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.

I crave her mouth on my neck. Her tongue stiff and twisting deep into my muscles. Her fingers on my shirt buttons. #veryshortstories #longneckbutch

I crave her mouth on my neck. Her tongue stiff and twisting deep into my muscles. Her fingers on my shirt buttons. #veryshortstories #longneckbutch

Barely There

I can imagine everything except the way we kiss. I close my eyes and remember her hands on me. Her fingers inside me. I feel the weight of her body on top of me. I feel her ass, smooth under the palm of my hand. My tongue moves in my mouth, traveling the folds of her pussy in detail. I feel her. I taste her. But her kiss is lost to me. I cannot remember how her tongue feels in my mouth. I can’t touch the softness of her lips. Our wet kisses. Lost.

One week. Less. Five days.

Five days gone. I am five days gone and then I see her again. She writes to tell me that she isn’t jerking off. She writes to tell me that she tried to jerk off but stopped in frustration. I am jerking off every day, I tell her. I am desperate to touch her, I tell her. I need to bury my face between her legs. I need to press her down with all my weight.

I imagine myself on top of her. My cock tucked inside my briefs. Jeans unbuttoned. My worn, brown belt hanging loose. I imagine lifting her skirt above her hip bones. I feel her wet panties under my fingers. I rub her with my hand while my hips hover just above. I let my knuckles press the cotton of her panties between her wet lips. I crook my index finger and press deeper. I feel her wetness. I feel her hole open up for me. I feel her clit begin to swell. “Oh baby,” I whisper to her like I do, “Oh baby.” I close my eyes and see her underneath me. 

I lower my hips so that my palm cradles the still tucked away cock between my legs. My cock presses into my hand which presses against her pussy. I rub my cock and her pussy at the same time. I see her there. The sweat surfacing on her face. I see her flushed red chest. Her eyes widen as she waits for me. “This, baby,” I tell her, “Slow like this.” I can’t imagine kissing her. I can never feel it. So I keep myself raised above her. Slow. My hips moving against her. My hand between my cock and her pussy. Pushing the base of the cock against my clit. Feeling how wet I am now.

I move my hand and let the bulge of my cock push against her panties. My legs lie just inside her thighs. I feel the way she squeezes me. Holds me there. My hand meanders slowly over her curves. Her hips. Her soft, smooth belly. I can feel the way her shirt grazes the back of my hand. My fingers push up under her clothes. I pull her bra down low off her tits. I brush the full length of my hand across her nipples. One, then the other. I know how her body reacts. I can see her head tilt back. Her strong jaw. She glows. She writhes. We are getting hotter. Her belly burns hot against my own. I feel her heat against me when I put my lips on her neck. I grab a fistful of hair and my fingers are immediately wet with her sweat. We are hot. Sweating.

I realize that I’m drenched. I need this. I need her. Now. I rub my own clit so softly as I picture us. I want to come slow and hard. I want my clit as swollen as she gets me. I hold my swell between my thumb and forefinger. I push one finger inside and then drag it up, pulling my own slick wetness with it. I breathe deeply. I bury myself under the blankets. I soak the sheets with my sweat. Hot. Slow. Wet. I miss her like this. I miss her breath in my ear. I miss the burn I feel when I’m with her. When I can touch her and feel her fingers on me. I pull softly on my clit. I rub my swelling shaft. I can feel her. I whisper her name out loud. In my mind, my hand pushes her panties aside, now soaked. She reaches her hand between my legs and frees my cock. I pull myself up, kneeling, and move her hand away as I guide the tip of my cock inside. “Here,” I say, “Here baby.”

