LESSONS IN LOVE: EROTIC INTERLUDES 3

©2006 BOLD STROKES BOOKS, INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

ISBN 1-933110-39-2

THIS TRADE PAPERBACK ORIGINAL IS PUBLISHED BY

BOLD STROKES BOOKS, INC.,

NEW YORK, USA

FIRST PRINTING MAY 2006

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES,

AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR'S

IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITOUSLY. ANY

RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD,

BUSINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS

ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

THIS BOOK, OR PARTS THEREOF, MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED

IN ANY FORM WITHOUT PERMISSION.

CREDITS

EDITORS: RADCLYFFE AND STACIA SEAMAN

PRODUCTION DESIGN: STACIA SEAMAN

COVER DESIGN BY SHERI (GRAPHICARTIST2020@HOTMAIL.COM)

CONTENTS

Introduction

1

Talking Dirty

3

Meghan O'Brien

Public Pet

11

Cynthia Rayne

Transforming Stone

17

Karen Perry

Quiet, Please

27

Rachel Kramer Bussel

Erotica 101

31

Radclyffe

A Good Butch Is Hard to Find

39

Crin Claxton

Toy with Me

53

VK Powell

Atropine

61

Nell Stark

Pearls of Wisdom

73

Rouge

Notice Me

79

Gun Brooke

Coming to a Head

93

Andrea Miller

Debut

101

Cheri Crystal

Perspex Window

111

Cheyenne Blue

Her

119

KI Thompson

Word Play

125

Radclyffe

Beyond the Blue Horizon

131

Fiona Cooper

Distraught Truths

139

Ashley Bartlett

The Art of Recycling

149

Remittance Girl

Here Endeth the First Lesson

161

Renée Stider

The Case of the Stolen Shorts

171

Therese Szymanski

Getting In and Out of Her Shorts

181

Karin Kallmaker

Every Life for a Thousand Years

189

JC Chen

Fucking: A Vignette of the Midwest

195

Lynne Jamneck

Mirror

203

Eva Vandetuin

The Decision Coin

209

nyrdgyrl

Top of the Class

221

Radclyffe

Making It Easy

229

Saskia Walker

The French Lesson

239

Kim Baldwin

Long Road Home

247

LC Jordan

The Temple

259

Amie M. Evans

Reunion

269

Lisa Figueroa

Bonus Night

279

Radclyffe

Marks

287

Ronica Black

Knocking Boots

305

Evecho

INTRODUCTION

Bold Strokes Books is pleased to offer another volume in the Erotic

Interlude Series with selections that reflect the passion that is uniquely ours. The depth and diversity of our sexuality is as limitless as the

creativity of the authors who write of it and the lesbians who celebrate it.

Expect to be surprised, amused, aroused, and most definitely satisfied!

Stacia Seaman and Radcly f fe 2006

TALKING DIRTY

MEGHAN O'BRIEN

each me."

The voice was feminine, sweet as honey, with just a

T tinge of the throaty, early-morning purr that always made

Kate weak in the knees. This, she knew, could be a worthy student. She

looked up to where the cute brunette from her afternoon seminar waited

in the doorway, a shy smile on her face.

"Rachael, right?" Kate zipped up the bag she'd just packed, eyeing the clock on the wall. "Actually, I was just getting ready to head home."

"Ten minutes," Rachael said. "Or give me five. Please." She took a step into the room, then folded her arms over her stomach. She looked

adorably nervous. "It's taken all my nerve to even ask, but I thought what you were saying this morning was fascinating. I want to learn how

to...you know...but I just—"

"Come in and close the door." Kate recognized the sheepish

expression on Rachael's face, and it melted her resolve. Maybe getting

home early wasn't that important. "But you're shy?"

"Not usually." Lifting a shoulder, Rachael conceded. "About this, maybe. A little." Another step closer. "I've just never done it before."

That voice sent a shiver through Kate's body, to the tips of her toes.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Really?"

"Really," Kate murmured. Rachael's pleased little grin hit her right between the legs. "You've got the voice for it."

"I do?"

"Oh, yeah." Kate dropped her own voice an octave, letting every

bit of the attraction she felt for the other woman color her words. Lesson one. "What is it you want to learn, exactly?"

Rachael closed the distance between them, but she kept her arms

folded in front of her. It was as if she were protecting herself from the

blatant heat Kate was sending her way. "Well, earlier you were

saying...you know, about being able to get a woman almost all the

way...there...just by talking."

"Yes."

''Teach me," Rachael said. "I'm sure I've never done that before.

And to be honest, I can't imagine how that's even possible."

"Oh, it's possible." Kate curled a finger under the strap of Rachael's tank top, detecting just a subtle flinch when she made contact with the

bare flesh. With a half smile, she tugged Rachael to a chair near the front of the room. "Why don't you sit down?"

Rachael gave her a dazed nod, then dropped into the empty seat.

Her green eyes glittered, riveted to Kate's throat.

"Comfortable?" Kate suspected that this would be a rather easy

lesson to teach.

"Very."

Kate sat in a chair close to Rachael's, and after a pause, placed a

hand on each of Rachael's thighs. "Is this okay?" she asked as she gently parted Rachael's legs.

"Uh—"

"I noticed you the moment you walked into my seminar earlier,

you know." Kate eased her own thighs between Rachael's spread ones,

so that her knees nearly touched the denim-covered crotch. The jeans

were soft, nicely worn, obviously loved. ''These jeans look good on you,

Rachael. I'm guessing you get noticed everywhere you go."

Lips parted soundlessly for a long moment. Rachael finally

whispered, "Thank you."

"Is this the part where you're going to get shy?" Kate gave her a reassuring smile but kept both hands on her thighs. She stroked up and

down, from knee to hip, and stared into her eyes. ''There's no reason to

be shy. We're just talking here, right?"

Rachael swallowed. "Right."

"Have you ever tried to talk dirty to your lover before?"

Rachael's face went pink. "I mean, you know…"

"Mmm, no, I don't. Why don't you tell me?"

"Well, I don't actually have a lover right now."

Oh, yes. This might be more fun than I thought. Kate grinned

mischievously. "In the past. Tell me how you've talked to your lovers in the past."

"I might, uh... well, you know...tell her that her...pussy feels good or something."

"When you've got your fingers inside of her?" Kate slid one hand down to Rachael's inner thigh, feeling her tense. At Rachael's nod, she

asked softly, "How about when you're licking her? What do you say

then?"

"I don't really say anything," Rachael said, looking confused. "My mouth is, uh...busy."

Kate clicked her tongue, continuing her slow caresses on Rachael's

thighs. "Missed opportunity. But what you really want to know right

now is how to get a woman ready to come, ready to do just about

anything, simply by talking to her. Am I correct?"

Rachael's nostrils flared as she exhaled raggedly, clearly fascinated

by Kate's busy hands on her thighs. Her voice strained, she whispered,

"Seems to me that you're doing a lot more than just talking."

"Point taken." Kate removed her hands and stood up.

Rachael's mouth dropped open. ''But...I—"

Kate walked behind Rachael's chair, then bent down low so she

could talk directly into her ear. Careful not to touch her again, she

murmured, ''The most important thing is to try and tap into what is going

to turn your lover on. What gets her wet? What is it that she wants to

hear?"

Rachael nodded, her fine, wispy hair brushing Kate's nose. Kate

inhaled deeply, savoring her subtle fragrance, then exhaled with a quiet

moan. "You smell good."

Rachael's throat worked at the compliment. "Thank you."

"Answer a question for me?"

Breathless silence, then a quiet, ''Okay.''

"Is this what you were thinking about when you were sitting in my

seminar earlier? Coming back this evening and finding me alone in the

room, asking me for a private lesson?" Kate moved her mouth from the

right ear to the left, then inhaled again. "For a shy girl, this seems awfully calculated."

Rachael shook her head. "I just want to learn. I never know what to

say, and I always feel so silly, and you seemed so confident about it all.

I—"

"You like that. The confidence," Kate guessed. "You want to be able to make a woman wet like I can make you wet, don't you?"

Rachael said nothing.

"Your pussy is wet, isn't it, Rachael?" Kate moved her lips so close to Rachael's ear that they just barely skimmed over the lobe. "Sitting there on that chair facing away from me, it's killing you not to squirm

around right now, isn't it? You're so fucking wet you can hardly stand it, but you aren't quite ready to let me know how dirty you are. Not yet, at

least. Are you?"

"No."

Rachael's voice was so quiet, the denial was hardly convincing.

The back of her neck was flushed a deep red, evidence of her

embarrassment and arousal. Kate grinned triumphantly, flush with the

power. Almost too easy. She'd barely even had to open her mouth, and Rachael was hers. Now it was a matter of waiting for her to admit it.

"You will tell me when your pussy is wet, won't you?" Kate breathed. She leaned in and, cheating a bit, kissed Rachael's earlobe.

"You'll tell me when you're almost there, almost ready to beg for it, and all because I stood behind you and told you that I know exactly how

badly you want to get fucked right now. Won't you, Rachael?"

"I—"

"So shy," Kate continued, thoroughly enjoying the tease, almost as much as she sensed her pupil was. "I'll bet you're not so shy when you're bent over a table, or the couch, panties around your ankles, your lover's

fingers buried deep inside that wet pussy. Are you? Because that's how

you like it, isn't it? You like someone to take control of you, don't you?

You like being taken."

Rachael's chest heaved now, so hard that Kate could see it over her

narrow shoulder. She could practically smell her arousal.

"Is that what you're hoping will happen right now?" Kate moved to the other ear again, brushing brunette hair aside so that she had an

unobstructed view of its delicate shape. "Somewhere deep down inside, you're hoping that I'll just pull you out of this chair and lay you down on that table over there. You want my mouth on your pussy, don't you? You

want my tongue inside of you. You want to come all over my face,

because you've been dying all day, thinking about talking dirty. Talking

dirty with me like a bad girl."

Rachael's hands were on her own knees, a white-knuckled death

grip. She seemed almost beyond speech now, her whole body trembling.

Kate knew she was hers for the taking. Any way she wanted. Shy girls

are so much fun.

"What do you say, Rachael? Would you like it if I took you over to

that table right now? Would you resist? Or would you let me take off

your panties and feel just how wet you are?"

Looking dazed, Rachael was silent.

"Rachael," Kate whispered. "Would you let me?"

Rachael jerked as if aware for the first time that an answer was

required. That either the lesson was over, or it had just begun.

"I wouldn't resist." Rachael's voice was a bare whisper. She

sounded scared to death, and thrilled beyond measure.

Triumphant, Kate pulled back. "So…learn anything?"

"What?" Rachael sounded as if she could barely breathe. "Huh?"

Kate walked around the chair and offered Rachael a hand. "Did I

get you nice and ready to come?" She pulled Rachael to her feet, then caught her as she stumbled forward a few clumsy steps. Easing an arm

around her shapely waist, Kate kissed the side of her neck. "Are you

wet?"

When Rachael moaned low in her throat, Kate felt the vibration

against her lips. "Why don't you find out for yourself?"

Kate smiled in satisfaction. "Very good. You're a fast learner."

"Good teacher," Rachael said, obviously having a little trouble

forming complete sentences.

Despite the fact that she was doing a reasonable job keeping her

cool, Kate could sympathize. Her knees felt like they were made of jelly.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so turned on. Taking

Rachael by the hand, she led her to the table at the front of the room.

"All right. Now it's your turn."

Blinking rapidly, Rachael leaned against the table as if she might

fall over were it not for its support. "My turn?"

''Talk to me."

"About…?"

"What do you want me to do to you?" Kate grinned wolfishly and

closed the distance between them. "Don't be shy, Rachael. I already

know that you want me to fuck you. Now I just want to hear it. You

wanted to learn; I'm teaching you."

Raising determined eyes to Kate's face, Rachael took in a deep

breath, then whispered, "I want you to fuck me, Kate. Please."

''How?''

Biting her lip, Rachael broke their eye contact to stare at the floor.

"I want you to…uh…you know, like you said—"

"Tell me. Whatever you want, I'll do it. But I need to hear it from

you."

Rachael looked as though she was gathering every bit of her

courage before she finally spoke. "I want you to bend me over the table."

"Yes? Then what?"

"Then...take off my jeans."

Kate allowed her gaze to travel down the length of Rachael's

thighs, admiring. "I can do that. Is that all?"

"And then I want you to push my panties to the side, and..."

"And?"

''Put two fingers inside of me."

Pleased that Rachael had asked for what she wanted, Kate wrapped

both arms around her. "I'm going to make you feel so good," she

murmured into Rachael's ear. ''Now turn around."

Rachael hesitated. "Kiss me first."

There was more than a hint of vulnerability in that sweet voice.

Kate looked into Rachael's face, so open. Then she captured her full,

ripe lips in a soft, sensuous kiss. When she finally broke away, it was

only because she simply couldn't breathe anymore. "Your mouth is

perfection."

Rachael turned around without a word.

Kate took a deep, measured breath, struggling not to throw Rachael

down across the table right then, tear down her jeans, jerk her panties

aside, and fuck her hard and fast. Her clit hurt, she wanted her so bad.

But this was too good, too exciting. She wanted to make it last. Most of

all, she wanted to make it good for Rachael.

Easing her arms around Rachael's waist, Kate whispered, "You're a

good kisser."

"So are you."

Kate found the button on Rachael's jeans and had them unzipped

within seconds. "I want you."

"Then take me."

"You seem a little less shy all of a sudden." Grinning, Kate worked the jeans down Rachael's shapely legs.

"In this position, I think I have to be." Rachael stepped out of her jeans, then kicked them aside.

Kate ran admiring fingers over light yellow panties. "Pretty." She dipped a finger inside, tracing a path over the crease of Rachael's inner

thigh, tickling the soft hairs beneath. "I like these."

"I was hoping you would."

Kate grasped Rachael's tank top. "Lift your arms." When Rachael

obeyed, Kate pulled it over her head, leaving her in a bra that matched

her panties. ''Oh, very nice."

"The door locks automatically, right?"

"Don't worry. Nobody's coming in here."

"Then hurry up and fuck me already. I'm so horny I can hardly

stand it."

''That's what I like to hear." Kate pressed down on Rachael's

shoulder blades until she was bent over the edge of the table. Completely

at her mercy. Then she yanked those yellow panties to the side, exposing

dark, kinky hair and wet, pink flesh. Exhaling, she played her fingers

over her slick pussy.

Rachael shuddered and thrust her pussy higher into the air.

"You're beautiful," Kate breathed. She ran her finger up and down over Rachael's labia, her hard clit, then circled her entrance. She drew it out, teasing her as long as she possibly could, until Rachael was shaking

and gasping and grinding her pussy against Kate's hand.

"Please," Rachael choked. "Please, fuck me. I need you. Now."

Kate pushed two fingers inside, torturously slow, savoring every

inch of the tight heat that enveloped her. She moaned out loud as she

reached the first knuckle, the second, until she could get no deeper.

"How does that feel?" Kate whispered. She wasn't going to let

Rachael stop talking now, just when it was getting really interesting.

Pulling out slowly, then thrusting in again, she wrenched a loud groan

from her companion. "Does that feel good?"

"Oh my God." Rachael's words were muffled against her arm,

where she rested her head. She was the picture of perfect surrender, bent

over the table in only her bra and panties, Kate's fingers buried deep. "So good. Fuck me harder."

Kate complied, driving into Rachael with powerful strokes, nostrils

flaring with arousal. She needed to make Rachael come, needed to feel it

on her hand. She couldn't remember ever needing anything so badly.

''Yes,'' Rachael moaned. "Fuck it, baby. Fuck that tight pussy."

Far from thinking that stopping was even an option, Kate reached

around and shoved her other hand down the front of Rachael's panties.

She found her swollen clit with her fingers, rubbing fast circles.

To hell with drawing it out. She wanted to see if she could make

Rachael scream.

For the next few minutes, neither of them spoke. The only sounds

in the room were Rachael's soft grunts and the wet, rhythmic pumping of

Kate's fingers in her pussy.

"You're going to make me come," Rachael suddenly cried out. Her

whole body stiffened beneath Kate's hands. "Oh God, I'm gonna—"

She may have been shy about talking, but Rachael came without

inhibition. She threw her head back and moaned loudly, so loudly that

Kate was slightly concerned that someone else in the building might

hear. Her concern wasn't strong enough to convince her to by and

silence that beautiful sound.

''That's right, baby," Kate encouraged as Rachael continued to

mewl in pleasure, a string of incoherent words. "Come on my hand. You feel so fucking good on my fingers, Rachael. You're so tight, so hot."

She never stopped thrusting, determined to get every last bit of pleasure

from her partner. "I've never fucked a pussy that felt so good before."

Rachael got louder, if that were even possible, until finally her

cries cut off with a sudden, sharp gasp. She went completely still, then

collapsed, boneless, onto the table.

