Not Fade Away

My back was slicked with sweat in an instant. My soft undershirt stuck to my ribs as I twisted to look over my right shoulder. ”Shit,” I muttered under my breath, the word stretching out long. I steadied myself and eased the clutch in again. The stick shift moved a few centimeters and stuck fast. I heard my own voice in my head, sweet soothing tones telling me to just relax. Take it easy. I can do this. I depressed the clutch twice, let it settle, and eased the car smoothly into reverse. “Finally,” I breathed, “Fuck.” I parked on this busy little block and looked around furtively hoping no one was watching. But of course someone was.

I smiled and blushed hard. I saw her eyes trace the sizeable distance between my wheels and the curb. She flashed me an okay sign with her hand and laughed. “Not bad really,” she said, laughing, as I climbed out. “Hey,” I said, “She’s new to me, this car.” She stopped laughing and smiled, asking “What the hell is it?” I grinned at my little car, patting the hood. “It’s mine. That’s what it is.” I stared at her. The day had been warm but it was starting to cool off a little in the afternoon. She was wearing a simple green cotton shirt with a wide scoop neck, nearly off her shoulders and a thin black skirt that hugged her hips, hitting a few inches above her knees. I smiled at her boots. Thick, tall motorcycle boots. She looked sexy without seeming like she cared about it that much. She looked good. I got hot looking at her muscled thighs as she leaned over to look through the back window. I saw the dimpled backs of her knees and felt a rush that made me clench and unclench my fingers. “Let’s go,” I thought, “Let’s see what happens.”

Listen, I need to tell you something. It’s part of the story. Cars are sexy. I mean, they’re supposed to be sexy. But these modern cars? They’re boring as hell. Plastic bumpers you can poke with your finger that pop back out at you. Dull looking things with room for kids. Safe and relatively quiet with stereos and bluetooth and compartments everywhere including the ceiling. Electric everything. A million ways for something to break. Push button ignitions. A front seat so wide you have to lean way over to grab your date’s thigh, a giant box for storing more shit sits there like a fucking wall between the two of you. It’s no good. Comfortable maybe, but no good. I had one of these comfortable cars but I threw it over for something that feels real. Something I can get my hands dirty with. I’d only had it a few weeks and I was still learning its quirks. Learning how to close the driver’s door just right. Learning how to adjust the choke when I start it up. How I have to feel for it based on how cold the morning is. Learning how a car like this changes everything.

I can’t say I knew what I was doing when I bought it. I didn’t. Honestly, I had no idea what I was getting into. Well, that’s not exactly true. I’d dreamed about it. Fantasized. I stared at every vintage car I passed on the streets. Craning my neck to get a better look. I peered in their windows. Beautiful or beat up, I didn’t care. I’d thought about buying my own but it seemed like a crazy idea. Something stupid stuck in my head but not real. The idea felt completely impotent even as I crawled through the for sale ads every week.

It was dumb luck that I found this car. My car. This crazy, little car. It’s a good foot shorter than me and I’m not a tall butch. It wasn’t one of those stylish muscle cars I always drooled over. It wasn’t that beautiful Detroit design, American steel. This car is small. The smallest car in town with an air cooled 600cc engine like a motorcycle and wheels that would look about right on a go-cart. It’s not beautiful but it’s sexy. And I get to talk to a lot of strangers, even if they start out laughing.

She laughed. I don’t blame her. I was stuck in the road trying to parallel park with the gear refusing to slip into reverse. She’d watched the whole messy job. I explained the problem to her as I opened the passenger door to let her take a look inside. “I’ve been figuring it out,” I said, “Reading about it. There’s something different with reverse. Sometimes you have to push the clutch in a couple times before the gears line up right. I’ve only had it a couple weeks so I’m still getting the feel of it.” She reached one arm out to the driver’s side and ran her fingers over the wooden steering wheel. “I like this,” she said, “The wood.” “Yeah,” I nodded, “It’s real smooth.”

I smiled and leaned over her with one hand on the passenger door and the other on the hot metal roof, trapping her there inside the car with my arms outstretched. My chest hovered above her face. I ducked my head down to look at her, “You want a ride? You want to feel it?” I saw her blush at the words. It’s magic the way a car lets you talk to a girl like you’re asking if she wants to fuck. Or let’s be honest, the way a car let’s you ask a girl if she wants to fuck without being explicit. She nodded, her mouth held open but not saying anything. “Let’s go!” I laughed and tossed the keys into the air, catching them again in the palm of my hand as I walked around the front of the car. That bounce in my step. Queer. Butch. Loaded dice.

I rapped my knuckle on the driver’s side, pointing her to the door handle. “Driver’s door sticks,” I yelled through the glass. She leaned over, aware of her body and the angle this put her in, shifting her neck so I could see her tits cupping over the edge of her bra as she opened the door from the inside. “Thanks,” I said, grinning as I slid behind the wheel. Starting up, the car enveloped us with its sweet, low rumble. We shook in the low, vinyl seats. It’s a four speed manual - a dash shifter - beautiful. I take the spindly stick shift in my hand. Gentle. I touch the knob with just the tips of my fingers, guiding it into gear with a light touch. You don’t ever force it.

I love knowing how it all works. Knowing that I push in the clutch to separate the gears, still spinning. Knowing how to glide the gear shift quickly into place, bringing the gears back together, everything still moving. Easing smoothly off the clutch with my left foot while my right lightly touches the throttle. The engine revs up and you’re off. 