I bend over her, propped up on one arm. One hand stays wrapped around the base of my cock. I want to guide it slowly into her pussy. Just the tip. Just barely there. I want to watch her reach for me. I want to see how she shifts to feel my cock move more deeply inside. Her hands pull at her skin. I watch her fingers on her neck. “Yes,” I say as she cups her breasts in her hands, “I want to see you touch yourself.” She looks up at me. Mouth open, eyes wide. A quick nod of her head. She’s so good. “You’re so good,” I whisper. Everything is hot. Logy. Thudding and dull. My clit so swollen. I want to feel her need. I pull my cock out and push two fingers inside her. Hooked and pulling. I feel the way she grips me tighter. I feel her need to keep me there. I feel it and I want to make her come. Now. Right now. 

My cock slips back inside her. I push a little deeper, still gripping my cock. Moving sluggishly. Lazy in love. My thick tongue. Spicy. Liquored.  We are wet. Our skin, a shade darker. Fucking through a thickness. Ropey muscles. “I want you to touch yourself, baby,” I tell her, “I want to watch you come.” I say this and open my mouth. I reach my tongue so long that the root of it aches. She slips her fingers into my mouth and my spit pools around them. Wet and dripping, she reaches her hand down between her legs. My eyes follow. “Touch yourself,” I say again but she is already rubbing her clit. I follow her rhythm with my cock. Up and down. In and out. I adjust and push so that my cock presses upwards inside her. “Come,” I beg her. I feel her staring at my face. I am staring at her fingers. At my cock inside her. At our bellies, so shiny and close. Sweat drips down my thighs. Sweat drips inside the crook of my arm. “Come,” I whisper with tears welling up in my eyes. 

I feel my own clit in my fingers again. I feel it swollen beyond belief. I come and clench my stomach. I double over. My mouth opens wide. Gasping. Silent. 

Five days. I need her. I need this.

Trouser snake

Trouser snake


I roll on top of her and squeeze her with my thighs. I pin her arms to her side. I rub my cunt against her. I run my tongue across her mouth. She opens to me. She whispers, “Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything you ask.”

I am salivating, drooling over my lower lip. She lifts her mouth to mine and sucks my spit. Keeping her arms pinned with my elbows, I push my fingers into her hair. I pet and pull at her tangles, her ears. I hold her head tight between my palms. I kiss her. I turn her head and lick behind her ear. I bite at the cartilage. I start to wildly hump her. My hips jerk forward. My back sways in a deep curve as I lift, arches as I thrust against her. Fast and faster. I’m panting. My heart pounds. “Show me what you want,” she says. I can’t reply. I can’t speak. My fingers dig into the base of her skull. I hold her down.

I need to feel her tits. I lift my chest high enough to run my hands across her chest, down her sides, under her ass. I watch the veins bulge across the backs of my hands. I am filled with a raging need. Desire. Want. Impatience. The friction of my cunt in my jeans, rubbing hard against her. Bones. I’m exploding. Not coming. A brittle explosion. A mixture of my panting breath and grief and love and sleepy desire. I feel a clock ticking inside me. A countdown. Grab everything you want. Right now. Love her with all your might. Every goddamn second. Mark this down. Permanent.

I stop. Heaving chest. Loud breathing. I roll off of her, onto my back. She lays her ear against my breastbone. I ask her to slide my jeans down. I touch her lips with the tips of my fingers. “Your mouth,” I tell her, “This mouth.” She smiles at me. “Now?” she asks. I nod.

She sucks my clit and pumps it in and out of her lips. She strokes me with her tongue. I pull my shoulders up off the mattress, holding my head with one hand. This makes me feel butch. And absurd. She calls me her heartthrob. She calls me baby. She calls me handsome. She calls me her girl. Sometimes we wrestle and bruise each other. Today we are too tender. Too soft and warm.

Fuck Me

I love it when you fuck me. I crave your fingers jammed inside me. We wrestle for control. I only win when you let me. I know this. You know I know this. And when you win, my breathing slows. I stare at you. You pin my shoulders down. You look up at me with your mouth sucking on my nipple. I grab a fistful of your hair, holding it out of the way so I can watch your lips curve around me. You grab my cunt through my jeans, pinching me. I wince. I need you to fuck me. I need to be fucked.