"Stop," Rachael whispered. "You're gonna kill me. Stop, please."

With a grin, Kate withdrew her hand from the front of Rachael's

panties. Loath to leave her so soon, she kept her other fingers inside.

"That was incredible," Kate said. "You felt incredible."

Rachael pushed up from the table and looked back over her

shoulder. Her eyes were glazed, full of lazy pleasure. " You're

incredible."

Withdrawing, Kate helped Rachael straighten, then turned her

around.

"So did you learn anything?" Kate asked again, holding her in a

surprisingly comfortable embrace.

With a grin full of newfound confidence, Rachael reversed their

positions. She pinned Kate against the table and dropped her hands to

the front of Kate's pants. ''This lesson isn't over. Not by a long shot."

PUBLIC PET

CYNTHIA RAYNE

ome on, pretty. It's time to go out," Lisa purred. "You've

been such a good pet by putting all of our things away. Your

C reward is a walk." She unfurled the leather leash she used to

lead me. It snapped open easily. "Come here."

I felt a rush of illicit pleasure at her words. She was actually going

to take me outside the comfortable confines of our hotel room and show

me off. Lisa and I had played bondage games in the privacy of our own

apartment plenty of times, but this was the first time we'd do so in

public. I kept my head bowed, my mouth shut, and my legs apart as

instructed. When doing a scene, Mistress Lisa was very strict.

Deliciously so.

I still couldn't believe I was doing this. I'd had fevered fantasies for

ages about being put on display, but I was really going to do it. I trusted Lisa completely and I'd confessed this to her when we first got together.

We both worked at a law firm in Chicago and she was my boss. We'd

fallen into a relationship quite by accident. She told me she could see my desire to submit to her in my eyes. When I was late for a meeting once,

she'd taken me in my office and berated me for my negligence. I was

rushing to explain myself when she smacked my ass with a file folder.

The anger had quickly elevated to sexual arousal. Lisa had watched with

a knowing expression as my nipples peaked under my silk shirt and my

breathing grew a bit shallow. We've been together ever since.

She fisted a band in the short dark curls that framed my face.

"Where is your head tonight, pet? Take off your shirt. I want to see my property."

I immediately complied. I stripped off the black tank top and

neatly folded it before I placed it on the bed. I was left in my black bra and the leather miniskirt that my Mistress favored. She slowly walked a

circle around me. It was a game we played often. She liked to make me

nervous, but tonight I was in awe of her.

She was dressed in a pair of black leather pants and a red silk shirt.

Mistress Lisa was over six feet tall and very thin with long golden blond

hair that she kept in a ponytail. Her breasts were barely a mouthful, and I loved to suck them. The hair between her legs was bushy. She smelled

musky and sweet at the same time. Mistress reached over and undid the

catch on my bra. I knew better than to try to stop it. It fell to the floor.

She pinched my left nipple, which was already stiff and upright.

"Did you know that it's legal for women to go topless in public in

Canada?" She grabbed a breast in each hand, roughly squeezing them.

I shivered. ''No, Mistress Lisa." I only spoke when asked a direct

question.

"It is. And tonight, I'm going to take you out, just like this. I want everyone to see these ripe breasts. But first," she said, slapping my right breast just slightly, "I need to get them ready." She grinned as she shoved a hand in her pocket and pulled out a long silver nipple chain

with alligator clips. Mistress Lisa had gotten me accustomed to them.

She always liked my nipples clamped and she'd stretched them daily.

She pulled my right nipple out and clamped it, then did the same with

the left.

I let out a small yelp. There was some pain involved, but not

enough to really hurt. It was exciting more than anything else. I liked

how sensitive the clamps made my breasts.

''There you go, pet." She smacked both breasts slightly, enjoying

the pretty shade of crimson they turned as they bounced. She slid her

hand down my side and over my hips. "And we can't let your pretty

pussy go outside all covered up." She pulled my panties down my legs

and reached up between them to smack my pussy lips. "Pets should

always be accessible. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good girl. What are pets for?"

"Fucking, Mistress." The instant I said it, I knew it was true. It's what I had always dreamed of, and Mistress Lisa was the best there was.

"That's right. You are such a good girl." She pulled me close to her and claimed my mouth. She kissed voraciously, as if she were trying to

fuck me with her tongue and lips. When I was breathless, she pulled

away. ''Now, let's put your collar on." She took it out of her back pocket and affixed it tightly to my neck. It had a large O-ring in the front that she snapped the leash on. "Remember the rules, pet. Others may look,

but no one touches you without my permission. You may only speak

when I ask you a question. Pets are for fucking. Not talking.

Understand?"

"Yes, Mistress."

''Bend over and show me that sweet ass of yours."

I obeyed, bracing my hands on my legs and thrusting my behind in

the air. She lovingly caressed the smooth white flesh before she brought

her hand down sharply. "How does that feel?"

"Good," I moaned.

She smiled with satisfaction as she tugged the leash and I followed

behind her. I was nervous and so excited about being seen by others like

this. She pulled me down the hallway and into the elevator. It was

empty. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed. Then she dragged

me past the front desk of the hotel. The night manager was on duty and

his eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

Mistress Lisa decided to have a little fun at his expense. She pulled

me along with her to the desk. "My pet and I need more towels in our

room." Lisa played with my right breast, making it jiggle in her palm.

"We shower after I fuck her," she explained. "So we shower a lot." Her smile was wolfish.

"Yes, miss," the manager said, eyes straying to my breast as Lisa's talented hand manipulated it, enhancing the pleasure. It was so taut

because of the tightly clamped nipple. I was having trouble not making a

sound.

"Thank you," Mistress Lisa said, pulling me along behind her.

"Come on, pet." She'd found a club near where we were staying called the Velvet Dog. It wasn't quite a fetish club, but it was fetish friendly. It catered to those people who'd had vanilla sex all of their lives and were

too afraid to try something really different. Those who were in the

lifestyle were welcome to scene in the club, as long as they let people

watch.

Mistress Lisa had to give a password to the doorman but we were

let in without a hassle. Inside, the lights were lowered; the windows

were draped with long black velvet curtains. There were candelabras on

every table. The music was low and throbbing, the melodies of sex.

There were several people scening throughout the room. It smelled of

sex. Middle-aged couples sat on long comfortable benches, waiting for

someone exciting to join them. Lisa thrived in an environment like this.

She was a sleek, predatory cat in a room filled with dozy mice.

She picked a couple in their late thirties to sit with. The man had

been avidly watching us as we entered the room. What is it with men

and lesbians? The woman looked nervous, but her eyes kept darting

toward us with a hint of excitement.

"Mind if we join you?" Mistress asked.

They both nodded and made room for us. "You needn't scoot over

so far. My pet won't be sitting with us." She turned her attention to me.

"Why is that?"

"Because I should be on the floor at Mistress's feet."

"And why is that?"

"Because pets don't have furniture privileges, Mistress."

Lisa sat down and pushed the table away from everyone so they

could view me between her legs. "My name is Mistress Lisa and this is my little pet. What are your names?"

"Jane and Scott," the man answered. It was so obvious that they

were fake names. "How long...how long has she been your pet?" He had a big boner in his pants. Disgusting.

She pulled at the chain on my breasts and I cried out. "A few

weeks now. She's a good little pet pussy that knows her place. In fact,"

Mistress said, eyeing the prim and proper wife's white skirt and

matching sweater set, "why don't you ask this nice lady if she'd like a little head from you, pet?"

Jane's eyes widened. "Oh, uh, thank you, but that won't be

necessary."

I was turned on by the idea of servicing a stranger. It was another

first. I was already dripping wet, just feeling the couple's eyes on me

was so terribly exciting. I hoped I could get through my performance

without embarrassing myself. I crawled to Jane on all fours and rested

my head in her lap. "May I please pleasure you?"

"You should let her, Jane. My little pet licks pussy three times a

day, sometimes more. She'll give you the best head you've ever got."

There were other folks in the club licking and sucking each other.

Nudity wasn't something that was prohibited. "Come on, Jane. What do

you say?"

Her husband nudged her. "It's okay, honey."

Jane blushed. "Well, I guess it would be all right."

I smiled and very deliberately licked my lips. I heard Mistress

snort with laughter behind me. If I'd done it to her, she would have

smacked my ass. I pulled up Jane's virginal white skirt and parted her

thighs. She wore plain cotton underwear.

"Let me see," Scott said, pushing the skirt back, exposing his wife further.

I pulled the panties down and put my hands on her thighs to push

them apart. Then I gently pulled her ass forward so that she was wide

open to me. She was beautiful, angelic blond hair and white cream

cheese thighs. With a sigh, I bent my mouth to her. I lapped at her like it was my job. The small little berry of a clit, I took in my mouth and

sucked. She tasted so sweet, almost innocent. She shouted and writhed

against me like a wild thing. I bet her husband did a few obligatory

tongue strokes and shoved his dick in her. Not me. I was all tongue, all

the time. I couldn't get enough. I licked her to completion, savoring the

sweetness of her juices on my mouth and cheeks. I made a big show of

wiping her juices from my face and licking my hands clean, like a cat.

Jane was undone. Her thighs were open, her face was flushed, and

she looked a little dazed. "So good," she whispered quietly. She patted my head.

''Make her do me," the husband ordered, going for the zipper on his

pants. "Tell her to suck my cock."

"Sorry, my pet doesn't do pricks. She's strictly for pussy."

Scott looked like he was about to get angry, but Mistress Lisa

glared at him. "Can I watch you fuck her?"

"Now, that, I'll happily do." Mistress Lisa snapped her fingers.

"Take off your skirt and get on the table, pet. Spread yourself like a good girl."

I stood up, feeling the couple's eyes on me as well as some

onlookers on the bar. This was my moment. I made a big show of

stripping off my skirt and running my hands over the exposed skin. Then

I scrambled up on the table, eager for her attention. I lay down on the

table with my legs spread. Mistress Lisa took the candelabra from the

tabletop and blew out the candles. The wisps of smoke blew over me.

She tipped her hand and the heated wax streaked against my tits and my

belly. "Oh, how careless of me."

I let out a little scream. The wax burned at first, but then it soothed

me, forming a warm wall around my flesh. Mistress Lisa began to peel

the wax away from my belly, taking the fine little hairs with it. "Do you want one of those candles inside that hungry little pussy of yours?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"What did you say?"

"Yes, Mistress!" She shoved a long, white candle up inside of me.

It was warm and thick, but what I really wanted was Lisa's fingers

inside of me. I knew that it wouldn't happen until I begged for it at

home. "Oh! Yes!"

She found my clit with her expert finger. "Tell me who you

worship, pet."

"Mistress Lisa!"

"Whose pussy do you crave?"

"Yours, Mistress!"

"Come now!"

∴

Later when we walked home, Mistress Lisa yanked my chain. "Did

you enjoy yourself?"

"Yes, Mistress." I was sleepy and sated. I never knew my fantasy would be so satisfying.

"Such a good pet." She slapped my ass. "I like this exhibitionist side of you. We may have to move to Canada. I like the idea that others

can see you but can't touch."

"Me, too."

"We'd have to lobby for complete nudity, though. Your pussy is

the best part."

"Thank you, Mistress."

"You will. As soon as we get home. I'm going to make you lick me

until you beg me to stop."

"I never will, Mistress. I never will."

TRANSFORMING STONE

KAREN PERRY

amn it!" Tanner Stone cursed as her right bicep bulged. Her

knuckles were white. Beads of sweat rolled into her eyes

D and she blinked rapidly to ease the burning sting, never

losing concentration on the barbell clutched in her grip.

Biting her lip in pain, she felt a wave of disgust at how difficult it

was to manage the small, eight-pound weight. She should have been

happy that she could move her arm at all; the damn thing bad practically

been severed.

She had been going sixty-two miles an hour, ecstatic with 1200cc's

of raw power between her thighs. Her Ninja 2X-l0R sport bike felt as if

it were an extension of her body, but she had no control over either when

suddenly, without warning, a hulking piece of construction machinery

careened into her path. The last thing she remembered was screaming

for mercy as both she and the bike slid under the biting tread of the

machine.

Life as Tanner knew it, as she had carefully built and arranged it,

disappeared in one brutal, life-shattering moment. It was only because of

the talented hands of a gifted surgeon that she still had her trembling arm all. Surgery had saved her limb, but healing had been excruciating. She

had lain in the hospital for months on end, just cognizant enough to

realize that she should not have survived at all.

Now, the problem—the thing that had crawled into her gut and

gnawed at her—was that her new limitations conflicted horribly with the

streak of butch ego that ran deeply through her core. Weakness had no

place in her former life. Before the accident, she had been tough, almost

invincible. Her body had been honed to perfection. No one messed with

her, and the ladies were hers to do with as she pleased. Now there were

still times she thought that death would find her.

The only person who stood in the Grim Reaper's path, defiantly

telling him to fuck off, was Robbie Marks. As rebelliously butch as

Tanner, Robbie had initially been Tanner's competition. Like two

snarling dogs, they had traded threats and jibes, defending what they felt were rightfully theirs—the city's finest femmes. Their mutual love of

motorcycles finally inspired a truce.

Robbie had been there the night of the accident, a few paces back

on her own Kawasaki crotch rocket. She had watched helplessly as

Tanner almost died, unable to do a damn thing but make a phone call. In

the hospital, other friends disappeared, but Robbie stayed. She was the

one who fed Tanner tiny ice chips and held a straw to her parched,

cracked lips. Robbie was the one who knew that she got cold easily and

kept the blankets pulled warmly around her.

Even when closest to death, Tanner had wanted to reject her help.

It had been the pain—mind-boggling, soul-shredding pain—that forced

her to cling to Robbie instead, but the helplessness was just as

excruciating as her injuries.

As a fellow butch, Robbie had understood that internal conflict.

Still, one week before Tanner's hospital discharge, Robbie announced,

"I'm moving in with you. You're going to need me."

"Fuck you! I don't need anybody," Tanner snapped. Her right arm

and both legs were in casts but she'd be damned before she let anyone

play nursemaid.

"And just who in the hell is going to take care of you? Are you

going to let them send you to one of those old geezer places, a nursing

home where all the chicks' tits hang below their belt lines? You can't go

home by yourself."

Tanner had been living with the steady drip of morphine in her

veins and the fear of death in the pit of her stomach ever since she

regained consciousness. She had learned the hard way that no one was

indestructible; not even a strong, butch dyke. Robbie was the only

person whom she had ever allowed to get close, and she knew she

needed her. If it made her look like a ''weak-kneed femme," so be it. She had relented. "I'd like for you to move in. I'll pay you, of course, with the money from the insurance settlement."

Refocusing on the dumbbell in her hand, Tanner forced her arm to

obey her command one final time before allowing the barbell to drop to

the floor. It clanged loudly against another weight, but she didn't care.

All that mattered was letting go of the heavy burden.

Standing slowly, she peeled off her damp T-shirt, grateful for the

rush of cool air on her moist skin. Catching a glimpse of herself in the

bedroom mirror, she stared as she often did, bewildered by the changes.

Her black hair, formerly cut to the point of bristly spikes, had not been

trimmed in well over a year and now hung softly onto her shoulders. She

had also gained weight, inertia and Robbie's cooking replacing hard-

packed muscles with softer flesh. She could easily fool herself into

believing that the person in the mirror was a stranger, but the ugly,

vicious scar that ran across her stomach and chest was her reality check.

Although the wound was healed, it was still angry and vividly red. Its

path slithered across her body, wrapping up and around a breast that she

had nearly lost. Robbie suggested having a snake tattooed along its path,

and the idea did have a certain appeal.

She glanced at the clock with trepidation. In her former life, she

had practically lived in bars. Now that she was stronger, Robbie was

convinced that she needed to "get back in the saddle." Tonight would be their third outing in as many weeks, but she simply could not get

excited. With a sigh, she looked at the outfit Robbie had laid out for

her—motorcycle boots, ragged jeans, and a black tee. It was the uniform

of her prior life, but after spending months in nothing but hospital gowns and sweats, she dreaded wearing them.

The worst part was what lay in the center—a brand new soft

leather harness that sported an impressive nine-inch cock. A year ago

she could not have imagined leaving the house without a dick between

her thighs, but that had changed. Ignoring the harness, Tanner dressed.

At the bar, she sat with one foot tucked upon the railing of her bar

stool, doing her best to look comfortable in a place that no longer held

her interest. By one a.m., her only wish was to go home. She was tired

of ignoring the unabashed, hungry stares of women she didn't want.

Wanting to rush Robbie along, she said, "You should pick out what

you want to play with tonight, so we can go home."

Robbie brushed a lock of blond hair from her eyes. "Don't you

mean whom, not what? Damn, Tanner! You're talking about these lovely women like they're objects, not people."