You don’t drive this car fast. You can, but it’s unnecessary. I reach my left hand low and crank my window down. She giggles next to me, “Oh my god, you crank the windows!” Everyone who’s ridden with me has a moment where they remember their childhood. Sitting next to their dad, rolling down the window, feeling the hot air outside blow by and stir a breeze that felt almost cool on their face. She savored the lever in her hand. Rolled the window all the way down and ran her hand slowly over the frame, her fingers touching the outside of the door, her thumb on the interior. 

She’s looking around. We’re not talking. We’d have to shout over the noise anyway. She grins at the people staring. Waves back at little kids on the sidewalk. I feel her eyes on me. I feel cocky. I know I look sharp today. My hair freshly cut. A thick wave in my hair slicked back with pomade, sides tight. I’ve got on a crisp white short-sleeved button down with my jeans. The tattoos on my forearms look a deep black, almost shiny. I let her stare at me and then smile knowingly before I turn my head to look at her and nod. An acknowledgement. I look her slowly up and down and then nod towards her lap. “Your seat belt,” I shout over the engine, “You might want to put it on.” She’s reaches around trying to figure out where the belt is and then struggles to get it on right. “It’s like an airplane belt,” I explain. She figures it out. Cinching it tight across her lap. Adjusting it. She runs her fingers across the dash. Pulls out the lighter. Flips open the ashtray. Cranes her neck to look into the back seat. “I love it,” she says. I just nod and keep driving.

I drive her down the wide streets in the industrial part of town. I wind my way down towards the water, the shipping yards. We pass the idling trucks. At a stop sign, one of the truck drivers yells down to tell us he likes the car. She nods and waves up at him. Looks over at me. Happy. I drive us to an old abandoned park I know. The parking lot is bigger than it ever needed to be by far. It’s a terrible place for a park, out in the middle of nowhere with too many diesel fumes from the trucks that sit idling all along this stretch.

I turn to her, my head tilted down, looking at her from under my lashes. This is how I ask. My eyebrows raised, inquiring. I think we can have some fun. I’m grinning at her, waiting. She looks at the park ahead and gives me a look like she’s the kind of girl who always takes a dare. We’re both grinning now. “Well, alright,” I laughed and she eased back into her seat, reaching her hand across to my shoulder and turned her head to look out the window. I flick the right turn signal on and slow a little as I turn into the lot. This is when it feels real to me. Not the flirting. Not the asking. But the point where you’re looking to land. Finding that place to park, walking into an apartment, easing out the back door somewhere. That’s when my cheeks burn and my hands feel thicker. 

I drive deep into the lot. Back towards an old abandoned cement platform with generic looking Greek columns in a half circle. There is no shady spot. There is no clump of trees. There’s stiff looking grass covered in goose shit, the smelly edge of the bay, a few unwelcoming stone benches, and the two of us in my car. I lean over to kiss her at the same time my hand touches the key in the ignition to turn it off. My mouth is on hers before the sudden silence hits us. This old car is so loud. My ears ring a little when the motor shuts off. She’s still leaning back, quietly at ease. I curve my palm around the back of her neck and squeeze, kissing her hard. Her tongue feels lazy in my mouth. That seems right.

We kiss like this. I touch her. I hold my hands up to her cheeks and slowly trace my fingers down her neck, across her shoulders, down her arms, past her elbows and right past the tips of her fingers to her thighs, stopping to unbuckle her seatbelt. I pushed my hands between her knees and pulled her legs a little more open. She slid down in her seat, pushing her pussy towards me. I can see the light color of her panties beneath her skirt but stop before I get ahead of myself and move my hands over her skirt and around to her ass. My hands moved to the small of her back. I gripped her with the tips of my fingers, dragging them back up to her shoulder blades and moving my mouth to her jaw. I opened my mouth wide and pressed into her with my teeth until I felt bone push back against me. Not too hard a bite, just a firm squeeze. Sucking my way down her neck to her collarbone. Slow and lazy. Making out as the car heated up in the sun. She licked beads of sweat off her upper lip and I kissed her mouth again.

"Touch me," I whispered and pulled her hands to my chest, dragging her fingers across my tits. The feel of her through my shirt cut into me with a sharp pain of desire. I felt my cunt open for this and it made me grab her wrists. "Push up your skirt," I said and my throat caught on the words. "Fuck," I said and pushed her hands to her lap, "Let me see you," I groaned. I was up on my knees by now and curved over her, trying to find a way to fuck her. The seats don’t lean back. It’s not a cramped space, but it’s tight. I could get my hand between her legs but my elbow would smack into the glove box if I really wanted to fuck her. And I wanted to really fuck.

She pulled on my hands, pushing my fingers against her pussy and pulling aside her thin cotton panties. She dragged my fingers through her wet lips. Her face looked angry. Her eyes were closed, screwed up tight. She growled low in her throat. “Fuck me,” she said, spitting the words through clenched teeth. “God damn it,” I yelled and opened my door. I grabbed her thighs and swung her around, pulling at her so she laid down across the front seat before I crawled back into the car, hovering over her. I pushed her knees wider apart, kneeling between them and squeezed her thighs before moving my fingers to her pussy. I wanted to be deep inside her. She was on her back, her arms raised up above her head and draped out the open window behind her. I stared down at her hips and watched, entranced, as she humped the air below me. I watched her stomach clench with each thrust. I held my shaking hand just above her pussy. Watching her rise in waves to find me. “I’m right here,” I whispered, not to comfort her but to tease.