You like to talk. You tell me I can’t stop you. And I can’t. I can’t stop you. I won’t stop you. I arch my back off the mattress. I feel my face turn red. I get so hot. Burning. My cunt is still in your grip. I reach down and try to unbuckle my belt but you shove my hands away. You grab my belt and lift me, shake me a little, and drop me back down. You tug my jeans low and the denim scrapes my hip bones. “Fuck me,” I whine. You’ve made me whine. I’m panting. Gulping the air. Desperate to take you in. “Fuck me.” All I hear is your laugh. You taunt me. You throw my desire back in my face. You sneer and twist my nipples in your fingers before you roll me over onto my belly.

I clench my fists, grabbing the sheet. I know. I know this. You reach beneath me and unbuckle my belt. You whip the worn leather strap out of the belt loops and jerk my jeans down, exposing my ass. You wrap the belt back around me and pull it tight just below the curve of my ass. My thighs are smashed together. Everything stings. Quick stinging slaps on my ass. The leather of the belt stings as it cuts into me. You slap, sting, rub. You blow cool air on my hot skin. You tell me I’m so good. You tell me I’m growing so red. You tell me I’m glowing. You tug my jeans down further to expose more flesh. My upper thighs are yours. I’m yours. I tell you this, “I’m yours.” You answer, “Yes.”

I tell myself I won’t cry. I won’t ask you to stop. It’s not the stinging. It’s not the pain. It’s the submission. It’s giving this to you. It’s the letting go. It’s knowing that I love you. Knowing that I’ll let you give me this, take care of me, love me. That’s what breaks me. That’s why I cry when you fuck me. "I won’t cry this time. I won’t," I tell myself. But of course I will. I know that I will. You know that I will. You look for it. I will cry because it overwhelms me how you love me. How I let you love me. How I want it.

I try to get away when you pull the belt between my legs, against my clit. It hurts. The pain is almost too much. The leather feels like it’s cutting me. I can’t get away. You ask me if I want you to stop and the question only makes me angry. “Fuck you,” I yell. “Poor baby,” you coo. I feel the tears well up in my eyes. I spit the words softly into the sheets, “Fuck you.” I go limp. You feel it. Or maybe you see it. Roll me over. Do what you want.

What you want is to wake me up again. Your fingers shoot into my cunt and I double over, grabbing for your head. You move away from me quickly and shove me back against the mattress. You fuck me so hard it’s beyond pleasure. This is pain. It hurts. I’m fighting it. I grit my teeth. I’m yelling. You don’t relent. Pounding into me over and over again. Repeating the words you last said, “Poor baby.” Again, harder, you don’t let up. “My poor, poor baby. Don’t you want it? Yeah. I see you, baby. I see what you want.”

My whole body resists until the moment your spit hits my clit. I feel it drip. Then your finger or your thumb. Everything, everything, all of me, suddenly on fire. So warm. My head is fuzzy. I feel so good. I couldn’t possibly stand up steady. I’m crying now. Crying hard. I’m staring at your lips. They hang open above my bent knees. You look at me now and again. You shake your hair out of your eyes. We nod at each other. Whispered yeses. Uh huh. I don’t care about coming. This is everything. But I do come. I come and I scream and I shake. I pull you to my face and hold you. You press down on top of me. I cry into your neck.

I won’t fuck you tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Tonight I’ll just take and take. I’ll open my thighs for you. I’ll pet your head as you suck me off later when I’m sleepy and drunk. I’ll tell you over and over again how much I love you. How you have me. “Fuck me, baby,” I’ll plead and roll over on my belly. “Here, baby. Come here,” I’ll say and pray that you’ll take me again.

Deep, So Deep

Everything is quiet. Hushed. Not the world around me, but my head. I close my eyes and there’s not the usual hum and chatter. An unfamiliar calm takes it place. Eyes wide open, I see the street. Coffee shops, sweaters and coats, smiles, energy, life. Colors ablaze. Cute haircuts. Sexy glances. Dropped coins. Dirty fingers. I hear the rustle of the crisp leaves. I hear moaning dogs echoing the sounds of sirens in my city. The vibrancy that surrounds me is astonishing. The quiet shush in my head, a revelation. I hear my blood.

