipple through the thin cotton, letting her head fall back when the fabric was soaked. I could smell the sweet booze and sour cigarettes in her spit. I pulled my shirt tight against my skin and a small breeze made my nipple flinch cold and wet. Hard. I squeezed it tightly in my fingers and winced.
A slow show. I touched my neck for her. Lifted my shirt over my head but left it on like a harness, holding my shoulders back. I traced the outline of my belt under a finger and reached down to scratch at the seam of her jeans, wanting to feel her clit before I unlatched my belt buckle and slid it off with a hiss. I draped the belt around her shoulders. I scratched at her tits through her shirt with the rough edge of leather. She took my hands in hers and pressed them into my belly, nodding at me. Prodding me to keep going.
I grabbed the buckle of my belt hanging next to her ribs and tugged on it, pulling the strap off her shoulders until I could slip it into my pants. I had to suck in my belly to make room for my hand, pushing the belt buckle lower until it slid against my cunt. Her mouth fell open for a moment. Her smile lost. Eyes wide as if she was straining to see that buckle pressed against my clit under my clothes. I took the belt in my hands and pulled the tail of it over to me, gripping it low and holding it flat against my belly and between my tits. The thick leather felt so good in my hands. I could move it slowly up and down against my clit. We fell into this together. The slow movement. My ass lifted off of her thighs and pumping up and down with the tiniest sway. I felt her fingers on my hips.
Her small room was hot but a chilling breeze rushed in from time to time through a crack at the bottom of one window that couldn’t properly close. The metal on my clit felt so good. I was rubbing it so slow, so slow I could feel it swelling. I stared at her face. The way her eyes took me in made me shake. Made me sweat. My armpits were wet, the hair getting slicked against my skin. My pants were starting to stick to the backs of my thighs. “Keep it slow like this,” she whispered with a crack in her voice. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t move my lips or blink or nod. I just stayed in this slow movement and shuddered.
This is how we fucked. I came against the slow back and forth of warm metal against my clit. My pants still buttoned up tight. My hands holding my belt strap. Her eyes on me. Her legs open wide beneath me. Sweat beading on her upper lip. A few strands of her dark hair sticking to her forehead. I came with a jerk that shoved my chest into her face. She twisted her head away from me right before my sternum hit her hard. I thought about her sharp, thin nose and how I might have bloodied it if she hadn’t turned. I would have liked to see that. The blood on her face.
She let me open her jeans. She left her hands at her sides as I pushed my fingers inside her pants. The same slow sway in her lap. Her cunt was so wet. Thick and wet. My fingers easily slid against her, into her. Slow. Slow and burning. I got a lump in my throat. She stared into my eyes. This stranger I was fucking. This woman who’s name I wasn’t sure I knew. But I knew something about her childhood. Her dad. The yard she grew up in. Her love of soft grass and warm air and a wide sky. She took my belt and bit into the leather, holding it in her mouth, clamped down on it while the heat in her cunt built. She growled when she came and didn’t jerk or pull like I do. She opened and flattened and clenched her jaw. I saw her teeth sink deeper into the leather strap. I felt her clit throb. And then she sank a little lower and smiled.
It’s a dull warm day. A light breeze through the trees and across my exposed face and forearms. The heat from the sun hits my thighs and you rush through me. You. Your body. I want my fingers in you.
It’s too bright to keep my eyes open. My cat wanders in and out of the house through the open doors off the porch. You are gone. Working. Sliding in and out of cramped rows. Sweating in this heat. Smiling. Being sweet. I miss you.
It’s a hot day. I hear the highway. I dream of the white lines and speeding trees while I doze. I wake with a hot chest. Sweat on my neck and belly. I want my tongue in the salty creases of you. I want slick wet sweat between us. I’ll pour you a drink over ice in a minute but first let me take this in. The heat. Your curves. I bury my hands between your legs.
These are my dog eared memories and panting desires. You are always in my lonely haze. Like now. In this heat. While I miss you.
I am a drunk and a whore. I will fuck anyone who wants me to fuck them. I am your mother or your father. I’m that boy in the back seat. That girl in the locker room. I’m anyone you want. And you trust me. Maybe you love me. I love you.
This is who I am. This is who we all are. Some of us hide it. Some of us shiver and shake and bury our faces in the corner pretending we don’t know it. But this is who we are. Come on.
I am yours. Right now. My hand in my pants.