Laughing uncomfortably, Tanner punched Robbie's ann. "Yeah,

right! Since you're so concerned about these women's individuality, what

was the name of the woman who spent last Friday night in your bed?

Our walls are thin. I heard you call her three different names."

Wide-eyed in disbelief, Robbie said, "No, I didn't!"

Tanner grinned triumphantly. "Yes, you did. So tell me, was it

Becky, Joan, or Gretchen?"

Robbie cocked her head, deep in concentration before her nose

crinkled. "Oh, hell! I can't remember, but at least I was with someone.

You act like you don't care if you go home alone or not."

Tanner leaned back against the bar, feeling the sharp edge of the

counter cut into the tender flesh of her back. She didn't bother pulling

away to ease the pinch. She had become accustomed to pain. It reminded

her that she was alive. So much of her adult life had been about sex. She

had used it to feel powerful and in control, never letting a woman linger

in her bed for too long. It surprised her, but now she realized that it had all been hollow, an empty shell in comparison to the life she had

unexpectedly built with Robbie. She liked being with her, hanging out at

home watching television or doing nothing at all. It was enough.

"I know you think you know best, and I hate to disappoint you,"

Tanner said, ''but the fact is, I really don't care."

"How can you live without sex? I like it too much to give it up."

"That bulldozer must have crushed my libido, too. I don't feel a

thing. Just pick somebody and let's go home."

Robbie eyed her suspiciously, but indicated a woman leaning

against the wall by the dance floor. "What do you think about her?"

Tanner scowled. "I'll bet you ten bucks that your girl is an M to F. I think she is actually a he. "

"You're out of your mind! Look at her hands. They're too small to

be a man's. Besides, she doesn't have an Adam's apple!"

Pulling out a ten-dollar bill, Tanner waved it in front of Robbie's

nose. "That, my friend, is a chick with a dick. Go start a conversation and look for signs of razor stubble. Check out the voice, too. A man can

hide his weenie. He can duct tape it down, but the voice never lies."

Perplexed, Robbie stared at the woman.

Tanner laughed. The look on Robbie's face was priceless, marred

with self-doubt.

Waving the bill at Robbie again, she said, "Check her out. If I'm

wrong, you get the money and the woman." Pausing as if a new thought

had struck her, she softly added, "If I'm right, you go home with me."

"With you? I'm afraid that you can't give me what I need, buddy."

Tanner drew in a deep breath. She really didn't want anyone else to

go home with them. Lowering her head, her gaze on the floor, she spoke,

feeling as if the words were coming from a foreign place deep inside

herself. "And just what exactly would that be?"

Robbie cast a leering stare up and down Tanner's body. "Are you

flirting with me?"

As Robbie's appraising eyes scanned her body, Tanner felt her

pulse increase. She flushed with embarrassment as she realized that she

was feeling desire for the first time since her crash. It was almost

overwhelming.

"No, I'm not…flirting, that is. I wasn't meaning that." Her denial was weak, the words so poorly spoken that she didn't even convince

herself.

Robbie cocked her head sideways and moved to fill the gap

between them. Pushing soft strands of Tanner's hair behind her ear, she

said in a slow drawl, "I think you are, and I'll willingly admit that it turns me on. If I had to pick between you and any other woman in this bar, it

would be no contest."

Tanner swayed as Robbie bit her earlobe.

Robbie whispered, "If you don't want this, tell me right now. We'll

forget that it ever happened."

Stunned, Tanner couldn't speak. Her knees buckled when Robbie

spoke into her ear, filling it with hot, moist air. Her skin felt warm, her breath shallow. She knew that Robbie was a demanding lover, that she

would not go to bed with any woman who refused to let her use her

equipment, but would she expect it with her? Granted, Tanner could

admit that she was not the hard butch that she used to be, but that didn't mean she was ready to be a femme bottom either. Still, the idea of

sleeping with Robbie took her breath away. She couldn't say no.

Robbie took Tanner's hand. Leading her out of the bar, she

murmured. "Don't think so hard, Tanner. I would never do anything that you don't want."

Once home, Tanner mumbled, "I can't stop shaking," as Robbie

reached for the fly of her jeans.

Robbie directed Tanner's hand to the bedpost. "Here, hold this."

She hugged Tanner and whispered, "You'll be okay. I promise. It's just been too long. You've needed this for so long."

Robbie's hands, sure and soft, roamed under the loose band of

Tanner's pants until the jeans felt to the floor. She covered Tanner's face with nibbling kisses, avoiding her lips. With one hand clinging to the

post, Tanner placed her other on Robbie's hips, riveted by the delicate

touches. This softness was not what she expected, but it was exactly

what she needed. Robbie had taken care of her for so long. It took this

act, dropping her last vestige of withholding from Robbie, for Tanner to

realize that she loved her.

The trembling began anew. She groaned loudly as Robbie cupped

her ass and pulled her close. Their hips melded and Tanner felt the

nudging of Robbie's dildo between her thighs. A strong, deep pulse beat

in the wetness between her legs. Letting go of the bedpost, she took

Robbie's face in her hands. Clutching at her, she demanded, "Kiss me, Rob. I need you to kiss me."

When Robbie's tongue filled her mouth, Tanner tried to suck it

deeper into herself. She was starving. She would have gone on kissing

her forever but Robbie pulled away and laid her gently upon the bed, as

tenderly as when she brought Tanner home from the hospital.

Tanner nearly cried out when Robbie took her in her strong,

protective arms. It had been an extremely long time since she had felt

safe, and at that moment, she did not give a damn what anyone might

think of her. When Robbie began stroking her nipples through her shirt,

she gasped loudly and gripped the sheet into her fists. She could not stop the slow, gyrating motions that propelled her hips into Robbie's thigh,

but her breath froze in her throat when Robbie's hand slid under the hem

of her shirt. Robbie had bandaged her wounds for months, but this was

different. Tanner felt vulnerable and weak.

Holding Tanner's cheek in her palm, Robbie looked into her eyes.

''Trust me, baby. Your scar is beautiful to me. I wouldn't be here with

you, like this, if you didn't have it. It's as much a part of me now as it is you."

Robbie kissed her again, so piercingly that Tanner felt safe once

more. She guided Robbie's hand under her shirt, her back arching in

pleasure as bare fingers settled on her breast. When she could stand it no longer, she pulled her shirt free and tugged it off.

Robbie's eyes soaked her in, a look of awe on her face as she began

tracing the jagged scar with her fingertips. Her lips soon followed. She

drew them slowly along the line from Tanner's hip, over her stomach,

her chest, and around her breast. Tanner could only clasp the back of

Robbie's head, threading her fingers into the soft blond hair as Robbie

completed this ritual over and over. It was so loving that Tanner felt as if her bones, once crushed, had now melted. When Robbie latched onto her

nipple and began twirling it with her tongue, Tanner felt the telltale

quiverings of a pending orgasm and wetness oozed from her. Wanting to

feel skin, she grasped Robbie's shirt. ''Take this off!"

Sliding off the bed, Robbie quickly pulled her shirt free and

dropped it to the floor. Her fingers were clumsy as she tried to unhook

her big silver belt buckle. When it finally came free, she pushed her

jeans off her hips, along with her boxers. She paused, and they both

stared down at eight inches of hot pink latex that protruded from

Robbie's hips like a steel rod.

"I'll take it off," Robbie said quietly.

Humbled by Robbie's willingness to lay aside the thing that

represented her most sexual self, Tanner knew that she could never ask

that of her. She felt naked, hungry, because of Robbie's absence. She

lifted a hand, beckoning her. "Leave it on."

Robbie crawled to Tanner's side, capturing her mouth in a kiss as

she ran a hand down her body. When she reached the band of boxer

shorts, she pushed them down as Tanner lifted. Once they were free, she

traced her fingers up inner thighs that opened for her. With a deep moan,

she slid her fingers into the wet depths. Tanner called out her name and

sank fingernails into the flesh of her back.

Robbie circled Tanner's hard clit over and over, causing bright

bursts of light to appear behind Tanner's eyelids every time contact was

made. Lifting her hips, she arched against those hands, trying to bury

them deeply inside herself. Robbie shifted to kneel between her legs but

didn't attempt to penetrate her. She claimed Tanner's nipple with her hot

mouth before slipping her hand back between their bodies.

Tanner had feared that her body's ability to feel passion had been

crushed by her death-defying crash into unbending steel, but it burst

back to life under Robbie's hands. As her orgasm claimed her, she

heaved upward, her body frozen until spasms, deep tremors that seemed

to originate within her heart, wracked her body.

Gasping for breath, she pulled Robbie up, needing to kiss her

again. She felt a new shock wave surge through her as Robbie's cock

rubbed against her cunt. Her orgasm had not even fully subsided but she

wanted Robbie inside of her. She wanted to give herself to Robbie, to

hold nothing back. When she felt the tip of the cock slide inside her

folds, she frantically clutched her lover's shoulders. She knew that

Robbie was waiting for her to take only what she wanted, so she

wrapped her legs around Robbie's hips, curling her calf muscles to

propel Robbie forward The movement forced Robbie into her depths.

They both moaned and shuddered at the joining.

Slowly, sensually, Robbie began to rock and the pace built as

Tanner lifted to meet her stroke for stroke. As Tanner's orgasm

approached, she sank her heels tighter into Robbie's ass, impaling herself even farther onto the shaft as she screamed, ''Oh God, Robbie! I love

you so fucking much!"

Robbie whirled over onto her back, bringing Tanner upon her. In

the dim light of the room, she once again took Tanner's face in her hands

and softly kissed Tanner's trembling lips. "I love you too, baby."

Tanner could not stop a ragged sob when Robbie slid out from

under her, separating them, leaving her feeling empty. Instead of pulling

away, Robbie gripped Tanner's hand.

"I'm not going anywhere. Help me," Robbie said as she stood by

the bed, unbuckling her harness. When it came free, she held it out to

Tanner. "Put it on."

Amazed, Tanner stared at Robbie, fresh tears flowing, as she

comprehended that Robbie was making herself as vulnerable and open

as was humanly possible. She was offering to give Tanner everything,

just as Tanner had done. Mutely, Tanner did as she was told while

Robbie helped buckle the harness onto her hips. She felt like an invalid

child instead of an experienced dyke who used to wear a strap-on to the

7-Eleven just because she felt naked without it. Once it was in place,

Robbie lay back on the bed with her knees raised. When Tanner came

between them, it was Robbie who was quivering with nervousness.

Tanner felt as if she were kneeling in front of an altar. This

woman, this tough but sensitive dyke, had brought her back to life.

Robbie had loved her the way no one else had, and she was everything

Tanner wanted. Reverently, Tanner caressed Robbie's legs, allowing

only her fingertips to glide along the path from toes up to the softer flesh of inner thighs. Robbie's eyes were glazed with lust as she began

dancing against Tanner's moving hands. Tanner knelt even more

prayerfully and sank her mouth onto the wetness of Robbie's sex. Robbie

guided her with her hands as Tanner explored, drinking the rich nectar

until Robbie came, contracting and pulsating around her tongue.

Not willing to relinquish the pleasure, Tanner stayed away from

Robbie's sharply sensitive clit but continued to lick her, tasting her.

While Robbie softly stroked her hair, Tanner slid her hands under

Robbie's hips and lifted her tighter against her mouth. She slowly

brought her passion forth, letting the next wave of desire build. Rising,

she lay upon Robbie, capturing her mouth in a fevered kiss. Then, taking

Robbie's hands in her own, she interlaced their fingers. She whispered

softly, "I want to fuck you."

Robbie tensed but, her eyes locked on Tanner, reached between

them and guided the head of the cock to the mouth of her cunt. "Go

slow. I've never let this happen before."

Tanner already knew that. They had talked about the need to be in

control many, many times. As she slowly pushed forward, she prayed

that Robbie would feel the same sense of rightness that she had felt

when Robbie filled her. Clinging to Robbie's hands while she sank

inside, she said, "Feel me loving you, Rob. Feel me inside you. I didn't even know that that's where I wanted to be, but it feels so right. So

perfect."

As she continued her loving litany of words, Tanner thrust slowly

in and out, her body moving with a graceful ease that belied her weak,

damaged muscles. She watched Robbie's face closely as the tense

anxiety slowly gave way to fiery passion. As Robbie's tender, strong

hands clung to her, guiding her deeper, faster, with each stroke, Tanner's love for her burgeoned.

Tanner's accident had left her wounded, savagely bent, twisted and

broken. The hospital staff had saved her life, but it had been Robbie who

had healed her, Robbie who had somehow transformed stone.

QUIET, PLEASE

RACHEL KRAMER BUSSEL

was in the middle of telling Jackie all about my day at work,

the words tripping over themselves as I rushed to get them out

I quickly, my hair falling sloppily across my forehead as I took

another breath, when she reached her fingers up and put two of them to

my lips. "Shh," she said. ''No talking."

At first, I was upset; wasn't I in the middle of telling her an

important story, trying to get her to understand how rough my day had

been? But then I took another look at her pretty face, the light dusting of freckles across her pale skin, the shock of red spiky hair sticking up

from her head, her natural red color enhanced with day-glo chemicals

she seemed to apply every other week. Her pale, lightly frosted lips were

pursed, as if about to blow on a cup of cocoa, but she was simply telling

me she wanted my full attention. Then Jackie leaned forward, letting her

fingertips trail down my cheek, along my neck until they'd reached my

bra strap. She fiddled with it while bringing her own lips forward, until

their glossy, sticky surface met my bare ones, brushing against mine

slowly, lightly. My body, starting with my shoulder blades, relaxed, the

pent-up story slowly leaking out as I sank into the chair, into the kiss. I tilted my head back slightly and she angled forward, pouncing on me as

she moved to straddle me, her body edging over mine as her fingers

snaked down lower toward my breast. Her other hand easily slipped the

ponytail holder from my hair, letting it fall in a wave down my back.

Jackie's smaller than me, thin and lithe, but I never underestimate her.

She's like a snake, careful to bide her time, slithering her tongue out just so when she wants something, like she did just then, her tongue darting

between my lips for a brief instant, long enough to connect with my

tongue and ignite a fire that began in my mouth and coiled all the way

down my throat, into my betty, and settled in my groin. I could feel its

rumblings stirring my pussy and felt the very last vestiges of the day's

stress leave me as I succumbed to Jackie, my Jackie, the girl of my

dreams for the last decade.

Jackie stayed home painting her masterpieces, for local galleries,

occasional magazine work, or commissions, and I often returned to find

her covered in paint, her eyes so focused on the canvas in front of her

she hardly took notice of the smear of blue or yellow across her cheek.

I'd sometimes find errant streaks along her hands, and we'd made

washing her off a very sexual ritual. But today she'd been scrubbed

totally clean, as if ready to attack, which is exactly what she did, pinning me to the chair as her fingers tangled in the roots of my hair, pulling it just the way she knows makes me gasp, makes my pussy contort with

pure need. I started to moan, to say ''Yes,'' but once again, she shut me

up, this time with a kiss. "No talking," she insisted, and when she moved on to my chest, her lips leaving mini-kisses along my dewy skin until

she reached the gap between my breasts, I clamped my lips together and

let her show me what she had in mind. She burrowed her head in the

expanse of my cleavage, reaching her arms behind me to undo my bra. I

wasn't used to being so passive, to taking and taking without giving

anything back, but from Jackie's fevered panting, she was apparently

getting off on our silent adventure just as much as I was. She lifted her

head from my skin to remove my shirt, then pulled my bra forward, over

my arms, but instead of dropping it on the ground she moved behind me,

tying my wrists behind my back with the slightly clumsy but effective

bow of my bra.

I'm usually the one to take charge, so this must have been

something she'd been saving up for a while, and from the hungry look on

her face when she was once again before me, Jackie was totally enjoying

her newfound power. And, a bit surprisingly to me, so was I. Having no

choice but to surrender to her, I reveled in the way she danced around

me, bent over so I could see her tight jeans strain against her ass, which she thrust up in my face before grinding herself against my lap.

Normally, it's Jackie who's lying across my lap while I spank her ass

until it's bright red, but watching her from this position made me see my

little nymph in a whole new light. She knelt down in front of me,

looking up at me as she prepared to lick my pussy through the fabric of

my jeans, her blue eyes gleaming. She began with her fingers, pressing

her folded knuckles against the tightness where my jeans stuck to my

sex, pushing against the damp fabric while I melted further into my seat,

my cunt spasming already as she glided her fingers along my slit and

then focused on my clit, kneading me in such a way that made me

desperate for her. She pinched my clit through the layers, then brought

her fingers to my nipples, which were poking forward into the air. She

twisted them between her fingers while I spread my legs as best I could,

giving her room to smash her face against my pussy, making her mouth

felt against the thickness of the denim. Her licks traveled slowly, teasing me as she tapped her tongue against my cunt, the muffled response

causing me to twitch in the chair, feeling the bra straps scrape against

my wrists as I moved. I wanted to cover her head with my hands, to

press her deeper to me, to clasp her tight, but instead, I alternated

thrusting my thighs far apart so they butted against the edges of the chair and then closing them, trapping her head between my legs while she

burrowed as deeply as she could until finally, Jackie had mercy on me

and lifted her head slowly, inching her tongue along the metallic tang of

my zipper before taking it between her teeth and sliding it down, her

fingers leaving my nipples to undo the button. I was grateful I'd chosen

my most comfortable pair, because she easily slid them down my legs,

leaving me sitting there in only my black cotton panties. Once again,

Jackie breathed against my pussy, pressing her tongue against the musky

wet cotton before finally moving it aside to taste the real thing.

