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. 

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A Promise

I have so many dirty stories to tell you. How will we have enough time?

Wear that dress you have. The one that sparkles. The one that makes me grip my belt. Wear those earrings that dangle just under your shiny brown curls. Show me that crooked tooth when you smile. Paint your lips red for me this night. With the sparkly dress. And your shoes with the high, pointy, wooden heels. The ones that make you wobble and cling to my arm. Let’s lift the clouds and giggle as we walk down the sidewalk together. I’ll tell you a dirty story.

I’ll lean into your ear as we walk and tell you where my hands will go first. How I’ll lift the hem of your dress and that sweet little crinoline right there in the middle of the party. I’ll find a dark corner near the coat check. You’ll hold your small clutch balanced on my shoulder. I’ll bury my face in your neck with my hand crawling up the backs of your legs and my thigh pushing against your cunt. My other hand will rest lightly at your waist. Politely silent and still, but aching to grip your zipper between my thumb and finger and feel your soft, soft skin.

We’ll wait for the party to end. We’ll take the elevator to a random floor and find the tiny, buzzing room with the ice machine. I’ll press my back against the door and beckon you to come. You’ll walk slowly towards me, lifting your dress, until you press your panties up against the fly of my pants and slowly rub yourself up and down. I’ll hold your ass in both hands and pull you harder against me, helping you lower and lift. Drop your purse to the floor and hold onto my shoulders while you lean back, letting me support you so your pussy grinds against me in just the right spot. “Hang on to me, baby,” I’ll say and the ice will drop with a clatter in the machine, making you jump. Your fingers lace together behind my neck and I stare up the length of your arms to the sweet cap sleeves I love so much.

You’ve got such a pretty mouth. It’s a crooked mouth. Even more jarringly angular with those bright red lips. And when you’re turned on, you almost snarl with that crooked tooth shining at me between your lips. I’ll pull you to me and spin you around, pushing your back up against the door and leaning over you. My fingers will trace your lips, feeling your lipstick rub off on my fingertips. You’ll suck at my fingers like a little fish until you tease them inside your mouth. I love the way your tongue slowly pushes along the crease between my fingers. I love feeling you suck my fingers deeper and deeper inside you. The warm cave of your mouth. The soft walls inside your cheeks. And when you nearly gag yourself, pulling me too deeply to the back of your throat, my knees shake and I want to throw you down on the floor. “Baby,” my voice shakes, “the way you…” but I can’t say it. How can I describe it? What is it that you do? There isn’t any language for it.

But I promise you. I’ve got more dirty stories to tell. More adventures planned. We’ll tick them off one by one. And when we’re in that little room. The one that buzzes with the ice machine. And when your panties are pulled tight against my wrist and my fingers are inside you. When you’re humming in my ear and gripping the back of my head. When I’m panting and hot and start to feel the sweat drip between my breasts. When you’re close, so close, and claw at the back of my neck. I’ll tell you a new story. I’ll tell you about the next time and where my mouth will go first.

I have so many dirty stories to tell you. How will we have enough time?


What can I do? I’m useless.

I can fuck you. Erase everything. Lift you up for a moment. Press you down hard against the cushions. Easy. I can squeeze your hands in mine and shove your cheek against the fabric. My hand flat on your chest. I’ll spit at you; yell. Screaming how much I want you. Making you hear me. Pushing everything else out of your mind.

I force you. Force. Push. Hold you tight. Move you where I want. Position you. You don’t resist. You look out at me behind something I don’t recognize in your eyes. You grab and pull me harder against you and slap yourself with my hands. I hear you grind your teeth.

It’s my honor to rise to your call. You push me this way, wanting me to control you more. I feel it. When I slap your hands away from me and bind them over your head, you settle for a moment. You hush. When I clamp my hand tight across your mouth, I feel a jolt go through you. It’s like this. A surge. A hush. Calm but alive. The taught wire, the tension when I push you down underneath me. The bright way you writhe beside me. I whisper in your ear all the things I want to do next. You know there is always more.

You demand me and I rise to meet you. Next time I will do as I said. I’ll bend you over and jerk your pants down just enough. You’ll hear my belt. I’ll push you into the cushions and tell you to put your hands where I can see them, flat. I want to see your veins. I want to watch your skin flush red. And I will.

My fingers, stiff, where my cock would be, press against your pussy. “Say it for me,” I whisper. You moan in response but it’s not enough for me, “Say it. Tell me.” My belt buckle clicks out a rhythm. I push my stiff fingers against you, teasing just at the edge of your hole. I grab your hip. You wiggle against me, breathing louder, thinking you can tempt me this way, but I know how to wait. I need you to ask me. I want to hear your voice. When you’re ready for me like this, it’s a deep, husky sound. It’s animal. It makes me twitch. “Fuck me, goddamn it” you finally say, sounding annoyed. You’re stubborn. That streak in you, so strong.

I pounce when you break and ask me. Three fingers jam into you. Feel me, big, inside you. I reach around and push against your clit, press it flat in my hand and slowly rub. My other hand moves quick and deep inside you. I want you confused. I want your pussy confused and mine to fuck and tease and enjoy. “I love your pussy,” I tell you. “My cunt,” you answer. “Your cunt,” I agree. “You just like pussy,” you say, sounding like a bitch, knowing I’ll react. I respond with a sudden grip on your neck, my fingers sticky. I want you to smell yourself. I drag my fingers across your lips. “Shut up,” I whisper and go back to fucking you, being slow about it. Dragging my fingers down the back of your shirt.

“Is this what you wanted?” I ask, with my fingers shoved back inside you. You’ve made me rougher. I’m pounding into you harder and with less control. You don’t answer. Your eyes are squeezed shut, your head turned to the side. Your hands still where I can see them. Knuckles now bent slightly. Your fingers poised to crawl. I fuck you hard, stiff, unrelenting. I want to fuck you like this and never stop. I don’t stop.