Kiss me and grab my ass. I will push you up against the railing. Here. On the balcony. Where are we? My hotel? Yours? A bar? Were we walking home? Kiss me. Let me grab you. Let me pinch your thigh. This meat in my fingers. I want it.
Sex is where we go to be lost. Sex is where we are ancient. Language, no language. The raw root of desire buried in all of us. Every one. We roll our tongues and purse our lips to suckle. We feed. You are mine now. I will be yours. I am. I am yours. Right now.
I will fuck you for asking. I will stick my fingers in your mouth for shaking that ass. Bend over the way I like. Let me see your hands on the backs of your thighs. Hold your legs open for me. Let me see your pussy. Let me see it drip. This is how it has always been. Don’t pretend we’re civilized.
When I’m drunk like this, I don’t care. Buttons fly. Zippers break and scrape my skin. None of it matters. Rip this off of me. Be angry. Impatient. Hit me when I can’t come. Scream at me. Pull your hair and cry. And I will make you take it. I will hit your cheek with my open palm. I will punch your chest and pinch your breasts. I will bite your hips and spank you hard. Open your legs. Now. You want this. I want this. Let it hurt or feel good or who cares right now.
My fingers are inside you and I cannot close my mouth. Not now. Breathing onto your face. Sucking your lips. Your tongue thick in my teeth. This is how I find out who you are. Who you are to me. This is how I show you myself.
Before you come, I grind against your thigh. I spit at you. My cunt hurts inside my jeans. I watch your thigh grow dark red. Streaked purple. Little spots of blood, popped capillaries under your skin. Here we go. I fuck you.
You asked for this when you stared. You asked when you looked down to see how well your tits look in that shirt. You asked when you touched my forearm. You asked. And I answered. I always answer. I’m right here. Right where you want me. Whenever you ask. But you need to ask. I won’t demand this. I won’t take it on my own. Ask me. Go ahead.
One night there was this girl. She burst into my house. I’d left the door open, knowing she was following me home. I told her I’d drive slow. I’m easy to follow. She ran in and fell to her knees, her hands on the bulge in my jeans. She slicked back her hair and sucked my cock through the denim. She tugged at my belt. “Fuck me,” she said and I fucked her on the carpet. Her knees thrown over my shoulders. I shoved her up the stairs and fucked her again on the edge of my bed. She flipped over onto her belly and I fucked her harder, my thighs wet with sweat. She yowled, there in my small room. She reached her long arms behind her and pulled on my hips. She wanted more. We fucked for hours. If either of us came, I didn’t noticed. I fucked her until my eyes were bleary and my legs shook. She left in the thick morning fog. Wet and spent. We fucked until we collapsed. No sleep. She found all her clothes and said goodbye with a kiss that was more tender than either of us wanted and asked if I was free that Wednesday. I was. I told her. I never saw her again. She fell in love. Or back in love. Or pretended she wasn’t this animal. This animal.
I am the one who will fuck you whenever you ask. Wake me up in the middle of the night. Follow me into the bathroom. Touch me just around that corner. Get in my car. Give me your number. It’s that easy. I’m a drunk and a whore. Buy me a drink. Your place or mine?
Let me suck your pussy through those sweet little panties. Do you want bruises? Where. Show me. Point that pretty little finger and my mouth will follow. Hold your thighs wide for me. Suck on your fingers like I like. Turn your head away, my fingers splayed on your cheek. I like to hold you down while we fuck. Just let go. I’m right here.
I blame you for everything. My sour mood. My jangled nerves. This chipped button on my shirt. I blame you for the piece of chicken stuck in my teeth. The pinch of my glasses behind my ears. I blame you for the sweat on my back. The fruit flies in the kitchen. The stench of my t-shirt, balled up on the floor. I blame you for this longing. The desire that crawls on its belly inside me. It tells me to shove my fingers inside your holes.
I blame you for everything because you are mine. Mine. I want you. I take you. I fall asleep with your head on my chest, your arm resting on my ribcage. I wake with your body curled next to me, warm in the blankets. I trace your outline with my fingers. I kiss your forehead.
There are nights when I only want to pet you and be soft. When I drag my fingertips lightly across your shoulders, up the back of your neck, down your arms. I slide across every crease where your skin finds itself. Inside your elbows, under your arms, your back when your shoulders pinch together, your twisted neck. I like to trace your sweat on hot nights when the booze and the heat swirl together in our heads and in our bed. Our bed. Ours. Mine and yours. This night. Most nights. Many nights.