Her tongue slipped easily inside my hole, and my whole body

seemed to twist and tense like a pretzel, contorting as my breath caught

in my throat, my pussy clamping down around her wet, slippery tongue.

But Jackie wouldn't let me hold her, and she pulled my panties down

roughly, the elastic clawing against my calf until they were off and she

had me, her prey, spread out in front of her. I had no time to be nervous

or embarrassed, to worry about what this role reversal might signal,

because there was Jackie fishing something out of her pocket, a small,

tiny vibrator I hadn't noticed before. It must have been new, and I looked down to see the bright blue buzzing toy about to connect with my cunt. I

could hear it whirring, and my body braced for the onslaught. Jackie

slipped two fingers into my pussy, pushing deep inside me as she rubbed

the toy against my clit, making me tense up once again. Her eyes sought

out mine once again, willing me to relax, and I let go of that final edge

of control I'd been unknowingly clutching, that last barrier between my

independence and my orgasm, and gave myself, all of myself, to my

lover. Her fingers edged along my insides, seeking, stroking, healing, as

she easily pushed another finger inside, filling me as she spread them

apart and turned them for maximum impact. I lifted my ass slightly,

feeling her fingers curl and caress in the most powerful of strokes while

her other hand kept the vibe trained directly on my clit, and suddenly, I

didn't want to pull away at all.

I was no longer afraid of what might happen, only curious,

desirous, as I looked down and watched my body accept that of my true

love. She eased the toy away, leaving my clit pulsating, the air a

revelation as my engorged skin continued to contract with need. And

then her mouth was on me, her lips wrapped around my clit as her

fingers probed me everywhere I needed her to be. I shut my eyes as her

tongue gently brushed my nub, a softer, gentler pressure that seemed to

radiate inward and outward at once, leaving me light-headed. Tears of

pleasure welled up in my eyes as her fingers pressed quietly and deeply

as far as they could go, touching that part of me that only Jackie has ever been able to access, that special place where my cervix meets my soul. I

felt a tear fall as her tongue wandered along the contours of my clit, as if she were tasting me, meeting me, pleasing me, for the first time. And in

some ways, it felt like that long-ago moment, except now we were

giving and taking so much more, and when Jackie flattened her tongue

against my clit, and I felt the pressure not just of her tongue and fingers but her entire heaving body, every breath and beat of her heart thudding

against me, I came, making the chair teeter as my liquid trickled down

onto her fingers.

Jackie kept her head pressed against my lap, kissing my inner

thighs, stroking me with her wet fingers, until our breathing faded back

to normal, the silence moving from one of frantic arousal to soothing

calm. She finally rose, her breasts hovering near my lips as she reached

behind me to unclasp my arms before sitting sideways across my lap, her

legs dangling over the chair's edge. Her face was streaked with sweat,

that same sweet, intense smile lurking across her features. "See what happens when you sit still and quiet down, baby?" she whispered before resting her head against my shoulder. We stayed curled like that in the

chair for over an hour, neither of us daring to break the stillness.

EROTICA 101

RADCLYFFE

he really good thing about having a best friend you've known

since grade school is that you don't have to lie about

T anything—she's already seen you puke in the gutter, treat

nice girls badly, fall for the bad girls who always break your heart, and

generally act like an asshole. Even more important, maybe, is that you

don't have to clean the house or get dressed up when she comes by

unannounced to “just hang."

So when Angie knocked on my door at a little after seven on

Friday night, I was ensconced on the battered leather sofa in front of the fireplace in my living room, wearing baggy sweats with the cord missing

from the waistband and a faded T-shirt that was once blue, reading sex

stories from my favorite dyke publisher.

"Hey," I said as I held the door open for her. "Come on in. Want a beer or something?"

"That'd be cool," Angie said as she breezed by, bringing a cold

rush of winter night air along with her. She draped her faux leopard

jacket on the newel post and disappeared down the hall in the direction

of warmth.

I watched her go, wondering why, if she was going to wear a skirt

that barely covered her buns, she didn't wear a coat that reached a little lower. I was willing to bet that the calf-high, black leather boots with the three-inch, needle-thin heels didn't do much to keep anything else warm

either. In between the top of the black leather boots and the bottom of

the teeny black skirt was a long, long expanse of creamy skin and toned muscle.

Five minutes later, I handed her a pilsner with a perfect head, set a

bowl of mixed nuts on the coffee table in front of us, and sat opposite

her on the sofa. She was curled up in the corner, her feet drawn up

beneath her butt, her boots abandoned on the floor. Her normally vibrant

brown eyes were sulky, her pretty pink Cupid's bow lips tightened into a

thin pale line, and her heart-shaped face a study in discontent beneath a

riot of black curls. It wasn't like Angie to be moody. Unlike me, she

wasn't given to dark thoughts and a desire for long stretches of solitude.

On Angie, quiet was bad.

"Give," I said, patting my lap. Wordlessly, she stretched out her bare feet and planted them solidly in my crotch. I covered her toes with

my palms and rubbed my fingers over the cool balls of her feet. "What's the matter?"

She shrugged and swiped her tongue over the foam that hung on

the rim of her glass. "I got stood up."

Rapidly, I ran down the list of her latest conquests. A face came

into focus. One not unlike mine, really. Short dirty blond hair, pale blue eyes, broad expressive features no one would ever call delicate. Sturdy

body, kind of like mine too. "The cop, right?"

"Umm." The pout got poutier.

"So what happened?"

"We were supposed to go to a movie and then out clubbing."

"She canceled?" My voice reflected my surprise. Angie was a

looker and always had studs standing in line. She was not the kind of girl you kept dangling.

"Work." She said it as if it were a dirty word. "Somebody called in sick and she bad to take their shift."

"Doesn't sound like she stood you up," I ventured carefully. "You know, just one of those things that happens."

Angie shook her shoulders dismissively and burrowed her feet a

little tighter between my thighs before announcing. "I was looking

forward to it all week. And now I'm horny."

I laughed. "Oh, now I get it."

She glared at me.

"So, did you make another date?"

"Tomorrow," she said as if it were a decade away.

"Well, you'll probably survive until then." I wiggled her big toe between my fingers. "You could always, you know, take matters into

your own hands in the meantime."

Her pout turned to disdain. "Hardly. It's boring."

I felt my eyebrows lift. Now, I enjoy a night with a hot sexy

woman as much as the next dyke, but whether I'm getting it regular or

not, I've never found a do-it-yourselfer boring. In fact, a lot of the time, it's faster, easier, and hotter to get exactly what you want exactly the

way you want it. "Boring? You're kidding, right?"

"It just…oh, I don't know…it never really works for me."

The little bit of sadness in her tone wiped the grin off my face. I sat

up straighter, unconsciously stroking her ankles and calves. "You mean you don't think jerking off is fun?"

"Most of the time I can't do it. I just get more frustrated."

In the firelight, her color seemed to deepen, and I wondered if she

was blushing. How could I not know this about her? We'd been trading

sex stories since we were old enough to think about sex, let alone have

any. And she'd never once told me that she didn't like to masturbate.

"Maybe you need more practice."

"Please."

I laughed. "Okay. Let's analyze this rationally."

"There's nothing to analyze. I don't get that excited when I do

myself. I just get tired and my mind wanders." She snorted. "Before I know it, I'm running through my grocery list."

''Well maybe you need better fantasies," I suggested helpfully.

"That's just it. I can't seem to find anything that...well...gets me

turned on enough to get me off."

"Instant replays?" For some reason, enhancing Angie's solo career had become my mission.

"Been there, done that." She dropped her head back on the arm of the couch and studied the ceiling. Her hair shimmered in the red glow of

the firelight, a reflection of the hot coals dancing. "Once I've done it for real, I'm not interested in fantasizing about it anymore."

"Okaay." I cradled her feet against my stomach and leaned forward to snag the book that I had dropped on the coffee table when Angie

arrived. I held it up to show the cover image of two naked women, arms

and legs entwined. ''Maybe you should try this. It always works for me."

Again she gave a dismissive sniff. ''That stuff is just crap. It's either

totally unbelievable or it sounds like it's been written by some high

school boy."

"Then you haven't been reading the right erotica," I said

defensively. "I guarantee there's something in here that would make you hot."

Even in the dim light I could see her eyes glitter. Angie loved to

gamble.

"Oh yeah?" She nudged my thigh with her heel.

"Yeah."

"Whatcha wanna bet?"

There was something more than playful about the way she worked

her foot back and forth on my leg. Intrigued, I decided to take her on. "I bet you dinner at the restaurant of your choice that I can find a story that makes you hot enough to come."

"And just how are you going to tell?"

Her voice was husky and her eyes huge. I'd been just about to get

down to some serious self-pleasure while reading earlier, and now the

way she slowly slid the tip of her tongue over her lips zinged straight

down to my crotch. Zap. Twitch. Clench. Uh-oh. I was wet, and if it

weren't for the thick sweatpants, Angie would be getting a sample of my

excitement on her skin. I eased my hips back, away from her slowly

rocking foot. In a voice that I hoped sounded steady and cool, I said,

"We'll use the honor system."

She grinned and scrunched a little lower into the sofa. The

movement caused her skirt to ride up her thighs, and I caught a glimmer

of blue satin panties framed by pale velvety skin. My stomach tightened

into a hard, hot ball as I casually flipped through the pages of the book, trying to find the one I'd been about to jerk off to. Then, when my brain

cleared for a second, I remembered the object of my search and zeroed

in instead on what I thought would turn Angie on.

"Here you go." I held out the book and she took it with an

expression that said, You've already lost.

Confident, I shifted one leg up onto the couch so that Angie's feet

were between my thighs and settled back for the show. I could see her

face above the top of the book, her expression one of polite disinterest.

"I can feel you watching me," she said, without looking up from

the pages.

"Uh-huh."

She smiled, pleased, I thought.

A minute went by, then two. She shifted her hips. Sighed.

"Think it's sexy?" I asked.

"Mmm. Sort of. Be quiet."

Her face had tightened, her eyes narrowed just a little. Interested

now. The foot resting on my inner thigh twitched.

"What part are you reading?" I couldn't help myself. I wanted to know what was getting her hot. I palmed her foot, caressed her arch. My

clit jumped every time her toes dug into my leg.

"She just saw the outline of the blonde's cock in her leather pants,"

Angie said idly and flipped the page. "She's feeling her up."

Angie slid the foot I wasn't touching higher up between my legs

until it was snugged against my crotch, then kind of rolled it back and

forth in short, jerky little movements. The vibrations tingled the length

of my clit and I ground my teeth. My thighs hurt from clenching them so

tightly, trying to keep still. I knew the scene, I'd read it more than once, and I never failed to come with the base of the cock riding over my clit

as some dark beauty jerked me off in the shadows of a nameless bar.

''Hot,'' I croaked.

"Mmm, yeah."

I traced my fingers up her leg from her ankle to her knee and back

down again. On the next trip up, my gaze kept traveling north until I

reached her crotch. Angie made a sound like purring and shifted again,

her thighs parting further. A wet patch glistened in the island of blue. I tugged the heel of her foot hard against my clit. I was so stiff it hurt, but perversely, I welcomed the pain. It always took a hard workout to get me

off.

"Where are you now?" I was breathing fast, and from the way the

book rose and fell on the crest of Angie's breasts, so was she.

"She's sucking her off," Angie murmured. "Jesus, right there in the bar."

The pale blue covering her sex had darkened, soaked through, and

the round prominence of her clit pushed out against the fabric. I

imagined I could see it twitching in time to my own.

"She's gonna make her lose it," I whispered, "if she keeps that up.

Make her come right there."

"Oh, that's nice," Angie crooned plaintively, dropping one hand to her thigh. Her legs trembled as she fitfully brushed her fingers up and

down the silvery skin high inside one leg. The backs of her fingers swept

over the blue satin. Her hips lifted. Fell. Lifted again. She pressed her

fingertips to the swelling beneath the shiny triangle.

"Oh!" Angie blurted. "She's getting her off." She gripped her clit between fingers and thumb and twisted in quick, spastic little jerks. The

book shook in her grasp and her splayed legs stiffened along the inside

of mine.

"Touch inside," I urged, rubbing my pounding clit against Angie's heel.

"I'll come," Angie whined, cupping herself and squeezing until the tendons stood out on her hand, tight bands of desperate desire.

"Don't you want to?"

"Oh yes." Her voice was high, strained.

"Do it." I ground into her foot, riding her high.

She shoved the swatch of wet fabric aside, her fingers swirling

madly over gleaming ruby flesh.

"So good," she moaned. The book fell to the floor. She skimmed

her free hand under her sweater and palmed her breast. My breath fled.

"Unh. Unh." Angie's wrist was a blur of motion, her belly tense, body writhing. ''Good. Good. Coming so hard." She jerked upright, her eyes blind, then tumbled back with a wail.

I clutched her foot and clamped my legs tight. The room spun as I

chanted, "Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Oh yeah."

"Ooh, jeez," Angie panted after a minute, languorously caressing between her thighs, petting her clit tenderly. She opened her eyes, raised her head enough to see me. Her face was soft, dreamy. Her smile sated.

"That was amazing."

The muscles in my thighs trembled at the speed of hummingbird

wings. My clit jumped against the sole of her foot as if struggling to

escape. I took a deep breath, the first one in what felt like an hour. The muscles in my stomach were so tight with frustrated arousal I could

hardly talk. But I grinned. "Outrageous."

"That was a really hot story," Angie sighed.

"Told you," I murmured, eyes glued to her fingers as she continued to play with herself, lazy and content. Her juices glistened on her

fingers.

Unconsciously, I palmed her foot and rubbed my aching sex

against it.

"It was even better with you watching me read it."

I twitched all over.

"We didn't talk about what would happen if you won," she

murmured.

I tore my gaze away from her fingers working in her crotch long

enough to glance at her face. She was looking down between my legs. I

wanted to come so bad. She pulled her foot back, and I whimpered.

"I think," she said musingly, milking her clit a little faster now, "I think I want another story."

"Angie," I groaned.

"But," she tilted her foot forward and nuzzled her toes against my clit, ''this time I want you to read it to me."

Smiling wickedly, she scooped up the book and held it out to me.

Her toes danced and teased unmercifully. "And no reading ahead."

A GOOD BUTCH IS HARD TO FIND

CRIN CLAXTON

tanding up at Alexandra Palace with all of London falling

away before me, I could breathe again. The tall, blinking

S silhouettes at Canary Wharf, the red lights of the Post Office

Tower and the dotted lights of buildings stretched away in white and

gold lines. The sky was purple with light spilling upward, and high

above were sparklingly clear stars. I fixed on an intensely bright one and thought maybe I should wish on it. There's a song about that. There's

also one about catching a falling star and putting it in your pocket but

that's just dangerous. I decided to wish for a femme to love me: instantly I thought of my ex, currently lying on a beach in Cuba with the double-glazing sales butch she'd run off with.

I said to the star: Send me someone I can laugh with, someone I

can talk to. That was the thing with my ex. She was so easy to talk to in

the beginning. The star twinkled at me, shining and fading and shining,

and seemed to move…nearer…getting bigger and brighter until I had to

screw my eyes up against the intense white hum of its light.

I opened my eyes to find myself standing on the steps of a

spaceship. Ahead of me in a huge doorway there was a silhouette of

something with a human body and a huge head. As I stared, an eerie and

not unflattering pale pink light faded up on the woman, who actually had

a normal human-sized head but the biggest beehive I'd ever seen. Behind

her three other women were singing and dancing, all doing the same

movement, like a '60s Motown backup group. All three women also had

enormous hair.

"Wouldn't you like to come in?"

The woman in the doorway had a very persuasive voice; she curled

her index finger, beckoning me in. I took a step up and then hesitated.

"Oh, don't be scared," the doorway woman said in a voice of

honey. She reminded me of a panther. "You can't stay there all night."

She said, "Come on." She beckoned and I felt my body start to move forward. I looked behind me. I quickly turned back. The Earth was a

long, long way down, and there weren't any steps beneath me.