When you come, I watch you struggle in the time it takes before you can push me away from you. I always want more. I crawl on top of you and you tell me, “No,” but within minutes your hips are moving against me, calling. I will rise up. New. Something new again. Always. You entice me. You make me want to find more. You appreciate me. You get me like no one else. You laugh when you see me work at it. You know how serious I am and you laugh it away. You slap away my intensity and make me go wild, deeper down, always finding more. You get me. You see how useless I feel and put me to work.

Kentucky Sky

She got a truck. I was still driving my old, used old minivan. I fucking hated that minivan. A brown Dodge that I’d needed at the time. I tried to look on the bright side, you could make a small bed in the back with the seat back down. But still, it was a fucking minivan. And her truck, god damn it, was not just any truck. Her dad had given her his old 1969 Ford F250. It was painted a luscious butterscotch with cream trim. The seats were cracked but she had a dark blue wool blanket thrown over them.

She drove to my house when she got that truck. I burned red when I saw her drive up in it. I imagined her hand on that long, spindly stick coming up from the floorboards. She waved to me. I didn’t budge. “C’mon,” she yelled at me, “You can drive it.” She slid over into the passenger seat and looked forward out the window, sure of me coming. I wandered up to her and stuck my head in the passenger window. “Nice,” I said, “He gave it to you?” She nodded. “Is he going to keep it up?” she looked at me. “Jesus, I hope so,” she said. I nodded and looked down at her knees. She was in her red & white dress with her brown cowboy boots. She looked like a dream as always. Her sweet knees and that little bit of thigh, little bit of shin I could get a look at.

We met in high school. I had recently moved back to town with my head nearly shaved bald. To be honest, it was more extreme than I intended, but I wanted to stomp back into town if I had to go back. I ran into her at the movies. She runs the ticket booth. I told her I was back home. We chatted for a minute and she let me in for free. After the movie ended, I was walking to my car when she came up behind me and tugged on my elbow. “Can I get a ride?” she asked me. I drove her home mostly in silence. Neither of us knew what to say. I felt something electric between us but couldn’t quite believe it. In front of her house she thanked me and opened the door but then closed it, turned around, and reached her hand just above my ear. “I like it,” she said and scratched her fingernails on the stubbly hairs there. “Good,” I said. She quickly opened the car and ran up to her door. I sat there staring at her house for a few beats. I’d seen her around every week but hadn’t found the nerve to test the waters. It felt like a lot to risk in my hometown.

“Where do you want me to drive you?” I asked, feeling ornery and a little sore with envy, knowing I needed to work that shit out fast. “Drive me down the highway,” she said, “I’ll buy you supper somewhere. Please say yes.” She smiled at me and I grinned back. “Of course I’ll say yes,” I laughed. I hopped around the front and jumped in. There were wires hanging out under the dash. She had a portable radio on the seat next to us and a little basket in the foot well.

We drove out on the highway. I headed towards the lake. It was about an hour away down the long flat highway. The sun was going down. She turned on the radio and we listened to some old-time country music. She sang along in a high, whispy voice and I just smiled and listened. Her fingers tapped the rhythm out on her thigh. “I like hearing you sing,” I said, “It’s nice.” She didn’t answer, just kept singing along, but I saw her blush a little and smile. “Where are you taking me?” she asked after awhile. “The lake,” I answered, “There’s a good catfish place near there if that sounds good.” She nodded. I gripped the wheel and felt a sudden surge of desire hit my cunt. Damn. I didn’t know how to do this exactly. Not with her. But here we were. I should make a move at some point.

I parked in the gravel lot and swung around to her door, but she was already out of the truck. She gave me a look and said, “How sweet you are.” I rubbed my neck. My hands felt out of place. I jammed them in my pockets and we walked in. I loved this old place. I’d gone here as a kid. A sawdust floor, the tables were made from those big wooden spools, and the menu only had catfish and hush puppies and cole slaw. The restaurant was situated on a small, dug pond stocked with catfish. You could sit on the dock and fish for a small fee and they’d cook your fish up right there. We ordered some beers and fish and found a table in the corner. She looked down at the upturned barrel that served as a chair and I saw that her dress was too nice for this place. “Hang on,” I said and threw my jacket over the barrel for her to sit on. She smiled at me. “Such a gentleman,” she laughed. “I am that,” I said, nodding, “I am.”

She drank her beer from a plastic cup and I took mine from the bottle. We ate with our fingers and talked. We talked about everything in between high school and now. What she’d been doing (saving money and taking classes at the community college). What I’d been doing (working doing landscaping down in Florida until I realized I hated it). We talked about what we wanted to be doing. She told me she was writing. She submitted stories to magazines and journals but so far had only gotten rejections. I told her I wanted to read them. She told me one about a woman who lives alone in a small town and grows old there, never venturing out beyond the city limits, and reads nothing but travel books. I wanted to tell her something I dreamed about, but I really didn’t know yet. I didn’t know what I wanted. I just wanted to be able to go fishing and swim in the rivers and lakes and lie on my back looking at the sky.

We finished our food and had been talking for a long time when she got up and said she wanted to freshen up. She came back with her lipstick touched up, red and gorgeous. I stood up and went to the counter. They knew me here. I bought a few more beers for the road and carried them out to the truck in a folded up grocery sack. “Where now?” I said to her. “Let’s drive to the lake somewhere,” she said, “Is there a place we can sit and look at the water?”