Press your hand against the wall above the headboard. I want to imagine it there always. An imprint. A heat map. Your fingers splayed out. Your palm hot and flat on the plaster. Hold it there and let me lick your fingers. Sink my teeth into your knuckles. These are the nights when I want you in my mouth. I suck on your neck and nibble at the base of your skull. My fingers in your hair. My tongue snakes behind your ear. I want you in the middle of the bed, bent over your knees, arms out to the side. I bite the flesh on your ass, over and over again, then watch as my dripping wet finger slides around the puckered rim of your asshole. My eyes take it in, how my teeth have marked your ass, my circling finger. I mark you as mine. My own. I will have you and hold you.
I sleep deeply and wake up wet, imagining us fucking. Your wrists tied behind your back, I bend over and let you watch as my fingers slide in and out of my pussy. My face buried in the blanket, my pants pulled down. I love to fuck like this. Not even touching, or barely so. You sitting there staring. Me on my back with my legs pulled wide. Maybe my foot rests on your thigh. Watch me jerk off. Let me rub my cock against your chest, slicked up with lube. Open your mouth so I can look inside that soft, dark hole. Mine. You are mine. Tonight and tomorrow. I want more. More of you. More of this.
Fuck me with your cock, your fingers, your tongue. Let me climb on top of you and come again and again. I’m your boy. Your good, sweet girl. Call me anything you want. Because you are mine and I’ll give you anything for it. All this. More. I blame you. I’m in love.
To the anonymous person who commented on my most recent story -
If you had criticized my writing, I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t have been thrilled. I mean, this isn’t Yelp. But I might have considered what you had to say. Your comment, though, had nothing to do with the writing. You criticized the sexual fantasy itself.
If you’re a reader of mine, I think you’ve missed one of my core beliefs. I wasn’t sure what to say at first, but I’m glad to be able to speak to this. It’s something I’ve said before and it bears repeating.
I don’t judge anyone’s sexual fantasy. I don’t accept judgement of sexual fantasies. There are so many personal queer history lessons about the bad road that can lead you down.
I hope no one has ever done that to you.
Here’s the thing. And this is so important. It’s damaging to shame someone’s sexual fantasy. It’s damaging and confining. Not just to them but to you as well. I hope you never do that to a lover. I certainly hope you never do that to yourself.
She wanted to fuck a woman. He wanted to watch. Her boyfriend, maybe he was her husband, I don’t know. Doesn’t matter to me, right? It’s an old story anyway. I’d never gone in for that. But somehow, this time, it sounded good. I caught myself thinking about it. A lot.
I was at a friend’s wedding when I met her. Them. Met them. I was there alone. They were both a little drunk. Smiling. Flushed cheeks from the booze and the dancing. They looked beautiful together. In love. Good dancers. We talked a little. Not too much. We danced near each other on the dance floor. All of us. Laughing. I didn’t think we were flirting. Maybe we were. She would turn to me and lift her hair. I watched her hips. I smiled, maybe a little too long. I left late. We walked out of the place together and I got in a cab watching her wave goodbye over his shoulder as he held her tight. I saw her kiss his ear. That was it.
I ran into them again over the next few months. Once, at the bagel place, I came in and they waved me to their table. I couldn’t remember who they were at first. I’m terrible with faces. We laughed and chatted a bit, but I left them alone and sat by myself at the counter by the window. They’re straight. I’m not. I liked them, but I don’t really have straight friends. They waved goodbye through the window when they left.
The next time I saw them, we were at another party. More drinking. Laughing. Dancing. I talked about sex. I always talk about sex. I saw it happen. The looks back and forth. The laughter changed to something slower, more telling. We hugged goodbye that night, exchanging numbers. At home, I took their phone number out of my pocket and put it on the dresser in front of me. “This isn’t a friendship,” I thought, staring at her handwriting, “I know what this is.”
I looked down at my fingers, letting them crawl over each button one at a time. I slid my hand under my shirt, dragging my open palm hard over my chest and feeling my nipples burn. I stood there at my dresser, unbuckling my belt. I felt my clit press against my underwear. I stared down at myself. My boy’s briefs. My pants hanging open. I could feel how wet I was getting thinking about her. Has she done this before? I looked at the number on the jagged white slip of paper and jerked myself off while I stood there, one hand gripping my open sock drawer. I came quickly. Too fast. I kept jerking off through the whole night of restless sleep from the party, the drinking, the energy. I woke up cranky and annoyed with myself. Feeling the day lost after such a sleepless night.