"Come inside now, you'll get cold," Panther-Woman suggested

firmly, linking my arm and gracefully ushering me into the ship.

Inside was a huge, light, white room. There were seating areas with

sofas built into the environment on different levels. There were swathes

of material falling from the ceiling and draped here and there.

The lighting was soft and diffused in the seating areas and brighter in the central area where the Motown women were still singing.

I heard a shooosh and noticed lift doors opening two levels up.

Three women got out, all in shiny, tight-fitting space suits. One of the

women was using some kind of machine—a kind of wheelchair, I

suppose, but much lighter than anything I'd seen before. It glided along.

She looked stunning; in fact, she was gorgeous. I realized I was staring

and went to turn away, but she held my gaze.

Panther-Woman had walked me to the center and the room was

starting to fill up. I turned around, surveying the room, feeling the stares from all directions. I was obviously a curiosity. Maybe they'd never seen

a human before. It was a weird feeling. I couldn't see any guys. They all

looked like women. In fact, I couldn't see any butches. I couldn't even

see any andro-dykes. All the women, and there must have been over a

hundred, all of them looked like femmes. My knees went weak. Panther-

Woman grabbed my arm. "Are you all right, honey?" she asked.

I managed to nod.

I tentatively looked around the room again. This time I felt the

stares more intensely. Sweat was breaking out all over my body. I know

a femme when I see one, and I was looking at over a hundred. I must

have died and gone to heaven. I felt a moment of sadness for my former

life, but it really didn't seem to matter very much.

Panther-Woman raised her hands and the music stopped. "Sisters,

we have a guest from planet Earth. Please say hello to our new friend

Joe."

There was a general murmur, which I think was approximately a

hundred femmes saying, "Hi, Joe."

"How d'you know my name?" I asked Panther-Woman, but she

just smiled an enigmatic and highly irritating smile.

"Now, I know many of my Sisters would like to meet you

personally, and they will," she told me. "But first, I'd like you to come with me to the science quarters."

I didn't like the sound of that. I suddenly remembered I was on a

spaceship with, well, they must be aliens. I stopped dead as I realized

they were...FEMMES FROM ANOTHER PLANET.

''Oh baby, you're such a worrier." Panther-Woman told me,

stroking my face. "Come on, follow me,"

She started walking in front of me. Something about the way her

buttocks moved in her skintight trousers made my feet start moving, and

soon they were following along behind her like an obedient puppy. I

would have slowed my feet, for my pride's sake, but I was working

really hard on stopping my tongue hanging out. I thought perhaps these

alien femmes might have special powers, and were in fact slowly turning

me into a dog. Panther-Woman giggled to herself in front of me.

These girls sure were strange ones.

We walked down long corridors. After a while, even though her

bottom was very exciting, I tore my eyes away to look at my

surroundings. There were screens at intervals, computers maybe, or

moving art. Every door we passed was closed. Occasionally a woman

walked with or past us. They mostly had a good stare at me. Like

Panther-Woman and the Motown performers, like all the women in the

reception room and the corridors, they all had huge hair. It didn't matter whether the women were black, brown, or white, whether their hair was

long or short. It was all enormous. I wondered if the butches, who must

be working somewhere in the background, had no hair, as a contrast. Or

maybe they had big hair too, huge DAs or something. That was a

frightening thought. I briefly considered the possibility that there were

men around somewhere, but I dismissed it quite quickly. The femme

energy on the ship was rife. I wondered where the butches were.

"Are there any other people on the ship?" I asked Panther-

Woman's bottom.

She stopped and turned, and I lifted my eyes to her face.

"Yes, a few Sisters are working elsewhere on the essential

functions. Unfortunately they couldn't come and meet you. They'll get

their chance later," she promised me.

"Sisters?" I asked. "Are they…like you?"

She looked confused.

"Are they feminine?"

"Oh yes," she confirmed, looking at me intensely. "Every Sister is feminine."

"Are there any…Brothers?"

She paused before answering. "There will be."

Well, thanks for clearing that up, I thought sarcastically. She

smiled a secret smile to herself as we walked along. I might have tried to get more out of her but we reached a door. It opened when we stood in

front of it and I followed Panther-Woman into a lounge area.

''This is Carmilla." PW gestured with her arm.

This certainly is Carmilla, I said inside my head, staring at the brown, raven-haired beauty before me. She was the woman who had

held my gaze from the balcony.

"Hello, Joe." Wind chimes went off when she spoke; wind chimes

blowing in the softest, sweetest breeze.

"Carmilla is our science officer," PW told me.

"How wonderful." Who knew what I was saying? I didn't. They

didn't seem to care much. PW looked highly amused. Carmilla was

smiling sweetly and patting the edge of a couch near her.

"Why don't you have a lie-down and let me have a little look at

you?"

I couldn't think of any reason why not to. Soon I was flat out and

staring into her intensely brown eyes. She winked.

''Now relax. I just want to find out a few things about you. If you

feel uncomfortable at any time, just say."

How sweet, I thought. I felt like giggling. It was all so bizarre. I was convinced they must have drugged me. I felt light-headed and

weird. Maybe it had been in the water they gave me, or their fingertips.

Some of the women had touched me, Panther-Woman for one.

"Unfortunately, I have to return," she told Carmilla. "I think you'll be safe."

What did she mean? She obviously meant Carmilla. Well, of

course Carmilla would be safe. What about me?

"You'll be fine, sweet…butch." Panther-Woman bent and kissed

me. The way she said butch sounded like a purr. I liked it.

I thought if they did have a drug you could pass in your fingertips,

and it felt this good, I could make an awful lot of money selling it to

lesbians.

I felt Carmilla touch my arm. "I just want to get some initial

measurements. I'm going to run this instrument over your body."

I knew she was aware of how that sounded, but she looked very

professional as she swept a little computer pad over me.

"Hmm," she said, sounding like all doctor-type people sound when they say hmm. It's supposed to sound noncommittal, but it always makes you worry.

"Why don't you put this on, Joe." She was holding out a visor.

Cool, computer games. I took it and put it on.

Suddenly I was lying on a beach. I heard the waves. I smelt the

sea. I took the visor off. I was back in the room, and Carmilla was still

there beside me.

"It's okay."

"Is it a virtual reality thing?" I asked.

"Um…sort of. I promise it won't hurt you."

I considered that. I didn't feel she would harm me. Sometimes a

butch just has to go on instinct. I put the visor back on.

Creamy foaming waves rolled along a long, white, sandy beach. It

was very hot. There was a slight breeze flowing over me. I felt good,

relaxed. The sky was pure blue, completely cloudless, and it went on

forever. I turned toward the sun, which was a reddy-purple. I looked

away, thinking that was strange. When I looked back it was its normal

white-gold colour. I felt a shadow over me and turned to look up at a

beautiful, tantalizing femme.

"I was wondering if you could help me."

I sat up slightly, noticing I was wearing swimming trunks and

nothing else. Funny, I hadn't noticed that before. It’s okay, I told myself.

It’s okay you're topless. And a strange woman’s looking at you.

"How can I help you?" I blurted out.

"I need to put some sun cream on," she said. "And there are several places I can't reach."

"Oh." I saw the sun cream in her hand for the first time. "Of course." I got up and gestured to her to lie down on my large and

attractive beach towel. I've got good taste, I thought.

She handed me the cream and lay down on her front. She was

wearing a bikini. I put cream on my hands and started rubbing them

along her back, I rubbed it into the back of her neck where her short, big blond hair stopped, leaving it exposed. I rubbed it over her shoulders,

smoothing the skin and starting to massage her a little. She sighed out

loud. The cream smelt good, hot in the sun, and the spicy, musky scent

of her body smelt good too. I also sighed.

"You'd better put it everywhere," she suggested, reaching behind and undoing her bikini top.

"It's best to be careful, the way the sun is nowadays. And you are very light," I said. She was too. I looked for the factor on the sun cream but couldn't see any.

"Don't worry, I won't burn in the sun," the beach babe told me.

"You just carry on rubbing that in,"

I didn't need to be told twice. I rubbed cream the length of her

back, down the back of her legs to her feet and back up along the inside

of her legs. When I reached the top of her thighs she turned over and I

saw her breasts for the first time. I gasped. She had a beautiful body; all curves.

"Well go on, then, handsome. Rub me some more."

I did as I was told, rubbing cream into her breasts, feeling her

nipples stiffen, rubbing cream over her chest and stomach until she was

well and truly creamed.

"You haven't quite finished, have you?" she said, taking off her bikini bottoms.

I stared. "Are you sure you want me to rub sun cream...there?"

"Oh yes."

"But you don't know what's in it. It might irritate you." I was

genuinely concerned. She looked like I was irritating her.

Suddenly I was lying back on the beach towel. I felt a shadow go

over me.

"Would you be a darling and rub a little sun cream into my back."

"Of course." I said, getting a deja vu kind of feeling. This was where I came in, wasn't it?

She lay down in front of me and I saw she'd changed. She was

deep brown, well toned, and her hair was short, big, black and weaved. I

courteously covered her in cream, putting it exactly where she asked me

to. Before I knew it we were getting intimately acquainted, her moans

falling rhythmically with the crash of the waves. We were making good

waves ourselves—she was open and wet, expanding around my hand. I

felt good, deep inside her, and I felt my body stretch, enjoying the

moment. I felt soft kisses along my back.

"Um-mm," I said aloud, turning my head to the side and seeing my blond friend from before.

"I wanted to join the party," she said. "Do you mind?"

"I don't mind at all," I said. In the blink of an eye I was on my back and the blond woman was moving on top of me. I felt a harness around

my waist and pushed up so she could take more of me inside her. She

watched me watching her open her mouth and gasp as she moved

around. She was taking little breaths, her eyes half closing now and then.

My other lover was kissing her breasts, I could see her nipples were

erect, I could see all four of their nipples were erect, and I felt my own leap to attention. Six nipples on a dyke parade ground. My beautiful

dark lover fixed her deep brown eyes on me and kissed me, opening my

mouth and exploring me with her tongue. I ran my hand along her body,

remembering we had something to finish off. Both women were moving

on and over me and I moaned along with them...the hot sun, the crashing

waves, two gorgeous women and...something made me think of

Carmilla.

No sooner did I think of her then I was lying on top of her, her legs

spread out either side of me and my tongue in close contact with her

vulva. This seemed a bit forward. Weren't we supposed to play around

with sun cream a little? I heard her moaning and sighing and felt her

upper body moving, her fingers playing with my hair. After a while it

seemed perfectly natural. She tasted wonderful: milky, slightly salty. I

licked her like an ice cream cone. When I had nearly nibbled her down I

felt a surge of energy run across my tongue and through my mouth,

shoot through my chest, and explode somewhere around my clitoris.

Somehow, like an intergalactic translator or something. I knew this

meant she'd come.

I felt the visor being lifted off my face and opened my eyes,

blinking in the interior light. Carmilla was sitting beside me like before.

All her clothes looked intact. I looked down at mine. They were

unchanged, unopened, undiscarded also. Okay, I told myself, that didn't happen. It was just a test, so they could gauge my sexual responses.

They gave me some kind of stimuli and I made up the rest in my head, like a fantasy. Carmilla can't know what I was thinking. The scenario must be in the virtual reality program and I just put Carmilla in there.

But she doesn’t know that. She was just observing me. Shit. She was

observing me. What if I was moaning or breathing heavy? Or worse,

what if I was feeling myself up in front of her? I looked again carefully at my flies. No, they're done up. Thank God.

"Are you okay?" Carmilla was looking at me, concerned. "Your blood pressure's shooting up."

"Oh yes, I'm fine," I muttered. "Just fine. How about you?"

''Oh I'm very well, thank you." Carmilla was smiling. ''That was

really very useful. I'd love to continue but I've had a message from the

central console room. There's a lot of excitement that you're on board the ship, and Sisters are dying to meet you. It would be unfair of me to keep

you here any longer."

Flattery has always been my weakness. Completely pushing out

any worries I'd had about my little fantasy, I nodded.

She took me to a meeting room. On the way I asked her, "What is

it you want from me?"

"Oh, we just wanted to meet you."

"Why?"

"We like you."

"But you don't know me."

"Well, we like your type. We'd like to get to know you better."

Ignoring the little sweetener, I went on. "What d'you mean my

type? Human?"

"No."

"Lesbian?"

"Of course." She said like there was any doubt.

"So any lesbian. You just wanted to meet an Earth lesbian."

"No. We wanted to meet a butch."

"Oh, that is a bit harder."

We were at a lift. Carmilla lifted her hand and the call button pad

slid down so she could press it.

"So have you met—"

The lift doors opened and two women got out. The two women: the

two women in the virtual reality program. Only they weren't virtual,

because here they were in front of me. Waving. I broke out in a cold

sweat.

"Joe, I think you've already met Neela and Sindan. Neela, Sindan,

this is Joe." Carmilla made the introductions.

"Hi," I said in a pitch only dogs could hear.

"Such a high voice," Neela commented, tall and dark and even

more beautiful in the flesh.

"Oh she doesn't normally talk like that," Carmilla told her.

"Strange reaction. It must mean something. Maybe they talk like that to women they've had sexual relations with." She considered that. "But then, she didn't speak in that high voice to me,"

Oh no. Not you too. I'd hoped at least that part of it really was a fantasy. I looked at them all looking at me for a while. Then Carmilla

broke the freeze-frame.

"Well, we'd better be going. You two aren't coming?"

"No, we're working in the kitchens tonight," Sindan, blond and

curvy in a very tight spacesuit, said.

Carmilla gestured to me to get in the lift. When the lift doors

closed I blurted out, "I thought they were a program. I mean, I thought it was a program and they weren't real."

"Oh. Did you?" Carmilla nodded as if a piece of the puzzle had

fallen into place. "I see. How strange. Don't you have sex like that, then?"

''No, not at all. We have it…you know, for real."

Carmilla raised her eyebrows, looking very interested indeed. "Oh,

you mean you don't all hook up to the mainframe?"

I shook my head. ''Well...there's the Internet, I suppose, but it's not

as....vivid."

''Interesting…I'd like to try that," Carmilla muttered to herself as

the lift stopped and the doors opened straight into the meeting room.

Carmilla took me to a seating area and set herself beside me. I thought

that might be because of her role as science officer, but I hoped it was

because she liked me. Panther-Woman came over from the drinks area

with a group of other women, and they settled around us.

''Joe, I thought you might like to meet some more Sisters."

Panther-Woman told me. ''This is Nelax, she's our chief engineer."

I looked with interest at the woman PW pointed to. She was chief

engineer. Damn! She was the most feminine woman I'd ever seen.

Immaculate. She had one of their space suits on but it was tapered in to

show every curve, every fold of her body. Chief engineer! She didn't

have a smudge on her. Couldn't imagine her getting her hands dirty. I

was getting my head around this concept when I heard another woman

laughing. PW introduced me.

"And this is Shira, she's our chief advisor and telepath."

Right. Telepath. Should have known they'd be telepathic. They

even knew what I was thinking. I suddenly felt very alone.

''Oh, you don't need to be scared of us," Shira said. "We wouldn't, couldn't harm you."

She had a very compelling voice.

"And I'm Robaki." Another woman cut in. She had obviously got

fed up waiting to be introduced. "I'm head of leisure services."

"Would you mind if we ask you some questions?" Carmilla asked.

I shook my head and shrugged.

"Are there many like you on your world?" PW asked me.

"What d'you mean like me?"

"Butch," PW confirmed

"In the whole world?"

They nodded. I thought about it. "Well, I can't be sure. I mean,

who knows really? I don't think there's millions, maybe there's

thousands—in the whole world. Do you include straight women who are

butch?"

They looked confused.

"Yeah, I know. It confuses me too. But then not, I suppose, not if

you count butch as a gender."

I could see I'd lost them.

"Anyway, masculine women—into women, into feminine women I

suppose, looking at you lot—I don't know. How many are you looking

for?"

A row of raised eyebrows greeted me.

"Thousands," Nelax volunteered.

"Really," I said. "Thousands, huh?"

"Do you think you could help us?'' Robaki asked.

"Hmm..." I thought about this. Did I really want any other butches in on this?

"Tut tut." Shira mock-frowned at me.

''Can I ask you something?" They nodded. "Where do you come

from?" I was thinking this could all be an elaborate hoax and they'd say,

"San Francisco."

"Femedom."

"I beg your pardon?" I spluttered.

"Femedom," Carmilla repeated.

I decided it wasn't polite, and definitely not in the interests of

galactic relations to tell them what the name of their planet meant in

English.

"It means some kind of female contraception," Shira explained.

Damn! I'd forgotten about her.

"How…quaint." PW dismissed it as an absurdity.

"It took me a while to work out the image in her head." Shira was saying. I stared at her in horror. "All I could see was cunt and this funny, rubbery-plastic thing wrapped sort of up and inside." I still stared at her in horror. They all looked at me, completely lost for words.