I remembered a place my grandpa used to take me to shoot off fireworks. There was this old dirt road that bumped its way down to a small clearing where people used to put their boats in. It was always empty down there now that the marina had been built. This was Kentucky and the dirt was red. The headlights looked out on that red dirt and gravel as we made our way on the two skinny tire tracks. I stopped a little ways back from the lake. The moment the engine cut, she reached out and touched my hand. It was dark in the cab. There wasn’t much of a moon and it was hidden behind some trees. “You know what I want, right?” she asked me. I nodded and kept my hands on the wheel. “You’re so sweet,” she said, “I hope I don’t come off too forward for you, but I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.” She sidled up next to me on that bench seat and gave me the sexiest kiss I’d ever known. I wrapped an arm around her and moved a hand to her chest, sliding down over her soft cleavage but she grabbed my wrist before I went any further. “Hold on,” she said.

She pulled the basket out from under her feet and handed it to me. “I brought something,” she said, “For you. Please. And these blankets for the truck bed.” She had a couple thick blankets stuffed behind the seats and handed them to me. I stepped out of the cab and threw the blankets in the back. I opened up the basket and saw what she brought for me. There was a cock and a harness. Jesus. I was excited and a little scared. I’d never been with someone quite so bold before. I grabbed one of the beers and drank it down fast. Fuck. Okay.

I slid my jeans and shorts low enough to strap on the cock. I remembered back to the last girl I fucked back in Florida. It had been awhile. I felt nervous. She called out from the cab, “Tell me when you’re ready.” I hitched my jeans back up but left them hanging open. I went around to her door and opened it. She stepped out, taking my hand. I helped her up into the back and climbed in after her. She had her hand on my cock before she kissed me. “Jesus,” I whispered. Her hand was stroking my cock up and down and it hit my clit just right, warming me all over. I put my hands low on her back and she pulled away from me giggling. “I’m cold,” she said. I went back to the cab to get the blanket from the seat and my jacket. She took my jacket and draped it across her shoulders. I sat down and wrapped the blanket around us.

She pulled the blanket up around her tightly and straddled my hips. She pushed me back against the cab and kissed me hard. I could taste her lipstick. She pushed her tongue deep into my mouth and I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her to me. She kissed me long and slow with a hungry way of sucking on my lips and tongue. I felt thrown into the middle of something. I was on fire. And then she pulled quickly away from me and laughed. “Not so fast,” she said, as if it was me leading us into this. “Huh?” was all I managed in response. I felt fuzzy, muddled. “Look up at the stars,” she said, “It’s a beautiful night,” and she cuddled against my chest. I grabbed another beer for myself, wanting to back off a bit. She was confusing me. I wanted to think. I sucked the bottle with long, cool sips and shivered a little.

We sat there quietly looking up at the night sky. Out here, far from any city lights, the sky opened up above us. When I was nearly done with my beer she asked me for the bottle. She took it in her mouth, not drinking it, but sucking the glass. She stared at me and leaned over it, sucking it like a cock. My mouth hung open. Without thinking, I grabbed my cock and gripped it. “You like my mouth?” she asked, “You want me to suck your cock?” I nodded. She was clearly in control here and could do whatever the fuck she wanted. I sat back waiting for my next set of instructions.

She took my cock in her hand. Twisting and stroking it, pressing it hard against me. “Not too much?” she asked. I shook my head, “No. Oh god. That’s good.” She laughed again, “You’re so easy to please,” she said. She gripped my cock in her hand and brought her face to mine. She licked my lips with her tongue. She teased my mouth open and sucked my tongue. I could feel her on my cock. My heel hit the truck bed. My legs shifted around, scrambling, wanting more. She unbuttoned my shirt and bit my flesh down between my breasts and over my belly. She stopped at my cock and licked the shaft, looking up at me, making sure I was watching her. And then her mouth was on me. I felt her breath on my belly as she took me deep into her throat. I wanted to tug my jeans down, but didn’t dare move. She was hitting my clit just right and my hips responded. I rested a hand on the back of her head, my other hand pushed down into the truck bed as I lifted my hips higher. She stayed put, sucking my cock so good and so long. I was going to come. I could feel it. I was loud, moaning and swearing. She knew when I came. I hit the side of the truck. I bent over her, shaking. “That’s good,” she says.

She pulled me down next to her and pulled the blanket around us. She took my hand and slipped it between her legs, sliding it up under her dress. “I’m going to show you what I want,” she said and held two of my fingers against her wet panties. Together, we stroked the full lips of her labia. I felt her pussy swell under my fingertips. She held me hard against her and pulsed her grip. She drew my fingers up to her clit and back down. “Okay, you now,” she whispered. I heard the arousal in her voice. I felt desperate to please her. I rubbed her pussy the way she showed me and sucked on her neck. I waited until her panties were so wet they stuck to my fingers before pushing them aside. She felt so good. So wet and soft. Her hair was slick and matted. I teased one finger inside her lips and she shuddered against me.

“I want you inside me,” she said, “your fingers.” I leaned my face over hers and kissed her sweet mouth as I pushed two fingers inside her. I sucked on her tongue, taking her breath for a second. My fingers were slow and steady. “Get me ready for your cock,” she said between kisses, “keep it slow and soft.” I liked the way she talked to me. I liked that she knew exactly what she wanted. But I wanted to surprise her, too. I got on my knees and straddled her. I pulled my fingers out of her pussy and rubbed my whole hand slowly against her. I hunched over her, sucking on her neck. She grabbed my head and pulled on my hair where she could get a grip. She moved beneath me. “I want you on your knees,” I said and with a hand at her hip, pushed to help move her into position. I lifted her dress up and pulled her panties down to her knees. “Fuck me hard,” she said.

I held my cock to her and put one hand flat on the small of her back, the other wrapped around her belly. I thrust myself hard inside her. I wanted to fuck her as hard as I could right out of the gate. She called out, a high pitched yelp. I bent over her back and grabbed both shoulders, harnessing her to me, pulling her back against me. “Yes. Fuck!” she yelled out, “Just like that.” “Shut up now,” I groaned and clapped a hand over her mouth, “Shut up and let me fuck you.” I felt my hips bruise as I slammed against her. I held on tight. “Come here, now,” I moaned into her neck, “Come here, beautiful,” and I reached one arm long to rub her clit. I felt her teeth against the palm of my hand when her mouth opened as she came. Her scream was muffled. “There you go,” I told her, repeating it again and again as I caught my breath and kept fucking her like a shadow. “There you go. Let’s rest awhile and look at this sky,” I said, taking my hand off her mouth, “This good Kentucky sky.”