Several weeks had gone by since I had put her number in my phone. Their number. I stared at the phone when it rang. It was her on the line. Her voice shook.
This is awkward… Was I interested… She had always thought about it… He had always wanted to…
I let her talk. I didn’t fill in her silences. She needed to ask for this. I needed to hear her say it. Her words. Her suggestion. Her desire. I let her explain. I listened. I waited for her to stop and then I said, “I’ve been thinking about it, too. I want to fuck you.” I could hear her breathing. I could feel my heart pounding. This was hot. Hotter than I expected it to feel. Such an old story, but there’s a reason it’s still told. He wanted to watch. Of course. I wanted him to watch. It’s only half the story without that, really. I needed him to watch. She needed that. It made all the difference.
We met at a bar near their house. A few drinks. I asked him to kiss her. I watched. I dipped a finger into my glass of whiskey and slid the tip between her lips.
We left. He drove slowly. We were all in the car. I would pick my bike up later. I’d walk, I told them. I would want to walk, I thought.
We didn’t talk in the car. I rode in the back, sitting in the middle with my knees wide. Looking at her in the rearview mirror. Watching her stare at him, smiling. We were all a little buzzed with excitement. Everything glowed with the street lamps. The night air was cool and damp and wet. It muffled the thud of my boots on their wooden front steps. They led me into a bedroom. It looked like a guest room, a bit empty and sterile.
I didn’t want him to say anything. “I don’t want you to talk,” I said, leading him to a chair in the corner that seemed to be there for this. Just for him. He sat down, looking up at me, his mouth stiff. “Do you want a drink?” I asked. He shook his head no. “You can jerk off,” I said. He nodded. He had pretty eyes. He was a beautiful man, really. He sat there so still. “We’re all in this,” I thought.
She stood by the bed, looking fantastic. I don’t think I’d really noticed before. Maybe this was the moment I needed, to see it. Her hair was pulled back. She wore a low cut, wrap dress with boots. She had small tits and I could see her nipples under the fabric. I like that. I moved behind her and slid both hands under her dress. A breast in each hand, her nipples under my thumbs. I held her body towards him. I saw his hands resting on his thighs.
I licked her neck with my tongue just barely poking out beyond my lips, letting her feel my mouth right there, my breath. My hips pushed against her ass and I felt her body move, softening, her weight shifted against me. I squeezed her tits, rubbing my hands roughly under her dress. I moved a little to one side, half of her still leaning against my chest, and grabbed the back of her neck. I brought my other hand up to her face. My thumb under her chin. “I want him to see your mouth,” I said to her, loudly enough for him to hear me, “I want him to watch how you suck his dick. Let him see it.”
She turned around, her eyes searching my face for a second and dropped to her knees with her hands on my belt buckle. “No,” I laughed, pulling her back up and turning her around to face him, “I don’t have a cock.” I held my thumb against her lips until she opened for me. “This,” I said, “Show him.” Her tongue stiffened against my thumb. She tilted her head back, opening her throat for me. I pushed inside her. “You’re so wet inside, so soft,” I told her, “Let me feel your tongue. Show me.”
I saw his hand shift. He gripped his cock, now stiff in his pants. I watched him hold the stiff bulge between his thumb and forefinger, stroking himself. My cunt was so hot and tight. I felt it throb and hang heavy between my legs. I wanted to flip her over and fuck her hard. I felt myself held back. I needed this slow. I needed this to build. I wanted her so hot, burning, gripping my fingers tight as soon as I entered her. I pulled my thumb out of her mouth and pushed two fingers in instead. My wet thumb stroking her cheek with every thrust. “So soft inside,” I said, “So good.”
I let her suck my fingers for a long time. Long enough to get lost in a trance, staring at her mouth. My leg had shifted between her thighs and she rubbed herself slowly against me. I pulled my fingers out of her mouth and moved them, wet, to her nipples. I grabbed the back of her head, my fingers tight in her hair. “You want him to see this,” I said roughly, jerking her dress off each shoulder, “That’s right, isn’t it?” I pulled her dress down, exposing her tits, and went back to rolling each nipple between my thumb and finger, one at a time. I looked back at him. He stared at her tits. He was rubbing his dick through his pants with a hard, flat palm.