"Fuck me," she yelled and reached over to hit my chest with a balled up fist. I stared down at her. Spit hanging off my lower lip. Sweat stinging my eyes. I stared and smiled while I pushed the heel of my hand against her clit. Smashing into her. "Fuck me," she yelled again, hitting me harder. She hit me a few more times. I was grinding my hand against her clit, the meatiest part of my palm, barely feeling her. When she swung again for my chest, I whipped my left hand forward and caught her wrist. "No," I said, "I’m taking it slow." I bent over her and sucked her lower lip into my mouth. She gave me her tongue, deep in my mouth and I sucked and sucked. I kept my palm cupped over her. Kept grinding against her clit and sliding my whole hand down between her legs. Her hole opened up for me. I felt it against my palm. I wanted her like that. I wanted her pussy to grab at me and pull my fingers inside her. I wanted to feel her pussy open and then tightly grip around my knuckles. 

I steadied myself with a hand on the dash and pushed three fingers inside her. She swung her hands down to meet me and tugged at my wrist, pulling me deeper in and holding me there. I let my weight sink on top of her. My thighs fell on hers. She pushed up against me, my fingers still inside her. “Take it from me,” I said, “I want to feel you come and take it.” She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and pulled her knees up. I heard her leg knock against the steering wheel behind me. She pulled us tight together. My forearm burned, strained in an awkward position but I stayed put and felt her rub hard up against me. We fell into a strong rhythm. I could smell my own sweat. My shirt stuck to my back. My jeans stuck to my thighs. I stopped moving much at all and let her find me. Let her rub and burn her clit against the fly of my jeans. I had to shift once when I thought my fingers were about to break, moving myself lower to stay inside her.

She came with her body clenched and jerking but so quiet. There was a soft whispering sound in my ear. The tiniest whistle of a note on her breath. I held so still. Waiting. Rewarded after a moment by her hands on either side of my head, her fingers teasing the close cut hair just behind my ears. I pulled myself up on my knees. My head curved low in the tight space. “Unbuckle my belt,” I told her. She reached up and moved her fingers fast on the metal. She slid the leather out of the loops, pulled the button on my jeans, and teased the zipper down, leaving my pants hanging open. “Watch me,” I said, spreading my fingers wide and dragging them up my sweat covered belly to disappear under my shirt before pointing my hand down and sliding it into my briefs.

My cunt was so wet, my clit already hard, pushing out to meet my fingers. I stared at her hands. Her fingers still hovered in the air near my zipper. She moved as if she was touching me and stared at the bulge of my hand buried in my boy briefs. She watched me. My hips shoved forward. I imagined her up on her knees, peeling down my pants. Imagined her mouth opening, her eyes looking up at me. I closed my eyes and let my head hang with my chin on my chest. I was so turned on, so close to coming. “I want you to come all over my stomach,” she said suddenly, jerking me right into the moment. Seeing it clearly. I looked down and watched her slide her body lower between my thighs. I groaned loudly. My hips jerked hard. I came for a long time with an intense, deep release. 

Her eyes were on me, low. It was so good. So good. I pulled my wet fingers out of my pants and traced her lips with them. She sucked at me gently at first and then harder. “Fuck my mouth with your sticky fingers,” she said to me and I nearly came again watching her mouth say the words and feeling her tongue tease my fingers. I leaned over her, serious, taking her in all over again. “Who are you?” I said, stunned, feeling dumb-struck by this dirty girl laid across my front seat. I pushed my fingers softly over her tongue and snaked my free hand behind her head, lifting her face closer. “That’s it,” I said, fucking her mouth more intensely. Watching her suck in her cheeks. Feeling her tongue tease the tight ridge between my fingers. I stared at her mouth and felt a tugging on my clit. “I can feel you sucking my dick,” I whispered, reverential, “I feel it.” She nodded, keeping her lips wrapped around my fingers. I jerked forward. My hips believing that my cock was seizing, shuddering in her mouth. It felt so real. I didn’t really come or maybe I did. A ghostly shadow of my earlier orgasm, something surged deep inside me. I might describe it as imagined if it hadn’t felt so fucking real. 

I hid my face in her neck and opened my mouth against her. “God damn,” I said, “You’re so good.” She laughed, sinking her fingers into my hair. “Start it up again,” she whispered, “Let’s get out of here.” I adjusted myself outside the car for a moment, wiping my hand on my thigh, catching my breath. When I climbed back in, I saw her with her seatbelt on. She was waiting. “C’mon, let’s go,” she said and I turned the key in the ignition, adjusting the choke and letting it warm up before starting the ritual - left foot down on the clutch, right foot hovering over the gas, right hand on the stick. The easing out and off and right into gear. I drove away with a grin on my face that would take a long time to fade away.

Mr. Sexsmith - Sweet and Rough: Sixteen Stories of Queer Smut


Sinclair Sexsmith has a new book for you Sweet and Rough: Sixteen Stories of Queer Smut

In the preface to this collection, Mr. Sexsmith writes, “I deeply believe that the personal is political and that being transparent about one’s life is a spiritual path.” It’s this belief that, in my mind, makes Sinclair’s smut some of the absolute best I’ve ever read. It takes a writer who knows themself to take you here, to the place I find myself after reading these stories. This is a real life introduction to there person behind the stories, a firm handshake from the confident butch who ends one story with the beautiful and simple statement, “My name’s Sinclair.”

Yes. You’re pleased to meet them. Sinclair Sexsmith has a dirty mind and a cocksure grip on their pen, taking you deep inside these sixteen fantasies. This collection is not a quick fix. These are slow stories that burn like booze in the back of your throat and make you just as dizzy.

You will love this because it gets you off. You will love it because it’s sure of itself. These stories were written to suck you inside of each and everyone. Sinclair knows exactly how good they are at doing just that.