We fucked again in her truck under that big, beautiful sky. She climbed over my hips and rode me. I came underneath her and had to keep going for several minutes until she came, too. My shirt was stuck to my back by the time we wound things down and the night air was cold on my sweat. My muscles ached. I drove her home and couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. She left the radio off and scooted over close to me, pulling my arm around her at one point. The road ahead looked good to me. It had been a good night.


I felt almost cruel. There was an urgency about me, coursing through me. I wanted to look at her. I’d had a good day. Things at work fell easily into place. I felt that buzz all day long. Everything felt good. Electric. Walking down the hall there was an electricity. I looked around me at the brighter colors. I reached out to touch the walls lightly with my fingertips. Something was humming at a frequency I couldn’t quite pick up. But I felt it.

After lunch, my mind wandered again and again. I pictured her. I saw her face, that sexy smirk on her lips popped into my mind and I grabbed at her in my imagination. In a split second, the thought got my heart pounding. I had to pause outside the conference room to collect myself before heading into the next meeting.

All afternoon it was like this. Pop. Her face, that smile, a hint of cleavage, my fingers in her hair, her tongue on my lip. Teasing. Soft.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. I was busy. Too much to do. Working hard and quick. Some days, when I suddenly want her, there’s a fire and some days a fog. This day was the fire. I felt so good. And then the craving to take, to go get her and demand.

I picked up my phone, “When will you be home. I’m picking you up.” She sounded surprised but I heard her smile, “7 o’clock. No. 6:30.” I hung up. I clawed at my thighs. I needed to finish up at work. I barreled through the next two hours fully focused on work before tossing my laptop in my bag and heading out. I swung by my place to drop things off and wash my face. I was hot. My muscles were wiry. A set trap ready to spring. I thought about jerking off but didn’t have time.

It wasn’t dark enough when I picked her up. I’d imagined rolling up the block and unzipping my pants. But it was too early. Too bright. That’s not my style. I rubbed the bulge in my pants. She saw my agitation and sweetly tried to draw it out of me, “What’s wrong, baby?” I don’t let her call me baby. She knows that. I didn’t say anything.

I drove us to a parking garage, circled the car up to the top floor, and parked in a dark corner. “Get in the back,” I said and stepped out of the car. I watched her get out of the front seat and move to the back. I waited until she closed the door and then I stood there and stared at her through the glass. She kept her eyes low. Her hands moved to her shirt buttons. I stared. She kept going. I watched her lift her skirt and stroke her inner thigh up and down. I pressed my hands flat against the glass and leaned in close, fogging the pane briefly with each exhale.

It took her a minute to realize that I was going to just stand there for awhile. She relaxed her body, leaned back against the door, and looked up at me. Slowly, she lifted one leg into the seat and let the other fall wide. I could see her bright red lace panties and her hair matted underneath the fabric. I looked into her eyes. I felt cold. Removed. I wanted to watch. I nodded my head at her as if to say, “Go on. More.”

She reached her hand between her legs and stroked her pussy long and slow, sometimes pausing to circle her clit. I felt my cunt twitch in response. I rubbed my chest through my shirt and squeezed at my own nipple. She saw me and bit her lip. She looked lonely, almost sad, wanting. I nodded.

Her fingers pushed under her panties and I watched her knuckles move under the lace. Her body started to move. She worried her brow a little. I wanted to touch her. I imagined her soft, wet pussy in my hands. I remembered it. But I stayed put. I watched.

Her chest flushed a little. And her neck. Her hand stopped moving but her hips kept circling. I watched her face as she came. I watched her settle into it. A naughty smile crept over her face. She stared straight back at me, blinking.

I opened the door, climbed in beside her, and unzipped my pants. I pulled out my cock and stroked it. Neither of us said anything. I grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into my lap. “I want to watch you suck it,” I said, my voice cracked in anticipation. My mouth went dry. She nodded.

I pulled her head so her mouth hovered above my cock. Ready, open, her lips looked bright red. Ripe. She raised her eyes to me. Her hands wrapped around my ass. I wished I’d thought to cuff her wrists behind her back. I would have liked to control her more fully. But she kept her hands in place as if she read my thoughts. She was still except for the movements her head made as I adjusted my grip.

I held her head for a long time. Longer than I expected. I just held it there. Waiting. Both of us frozen. The pause made me burn. Her too. I watched her cheeks flush a deep crimson. I saw her eyes plead with me. “Soon,” I whispered and caught myself overwhelmed, a lump in my throat. That was all I needed to act. My emotions kicked me into gear.

My fingers held her head in a tight grip and pushed her mouth onto my cock. I watched her take me into her mouth. Her eyes closed. She looked lost. Intent. I saw a drive in her to please me. I usually roll right over that and keep us focused on her. But tonight, I soaked it in. I let her suck me off to please me. I took my pleasure in it. I leaned my head back, keeping my fingers wrapped tight in her hair, pushing and pulling her on and off my cock, kicking my knees wide. “Fuck,” I moaned, louder than I’d intended. She didn’t break. I laughed low, deeply satisfied, looser somehow, free. My chest filled with deep breaths again and again. “Fuck,” I kept repeating, “Fuck.”

I didn’t get off with her sucking my cock, but I came close. Her chin was wet when I pulled her up to me. She tortured my nipples with her teeth and somehow left a deep bruise along one rib. I leaned back and let her do what she wanted. I let go of her. I watched.