I imagined my own stiff, throbbing cock jamming into my thigh and swallowed hard. “Do you feel a little guilty about this?” I asked and moved to face her. I gripped her hair more tightly and gave her a quick slap across the cheek. “Do you feel bad?” I taunted, “Do you feel dirty?” I slapped her again twice, each harder than the last. Her eyes were wide now. Staring at me. Waiting. She nodded. “I understand,” I said and took her hand in mine, leading it to my belt. “Would you like to feel this?” I whispered into her neck, “It’s so thick and heavy.” She didn’t say anything. “I wore it just for you,” I said and gripped her fingers, running them along the edge of the leather, “Is this what you want?” She nodded. “What?” I whispered. “Yes,” she said, softly.
I pulled my face away from her and turned to look at him. He was watching her fingers. We put our hands on our belt buckles at the same time. I mirrored his movements as he slowly unbuckled his belt. I slid mine out of the belt loops as he struggled with the buttons of his fly. His hard on pushing against his pants. “Bend over,” I told her. Her hands were wide on the edge of the bed. I looped the belt in my hand and buckled it before running it across her low back. I pet her ass while I ran the edge of the thick leather slowly up the backs of her legs. Petting her sweetly. Whispering to her. “I know you’re good,” I called to her as I lifted her dress.
She wore peach colored panties. Cotton briefs so simple and sweet, the sight took my breath away. Unexpected. My hands trembled and I felt sweat on my palms. “I like these,” I said, letting the belt fall against her ass. I took the belt in both hands, pulling the loop tight, and ran the rough edge of leather just below her panties on the back of her thighs. This belt smacks with a loud, crisp sound. Harder than it feels. I raised my arm and swung. She shifted her legs. I hit her ass with the belt, only her ass, several times, slowly drawing back my arm before a quick swing and a smack. A dozen times or more before I stopped and pet her with my hand. I ran my fingers through her hair and felt the sweat on her scalp and the back of her neck. The room felt hot now. Muggy.
"Pull your panties down for me," I said. I stared at her rounded, red cheeks as the cotton slid down. I stopped her hands mid-thigh. "Good enough," I told her, moving onto my knees for a moment. I dropped the belt and reached my hand between her legs when I kissed her. This first kiss with a finger curved between the wet lips of her pussy and my tongue reaching deep inside her mouth. I wanted her to struggle for breath. "I like this," I said with my mouth against hers, "Spreading your lips like this with my finger." And dragged my finger deeper, feeling her hole open up for me. "So wet inside," I said, "So good," and kissed her hard again, gripping her jaw. "I want you wetter," I said, pulling my mouth off hers and grabbing the belt again.
On all fours, I moved behind her, licking my way up her leg until I stood crouched with my tongue just above her knee where her panties were drawn tight between her thighs. I ran my teeth against the elastic edge. I licked at the cotton. “I don’t even have to stick my face in your pussy to taste you,” I said, “Your panties are so wet.” I sucked loudly on the cotton and heard him groan behind me. Back on my feet, I pulled the belt across her bare ass. She sucked in her breath and I took that as my cue to quickly pull back my arm and swing. The effect is beautiful. The leather. The swing. The bright red striped flesh. But it’s the sound I love best. A sharp smack. I was soon done spanking her. I wanted too much to fuck her.
I didn’t want to lie on the bed. I didn’t want to get on top of her. I didn’t want to pump her with a cock. I sat on the edge of that bed and pulled her onto my lap, her back against my chest. I adjusted her dress to keep her tits pulled out and her pussy exposed. My hands squeezed her hips and then dragged slowly up the sides of her ribcage, jerking here and there on the fabric of her dress. “Put your hands behind my head,” I told her. Her arms reached high and long behind her. Her head rested against my shoulder. I was breathing in her ear. I rubbed her body. I clawed my fingers on her thighs. I held her tight, sometimes nibbling at her ear. I pushed my hips against her and pulled her down hard into my lap. “I want you to feel me,” I said.
I looked across the room. His cock was out in his hand. He rubbed his palm in a circle around and around the tip, sometimes pulling at it. He sat so still. His face was calm. I watched the curving movement of his forearm and slid my hand to her pussy. I stroked her slowly with my the tip of my finger from her hole up to her clit, hovered just above her clit for a moment, and started over. I rocked my hips, rocking her with me, as I repeated this again and again. I held her to me with my hand on her chest.