"We've got a lot to learn," Shira said.

"So how come you don't have any butches with you?" I changed

the subject.

"Honey, if we had butches we wouldn't be here," Robaki informed

me.

"Really." It was my turn to look at them. "You mean you don't have any," I emphasized the word, " any butches at home. Not even one."

They all laughed. And laughed.

"Can you imagine it?" Shira was crying with laughter. "One poor butch."

"On that whole big planet," Nelax shrieked. "All the Sisters."

Laugh, laugh, laugh. "And one butch. What a thought!"

I sort of laughed with them. But I didn't really get the joke.

Sounded like heaven to me.

"Darling…" Shira smiled at me and patted my hand. She might as

well have patted my head. She looked at the others. "It's just how they said it would be. They completely overestimate themselves."

Who were the they who said this? I thought they had a damn

cheek.

"The Crones, darling butch," Shira told me.

"Joe." Carmilla reminded her I had a name.

"Darling Joe." Shira corrected herself. "The Crones sent us, they said we'd find hutches here."

"And we need you to help us," Carmilla explained.

"Well, I'll do what I can." I was thinking there was a limit to what I could do. I could round up a few, I suppose. I started going through all the butches I knew. What about the ones who didn't identify as butch but

obviously were? Did they count? I looked a little doubtful. Well, I could

advertise on the Internet, I supposed.

"And maybe some of you will come back with us," Robaki

suggested.

"To Femedom?'' I managed to say without smirking. But the image

got into my head anyway. "Sounds like home to me, baby!" came out of my mouth before I could stop it.

There was a polite silence. I carried on regardless. "I suppose you

need some butches"—I was going with the thought—''to sort things out."

They looked at me. I couldn't imagine a planet completely of

femmes. Their houses must be falling down, man. Crying out for DIY.

And cars, boats, planes, all waiting for some butch mechanic. I pictured

femmes in huge traffic jams waiting for someone to open the car door

for them.

I felt a wall of annoyance building up around me, and came out of

my reverie. The femmes were stony faced.

"Ladies, I didn't mean any offense. It's just on my world these are

usually butch things." I turned to Nelax. ''Of course, not always. There are plenty of femmes who do these things, after all we had a huge

women's movement once, and that kind of changed things." I could see I was losing them again, but they seemed more relaxed. Carmilla was

smiling at me anyway. "After all, what did you think butches do? You

didn't just think we were good at sex, did you?"

From their embarrassed smiles I realized they did.

"Tell me, aren't there femmes on your world who like each other,

you know, femme on femme? It's quite popular here." I thought about

that. "Well, at least it is in the personal ads."

"She means Sisters doing it to ourselves," Shira explained, her

telepathy obviously giving her the edge on intergalactic translation.

"Of course!" they chorused.

"It's the norm on our world." Shira revealed.

"Really?" I said, a little disappointed.

"Oh yes." Nelax was obviously amused at my reaction. "We, the ones who want to meet a butch, are thought to be quite peculiar by some

of the Sisters. A little queer, in fact."

Well that was a turn-up for the books. "Have you never had any

butches?" I couldn't imagine a world without us.

"The Crones' legends tell of a group of butches who existed long,

long ago, but they disappeared." Robaki told me. "Some legends say they disappeared up the Great Femme Vulva."

''That's a possibility," I admitted.

"The other theory is they came to Earth." Carmilla said.

"Really?" I said.

"Yes. There's another planet near us, CloneZone, and they have a

similar legend about their Drag Queens. They say a group of them

disappeared to Earth about the same time," Carmilla explained.

My mind boggled. Butches and Drag Queens were really aliens.

Well, that put a different slant on the gay gene theory.

"Joe, you look a little worn out. Perhaps you want to go back down

to Earth?" PW suggested.

Earth. My life. What time was it, anyway? Was I late for work?

I got up and Carmilla rode with me to the entrance doors.

"I hope you've enjoyed your visit," she said playfully as we passed along the corridors.

"I would have liked more time with you," I told her, shyly.

She smiled. A lot. "We'll be in touch," she promised.

In the big foyer, I kissed her, hoping I'd get the chance to do it

again. Then I felt a pull to be gone. The doors opened, cool air rushed in and I was spinning through misty light until the ground rushed toward

me.

I shook my head, blinking like I'd just woken up. As my head

cleared I heard birdsong. The sky was streaked with pink; dawn was

coming up. London was before me: sleepy, vibrant, alive. A few hours

ago I'd been just an ordinary Joe standing on a hillside. Now I was a

butch with a mission. I turned and strode purposefully back to my car.

TOY WITH ME

VK POWELL

ight air swept under my silk skirt and cooled the hot center

at the apex of my thighs. The swirling fabric tormented flesh

N too sensitive for a thong. As I walked toward the bar, the fall

breeze licked my body, leaving chill bumps that I prayed would chase

away the heat.

Another case solved in another lonely town where I didn't know a

soul. Sometimes being the top private investigator in the state was more

of a burden than a blessing. Thank God for the Gay and Lesbian Hotline,

my lifeline to civilization, sanity, and physical sustenance.

"Looking for anything special?" the blond attendant asked, shifting her eyes over my erect nipples and returning the change from a five-dollar admission.

"Just came to dance," I replied, meeting her inquisitive gaze. But the words tasted bitter in my mouth. I could probably come from

dancing at this point. It seemed like years since another human being

had touched my body with the sole purpose of providing mind-numbing

sex.

''That's too bad."

I decided not to launch into just how bad. She probably couldn't

care less that my life was a series of domestic assignments in which

observations of people having sex far outweighed any opportunities to

actually have it. Tonight, my body took offense and insisted on more

active participation.

Alternating dark and brilliantly white light temporarily blinded me

as I stood by the entrance and allowed my vision to adjust. Music

bellowed from huge speakers mounted above the doorway and pulsed

my insides with rhythm. I enjoyed the animalistic urges created by the

deep, insistent pounding. My breasts grazed against someone's arm at

the crowded bar and I purposely lingered before squeezing into a spot.

"Help you, honey?'" the redheaded bartender yelled as she placed a cocktail napkin in front of me.

"Vodka tonic with a twist, please."

I watched couples on the small dance floor cling and gyrate against

each other in increasingly provocative stages of vertical lovemaking.

Their breasts lightly grazed each other, then blended together. Their hips swung from side to side and ground against one another in time with the

feverish music. My pulse quickened and I took a gulp of the cocktail,

hoping the alcohol would calm my quivering insides. Instead it gathered

at that burning place between my legs.

My job required a certain amount of voyeurism and it never

affected me—that was work. But tonight, seeing women's bodies in such

intimate contact filled me with yearning. I wondered how many of them

were with their partners and how many were here for the same reason I

was—a hard fuck from an equally hard-up stranger.

Flashing light from the dance floor played an appearing/

disappearing act on a dark-haired butch draped over the opposite end of

the bar. Her full lips parted slightly and eyes sparkled as she surveyed

each new arrival. We locked stares, and a sharp intake of breath caught

in my throat. My mouth dried as all moisture rushed to my engorged

privates. I recited opposites in time to the pulsing black light—night and day, black and white, good and bad, you and me. Retrieving my drink, I

shuffled weak-kneed to the nearest stool.

I reviewed all the times anonymous sex had proven dangerous,

superficial, and ultimately unsatisfying. But in spite of any good or pure intentions, my offending eyes wandered back to the butch. Raw passion

twisted its way through my body as I looked at what I wanted but knew I

would never be bold enough to ask for.

Her dark, close-cropped hair spiked about an inch on top. Her

stocky frame appeared to be solid muscle under black jeans and a

starched cotton shirt. I detected the bulges and curves of a real woman's

body—full and vibrant. She carried herself with an air of total control

and reckless abandon as she strolled across the floor. There was

something taboo in her gait, almost haunting in its challenge. With each

step she took, my clit jerked painfully as if her legs were rubbing against it.

As I returned to awareness, the stranger walked across the floor

toward my table. When she strolled past, relief mingled with a sharp stab

of disappointment. Momentarily, relief faded and panic seized my body

as two hands rested lightly on my shoulders from behind.

"Don't look up." A firm command. Hot breath touched my ear and

shot waves of current down my spine. "Just listen."

How could she possibly know that more than anything, I wanted to

be relieved of all responsibility? How could she know that the mere

thought of relinquishing control melted my insides faster than physical

touch? She couldn't know any of that, yet here she was.

Her fingers kneaded the tense flesh of my shoulders. I would've

done anything she said.

"Imagine my hands all over your body, stroking your breasts,

teasing your nipples into erection. I'm going to slide my fingers up the

inside of your thighs into the wetness I can smell there already. Nod if

you want me to continue."

The only part of my body that moved was my head. I nodded

eagerly. Common sense screamed for me to run, but my legs refused.

A soft chuckle sounded from the woman behind me as she pressed

her body against my back. Her pelvis found my spine and came to rest in

a position of maximum contact.

"I knew you wanted it the second our eyes met." She whispered,

"I'm going to make you beg for things you never knew you wanted."

This was not my first stranger sex, but it was the first time I'd

given myself over completely, without question. I'd often masturbated to

such a scenario without a prayer that it would ever come true. My body

responded to this woman in a way that could only be described as

immediate and frightening. The power she wielded magnified the

forbidden side of my fantasies and held me paralyzed in their clutches.

She knew this from one look. My nipples hardened and pushed against

the fabric of my blouse as cold chills consumed me.

She cupped my elbows in her hands and guided me from the stool

toward the front door. Nerve endings long dormant flared to life as the

abduction played out. She walked a step behind and directed me to a van

parked at the darkest end of the lot. The back door of the vehicle swung

open as we approached and she pointed.

"Sit here, facing the front of the van." A small mattress on the floor was the only thing visible in the darkness. A heavy material covered the

inside walls of the van, creating a barrier against prying eyes. I touched it as I climbed inside—neoprene, soft and slick.

"It helps muffle the screams," she offered.

She positioned herself at my back with her legs around mine.

"Tonight you're mine. Do nothing except what you're told."

The authority in her voice left no room for question. Not that I

would've—I wanted to give in, to be taken by someone with no

expectations or standing to judge. I responded as she commanded.

My crotch throbbed and dripped from wanting her, more from

anticipation than anything she'd done. I wanted her mouth all over me

and her fingers inside me, and I wanted it now!

Sensing my eagerness, she undressed me with slow deliberation.

The tight blouse seemed fiery against my overly sensitive skin. It bound

and restricted circulation in a body that screamed to be free. When she

released the bondage, my nipples stood erect and ready for her.

She lightly blew her hot breath on my breasts, refusing to allow the

instant gratification of touch. I writhed against the fabric of my skirt to ease the pressure building in my middle. My hand automatically reached

for the fiery mound of flesh.

She grabbed my hand and repeated, "Do nothing except what

you're told. You wouldn't deny me the pleasure of the first touch, would

you? I won't make you wait much longer."

My desire to give in to her wishes intensified because I couldn't

touch her.

With one hand she unbuttoned my skirt and tossed it aside. When

my naked skin contacted the mattress I realized the sheets were satin—

cool, sensual satin. A light musky fragrance from the sheets mingled

with the scent of my sex, releasing the urge to devour this woman. I

clawed my fingernails into the material to contain my craving.

She reached for my clenched fists and released their grip, kissing

each of my fingers as she uncurled it. With the speed that foretold lust,

she undressed herself and straddled my buttocks. I squirmed feverishly

against the silky covers, desperate for contact. She brought my hands

back, placed them firmly on her strong thighs, and urged me to hold on

tightly.

I knew if she didn't touch me soon that I would come where I sat.

Finally the delicate softness of skin against skin rippled my body

with waves of pleasure. She gyrated back and forth on my buttocks—

first slowly, then faster—until the warmth of her juices trickled down

my backside and between the trembling cheeks of my ass.

This was the only indication that my captor experienced any

sensation at all. I wanted to gloat, to challenge her to fuck me without

feeling anything. Just as I started to speak, her hand slid between us. She stroked herself and transferred the ample lubrication across my butt.

Shifting to a kneeling position, she guided me to all fours in front of her and slid her hand between my legs. When she grabbed a fistful of bush

and lips and squeezed, my surprised yell was suffocated by moans of

joy. She pulled and massaged the sore lips, capturing my pulsing clitoris

between them.

"Tell me you love this," she commanded and gave another yank. I

tried to speak, but my mouth opened and closed in soundless, spasmodic

gapes.

She finally plunged a finger inside my soaking cunt. Her

roughened fingers stroked in and out of my receptive body. I pumped

backward against her hand to increase the tempo, but she wrapped her

other arm around my waist and controlled the pace.

She slowly inserted another finger into my eager orifice and dug

deep inside me. I bucked and bumped to meet her thrusts. She pumped

harder and the tension inside my body neared explosion. Just as I felt

myself preparing to let go, she withdrew, leaving me a frustrated heap of

raw emotion.

"Please," I begged, "I want more, please don't stop!"

"Would it be all right if I use my toy on you?" she asked

sheepishly.

"Anything, just don't leave me like this!" I pleaded again.

"You have to promise you won't look until I say it's okay.

Promise."

Further speech was interrupted by the rustling of a paper bag. I was

tempted to satisfy my curiosity by stealing a quick peek but was

instructed to roll over on my back.

"You can look now."

My throat tightened as I opened my eyes. "Don't be afraid. It won't

hurt—much."

Two narrow strips of leather around her hips secured a wide piece

of black leather between her legs. A large, flesh-colored dildo jutted

from a hole in the front panel directly over her pubic mound. She knelt

before me, legs parted, beckoning me to touch it. I'd never seen a woman

wearing a strap-on so proudly.

I tentatively extended a hand to examine it. The soft, pliable

texture was a contrast to the hard rubber rod I expected. It closely

resembled a real penis in appearance and touch. Seeing it extended from

a body so obviously female was a major turn-on.

"You'll enjoy this," she assured me as she removed a tube of K-Y

Jelly from the bag.

She positioned herself between my legs and gently touched the

dildo to my aching clitoris. At this point I didn't really care what she

probed me with, as long as it was fast and continuous. She squeezed

some of the lubricant onto her hands and rubbed them together. With an

obvious reverence, she massaged the K-Y onto the pink protrusion with

delicate, loving strokes. The care and diligence with which she

conducted this ritual couldn't have been more authentic had the

attachment been her own flesh.

My body pounded its urgent need as I watched her. The respect

with which she admired this thing made me feel jealous and a little

helpless. For the first time I realized that I not only wanted to play this game, I craved it. I hungered for the domination and control this stranger held over me. She seemed to know everything about my sexual tastes

without allowing me to say a word.

Obviously pleased with her efforts, she guided the greased toy to

the mouth of my vagina. A look of utter joy mixed with dark mischief

crept across her face as she savored the sight before her. She lovingly

cradled her projectile, ready to thrust it into my body.

As she stared into my eyes, I felt the force of penetration as she

introduced her adopted extremity into my apprehensive insides. An

initial moment of discomfort gave way to a feeling of acceptance as I

was alternately filled and emptied by the expertly methodical motions.

The friction created by the leather harness against my clit left me

breathless with every stroke. My mouth dried as I screamed and clawed

at her back.

I opened my eyes to memorize the face of the person who caused

such conflict between my mind and body. Looming over me in the dim

light was someone I'd never seen before. A glassy-eyed stare emitted a

look of absolute power and control. This woman was on the verge of

orgasm, and it had nothing to do with making love. She responded to her

dominance over me and her control of the situation.

Her eyes darkened as the thrusts of her pelvis intensified. She

wanted, needed to bring me to orgasm. I wanted to deny her but I didn't

want to deny myself. Passion grew with each frantic movement. Her

unspoken desire magnified my own cravings, and I clung to her. I

mentally resisted her attempts to bring me to climax, but my body

betrayed me with every breath.

I felt myself floating in the euphoria of absolute resignation. It

didn't matter now if she was a complete stranger, if I'd ever see her again or if she was a mass murderer. I only knew I couldn't stop her or myself.

I was too near the edge.

Faster and harder she drove her fake phallus into my body, and I

took her. She prodded me toward the edge. Her body suddenly stiffened.

She grabbed my arms in an unyielding grip. My body quivered and

jerked. Waves of pleasure tingled through my toes, up through the core

of my body, leaving me dizzy and satisfied. The release of months of

pent-up frustration and anxiety poured from my body onto hers. She

collapsed on top of me and I lay there, astonished by my response.

"I knew you'd be into it." She smiled from atop my body. "If you're game for another round, I'd love to demonstrate my rear-entry

technique."

"What're you asking me for? You're in charge." I heard myself say.

Sometime before daybreak, she kissed me awake and pointed to

my clothes in a neat stack beside the back door of the van. "I've had a great time, but you need to get going. Security comes through around six

for their morning check."