Our mouths were open with our lips touching when her fingers circled my clit. We stayed like this a long time, not kissing, but panting. Her warm breath pulsed inside my mouth. She built me up. My hips followed her. My hands pulling her tight against me. My fingers raked down her back. “Come for me,” she said, “I want to feel it.”

I hooked my fingers around her shoulders and pulled her away from me. Her fingers stayed on my clit. I looked down and saw where her arm disappeared into my jeans, under my shorts. I stared at my cock which just sat there, moved out of the way. I let my eyes wander slowly over my own chest and belly, shiny with sweat. I watched my hips rock against her hand. I felt her eyes on me. She was whispering. I don’t know what she said. I don’t know. But I reached my arms out along the seat-back and held on, shaking, as I came for what felt like a few minutes.

I closed my eyes for a long time after that. I think I fell half asleep. I was suddenly aware that she was sucking on my neck with her hand between her legs, coming. I moaned a sleepy moan and pulled her to me, my arms wrapped tightly around her. “You’re nice,” I said. She smiled into my neck. “You are,” I added, “This is good.”


There was something about her ass. I mean, there always is, right? But this was different. When I held her I couldn’t help it. My hands slid down her back and before I realized what I was doing, I was nearly on my knees sliding my hands up the backs of her thighs. Petting and squeezing her ass in my fingers.

She laughed at me, “Are you stroking my ass again?” Always. I am. Always. I’m a child. Unsophisticated. I grope, unashamed. “My god, you feel so good,” I say. My hands are everywhere. Where’s the zipper? How do I get inside this dress? I fumble. I smile into her neck, “Help me.”

We stand, fully dressed and barefoot, swaying back and forth in a slow dance, making out. Necking. I’m so slow tonight. She pulls me against her. Pulls my hips. Grinds into me. Moans for me. She says my name. It brings a lump to my throat.

“I’m not used to this,” I tell her, my voice breaking with emotion. I don’t know how to take her sweet affection. I don’t understand this language trying to tell me I’m desirable. You will have to hold me down and force feed me this love. It will be messy.

“You’re beautiful,” she tells me and kisses my face. Her hands unbutton my shirt. I feel her fingers spread out wide as they run up my tank top and over my breasts.

“You’re so beautiful,” she says and sees me crying. “No one…” I say. I can’t finish even the thought, much less the sentence. “No one?” she asks me simply. She nudges me backwards into my chair and kneels on the floor between my legs. She rubs my thighs. I watch her. I’m fading, getting thinner. I can see through my hands. Everything’s blurry. I see the watercolor of her hands on my belt. She lifts and settles me. My cock. Her lips.

She looks up at me with her big eyes and licks the tip of my cock, slowly, staring. She takes my hand and pulls it to her hair. Instinctively, I grab and squeeze her. Now she takes me into her mouth. I feel myself pumping her head on my cock. Using her. Loving her.

I can love you here in this moment. We don’t have to talk about it. But this is monumental. This is life. We both feel it. Our insides shaking. We tremble with fear and lust and gratitude. This is how we live. Feeling our hearts in our chests.

It starts with her ass and becomes the most meaningful thing in the world. A simple walk around the block. Take my hands and put them where you want them. Tell me I’m beautiful and suddenly I am. And I know what to do with you. And can let you in.

So Tired

I was tired. Not enough sleep all week. Night after night going out, drinking too much, smoking on the sidewalk. One more bar. Always one more bar. Get something to eat. Another drink.

I’d been flirting at every stop. Or trying to. No one was buying. I looked tired. Tired and old. I gave up when the girl with the smeared eyeliner told me I looked like her favorite aunt. Okay. Alright. One more drink and then I’m going. Why had I stayed in midtown?

My phone buzzed in my back pocket as I was about to pay the cabbie. She was in town. Just checking in at her hotel. Wanted to know what city I was in. I dialed her number, “I’m here. New York. I’m 10 minutes from you.” She laughed, “Meet me in the lobby. Come now.” That laugh always stops me. I lose every thought in my head. I couldn’t say anything. I hung up and told the cabbie where we were going.

I did not need another drink, but she wanted to go out. She rubbed my cheek with her palm, “Pobrecita, so sleepy.” And I followed her out into the street where we look left, then right, as if there’s a neon sign telling us which direction has the nearest and best spot for us. She walks as if she knows. Maybe she does.

She always likes the places where you have to step down off the sidewalk. Those slightly sunken bars, three steps down. There’s dark wood and burgundy booths and round tables. I know what she drinks. I help her into her seat and step to the bar. I want her to watch me. I want her to look at me standing there. I want to be shining for her. But when I turn around with our drinks in my hands, she’s staring into the dark bar, smiling at something else. I don’t turn to look. I don’t need to know. It doesn’t matter. Look at her. Nothing else matters.

She’s bright. Excited in the city. “You were smoking tonight,” she says accusingly. “Yes,” I tell her. “Sip your whiskey and kiss me,” she laughs. And I do. She kisses me for the taste of it, her tongue reaches around in my mouth. The booze. The cigarette. “What do you smell like?” she asks me and her nose is in my neck. I don’t answer. She grabs my shoulders. She’s smelling me. I love it when she smells me. I smell spicy and not like I smell in other cities. She likes this. We’re never here together. She’s surprised.

I crunch the ice in my drink. Trying not to drink. Extracting the water from the ice. Oh god, I’m exhausted. So tired. I’m willing myself not to get a second wind. I need to be in bed. But she’s here. We are here together. I realize suddenly that she’s talking and I have no idea what she’s been saying. She laughs. She pets my cheek, “Pobrecita. So tired.” I nod and yawn. My eyes water. She touches the corner of my eye with the tip of her finger, catching my tear, then kisses it off her finger. She does things like this. Absurd things. I always stare at her in wonder. How I love her little ways.