"This is how I’d fuck you if I had a cock," I told her. "I’d rub it against your pussy like this. I’d rub it so softly between your lips. I’d come on your belly and your thighs," I slid my wet hand under her dress, rubbing her belly, feeling the soft strip of hair that ran below her belly button. "Like this," I said. Her arms gripped my head. I moved two fingers between her lips now, stroking her clit in circles. "I like how wet you got for me," I said and licked her neck. I rubbed harder now and held her with my arm wrapped tightly around her, just under her tits. I spread my legs a little wider, moving hers open with me. I felt myself get so hot. My body tensed and I felt myself humping against her ass, pulling her to me. "I want you to come," I said and she exploded against my hand. Her arms squeezed me hard and then went limp. She drew one hand down between her legs and held mine hard against her throbbing clit.
"There’s more," I told her and she laughed. We fucked more that night. I wanted her on her back with her knees up. I wanted to lean into the backs of her thighs with my fingers inside her and watch her jerk herself off. I pushed my hips against her with my fingers slamming into her hole. She was naked at that point. I was fully dressed. My pants were wet from her pussy.
I don’t know if he came or not up to that point. I had stopped paying attention to him. I didn’t want to look at him when she sucked me off. I kneeled on the bed while she undid my shirt. Ran her hands over me. I unbuttoned my pants for her. Unzipped my fly. I took my pants off and told her to suck on my clit through my briefs. Her fingers were splayed wide on my inner thighs and her face was buried between my legs.
She teased her fingers under the edge of my underwear and looked up at me when she reached my wet cunt. So fucking wet. I nodded at her and pulled my underwear down, spreading my legs wide. “Suck me off,” I told her, “I want your mouth right here.” I pulled her head towards me and lifted my hips. She sucked hard with her teeth against me. I felt myself pushing into her mouth. So turned on. I didn’t want to know why. Why was this so hot to me? I squeezed my eyes shut. Trying not to think of him watching. Trying not to imagine a cock, my cock, in her mouth. Shutting away this or that image that came into my head. Finally I stopped thinking and opened my eyes, looking down at her. I squeezed her head in my hands, “I want to come in your mouth,” I said. She nodded and slid her arms around me, holding my ass in her hands, looking up at me. I came. So hard. Bucking against her with such force it hurt. When I pulled her face off of me, her chin looked rubbed raw.
I kissed her. A kind of closure. I got dressed pretty quickly and let myself out. I’m not sure how I’d imagined it ending, but this seemed right in the moment. Let me disappear. Leave my ghost in the room. Something unreal, ethereal. Let this slip away for now.
I walked to my bike, thankful it was still chained up outside the bar. I walked it home, not wanting to ride. Needing to wind my way home at a slow pace in the night air. I felt good. I didn’t question it.
This is a picture. #veryshortstories
So many thoughts. They get lost in my head. Turn up at awkward moments when I’m not prepared. In the middle of a conversation, I suddenly remember my plan to tie her wrists to the chair back and make her hold herself off the seat while I press my hand against her pussy and slowly drag my palm back and forth.
Notes. Scribbles on wadded up bits of paper I find in my pockets. Stuffed into jars on the kitchen counter. Tucked away in books. They’re everywhere, these thoughts. Waiting for their moment.
A butch striptease. Fingers slow on buttons. Straddle her knees as my jeans ease down my thighs. She kisses the bulge of my cock. Lipstick rubs off on my white briefs.
Blindfold her while I jerk off on her bed.
Surprise her at home mid-day and bend her over the kitchen sink for a quick fuck with my fingers.
Tie her down and lick her with my tongue held hard and stiff. Her neck. Behind her ears. High on her chest. Shoulders. Armpits. Inner thighs. All over. Soft places and hard bone. Hover over her pussy. Breathe on her clit.
Fuck her in a crowded bar. My hand under her skirt while she sits on a barstool. I stand close beside her.
Grab her in the alley near her apartment.
Pull the straps of her slip and bra down, pinning her shoulders, exposing her tits. Shove her up against the wall. Tie her wrists together, held low at her waist. Go slow.
Take my shirt off. Undo my belt and hand it to her. Turn to face the wall.
Let me tell you something true (everything is true). There was a long time in my life when all I had were thoughts. When everything had to be written because it was the only way for it to pulse and be raw and alive. All that has changed.
Know what you want. You can’t find anything until you know what you want.
Now I walk down the street and I’m alive. She catches me staring. She sees it in me. She sees me thinking all the time. She touches me and sees me blush fast and hot. I have a constant desire that burns under my skin and surfaces so quick and with such a thick demand.
We reek of it. The sharing of this. Knowing what it is we want for ourselves. Knowing how to ask for it and get it.