You will love the cocky swagger. The control. The quick pull and thrust. But it’s the poetry woven throughout this smoking hot smut that will leave you breathless.  “She tastes like the night air in summer when it’s about to turn fall and the trees are beginning to shiver their leaves. I still taste like whiskey.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

Several perfectly crafted moments make me want to see the dirtiest, uncensored, queer film noir movie that I always wish existed. The collection kicks off with sweetness. Milkshakes. Fedoras. Garters. The movies. The swinging barstools at the counter. The warm slice of pie. A pretty lady and a cocky butch. And moves confidently into the roughness of calloused fingers, bruising grips, and filthy dumpsters. I wanted to watch a young Humphrey Bogart, or better yet, Lauren Bacall, lean into a dirty doorway and say, “You know how to get fucked, don’t you?” The stories are visceral. Filled with urgent desire and dark wants.

I found myself jotting down quotes as I devoured these stories. I wanted to share so many with you, but I resisted the urge. You have to find these moments on your own. You need to. It’s the way they unfold within the stories. These little moments that pause in exactly the right spot.

It’s silly to try to call out a favorite, but I was incredibly struck by the story “Her Mouth on My Cock.” I felt like I knew what this story was going to be after reading that title. I was wrong. This is a beautiful stream of consciousness work of prose filled with lust and the need to release. Not just sexual release, but a need to be released from your body, the present, everything. This is a story we’ve all lived in one way or another. I read it in a very personal way. I felt myself inside what, to me, was a deep sadness. The rush of thoughts. The clenched desire. So sweet, this story. Incredibly beautiful. A gift.

This is a writer who loves to fuck. You feel it because these stories are sex. The way they build, rush, slow down, observe, swerve off in a new direction, spin out beyond the edges of your fingertips. You will find your mouth hanging open. Your fingers primed. You will want to fuck. You will feel fucked. You will know something intimate about the writer. You will. 

Buy it from Mr. Sexsmith and support them directly (and most effectively):

The book is also available at Amazon:


A butch and her car. I’ll have some new stories to tell you.

Me and Her (and Him)

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.

Bound for Mexico

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.”

Rub It Harder

We fucked a lot. Especially in the early days. We fucked every day we saw each other. Sometimes more than once a day. “I like to fuck,” I told her. She just smiled. We were a good match. She challenged everything I’d known up to that point. Everything I’d known about myself, thought I’d known. Turns out I hadn’t figured out as much as I thought I had.

I was stone. Or nearly stone. Very rarely could I let some girl touch me down there. I didn’t quite know what to call it. I hated the word pussy for myself. I couldn’t say cunt. Dick sounded too much like pretending. Cock had the same problem. And the moment some girl said one of those words, I closed up. I left the building emotionally, physically. Everything broke down. I wasn’t one or the other. I was a little lost. This is me. Not you. Everyone goes through there own thing.

With her, somehow, I opened. 

I remember the first time she fucked me. We hadn’t been together for that long. A few weeks maybe. I was in her bed. We were making out. My hand was under her shirt. The kiss felt so incredible, I didn’t want anything else. We kissed for a long time, my fingers rubbing her tits and my leg resting lightly between her thighs. She pushed me onto my back and started to unbutton my shirt. I opened my mouth to say something but she gave me this look that burned my cheeks. She looked me up and down, her mouth hanging open. I felt everything shift even before she spoke. 

"Are you getting hard?" she asked, taunting me, "Don’t worry, I know you can’t help it." I nodded. I grabbed at my jeans and felt between my legs for it. She followed my hand with her eyes, nodding. "That’s right," she said, "You want to show me what you’ve got?" I grunted, unable to speak. She sat up on her knees and stared down at my hand on my fly. She pet my knuckles, smiling, before knocking my hand away. "Let’s see," she said and started rubbing my jeans. Her hand moved in long strokes. Her fingers grabbed and kneaded me. She pulled. "Are you a big boy?" she laughed, "I won’t suck you off until you’re as big as you can get." 

I pulled myself up on my elbows, mesmerized by the motions of her hand on my prick. I saw us. Teenagers in a corner. In a school hallway on prom night. An abandoned chemistry lab in the dark. Behind the bleachers. The back seat of a car. I pawed through different scenarios in my mind. Where am I? Where are we? I flipped through the images like I was selecting the next song on a jukebox. A couch. My childhood home. Late at night. “We need to be quiet,” I said and she cocked her head, tuning in to me. “Okay, sweetheart,” she said, “Whatever you say.” She paused, staring at me, and then stopped rubbing me. She looked hard at my hand and nodded her head. I slowly dragged my hand down and took over rubbing myself. “Yeah, baby,” she said and started to undo my belt, “Show me how big you can get.”

She took her time unbuttoning my jeans. I rubbed. I pulled. Watching her fingers move. My jeans hung open. Her fingers scratched at the elastic band on my briefs. She smiled. Paused. Her fingers crawled up under my shirt, clawing at my skin. Buttons under her fingers again. My shirt. She started at the last button and worked her way up. One finger traced the edges of my tank top. I sucked in my breath and arched my back, realizing that the look on my face was probably more shocked than turned on. She stayed with me. My eyes were locked on her. I rubbed at my jeans, pulling on my cock. Quiet breathing. Her whispers, “I want you as stiff as you can get.” I rubbed harder. “That’s right,” she said with her lips against my ear, “That’s so good.”