“Let’s get you in bed,” she whispers to me, kissing my ear, “I’ll tuck you in.” I look at my drink nearly untouched on the table. I drag my finger through the wet ring it left as I slide out of the booth. She tugs me by the collar, then slides her hand around to my tie and leads me out onto the street. I trip on the bottom step. She tugs at me.

In the cab, she strokes my tie and I moan. I watch the rear view mirror. The cabbie’s eyes dart between the streets and the back seat. He sees me seeing him. Her hand strokes my tie long and slow. This absurd woman. Her intentions float on the surface, always. Our cabbie lifts his eyebrows at me and clucks his tongue. He tells me I’m lucky in the way he shakes his head. I smile at him and open my mouth for her to kiss me. And she does.

In the cab, kissing me, her hand grips my tie hard and pulls. She slides her hand down and off and lands between my legs. I tilt and open my knees to her, my hand slaps against the cold window to steady myself. She is squeezing my cunt through my jeans. Grabbing me. Sucking on my neck. Taking over. “Yes,” I say to her. She’s fucking me through my jeans. I lift my hips off the seat and press into her hand. I grab her back and pull her against me. The air freshener in the cab burns my throat as I suck in air. I’m gasping. Needing this.

I hand our cabbie, now my comrade, a twenty. I don’t look at the meter. He says goodnight to us, or maybe just to me. “Goodnight,” I say. I wave at him. He waves back. She pulls on my belt, shoves me towards her hotel, and presses up against me in the revolving door. I’m relaxed. Easily pushed around. Tossed into the elevator. She tells me, “23,” and my finger hits the button, a circle of red, small chimes, movement under our feet, her hands on my belt, my belt in her hands, the leather folded into a loop, she pushes my chest against the wall and whips my thighs. “Hey,” I yell and then mumble and smile at the wall.

She hands me her key. These silly credit card keys. I hate them. I want to fumble at the lock with metal in my hands. Instead I’m a stranger in the future with a green light telling me I can enter. I miss the scraping metal, the chain and the hunk of plastic with the hotel name. Holiday Inn. A green diamond. Room 213. Where can I find that again?

I think all of this as she maneuvers me into the room and onto her bed. She takes control. I like that. She whips me with my belt through my jeans. She tells me to take off my shirt. My fingers shake. I can’t ask. I know she knows. I need to feel the slap of leather on my shoulders. I need her to soothe me. I drop my shirt and tug my tanktop over my head. I sit up straight. I pull my arms in front of me. I feel the sting and exhale. So easy. So simple. It’s down to this.

She beats me while I cry for her. I close my eyes. I’m not sobbing. There’s no shaking, no wracked sighs. I’m limp. My tears run fat and slow down my cheeks. My nose is runny. My lips are wet. When she’s done, when she knows I’m ready, she undresses herself behind me and gently presses her breasts against my back. “Pobrecita,” she whispers, “so tired,” and her hand moves on my chest. I take her hand in mine and drag it over my stomach and shove it into my jeans. She holds me bent slightly forward and fucks me while I shake on trembling thighs. Her tongue licks my neck slowly, softly and I mutter sweet things to her. Her fingers move inside me, the heel of her hand grinds against my swollen clit.

She catches me when I come, doubled over, nearly toppling head first off the bed. She pulls me back off the edge and spreads me out on my belly before lying down next to me and snuggling up close. She traces her fingers through my hair and kisses my ear. “Go to sleep,” she whispers, “I’m going to take a bath.” She kisses me and I feel my body drifting off to sleep. I’m in that liminal state between sleep and waking when I hear the water running. I swear she’s still next to me petting my head. I try to ask her if she’s still next to me but I can’t. I can’t move. I swear I can feel her. I listen.

When I wake up, she’ll be asleep beside me. I’ll order breakfast and make the waiter stay outside the door when it comes. She’ll wake up smelling coffee and smile at me. I’ll crawl under the covers. My shoulders will sting and I’ll flinch as I suck on her. I’ll dash back to my hotel early to change before I have to go to the airport. I’ll think about her and write all this down. I’ll miss her already and wonder when I’ll see her again.

What We Don’t Say

It doesn’t matter what you do or don’t know about her. She loved muscle cars. Big, loud, rumbly cars that were low to the ground, wide and curvy, looking like coiled, bulging biceps.

Have you ever sat in the driver’s seat and turned that key? You jump and shake. It spits you out. There’s no conversation in that car. Just speed and excitement and the colors whizzing. Suddenly the landscape around you becomes a Monet. Squint your eyes and watch the fence row dance a little jig. Lean your head back and smile.

You can drive one alone, but it’s more fun with a girl, especially if that girl likes big, noisy cars. And that’s her. That’s our story.

I had an early 70s Dodge Dart Demon, shiny brown with an orange hue under the darker color. Or that’s how I saw it. My car was not just brown. It was a rich, shiny brown with bright orange trapped underneath. It was a pain in the ass that took nearly all my free time. But it was mine. It was gorgeous. And it sounded like a motor boat.

She never let me come to her door. She always met me around the corner. It made me feel dirty. She walked down the sidewalk in a fancy cocktail dress as if we were going to tea. I looked down at my worn jeans, soft on my thighs from rubbing my sweaty palms on them day after day. I took my hands off the wheel and hopped out to get the door for her, my palms rubbing my quads as I walked around the car to get back in. “Damn,” I whispered under my breath before sliding back behind the wheel. She looked good.

She held a small black clutch daintily in her fingers. I had my hand at the ignition, about to turn the key and jostle this pretty picture. It felt like I was set to topple a beautiful layer cake. Nothing to say so I looked over to smile at her as we headed toward the highway. Her hair was hanging at her cheek, no longer neatly tucked behind her ear. I looked down at her lap, imagining the faint vibrations under her seat that were about to open up as we sped full throttle down the freeway. The feeling. How she likes to squirm in her seat. I felt my cheeks burn down into my neck. I don’t know if she saw it on me. She was staring out the windshield looking dreamy, her fingers light on her purse, tapping an inconsistent rhythm.