“Baby,” I whisper and press myself up against her ass while we wait for a table. She squeezes my hand in hers. I bring her fingers to the thick leather of my belt. I’m thinking. I want her to feel it on her ass later. Bend her over my knee and pet her through the soft cotton of her skirt. Tap her with my belt. Lift her skirt and drag the strap across her silky little exposed panties. Tell her to pull them down. Make her show me her ass. Loop my belt and thwack. I’m picturing the red mark. The shaking flesh. I’m feeling her muscles clench across my thighs. I’m imaging what I’ll say to her. All of it.
"I think you’re dirty. I know you are. I know how you used to hide up in your bedroom and think about boys. Their stiff cocks in your grubby little fingers. Did you picture them shoving their cocks in your mouth? Could you taste it? Did you stick your own fingers in your mouth and slide them in and out to see what it might feel like?"
I’ll hold her neck. Petting her ass now. Soothing her. Dropping the belt to the floor. Leaving her bent over me, I’ll slip my fingers into her mouth. “Like this?” I ask. My words still pouring out, “Do I taste salty like those first cocks? Stale and sour? Dirty. You’re so dirty. Did you want to be held down? Did you want them to tell their friends? Want everyone to know? Did you imagine walking down the halls and seeing heads turn? Would they whisper about you? Did they?”
My hand on her ass. I know how wet she’ll be when I slide my fingers between her legs. I’ll tell her.
This. All of this in my head. All before we get our table for dinner.
I’m like a teenage boy tonight. If she touches it, I’ll explode. Come all over her fingers. In my pants. I can’t keep still. My thighs shifting. Opening. Lifting my ass off this folding chair and sitting back down, adjusted.
Keep an eye on her fingers. Let her see you blush. Let her catch you looking. Looking at her. Her mouth. Her neck. Her tits. The hem of her skirt. Her boots. Your thighs. The buttons of your shirt. Your belt. Your own crawling, clawing fingers.
"Baby," I want to say, but she’s not my baby. "Hey," I say, thinking that maybe I can keep her talking a minute or two longer. Maybe there’s something more to say. Something more she wants to hear. Something that will make her smile a little and look down. Make her think about it.
My ass is sore from sitting on this metal chair. People were yawning and nodding off all around us. I was nervous. Picking at the stitching on my jeans. Scratching the back of my head. Craning my neck a little lower just to see how her shirt pulled between the buttons across her tits. “Jesus,” I thought, this woman looks so fucking good. She caught me staring at her all night. I saw her smile and blush. I felt the energy of it jump around inside me. Boost my swagger.
"Hey," I said, "Come on, let’s get out of here." She looked over her shoulder like there was someone who needed to give permission, then turned around with a smile that looked good on her and said, "Sure." We nodded at each other, scraping our chairs loudly against the linoleum as we stood up.
Outside, I smoked a cigarette and she wrinkled up her nose at the drifting smoke. Not what I expected. The night was cool. She talked about Mexico. Wanted to know if I’d been. I hadn’t. Wanted to tell me about it. Why she loves it. We talked about all the people who go but never see Mexico. People who go and stay at some fancy spa with salt water pools and breezy drapes and generically fancy meals. “Why the fuck do I want to travel all that way to stay in some nondescript hotel?” I shook my head. “People are stupid,” she said. “Fucking idiots,” I agreed.
We didn’t have much to say after Mexico. My fingers were fumbling for a place to land. In and out of my pockets. Touching my lighter. Feeling the wadded up bits of paper and change. We looked in every window that we passed, indiscriminately. The cleaners. The eyeglass place. An empty shell of what was a decent bar once. The coffee shop was still open. Two americanos. She sat with me outside on a bench, leaning a little against my shoulder as we watched people walk by. It felt okay. Quiet and peaceful. Like we knew each other better than we did.
I slid my arm over her shoulder and she gave me a funny look. “I don’t know,” I said, smiling shrugging, like I was trying to figure something out, “I like you.” She smiled at me, “Yeah,” she said, “Me too.” I kissed her then. I kissed her soft. I rested my fingers lightly on her knee, letting them slip just between her legs a little. She touched my cheek. She ran her fingers from my neck up the back of my head, through my hair, and gripped my head. Electric. The fuzzed out thick cords of energy shot through my arms and legs. I needed her hand on me.