I slowly replaced clothes onto my overly sensitive body and

climbed from the back of the van. "Will I see you again?"

"Not likely, I don't like to strike twice in the same spot." She grinned, licked her fingers, and closed the van door.

When I reached my car, I turned to wave good-bye, but the vehicle

and its wild rider had vanished.

ATROPINE

NELL STARK

veryone assumed they would get married. Including her. But

I knew better—or at least, I thought I did. Even from a

E distance, through a crowd, there was...something. I like to

call it a vibe. It has many names. But it was definitely there, and not just because she was beautiful.

She was, of course—long red hair highlighted by a few streaks of

gold framing a tanned, freckled face, her smile bursting all over the

room as she laughed out loud at a joke. Toned quads and calves leading

to bare feet with no toenail polish. Just a bit shorter than me, and slightly thinner. Definitely a few years younger. She caught my eye

immediately, and I was rarely wrong.

Still, I thought I'd misjudged when I first saw her with him. They

were a striking couple. Only a few months ago, they'd taken first in one

of the regattas, moving in perfect synchrony as they roll-tacked their

small boat back and forth across the eye of the wind. Watching them, I'd

felt at first like I was intruding on something private.

And yet, after the shock wore off at seeing them so fluid, so

together...well, that nagging feeling was back. They were the best sailors our club had to offer the competition. But that's all they were. I was sure of it.

She realized it too when he called things off just a few weeks into

the summer season. She'd been planning to follow him, come the fall—

to help him through medical school. Probably to have his 2.5 children.

When I heard the news—through another sailing instructor who lived in

the same apartment complex—my first reaction was gratitude. But when

I saw her a few hours later, trying hard to teach a lesson without looking at him (and failing) as he rigged up a scow nearby, I got angry. When

your heart's been broken repeatedly, you forget how hard it is, that first time. Until something reminds you. And she reminded me, with her rigid

stance and clenched jaw and fierce, too-bright eyes.

She stopped coming to the weekly meetings and social events.

Despite it being summer, she grew paler and paler as the weeks went by.

And she started drinking. Heavily. Never before teaching, of course—

she was too responsible for that. But immediately after her lesson

finished, I'd watch her walk slowly—lethargically—toward the outdoor

bar on the edge of the beach and order up a tall paper cup of beer. She'd

sip it while looking out at the water, the boats, their sails. And if she saw him, she'd down the whole thing in a few sharp swallows before

spinning on one heel and leaving.

One day, I followed her. This day, it's not quite as hot as it has

been—around seventy-five degrees, with a steady north breeze and

wisps of cirrus clouds salting the sky. Perfect sailing conditions, but he's out on the water in a Laser, and she still can't be anywhere near him. I

don't know where she's going, but she's only wearing a white, slightly

wrinkled oxford shirt over khaki shorts, and I'm pretty confident that my

black tank top and washed-out jeans will fit in. So I shadow her, south a

few blocks and then west, to a hole-in-the-wall bar on Spring Street. As

far as I can tell, the bouncer doesn't make her pay cover, but I don't even hesitate to shove a crumpled five into his hand. I take the stairs down

slowly, to be sure she doesn't see me. For now, anyway.

Once inside, I loiter near the door, watching as she makes her way

over to the bar and orders up another beer before commandeering a pool

table in the back corner. The felt is stained and its frame marked up with glass-rings and etched graffiti, but she doesn't seem to care. Just reaches into her front left pocket, slips a few quarters into the slot, and racks.

She's good at pool, which surprises me. I sidle over to the bar as

she makes her way methodically around the table, punching in stripes

and solids with short, sharp shots. At one point, she has to rest her left hip up on the raised ledge in order to lean forward and sink the five ball.

From my vantage point, I can see down her shirt to the top edge of the

gray sports bra that hugs her breasts. My body stirs, warmth pulsing low

and deep. I take a long swallow off my beer and close my eyes, exulting

in the sensation, realizing that this is what she needs, so much more than I. To feel alive.

But when I open my eyes, she's staring at me. So I go to her.

Slowly.

"Who sent you?" she asks. Her voice is quiet and flat, but the hand that clutches the pool cue is visibly shaking. And I realize she's angry.

Naive enough, still, to believe her friends would intervene. Her friends

are his friends—all caught in the crossfire.

"No one sent me," I reply. Voice even. "I came on my own."

"Why?"

I ignore the question, because she isn't ready for the answer.

Instead, I close the few feet that remain between us, fish in one pocket

for some change, and deposit more quarters into the table. I rack up

efficiently, feeling her eyes on my back; or maybe she's watching the

ripple of my tanned shoulders against the tank top. Maybe.

"Break," I tell her, reaching for my own cue.

There's the ghost of a bitter smile on her lips as she sets up and

shoots. And then we're moving around each other, circling the table in

tandem. I hold my own, but she still wins quickly. And frowns. Thinking

I let her.

"You're good," I say, returning my cue to its slot on the wall.

"Want another beer?"

She's still watching me, her expression wary. Once upon a time,

she was cheerful and gregarious and talkative, but now—now she's

curled in on herself. Fetal position. Protect the head, protect the heart.

Everyone's out to get you.

"What are you drinking?" I ask again, steadily.

She names her beer, and I head for the bar. When I return, she's

found us a table for two in the dimly lit comer. My knees brush hers as I

sit, and I feel the brief contact arc through me like a small electrical

shock. I wonder what she feels.

"Where'd you learn to shoot pool like that?" I ask, my eyes never leaving the delicate column of her throat as she takes a swallow.

"Older brother." Almost immediately, her fingers begin to peel

back the label on the bottle. They're long fingers, and slender, but rough with calluses. I can't help but wonder what they'd feel like, tying me in

knots as surely as she ties a bowline. I look away and take a quick sip,

then another.

"Your older brother's better than mine," I reply, when I'm sure I can speak again. For just a moment, the trace of another faint smile plays across her lips before she raises her beer once more.

There's a minute or two of silence, then, as we drink and pretend to

watch the two couples who have taken over at billiards. "What's grad

school like?" she asks suddenly, settling her empty bottle back down

with a dull clink. She's leaning forward on her elbows now, eyes flicking

over my face. It feels good, and also intense. Like being out on the ocean at noon without sunscreen.

"Complicated," I answer, rocking my chair back on two legs. "Lots to do...classes, reading, research, teaching." I lift the bottle to my lips again, let the beer swirl around my mouth before swallowing. She's

frowning, a little—focused. "Are you thinking of going?"

Her left shoulder lifts in a shrug. "Maybe."

"For what?"

"I don't know." The label is almost entirely gone, now—curling up under her fingers in one smooth piece. She works the rest of it off before raising her eyes back to mine. "Why did you come here tonight?"

I glance away before I even realize it, because something about the

way she asks makes me want to answer, this time. Honestly. So I take a

breath and force myself to meet her curious gaze.

"I've been worried about you," I say. She frowns and sighs and

looks down, but I'm not finished—so I reach out with two fingers and

gently press up on the base of her chin. "And I want you," I add, softly.

Her gaze, so slippery a moment before, freezes. I let my hand drop

away, reluctantly. Moment of truth.

"Why?" she asks, yet again. It's almost a whisper. She doesn't

believe me— can I believe me—and it's his fault. I have never been angrier with him than at this moment.

I stand up, suddenly, and drain the rest of my beer. "Let's walk on

the beach." I don't look back as I thread my way through the tables, out the door, and up the stairs, but as I turn east down the nearest side street, I can feel her beside me. We walk silently until the pavement gives way

to sand. I bend down to remove my sandals, transferring them both to

my right hand, and find her right with my left.

I'm sailing without telltales here—purely on instinct—knowing the

wind could die any second. When she startles a little at the contact, I

can't help holding my breath...but as the seconds pass without a reaction, I exhale softly. Her grip is light, but firm. We begin to walk again, my

thumb tracing circles around her palm as we move.

"I like your hands," I tell her. "They're beautiful, and strong," I let my fingertips brush against the calluses just above her knuckle line.

"Working hands,"

My peripheral vision catches the slight movement as she turns her

head to look at me, but I keep my eyes facing forward. The sand is cool

under my feet. In the patchy light of the half-moon, I watch small crabs

scuttle periodically out of our way. My thumb shifts to brush across her

wrist, and our pulses blend for just an instant.

"What's your favorite movie?" I ask after a few quiet minutes. She laughs at the random question, and for a moment, I see her old smile

resurface. We talk about film for a while, then music, as the

constellations gradually shift overhead, pinwheeling slowly around the

North Star. Our progress is leisurely. The bells of sailboats moored in

the bay come to us intermittently on a warm breeze. I like the way it

ruffles her hair.

"Where are we going?" she asks, finally. Her tone is mildly

curious—relaxed. Our linked hands swing in gentle arcs between us.

"My apartment." I keep my voice light, like hers.

"Ah." The faint half smile doesn't leave her face.

"I like the way your hair looks in the moonlight," I tell her as we reach the outer door. I slip my key into the lock and watch her while I

turn it. "It shimmers."

She laughs and leans into me a little, one shoulder and hipbone

pressing against mine. Another jolt. I smile back before leading her up

the stairs to the door across from the second-floor landing. Once inside

my apartment, she doesn't wait for a tour but moves around herself,

taking in the bedroom, the small office, the den. Traces the base of one

of my old swimming trophies with an errant index finger. I smile at the

sight of her, head turning back and forth as she absorbs the reality of my living space. She feels right here. Like the room has been waiting for her to fill it. Somehow.

I turn on the television and move toward the fridge. "Another

beer?"

"Sure."

I hand off the bottle and sit down first, so she can choose. Next to

me, on the futon? Or in the armchair a few feet away?

She hesitates for a moment before picking the space to my left.

Sliding her right ankle under the opposite knee, she takes a long pull

from the bottle. Not touching me, but close. Eyes focused on the

television. CNN isn't exactly romantic, or even fun, so I hand her the

remote. She grins, clicks a few buttons, and finally settles on an old

black-and-white sci-fi film that's so bad, it has us both laughing hard

within a few seconds.

She sets down the remote on the coffee table, and when she leans

back, she's closer to me. Our shoulders touch. I spend the next twenty

minutes absorbed not in the movie but in how warm she is, how the

wrinkled material of her shirt feels against the bare skin of my upper

arm. It's hard to remember to laugh at the funny moments when she

leans even closer. Her entire right side is pressed up against me now, and I swear I can feel the slight curve of her breast against mine.

It's impossible for me to stay still—to not move my palm so it's

resting, very lightly, just above her knee. So I do. Her powerful quad

muscles ripple under my hand, but when I look at her face, she's still

smiling at the television. So I squeeze—gently—and watch as the smile

disappears. Her eyes close slowly, then open again. She turns toward

me, her face backlit by the intermittent flashes of the screen.

I can feel myself sliding forward, inch by inch. Allowing her to

move, if she doesn't want this. But I think she does. And then I know it,

as her eyelids flutter closed again just before I'm too close to see

anything at all.

Her lips are soft, so soft. Her breath hitches right in the middle of

our kiss, and I know what she's feeling. The first time is always a

revelation. How can it be like this? Why did no one tell me? I slide my hand up her thigh, brush across her hip, and squeeze again. She sighs

into my mouth. I suck on her lower lip, and the sigh becomes a moan.

I'm dizzy with lack of oxygen, but I don't want to stop kissing her. If I

do, she might—

She pulls away, gasping. "God," she murmurs, looking at me.

Touching her lips—now swollen—with two fingers. Her eyes wide and

dark. "That...God."

"Okay?" I ask softly, willing my voice to be steady. I will not lean forward and take her mouth again, like I want to. I will wait. I find the

remote with my right hand and fumble with it until the television goes

black. No distractions—not now.

''Okay,'' she breathes. Her slight laugh is edgy, her eyes focused on

my lips. ''Definitely okay."

This time, I let my left hand caress the back of her head. My

fingers curl in long, thick strands of crimson as my tongue glides over

her teeth. She jumps a little and presses closer. My thigh slides against

hers as I dip deep into her mouth, swirl, and return. The fingers of her

right hand dig into my shoulder as I kiss her, over and over and over.

Alternating depth, pressure, teeth, lips. Her hands pull me closer, so that I'm nearly lying on top of her.

Slowly, so slowly, I walk my fingers across the hem of her shirt

until I can undo the last button. I let the pearl-plastic slip slowly through its slot, giving her time to protest. All I hear is the rasp of her breath, mingling with the background hum of the refrigerator, until I uncover

her navel and rim it gently with my forefinger. She gasps. I grin, lean

down, and tug on the sensitive skin with my teeth before allowing my

tongue to spiral around and around the small indentation. When I stop,

she whimpers—then moans as I deliberately fuck her bellybutton.

"Please," she whispers finally, her trembling fingers tugging at my short, curly hair. I look up and grin, finally absorbing the taste of her

skin on my tongue. Salty, and also sweet. I want more.

"Please?" I'm teasing her, of course, but I also want her to be sure.

No regrets in the morning.

"I need..." Her eyes are dark and hazy with desire, and I feel my body thrill as she stumbles over her words. Because of me. "I...can

you...?"

I think it's cute that she can't quite get the words out. And I don't

make her. Instead, I lever myself off her body, stand up, and extend my

hand. Her palm is sweaty. I lead her, slowly, toward the bedroom.

"I've never," she whispers as we cross the threshold. "I mean, I did with—"

"Shh." I turn to her and kiss her again, and by the time we break apart to breathe I've undone two more buttons. My hands slide beneath

the crisp material of her shirt to caress her stomach. Her muscles,

strengthened by hours of training on the water, flutter beneath my

fingers—velvet over steel. I tease her gently, sliding up over the crests

and troughs of her rib cage until my hands find the edge of her bra. I dip one finger under the hem and run it lightly just below her breasts. She

shivers.

"I want to take this off," I murmur, lips brushing her earlobe. It's so hard to keep my voice even, my bands gentle, when all I really want to do is back her up against the bed and push.

Her swallow is audible and when she speaks, her voice hitches.

"I—I'm not stopping you."

My fingers fumble with the third button as I suck on her earlobe.

It's only for a moment, but she groans. "Why not?"

She pulls away then—far enough to touch two trembling fingertips

to my right cheek. But her voice, when she speaks again, is clear and

strong. "I want this." I watch, searching her eyes as a lopsided smile chases away her intent frown. "But…I don't know what to do."

I grin back and reach up to caress the hand that's still pressed

against my cheek. Lacing her fingers through mine, I guide her slowly

down, down the side of my neck, along the prominence of my

collarbone—down until the warmth of her palm soaks through the tank

top over my left breast. "I'll teach you," I whisper, struggling to speak over my body's tumultuous response. Suddenly, I want to be taken—to

feel her hands on me, in me. When she squeezes lightly, I can't stop the

shudder—so I take a step forward, crush my body to hers, and kiss her

hard enough to distract us both.

When the kiss ends, we're on the bed. I'm half draped over her, and

her shirt is somehow completely open, even though I don't remember

undoing those last two buttons. Her chest rises and falls in rapid

succession, and it's a struggle for me to look away—to meet her eyes.

Her pupils are dark and huge, almost entirely eclipsing the blue irises.

As I watch, the tip of her tongue darts out to lick swollen lips—and I

know I can't wait any longer.

"Off," I mutter hoarsely, tugging at her shirt. She sits up a little to shrug out of it, and I take advantage of the movement to hold her there,

one hand splayed against her back. I push up her bra with the other. She

gasps at the friction of the cotton, and then again as I begin to tease her with my tongue. Decreasing circles, spiraling closer and closer, until my

tongue flicks against one nipple as I gently pinch the other. She arches

above my hand, and I stroke her more firmly, thrilling to the sounds of

her low, hoarse cries.

"Ob—oh God," she whispers as I let my teeth close around her.

The long muscles of her back shudder against my hand, and I finally

lower her down to the bed, shifting so that I'm kneeling between her

thighs. Her eyes are closed, her body taut. Sweat glistens in the hollow

of her throat, in the narrow valley between her breasts. She is need

incarnate, vulnerable and open.

"Take off your bra," I order. My voice sounds thick and low, even to my own ears. As she stretches in obedience, I curl my fingers under

the hem of her shorts and pull, taking her underwear along for the ride.

She lets out a startled little cry, the swatch of gray cotton hanging

forgotten from the fingers of her left hand. She's exposed now,

completely—tight brown-gold curls swirling around swollen, red lips.

Glistening—for me.

She whispers my name, her voice saturated with desire and

something that sounds like fear. Or hesitation. It's so very, very hard to move my eyes up her body, but when I do, the vulnerability of her

expression slams into me—an unexpected wave.

"You're beautiful," I whisper. Fiercely. I hold her gaze for another long moment before finally allowing my eyes to feast again—to linger

over the strong lines and gentle curves of her figure. I want her, need her to understand—to know just how desirable she is. To feel my

appreciation, to absorb it into her skin. I undress quickly, feeling a rush of pleasure at her low intake of breath when I kick off my jeans and

reveal my body.