There is this girl. That’s how stories begin, yes? There is this girl. I won’t tell you she’s magic. I won’t succumb to the swelling orchestra, the perfect pop song, the knowingly false belief that this is unique, unknown, a singular love. But, truly, there is this girl. And when I’m with her, my mind is quiet. That steady stream of second guessing that always rustled my thoughts disappeared when I met her. It took me several weeks to figure out why things felt quiet.

Everything is in our hands, on our skin, rolling off our tongues. We are face to face.

Deep. Deeper. At first it was my cock. She wanted me so deep inside her. My fingers weren’t enough. The cock tucked inside my jeans wasn’t enough. More. Deeper. My biggest, longest, thickest cock and still she seemed to want more even when I felt my cock thud against her and she gasped with every deep, long thrust inside her. I felt the pressure against my clit as my cock reached deep inside, filling her. “I’ve never wanted so much,” she cried, her tears streaming down my neck. Her wet mouth lay soft on my chest. We fucked like this for hours and fell asleep wrapped around each other with sticky thighs and fingers. I woke up with my open mouth against her shoulder as if we’d been suspended in time. “I love you,” she said. Or maybe I said it. I’d been thinking it for days feeling unable to say the words out loud. Not sure I believed in such a thing anymore. But here it was.

Deeper. So deep. Everything. Opening up completely. Letting me see down deep into the depths where she feels ugly and undeserving. Telling her things I’m ashamed of and being glad to lay them down in front of her one by one.

This isn’t so scary.

Yes it is. I know it is. And yet it feels like home. Like the home I’ve never known. Like what you think home must be for someone, somewhere. Is it?

Have you seen her? Tell me, have you seen her?” The Chi-Lites sing inside my head, sway from side to side, snap their fingers. It’s funny how many songs I catch myself singing these days are sad ones. Now, when I’m so happy. But then, this love feels like the sweetest melancholy. Sweet and sad knowing that I’d given up on it. It’s that sweet sadness that comes with the joy of barely missing some terrible accident. You hold your child who nearly drowned and the relief is bound together with the realization of what was nearly lost. You sob. You’re so happy. You hold her.

I’m shuddering with big, fat tears and squeezing this girl tight because I thought I’d never find her.

These last few weeks we fuck slow, so slow. Painfully slow. Yesterday I burned with desire and started to pound her pussy with my fingers. She grabbed my hand and dragged it up her belly, between her breasts, and sucked me into her mouth. Softly, her tongue licked my fingers until they dripped. She held my hand in both her own and pushed it back down between her legs. She gripped my index finger long and slowly, so slowly, pulled it up and down over her clit. Wet and slippery. “I want you to kiss me,” she whispered, her eyes already wet with tears, “I want to come in your mouth.” I opened my lips just above hers. The tips of our tongues brushed each other lightly. I felt her warm breath in my mouth. Her slick, wet, swollen clit under the tip of my finger. So soft. So slow. Feeling everything. I felt it so deep. Bone deep. An ache. She moaned and the vibration of her voice buzzed my lips. “Baby,” I whimpered, “This is what I want.”

She came with a jerk of her hips and a loud groan. She pushed my hand aside and said, “I want to come again.” I felt her finger push and pull on her clit. I tilted my head to see the quick circling of her wrist. Tense. Taut. I watched her climb. My hands were everywhere, rubbing her. I hovered over her, my hips thrusting in the air. She came again almost immediately and said, “One more.” “Yes,” I said. I felt something unlock inside her. I held her close to me while she came again. “I want days and days,” I whispered. She nodded quickly and turned her head into my chest as she came so hard, her body so flushed and hot. “I’ve never wanted something so deep,” she said. “So deep,” I answered and pulled her to me with my hands buried in her hair.