I grabbed her wrist and pulled her off the bench. “We gotta go,” I said and led the way to my little apartment a few blocks away. I had to battle with my bike inside the door - shoving it halfway into my closet to give us room to move. “Damn,” I said and squeezed her knuckles. I kissed her up against the bathroom door and tugged at her hand. “I want it so bad,” I whispered.
We weren’t drunk. Not even tipsy. Buzzed a little, I guess, from meeting someone new, the night air, the coffee. But it’s not as easy like this. It’s not sloppy like when your drunk and just slip into it, wondering later who started something. This was clear. I started it. And she was right there with me.
She tensed against my grabbing hands. Her arm jerking upwards as I tried to push her hand between my legs, my eyes pleading with her. She smiled with a playful look, her tongue on her teeth, as she jerked her hand out of my grip. I circled her waist with a quick grip and slapped her forearm, seeing the sting of it in her scowl for a split second. We struggled for a minute. She slapped my hands away several times before I had her wrist tight in my fingers again. She laughed from deep in her throat. “I want it,” I said, and felt my muscles strain to shove her hand between my legs. I had to hold it there, rubbing her closed fist against me. I felt myself twitch and throb.
I had to hold on tight. She bucked. I felt my neck get hot and wet with sweat. My chest, my back, my thighs burning with a stiff tension. I held her tight around her middle and flipped the both of us around so her back was up against the door. Now I could lean into her. Get the heels of my boots up off the ground and drive myself hard against her. I held onto the closed doorknob to keep from being pushed away. I felt her heart pound. I smashed my mouth against hers and let go long enough to move my hands around to her ass, pulling her harder against me. “Come on,” I groaned, my spit hitting her lips.
I pulled us harder against each other. I gripped her thigh between mine and dragged myself up and down. “Feel me,” I said, “I want you to touch it.” My voice shook. I gave myself away. She touched me, lightly, on the small of my back. “I like this,” she said and grabbed my hips, “Come on.” She pulled me harder up and down against her thigh. She moaned and coo’d her encouragement. I tensed up, sweating through my clothes, breathing hot and hard. “Damn it,” I said, jerking my head and slapped the palms of my hands against the door. The boom shook us. I grabbed her face and pulled her over to the bed. I sat down and patted the mattress beside me, “Sit.”
Leaning back on my arms, I let my knees fall wide and looked at her. I looked at her hands. Looked at my jeans. “I want you to touch it,” I said, shifting my hips.
She leaned against me and started slow with her hand just above my knee. She pet me, squeezed my leg, rubbed her hand harder and harder up and down my thigh. She stroked me with her fingers, just inside my thighs, until I thought I was going to pass out. “Please,” I whimpered and her fingers traced the seam of my jeans right up and over my clit. The ripples shot through me as her nails dragged between my legs, catching on the thick denim. She teased me like this until I felt dizzy and closed my eyes, breathing deep.
She slid my belt buckle open and pulled my belt off slowly, making the leather hiss through the loops. Her hand slid under my jeans after she took her time unbuttoning my fly. Her fingers rested for a moment on my soaked briefs before pushing them aside and running her fingers on either side of my stiffening cock. Wet and hard. I felt it grow between her knuckles. She tugged and pulled. “You’re getting so big,” she whispered and stroked me in a slow, lazy fashion.
I sat leaning back on my arms and watched her wrist bend with each pull. I stared as the base of her thumb circled and slid in and out of my pants. Up and down. Teasing me bigger. So swollen. So hot.
She heard my breath change. She heard where I was and put her head against my chest. “I want you to come in my hand like this,” she said, “Let me see it.” Her head bent further down, resting against my stomach. “Come right here,” she said, “Come in my face like this,” and moved herself between my legs, letting me see her cheek, the hair falling over her eyes, her parted lips. My hips jerked up again and again. She pulled so hard on my clit. I lifted my ass for a second to pull my pants down to my thighs and crashed back down, jerking hard into her hand. Watching her stroke me. Feeling that rush.
I came so hard. I came in slow, lengthy, shuddering waves. Coming and coming in a way I didn’t recognize. She kept stroking me and it felt so damn good. I held her hand against me until I stilled. She kissed my wet inner thigh. We flopped back on the bed and I tried to roll over on top of her but she hushed me with a “There there now, sweet boy.” “Save it for next time,” she said and kissed my neck with her fingers on my shirt buttons. I lay there feeling her scratch at my chest, taking her in.
“Hey,” I said, “We should go to Mexico.” She looked up at me. She laughed and bit my rib, “What?” “Yeah, I don’t know,” I said, “It sounds like fun though.”