I started to slide my hand into my jeans but she grabbed my wrist. “No, baby,” she signed, “You don’t understand. That’s mine.” I felt tears well up in my eyes. There was no stopping. I felt my cock so hard in my jeans it made me wince. “I need you to take it out,” I said, my voice barely audible, a hoarse whisper, “I need you to rub it harder.” She smiled at me. Smiled down at my wet, red face. “Oh, you’re so good,” she squealed and lay down beside me before sliding her hand between my jeans and my briefs. She slid her fingers on either side of my clit with the cotton of my shorts between her fingers and me. I felt hard. So hard. I gasped to feel the pressure of her fingers against me. Someone other than me making me feel it. Everything undone. I felt big. Giant. “Oh, baby,” she said, “You feel so good.”

She whispered into my ear as she stroked me. “Do you shake just before you get off? Do you quiver? I feel something. Wet. Did you come a little in your pants? I want you to come in my hand like this. I want you to come all over my fingers.” She slid her hand inside my underwear. I held my breath as her fingers slid over my clit and pushed inside me. I felt my cunt open up for her. And then everything shifted. “I want to be inside you,” I said. She slid one leg over me and straddled my hips, her fingers still thrusting into me. “Like this?” she said, lifting her skirt. I put my hands on her thighs and pushed my hips up against her. My chest flushed. My breath tightened and then I let go, relaxed, and closed my eyes. I felt myself inside her. Fucking her. My cock hard, straining. Her pussy gripping me. “Let me in deep,” I said. We rocked against each other like this while I stared at her. Quiet. Somehow furious. I felt myself inside her. Filling her. I nearly came but she pulled away and put a finger on my lips. “Wait,” she said.

She slid off of my hips. Slid down and leaned forward until her face was between my thighs. She pulled my jeans and shorts down and started fucking me harder. “You’re so good to me,” she said, “Giving me what I want like this.” I pulled a pillow under my head so I could look at her. “You like this?” I asked, my voice came out cracked and halting. She just nodded and stared at me. I watched her arm move. I felt the pounding feeling. I listened to the sound of us fucking. Her fucking me. Me fucking her. Everything spun and smashed together. “I want you to come in my face,” she said and left her mouth hanging open. My hips jerked towards her over and over again. I heard myself yelling. I heard her reminding me to be quiet. I left the fantasy. The couch. The boy. The girl. The quiet house. I was right there on her bed. Legs spread. Getting fucked. About to come in her face. “FUCK,” I yelled. Surprising myself. Making her laugh. “Fuck,” I breathed, spent, buckled over.

She kissed my clit. I jerked in surprise. She kissed my thighs, my hip bones. She kissed her way up my chest, stopping to suck on my neck. I looked at her. Dismayed. Dismantled. I kissed her mouth. Soft at first, then sucking hard on her lips. I held her face in my hands. I held her tight and told her everything.


BUTCH is a beautiful portrait project from Meg Allen Studio in Oakland @megallenstudio:

BUTCH explores the contemporary butch aesthetic, identity and presentation of female masculinity. It is a celebration of those who choose to exist and identify outside of the binary; who still get he’d and she’d differently throughout the day; who get called-out in bathrooms and eyed suspiciously at the airport; who have invented names for themselves as parents because “Mom” nor “Dad” feels quite right; and who will generally expect that stare from the gender police trying to figure out if they are “a boy or a girl”. It is an homage to the bull-daggers and female husbands before me, and to the young studs, gender queers, and bois who continue to bloom into the present.

Because Meg Allen is a beautiful soul…
I first met Meg when we sat down over a meal to talk about this project. We talked about a lot of things that resonate deeply with me. We talked about embracing the word lesbian (as well as butch). We talked about that fact that we are women. We talked about breasts. Our breasts. Butchness. What is uncovered when we unbutton our shirts. How we are laid bare. And butch. And ways to hold onto whatever it is we mean when we say it.


BUTCH is a beautiful portrait project from Meg Allen Studio in Oakland @megallenstudio:

BUTCH explores the contemporary butch aesthetic, identity and presentation of female masculinity. It is a celebration of those who choose to exist and identify outside of the binary; who still get he’d and she’d differently throughout the day; who get called-out in bathrooms and eyed suspiciously at the airport; who have invented names for themselves as parents because “Mom” nor “Dad” feels quite right; and who will generally expect that stare from the gender police trying to figure out if they are “a boy or a girl”. It is an homage to the bull-daggers and female husbands before me, and to the young studs, gender queers, and bois who continue to bloom into the present.

Because Meg Allen is a beautiful soul…

I first met Meg when we sat down over a meal to talk about this project. We talked about a lot of things that resonate deeply with me. We talked about embracing the word lesbian (as well as butch). We talked about that fact that we are women. We talked about breasts. Our breasts. Butchness. What is uncovered when we unbutton our shirts. How we are laid bare. And butch. And ways to hold onto whatever it is we mean when we say it.


Get In Me, Daddy

I don’t have time for the backseat. It’s now or never. I’m hunched over her, my tongue deep in her mouth. My hand slides up between her thighs and under her dress. No panties. She took them off earlier when we were on the highway. She gripped my thigh. Teased me with the tip of her finger. Spread her legs wide for me. Slowly. Drawing my eye. Waited until I was looking. Pulled her dress up high so I could see her shiny, caramel colored panties. She eased them down over her knees, lifting one leg and then the other. Taking them off over her heels.

My cheeks were red. I could tell from the look she gave me even if I hadn’t felt the hot blood creep up inside me. She gets me going. She gets me hard and fast. Fully flushed. I’m on fire the moment she wants it. We are driving to a friend’s party. Already late. And now her panties are sitting in my lap and her fingers are curled and jittery, in need of something to tug at, pull on. She’s so used to shoving her dirty little hand between her legs anytime she wants to get off. When she chooses to wait, like now, I see her shake with the need to feel something.