I know it’s not just the car, but I also know that’s part of it. She calls me. It’s been weeks. “Baby, take me for a long drive. I’m feeling awfully restless.” And I drive to the corner. Just like that. We go driving. Fast. I like the smell of her in my car. It lingers for days. I don’t know if it’s shampoo or lotion or a light perfume, but it’s hers alone. I can’t call it up. When it fades, I miss her like crazy. When I see her again I want to bury my nose in her neck and hold tight. Let it wrap around me.

I’m starting to sweat. The yoke of my shirt’s soaking wet. My car gets hot. The a/c doesn’t work so well and we can’t open the windows on the highway. She wipes at a light beading of sweat on her upper lip. I like to see her skin glisten and shine. I feel my cunt swell. I’m starting to ache. We’re almost there.

She spotted an orchard the first time I took her driving. Well, it felt like she directed me to it. I think she knew where we were going. There’s a walnut orchard out off the highway. I turn off on a gravel road and we park a ways back. It’s like every time before. I walk around to her door. She sets one foot out and I take her hand. But then she’s striding fast towards the fence and manages to climb over and dash off into the row of trees. I grab a blanket from the backseat and follow.

Out in the orchard, she’s mine. I kick the dirt to make it smooth before I spread the blanket neatly out on the ground. I sit down with my knees bent, leaning back on my arms. She steps over my hips and stares down at me, keeping her eyes locked on mine while she undoes her dress. I sit and watch. She’s slow about it. She takes her time for me. She slides her panties down over her stockings and off. I stare up amazed. Her breasts cupping over her bra, her legs rising up in her stockings, the dark hair between her legs, her necklace shining. I look her up and down. She kneels down on top of me and rocks. I sit. I don’t move. I watch her.

She rubs against me, against my jeans. I can smell her pussy in the warm sun. I smell her sweat and my own and the scents on the breeze. I imagine our scents picked up in the wind and passing through the branches. She waits for me to move. She rides and sighs. She lets her mouth hang open. She looks at me, waiting. I’m slow about it. I rub my hand down my chest, over my belly, until it meets her thigh. She lifts herself off me just enough to let me push my fingers between her legs and inside her. And then she gasps. I keep watching her. “Uh huh,” she says. “Uh huh?” I ask her. I want to be sure. “Uh huh,” she says.

I fuck her slowly until she insists on setting the pace, speeding us up. She leans over me, her breasts near my mouth. I rub my lips against her soft flesh. Her panting and sighing overwhelm me. I focus on her and the sound of nearby bees that make me a little nervous. She comes and sighs and drapes herself over me, pushing me back against the ground. There’s more.

I like to get her on her knees with her hands wrapped around the small tree trunk. I like to kneel behind her and wrap my body around hers. Fuck her with my jeans pressed up against her ass and my arm hooked around her belly, my fingers pounding into her, my grip awkward and low. Sometimes she comes this way. Sometimes she can’t. I drag my nails over her ass and the curve that meets her thighs and down in red streaks to the backs of her knees. I grip the back of her neck with my wet fingers. I pull her around to face me. “Undo my jeans,” I tell her. I say it loudly to the orchard and to her.

I would let her see me naked, but I’m always cold. I stay hidden in my clothes with her hand in my pants. I rub the outside of my jeans, feeling her hand underneath as she rubs me off. I’m always so wet. Her fingers slip between the lips of my cunt. She moves her fingers all together. Her hand, her arm hook and circle. She lies there on her side, propped up on one elbow and kisses me while she gets me off. I let my arms fall out to my sides. One arm underneath her reaches up to pet her back or shoulders now and again. I look up at the sky. I can feel her staring at me, but I don’t look back. It’s the orchard that fucks me. The sky and the trees and the dirt beneath us. Her finger on my clit. It’s the orchard. I whisper it, ‘the orchard,” but she doesn’t hear me.

She puts her clothes back on. I brush the bits of leaves and dirt off of her and we walk back to the car in silence. Every now and again she holds my hand, like today. Her fingers weave through mine, a surprise, like she’s forgotten for a moment that this is unusual for her. We climb the fence. I open the door for her and walk around the back of the car, wiping my hands on my jeans. Getting ready for that sound, the rumble, the shaking, the deep booming rattle.

“I’ll take you home now,” I tell her as I turn the key. I can barely hear her respond above the noise, “Thank you, baby.” She closes her eyes for most of the ride home. I sneak looks at her. She grips the seat with her hands. I know she’s not dozing. She’s holding on tight. Holding herself against the rumble. Letting it shake her loose. I leave the car running when I drop her off. She gets out and walks away looking just the tiniest bit unsteady on her feet. She still feels the shaking in her bones.

It works. We understand each other. For me, it’s the orchard. For her, it’s the rumble.

(Source: chefthecook, via queersmut)

Blow By Blow

Tonight, I’m going to tell you a story. I’ve gone over it in my mind again and again. It’s creased and greasy like a ripped out page from a dirty magazine you keep stuffed in your pocket. I’ll tell you everything. The blow by blow.

She scared me a little, but my fascination was so complete that nothing would stop me. I had to meet her. She worked the mini-golf out past the edge of town off the highway. I hated mini-golf. She smoked and her skin already looked older and more lined than it should. Sun and cigarettes. Too much drinking.

She drove a pick-up. She could palm a basketball. She was lean and lanky. I swear she had an Adam’s apple. I’m not going to tell you her name. You don’t need to know her name. Call her what you want. Like I say, she scared me a little. I’d seen her eye me some nights when she came into town. How did she know? How could she see me? I was so young. I barely knew anything about myself. I didn’t know anything about what I wanted. But she made me shake. My hands actually trembled when I thought about her.

The first night I saw her, I caught her staring at me. She was with a group of rowdy guys at the pizza place. She laughed at their jokes but kept her eyes on me. So bold. Terrifying.