"Let me taste you," I mouth, the sound barely escapes my lips. My throat is dry, cracking. I hadn’t swallowed since the moment she spread her knees, "Let me taste you." She makes a show of it. Her hands move slowly between her thighs. She pulls her legs apart for me. Her fingers thread through her hair before teasing apart the lips of her pussy. My tongue rests on my lower front teeth. I want to breathe her in. She’s so damn slow about it. Her finger runs lightly along her slit, up and down, until her pussy eases open and I see the shine from her slick hole. She teases herself until her finger is sweetly wet and then slides it onto my waiting tongue.

I take the next exit and turn onto the first residential looking street. I turn left then right, winding my way deeper into the heart of wherever we are. Nowhere. Happy little homes. Front porches. Mallow. Sloppily trimmed lawns. Broken sidewalks. There are no mailboxes. I notice this and picture the mail carriers walking each little front walk to the door. This is where I want to fuck her. Here in this sweet little place. Find the shadow of a big shade tree. Side street. The sun’s gone down. There’s little moonlight. Let’s be lost and dark in this sweet place. I roll the car to the curb, cut the engine, pull the brake.

We’re back where we started now. You and I. In the telling. I wanted you to know how we got here. How sometimes we are doing one thing and there’s a flicker, a look, and then there is no stopping. How I love to fuck her. Unstoppable desire.

I’m hunched over her, my tongue deep in her mouth. I’ve just heard the loud snap of my seat belt as I unhook it. It flies across my shoulder and hits the door. My hand reaches deep under her dress, between her thighs. She opens for me. Opens her thighs. Invites me. Her fingers dig into me everywhere. She grabs at me. Clawing. There’s no time for the backseat. I’m on top of her. My arm reaches down low and moves her seat back as far as I can. She tilts it back. I shift and push my fingers between her legs. Feeling for her pussy. “Get in me, Daddy,” she says and I grab her jaw, twisting her face so she’s looking out the window. My fingers fly out from between her legs to my shirt buttons.

I hold her jaw tight and suck on her neck while my fingers slowly crawl from button to button on my shirt. I need it hanging open. I need the energy of it. I need her to stare at the yellowed ribs of my too old tank top. I need her to hear the scraping of the button on my pants as I push it through the button hole. I need to watch her face twitch as she hears my pants unzip. I loosen my grip on her jaw, just a little, and turn her again to face me. “You want me inside you?” I ask her. Quiet. My voice is raspy. Rubbed raw by this urgency I’m trying to contain in a slow heat. She looks at me and nods, not saying a word.

I let her feel my fingers against her thighs. I drag them across her skin. We stick together now. Her thighs are damp. My fingers feel swollen. I stick my tongue in her mouth as my fingers push deep inside her pussy. I bend my wrist and hold my hand against my cunt, using my hips to help me push my fingers deep and deeper into her. Letting my weight fall against her. Impossibly cramped. My legs are buckled up behind me, between her feet on the floor. The back of my head hits the top of the car. My body is twisted and uncomfortable, but nothing else matters. Just my fingers inside her. Just her breathing. The shine on her open lips.

I freeze for a few seconds when a pair of headlights suddenly beam into the car, but no one’s looking. No one looks. It’s a quiet night. A sleepy neighborhood. Perfect for a quick fuck. “Jerk off while I’m inside you,” I tell her. I press my forehead against hers. Her hair is wet against my sweating face. I can feel my shirt grow damp under my arms and down my back. Her pussy holds me. My fingers push in and out of her and she holds me. She pulses. I feel how she tightens and look down between us to watch her fingers pull at her clit. I feel her orgasm build inside her. “I love being inside you,” I whisper, “I love your pussy.” She’s getting loud. Moaning. I look around us. The car shakes. “Come for me, baby,” I tell her. My voice is serious. I mean it. She twists her fingers and I feel her rhythm as I push my fingers in, leaving them deep. Moving inside her. I’m in her. I need her. I kiss her cheek and hold her close to me. “I’m in you, baby,” I tell her, “I’m here.”

When she comes, she shakes against me with tiny, sputtering spasms. I hold her tight. We kiss. I move my fingers slower and slower inside her until I’m still and pull out. “We’re late,” I say, moving back to the driver’s seat. “You’re clothes are wrinkled,” she answers, “Let me fix you up.” I stare at her. My arms hang loose beside me. I watch her button each button, tuck my shirt, zip my fly, button my pants.

I wipe my fingers off on my handkerchief and start the car. “You’re sitting on my panties,” she laughs. I look at her, “You don’t need them, do you?” She doesn’t answer but tugs her dress a little lower. I unwind us out of these little streets, flipping on the head lights after realizing I’d driven us a few blocks without them. As we got back onto the highway and headed towards our friend’s house, I looked over at her, smiling, “Get in me, Daddy,” I said. She looked at me sweetly, smiling, “You liked that?” I nodded. I liked that. I did.

Watch Me

And then there she was on the floor in front of me. Her ass slightly lifted. Her hands covering her face. I had walked in the room and a sudden need to fuck her rushed through me. “Get on the floor,” was all I said.

I dropped to my knees. My hand pushing between her thigh and belly. Holding her. I lifted her dress up over her ass. I pet her bottom. I grabbed at her panties. Something ripped. A small tear in the elastic. I left her dress on but pulled the shoulders down to her elbows. Trapped. First one breast and then the other. In my mouth. My fingers slid through the spit on her nipples. Rubbed the slick saliva until it disappeared. Her nipples blushed a darker red, then nearly purple. Her quick breath. Oh god, is she shaking?

I needed her shoulders against the rough carpet. I kept her down on the floor, sometimes pulling her a few inches in one direction or another so it would burn. I wanted to see red marks on her skin. I wanted the heat of it.

I stared. Her dress pulled off her shoulders. The skirt lifted to expose her pussy. Panties pulled down but left to loosely shackle her left ankle. I stroked her pussy and slapped at her tits. Slapping lightly. Starting soft. I needed her to feel me. “Do you feel me?” I asked, “I need you to feel me.”

My fingers pushed inside her now. I held myself deep inside her. I pulsed deep within her. “Roll her over,” I told myself. I rocked her hip. I pushed her into the carpet and slowly rocked her on to her side. Her legs curled around me. Her ass exposed. Smacking. Redness. My tongue on her heated flesh. More fingers. Pinching. Slapping. The sting of it. Her upper thighs.

My god. How wet she became. I feel the slick warmth even now. So wet. I felt my spit pool on my tongue, useless. She was ready to be fucked. Twice. I fucked her twice. Once on her side like this. Her ass glowing red from my hand. The other on her back. Her legs spread wide.

It was this. Her legs opened in front of me. It was this that made me grab my belt. I needed to rub my own cunt. Pull on it like a hardening cock. Long, slow strokes. I kept one hand on her pussy and one in my pants. She stared, slack jawed, at my disappearing wrist. Stared at my pumping forearm. I felt her eyes on my chest. I stopped to pull my shirt over my head and tossed it aside. “Watch me,” I said, “look what you do to me.”

I stroked the both of us. One hand easy and soft on her pussy. The other rubbing my clit furious and fast. I watched her body convulse with her orgasm. Strong. The intensity visible in waves. I was barely hard. Turned on, but miles away from coming. I needed her ass against me. “Roll over on your belly,” I said. And she rolled over, waving her ass back and forth. I like to watch her move. Calling me.

I pulled her hips back against my cunt, making sure she could feel my hand moving under my jeans. I pulled her into me over and over. I opened up. Stiffened. My arm moving fast and hard. Circling. Pulling. I felt my muscles burn. Too fast. Too hard. I can’t come like this. I knew it. I needed to slow down.

I got up and grunted at her. Moved my desk chair around to face her. “I want to sit down,” I told her, “I want you on your knees in front of me.” I needed her to watch me. I pulled my jeans down to my ankles. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and held her against my thigh, her mouth an inch away from my clit. I wanted her to smell me, nearly taste me. I shifted my hips forward, let my knees drop wide. I jerked off with her so close I could feel her breath. I jerked off watching her open her mouth and push her tongue towards me. I looked at her knees underneath her on the floor. I looked at her shoulders. Her wrinkled dress. Her eyes staring up at me.

I shoved her face between my legs. She sucked me off for a few minutes before I pulled her off of me and made her watch again. “I can see how much you want to suck me,” I said. “I like how much you want it. So dirty,” I laughed. I pictured her name inked in the crevices of my fingers. I pictured her holding my zipper open. I pictured her sucking. Her mouth wrapped around me.

"Crawl up here on my lap," I asked. She climbed me. Towered above me. Her weight on my hips. My arm ran between her thighs. My hand on my own cunt. Pulling. Not close enough to coming. Frustrated. "Give me your fingers," she said and took two, then three of my fingers in her mouth. I stared at the dark hollow behind her lips. I felt her desire. The way she sucked me in. Deep. Knowing. I pictured her sucking on other women. Their fingers. Their cocks. Their clits. Some guy’s prick, deep in her throat. I pictured them all and stared. Loving her. Knowing who I was and what I want. I came so hard, almost knocking her to the floor. She pulled her mouth off my fingers and leaned over to kiss me so deep. So slow. Sucking the breath out of me.

I was high after we fucked. Stumbling. This is intoxication. The dizzy hit.

A few hours later, I closed my eyes and nearly came again remembering my feet on the floor and her cheek against my thigh. My grip in her hair. How I pulled her face against me and held her fast. “Right here, baby. I want you to watch. I want you to see how much I want you.”


I met her on a Wednesday. We kissed that night. I didn’t hesitate. I kissed her the way I wanted to kiss her. I wanted her to know that I was turned on. That I wanted to fuck her. That I might decide to follow her home. She kissed me back the same. Her hands ran up and down my back, under my open jacket. We held each other like lovers.

The next time I saw her, we fucked. All night. We fucked hard those first several weeks. There was a lot to get out. It felt like catching up. It felt like a race we were both running together. Keep moving. Harder. She was covered in bruises. I was sore between my legs. My nipples raw against soft cotton tank tops. Hours of talking. Hours of fucking. Amazement. Eating. Drinking. Smoking. Fucking. A rubbed red rash on my knee from her floorboards. Stiff muscles. Marks under my clothes. Exhaustion.

This isn’t any kind of revelation in story telling. This is the same story, repeated and repeated. But this one is mine. Hers and mine.

She would hold my head in her hands. Unconsciously lifting and lightly tapping my cheekbones. Her eyes filled with such sweetness. “I can’t believe I found you,” she would say. And I’d nod. My fingers still inside her, slicked and moving. We’d shake our heads at each other. Disbelief. I would smile at her and say, “Yes,” before pushing my fingers deep inside her. Deeper. Picking up the pace. Fucking her again. My fingers curved over her mouth like a cage. “Shut up,” I’d whisper but she wouldn’t hear me. It didn’t matter. She knew.