We lived in a bloody place. We lived in a small town that had too many bodies found in odd places - behind the laundromat, in a dumpster behind the discount grocery, in a burned out car in a corn field, and once, most hideously, in a vat of acid in some guy’s garage. This isn’t the part of the story you’re looking for, but like I said, I’m going to tell you everything. We lived in a bloody place. People died. How could she sit there and stare at me like that. People might see. She didn’t give a fuck about that.

That same night, I stared at myself in my bedroom mirror when I got home. I brought my shaking hands up to my face and touched my lips. I pushed my hair back. I opened the buttons on my blouse and touched my breasts. I opened the top drawer of my dresser and pulled out my brother’s pocket knife. I pulled the blade out and ran it across my chest, up my neck. I made a small cut on the side of my chin. Tiny. So thin and shallow the blood crept to the surface but didn’t drip. Just a scratch. My hands no longer shook.

I looked at my bed with the four posts and saw myself splayed, spread-eagle, bound so tightly to those posts that my arms and legs were lifted up off the mattress. I’d never had sex. I’d barely made out with anyone. But when I imagined sex it was forceful, dark, powerful. I don’t know why that was my earliest desire. I don’t know what put those thoughts in my head. I didn’t question it.

She showed up in town again and again. I’d see her cruising around late at night in her car. One night she pulled up behind me at the light. I drove all over town with her right behind me for an hour. I took her out on the blacktop and through the farms I knew. I drove her out past the new development behind the strip mall. And then I headed south on the highway towards Kentucky. There’s an old grocery near the national forest that looks abandoned, but isn’t. It was closed this late at night. I pulled into the parking lot and she pulled up beside me.

I got out of my car and into her truck. She kept her hands on the wheel. There was a hole with wires hanging out where her radio should be but Jerry Jeff Walker was playing on a tape recorder in the seat next to her. “I think about you,” she said and turned her head slowly to look at me. She was simmering. Gripping the wheel. I watched her muscles move under her skin. I didn’t answer, but I reached over and touched her arm. “Do you know what you’re doing?” she barked at me. She sounded angry. I jumped and pulled my hand back. I unbuttoned my top. I cupped my breast and held it up for her like an offering. “Jesus,” she muttered and that was all.

She moved the tape player to the floor but left it playing with Jerry Jeff sounding sad and regretful. I pulled her hands to my jeans but she slowed me down. She finished unbuttoning my shirt. Her rough hands were scratchy on my skin. She smelled like cigarettes and old spice. I noticed that her hands shook. Her fingers moved across me with a stutter. I pulled one of her hands up to my neck but she wouldn’t grip me. I wanted it. I wanted her control, her cool stare, her boldness. “Please,” I begged her and held her hand again to my throat.

She stared at me, looking like a frightened boy, but something kicked in and she squeezed my throat harder than I expected. I struck out at her with my fists in sheer terror. For a second, I was sure she would kill me, that I’d made a terrible mistake. She saw and eased up. She put her thumb against my jaw bone. We both recognized the danger in this. I closed my eyes. My body rolled, released in complete pleasure, with just one hand on my throat and the other roughly rubbing my breasts. She moved a knee between my legs and I grinded against her.

Things moved slowly. She moved around my body taking her time, staying in one place for a long while. She turned me over, tugged my jeans down over my ass and rubbed me with her hands. She sucked on the back of my neck and brought her hands around underneath me pulling on my nipples. She was hunched on her knees bent over me. There was a moment where I felt like the river under her. Like she was a thirsty hiker bent over to drink from me. I was there for the taking.

When she finally pulled my jeans all the way off, I was so turned on that I growled at her like a wild thing. I grabbed her wrist and shoved her hand against my pussy. “I want you,” I raged at her, truly angry and impatient. She shoved two long fingers inside me. I lifted my ass up off the seat. I pressed one foot against the window and lifted my hips high to her mouth. She kept her fingers deep inside me, sliding slowly in and out, twisting and curving. Everything felt lit on fire. She licked me softly with her tongue but I yelled out at her until she took off. Roughly tonguing me, sucking, pulling on my clit. When I came, I smacked my head hard against the door.

I tried to kiss her, to touch her, but she pushed me away. She was tender, holding me, but kept me off of her body. “Don’t be stupid,” I muttered and regretted saying it right away. The words hurt her. I felt her wince. I didn’t know what to say next. I grabbed her hand and pushed it between my legs. She pounced on me, fucking me again with a ferociousness that I will never forget, that left me breathless. She slammed her fingers into me with the palm of her hand smacking my clit. She gripped my shoulder so tight that I found five small bruises the next day from her fingers and thumb. She stared at me, angry, and fucked me until I bucked beneath her, yelling out. She stayed over me, staring, watching me come down from it. I wanted her to kiss me, but she quickly sat up when she saw me staring back at her.

“You’ve got a sense of adventure,” she laughed and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her shirt pocket. She sounded like she’d already smoked too many, her voice hoarse and gravelly. “Let me get out before you light that,” I said, scolding her a little. Jerry Jeff was singing Derby Day, one of my favorite tunes, as I hopped out.

I walked to my car. The gravel crunched under my feet. I looked into the old store and saw the near empty shelves and the old cash register. I like these old places. I like the sense of time gone by everywhere around us. People complain that we’re out of touch around here, but I don’t mind.

I thought we were lovers. I thought I’d see her again, but she never showed up. I’d see her truck parked out at the mini-golf, but I hate mini-golf. She never came back into town that I saw. Maybe I scared her. I couldn’t understand why. I didn’t tell her she was my first. I didn’t say much.

I remember that night again and again and still feel the same rush when I think of her rough hands on my soft skin. She ran those hands over every part of me. For a long time, I lay there staring into her face as she petted and stroked me. I didn’t get to touch her at all.