When I feel my luck so deep, when I realize what she means to me, I’m filled with an angry need to fuck. I like to look back over my shoulder and watch my elbow jerk up behind me. Thrusting hard into her again and again. Over and over. “I love fucking you, baby,” I snarl between clenched teeth. I slam my fingers into her, spitting my words into her ear with each thrust: “I fucking love you, baby. Look what you do to me. You see it, don’t you?” Hissing, “God damn,” and her name.

Her name. The girl in the story. What’s her name? I don’t like to say. I don’t want you to be distracted. Names distract me when I read. When I’m getting off on porn. I want to know the story. I want to know details. But I need to fill in the blanks for myself. I need room to wander. But I love to say her name. I love to say her name to her. For her to hear me say her name. Think of that girl you love. That girl you want. Say her name. Say it into the pillow if you have to. Say it into your shoulder. But say her name out loud. Feel it on your tongue and in your mouth. Feel your breath wrap around it. Get used to her name. Whisper it to her when you can.

I don’t ever want to get bored.That’s true about life in general, but I mean sexually. I can’t stay in one mood for long. We moved from pounding, bruising, tossed around fucking to slow, wet, crazy romantic sex. In between, I wanted her to hold me down. I’d lie on my belly with my ass in the air. She tugged her fingers hard on my little boy cock, my clit. I cried and bit the edge of the mattress while she spanked me with quick, bright slaps.

Now, again, I want to hold her down. I want her limbs restricted. Feet bound at the ankles. Wrists secured under her chin. I want to push her chest down with both palms and feel her struggle beneath me. A strap cinched just above her knees. I want to struggle to push my fingers between her thighs. To feel her.

"Roll over on to your side," I am quiet as I say it, issuing instructions. I lift her back and her ass, helping her shift. I walk around to the foot of the bed. Her feet lay stacked. Her ankles wrapped up tight. I nibble on her toes as I push her feet slowly, bending her knees. I want her knees up high. I want to look at her pussy between her thighs. I crawl onto the bed behind her. My knees sit behind her ass. My thighs spread open. I lean back on my feet. I push my hands hard against her hip and slowly drag one hand up her side, one down her thigh, until I am bowed down low over her body. Fingers in her hair. A hand cupped under her calf. I push against her. Rocking her back and forth. Grinding. I lift myself up to position my cunt against her hip. Slowly nudging her as I rub myself against her. Can you see her? Can you see us? She’s curved like a cropped letter h in front of me. Like a sideways chair. I’m curved over her. My rounded back. My ass loose in my jeans. Pumping. I want you to see us.

This is what she likes, she tells me. Whatever I want. What I want is to wrap my arms around her and pull her harder against me. This is when I sweat. I inch my thumb up the back of her thigh until I reach her pussy. Open. I fuck her deeply with my thumb. Rocking her body. Still nudging her with my cunt. I don’t want her to come. Not now. I fuck her. Pull her to me. I pet her body. I pull out of her and spank her ass and thighs. Just a little. Just to see a spark of color. Just to watch her pull her knees up a little higher.

My face is hot now. My hair is starting to get wet. I feel my clit twitch. I can tell how wet I am. She hears my fingers on my belt. She looks at me as I unzip my pants. She nods. “Jerk off against my ass,” she whispers, “I want to feel you come on me.” I reach one arm long and push her head so that she’s staring at the wall. I keep her held down. She makes the most beautiful noise. I want to hear it over and over again. It’s not a whimper. It’s something more powerful than that. It’s bottled up. Explosive. It’s the sound you hear just before someone comes so hard they throw you off of them. Compressed. Undiluted.

My hand slides easily between my legs. So wet. Swollen. Tight. I pull downwards on the shaft of my clit, secure between my fingers. She needs to feel me against her ass. I bump against her. Nudge her like an animal. With each downward pull of my clit, I rock her forward and let her fall backwards again, bumping me. I shove her head when I think of it. Give her another nudge. Remind her that I don’t want her to move or look back at me. I want her to listen to my voice. I tell her everything. I tell her how my cock feels. My clit. This little swelling in my pants. I tell her that my fingers were still wet from her pussy when I grabbed myself. I tell her how I love to see my hand print on her ass. The dull red shapes of my fingers wrap like tendrils over her curves. I tell her that I can smell her pussy. Tell her how I’m going to fuck her again and again and not stop. I tell her I want to lose count as she comes in my hands, my mouth, against my thigh.

I come and come again in my own hand. I jerk her head back and turn it to look at me as I do. I stare at her and feel the spit sliding down my chin. I come with my mouth open. I drool. My lower lip pouts. I throw one leg over her hip and press my cunt against her as I calm down. Still spasming. Feeling my cunt drip and soak my underpants. The cotton useless now, and wet. I tell her.

I do lose count. I do. I fuck her with my thumb, one finger sliding against her clit. I fuck her with my fingers and squeeze her thighs tight together. I suck her off, shaving the edges of my teeth against her clit. Reaching both hands up to pull and squeeze her nipples. I unbind her and ask her to lie face down. I spread her legs wide and pull one arm at a time out beside her. I spread myself on top of her. I hold her wrists and sink into her. Sink down. Slow my breathing to match hers. Rise and fall with her lungs.

I need to come again. She hears me. Lifting my thighs. Tugging my pants down to my knees. She feels my hand move against her ass. “I love it when you come on me,” she says. She’s smiling. Her voice sounds drunk. Thick. “Uh huh,” is all I manage to say and then I’m coming. Fast and hard and slamming against her. I lift myself up and lean one arm across her shoulders to brace myself, pushing her deeper into the bed. I can see her smile. Her lit expression.

We fuck and fuck again until we’re falling asleep. I whisper her name. I taste it.