"He's such a fool," I murmur as I stretch out on the bed beside her.

But words and glances are never, will never be enough; there is no way

to speak the message she needs. There is only my finger, trailing slowly down the center of her body, moving in teasing fits and starts. She

relaxes and tenses simultaneously—thighs opening even as her stomach

muscles clench. I return my mouth to her breast as I let my finger zigzag

through the crisp maze of her hair, tracing both lips before finally

settling against the slight ridge of her clitoris. Her body surges up as I touch her, and my finger slides down, into the waiting pool of moisture.

I can't help but groan, before slipping gently inside. "You're so wet."

"Oh—" she breathes, then lets out a tiny whimper as my left hand tracks down her body to join its partner. As I part her swollen lips with

my thumb and middle finger, she shifts restlessly, one hand clutching a

fistful of blanket for purchase. "Is—is that…okay?"

"Okay?" I manage to choke out a laugh, somehow, as my index

finger presses down hard, then eases off in a barely perceptible circle. I watch her heels dig into the blanket, feel her hips and torso lift in a

desperate attempt to get closer. Her urgency is infectious, and I stroke her gently but firmly, up and back, until her head is thrashing against the pillow and I can feel the anticipatory contractions of her internal

muscles. "Oh, yeah. More than okay."

And then her eyes snap open, boring into me sightlessly as her

body convulses, over and over and over. I hold still inside her, letting

her clench around the length of my finger, drawing out her pleasure by

continuing to massage the swollen knot of nerves with my other hand.

She is so very beautiful. Unrestrained, responsive, passionate. Perfect.

When her body finally stills, I move my left hand up to rub the soft

skin of her stomach. Gradually, I feel the muscles beneath start to relax.

Her eyes, when she opens them, are bruises—equal parts black and blue.

Still gloriously hazy from her orgasm.

I smile down at her, never stopping the soothing motion of my

palm. She lets out a long breath, her eyes flicking back and forth

between my own. "I've—" she begins hoarsely, then clears her throat.

"It's never been like that. Before."

My smile grows, and I let one eyebrow quirk up, mischievously.

"I'm not finished, yet." Her eyes go wide again, and I laugh—just before kissing her gently, teasingly, on the lips. My mouth gradually tracks its

way down her body on almost me same path that my finger took

earlier—except that it lingers for just a while longer on her breasts—

biting and licking and sucking.

It's only when I feel her inner muscles begin to tighten once more that I

move all the way down, so that the width of my shoulders forces her to

open to me even farther. Her eyes—pitch black, now—meet mine just

before my tongue darts out to taste her. She cries out and shudders, and I can't help but grin. When I taste her for the second time—the barest

brush of my tongue against her dark red skin—she clenches hard around

my finger. I withdraw it slowly, then push back in, all the while

delicately flicking her clitoris with the tip of my tongue. She groans,

loudly—then again as I slip another finger inside.

"More," she breathes, clutching blindly at my right shoulder, her fingers tangling in the curls along my hairline. "Oh God, I need—"

I lean forward and take her fully between my lips, hollowing my

cheeks as I fuck her with my fingers. Her body stills for a long, perfect

moment as she rears off the bed, back arched. And then she explodes

again, hips trembling as the waves of ecstasy pull her under.

I don't realize that I've been holding my breath until it's all over

and my cheeks are tingling from lack of oxygen. I release a deep,

shuddering sigh as I move up the bed...and cry out when her right hand

slips between my thighs.

"What?" I manage to choke, before my eyes close involuntarily at the feeling of her callused fingertips swirling against me. "Oh, yes—"

"Tell me how to touch you," she urges, her voice still thick with the memory of passion. Her fingers move back and forth, slip-sliding

through my wetness, searching...

"There!" I gasp as she brushes one side of my swollen ridge. I can't stop my hips from bucking at the slight contact, and I know it won't be

long when her single finger is joined by another in its gentle massage.

"Yeah," she mutters when I groan at her persistent touch. "Come on—let me feel you." She circles up and around, torturing me with

glancing strokes against where I need her most. The harsh gasps of my

labored breaths echo throughout the room.

"Please," I manage. "Oh, please—"

And then she is touching me firmly, pressing down hard on my

clitoris with those exquisitely rough fingers, drawing out my pleasure

until I am weak and heavy and drained. I can barely muster enough

energy to slide closer—to pillow my head above her right breast and

hold her close with one arm slung over her waist.

We lie entwined for a long time, in silence. As my heartbeat slows,

I realize that I am breathing in tandem with her—that we have found a

rhythm all our own. I smile at the thought and pull her a little closer. But finally she stirs, drawing away enough to prop herself up on one elbow

and look down at me. Her expression is serious, nose wrinkled in a

frown.

"What happens now?" The question is soft, hesitant. Her eyes

squint as she asks it.

"We go to sleep," I reply, combing my fingers through the unruly strands of her disheveled hair. I do not frown—I smile. Somewhat

mischievously. "And when we wake up, we do this all over again."

It's not the answer she was looking for, of course—but maybe, just

maybe, it's sufficient. And sure enough, she grins back at me before

settling herself more firmly in my embrace—her back flush against my

torso and hips. I hold her close, treasuring that last image of her face in my mind's eye. Rosy-cheeked, eyes bright and expressive. Alive.

PEARLS OF WISDOM

ROUGE

watch Carly order port for herself. Our waiter gives her a quick

nod of approval, removes her wineglass, now tainted with

I lipstick, and darts off. Her features are soft in the candlelight

and I see the woman I married twenty years ago as if no time has passed.

She is still radiant; her high cheekbones have drawn her face a little

thinner with the passing years and she wears her fawn-colored hair

shorter to compensate. I catch her caramel eyes and they smile at me. If I had just finished a glass of cognac I couldn't have felt warmer inside.

"I know this trip to Paris is supposed to be our anniversary gift to

one another, but I couldn't resist." She smiles as she lays a box on the table in front of me.

I recognize the shallow square box as one meant for presenting

jewelry, though there is no logo embossed on the top. This is not like my

wife—to buy me bobbles. As a rule I don't wear any jewelry except a

nice watch, earrings, and my wedding band. I rest my wineglass on the

white linen tablecloth and subtly shake my head in a scolding fashion.

"You're awful," I whisper, my feelings for her just the opposite.

"I saw these in a store window this morning on my trip to get your

breakfast pastry. I couldn't wait to see them on you, against your

porcelain skin, resting underneath your dark hair…" She gives me a

smirk that only I can interpret: the one that completes her thought—

when I'm fucking you.

A server returns with her port, the white of his gloves in sharp

contrast to the dark purple potion in the small glass.

I play with the corners of the box, at first because I'm

overwhelmed and then because I want to tease her, make her wait. There

is no one in the world more beautiful than my wife, no one more clever;

certainly no one that can make me feel so good just by looking at me.

She is my one vulnerability. I would be lost without her—me, the

investment banker, the leader of the pack, top dog at one of the largest

financial institutions in the world—unwilling to live another day without

her.

The black leather box is hinged at the back, and I carefully lift the

lid. Before me lie, in a perfect circle, a string of black pearls on a red velvet cushion. I knew such a prize existed, but had only seen pictures.

"They're beautiful," I say, running the face of my fingers over them.

Carly stands behind me and fastens the strand around my neck. She

takes liberties, kissing me below the ear. "I love you," she says, holding my shoulders.

We stroll hand in hand down the Champs-Elysees, the gas lamps

casting weak shadows across the promenade. Cafés host small groups of

young people—well, young to me—who sit around small tables set at

the curb. You can't visit Paris and not think about love, romance.

Our lovemaking over the years had slowly changed: lust was

replaced with trust, urgency with tenderness, adventure with knowledge;

yet I still wouldn't trade being in my lover's arms for anything. Such

intimacy is not gained in a few weeks, but earned over a lifetime. "How many times have we made love?" I ask and squeeze Carly's soft hand.

"I've never thought about it. Well over one thousand. I imagine."

My number crunching mind does an involuntary calculation. ''Two

thousand eighty." Carly turns to me. I can read her mind when I look

into her twinkling eyes: she wants to make a smart conment about how

lucky she is that I can add, and she wants to kiss me.

''Twice a week for twenty years," I explain.

"Future results cannot be based on past performance."

God, I love her wit. "I think we're about to have a windfall." I pull her to me and French kiss her, not caring about our lipstick. The kiss is

so much more "French" in Paris.

Our hotel room is filled with blood-red roses, their sweet odor

intoxicating. Candles have been placed throughout the room, waiting to

be lit. "You did this?" I ask, frozen in the threshold, feeling the tears well in my eyes.

Carly kicks off her heels and lights the candles. "Only for you."

I feel so unprepared and thoughtless. I haven't done anything extra for

my lovely mate. When I close the hotel room door behind us the familiar

dance begins, only practiced at a slower pace, and the heat still races up my legs as she unzips my dress.

We take our time shedding our clothes, watching one another.

There is still something sexy about watching my wife reveal herself one

part at a time. Even though I've admired the canvas many times, the

vision is a masterpiece, always drawing a breath out of me.

She lays me on the bed and removes my nylons; I am left with

nothing on but my pearls. I raise my knees, spreading them wide.

As she moves toward me, I gently hold her at bay, pressing the

sole of my foot against her hipbone. "You have to watch," I tell her.

I move my hands over my breasts, down my trembling stomach,

and rest my palms on the inside of my thighs, enjoying the smoothness

of my own skin. I touch my unsheathed clit and feel moisture pump

from my hole with a slight contraction of pleasure. Carly stares, lips

parted. She keeps her eyes on my hands; as they stop to fondle my

breasts she reaches between her legs.

"Elaine...you're so lovely," she pants.

My chest heaves with growing desire. I repeat this languid process,

stopping this time to draw my breast to my mouth and trace my areola

with my tongue. When our eyes meet, I am reminded how much I love

her, how much I want to please her. I can feel her eyes take me in and I

want to please her even more.

"Show me some more," Carly says, the catch of desire in her voice.

Her thighs shining wet.

Reaching under each buttock, I hold myself open for her. She

strokes herself faster, each upward motion exposing her clit. She wants

to close her eyes—to give in—but can't take my dripping pussy from her

sight.

"You should see how wet you are, baby," she coos in a heavy

breath.

I dip a finger in my slippery hole and then suck on it up to the

second knuckle, twisting it between my pursed lips. Carly rests a knee

on the edge of the mattress. Her chest is as flushed as the roses. She

exposes herself with one hand, allowing me to see her two fingers

disappear into pink-purple flesh.

Wanting her, I pull my knees to my chest and fuck myself at a

furious pace. I hear Carly's breath snag in her throat, then she groans.

"Don't make me come without you," she says, her voice deep with

desperation.

Her words reach my ears with the heat of a branding iron against

my flesh. "Oh, I want to hear you come..." I whisper.

Her fingers increase their cadence as she rests the palm of her other

hand over her mound, taking her clit between her fore- and index

fingers, holding it hostage. Her hands move in unison now, her breath

labored. I close my eyes and, keeping time with her panting, plunge my

fingers into my tight pussy.

"Ah! Oh Jesus...watch me come," Carly commands.

Her nipples are the hardest I've ever seen them, her areolae the

color of antique brick. She holds my eyes until her body convulses in

small spasms; when the air escapes her open mouth in forceful gusts, her

orgasm reaches my ears like a percussion grenade.

Carly's cry makes me so hot I can't wait any longer for her touch.

"I need you to fuck me! Please!" I beg her. She wastes no time in complying, forcing her hips between my legs, her long fingers hard

inside me. I wrap my arms tightly under hers. She knows what I want,

taking my breast in her mouth and fucking me with such force our

bodies inch toward the headboard, my heels dancing on her ass. Flashes

of light race through my mind. Oh God! Fuck me, Carly! I'm gonna

come so hard, are only thoughts—I can't manage to get the vowels I'm shouting to form words.

When our muscles go limp, I rock us gently, holding her between

my thighs until she raises her head and looks at me. Her sparkling eyes

tell me what words would destroy with their inadequacy: I love you,

I'm so lucky, I feel the sun deep in the middle of my chest.

I roll over, putting myself on top of Carly, closer to the nightstand,

and reach behind my head to take off my necklace.

She watches me in silence as I fold the string of pearls in half and

dip the clasp into the wax that pools beneath the candle flame. The dark

orbs are iridescent, like the inside of an abalone shell. I submerge the

clasp several times until the small gold fittings are encased in a

protective bulb of paraffin.

"Mmm...what are you doing?" Carly asks me in her "I've just been fucked senseless" voice.

"You'll see," I say, balling the pearls in my hand as I go down on her, first nipping and licking her breasts, then around her mound before

moving into deeper folds. She smells of sweet, overripe fruit.

When she arches her pelvis against me, I work the strand inside her

vagina, all the while keeping her hard bud exposed to the wandering tip

of my tongue.

"Are we going to get those back?" Carly pants through a faint

smile. I leave two pearls dangling from her. "One at a time."

Kissing the inside of her knees and thighs, I let the tension build.

"Did you find your treasure, Sultan?" Carly spoke as her tight

stomach heaved with anticipation, the delicate muscles rippling like

snakeskin.

I smile in recognition of her wanting to play and grow serious with

my response. "I have looked everywhere in my harem; I have not." My mouth took in as much of her breast as it could hold. She threw her

hands above her head, pressing her palms against the headboard.

"When I find the thief I will take his hand, or worse." I run my desperate mouth down Carly's writhing side and up again, licking her

underarm.

"Is there a reward for the return of your precious gems?" She sucks on my earlobe.

"I will share my bed with her forever." I kiss each rib. "Are you sure you do not know where my pearls might have gone?"

"I confess, Sultan, I've had them in safekeeping."

Reaching between her swollen labia, I take the first pearl between

my index and middle fingers. "You shall be rewarded." I begin to tug on the string.

Carly gasps as the third small orb appears. Her pubic hair is

cropped short, allowing me to see everything.

I suck on her engorged clit; it's hard and slick, reluctant to rest

between my lips. Her hands position my head as she wants it. As other

sisters on the strand slowly make their exit, Carly's sighs grow deeper

and more labored. After years of translation, I understand her language

and wait for the moment she will draw her deepest breath and hold it for

a couple of seconds before the long cry of ecstasy begins. And when she

does, I wait a beat before pulling the long strand out all at once, in a

single motion.

Even with her hands pressed over my ears, I can hear her praise.

Carly pulls me on top of her and holds me tight; my rib cage can

hardly expand enough to allow me to breathe. Aftershocks wrack her

body as if she has a raging fever.

Carly caresses my face in front of hers. "You've never done that

before," she says incredulously.

"I've never had pearls before."

NOTICE ME

GUN BROOKE

he first note came when I had just sat down and the waiter

brought me my glass of Chardonnay. He placed a tiny silver

T tray before me, and on it was a tiny light blue envelope.

"A message for you, ma'am."

"From whom?"

The paper was thick and clearly expensive.

"I don't know. The maître d' gave it to me."

"Very well. Thank you." I waited until he left before I opened the envelope and unfolded the note.

If you knew me, you'd know how out of character this is for

me and how long I debated with myself before writing this note,

but I decided that I simply had to let you know.

You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The way

you laugh, the way you throw your head and your long blond hair

streams down your back, sets me on fire.

I don’t have the courage to approach you directly, so I chose

this way to say what's in my heart; you are amazing.

Miriam

The handwriting was neat and even, with no distinctive markings. I

looked closer and it appeared as if it had been written with a fountain

pen, not just a regular ballpoint. I drew a deep breath and furtively

looked around, but none of the other guests seemed to be paying any

attention to me. Miriam. I didn't know anybody by that name. The name was slightly exotic, and the note more than intriguing.

Caballeros was my favorite tapas restaurant, and I had been here

more times than I could count the last two years. The maître d' knew me

by name and so did the two bartenders. Sometimes men would try to

chat me up, but I always declined. But for some reason...this note, it

stirred a feeling of strange and bewildering anticipation.

On my way out I asked the maitre if she knew who'd sent me the

note.

"Yes, I do," she said. "Miriam Rosenberg. She's a regular."

A regular? I was a regular.

"Really? Could you point her out to me?" Quite unexpectedly, my

heart raced and my palms grew moist.

"No, I'm sorry, Ms. Carr. She left shortly after you arrived."

"Where does she usually sit?" I was embarrassed at how eager I

sounded, but the maître d' merely smiled politely.

"Ms. Rosenberg favors the bar or one of the corner booths."

On my way home in the cab I tried to remember the many faces I'd

seen in the bar over the past few weeks. It was an impossible task since

there had been an endless row of nameless faces and I was beyond the

age when I had unabashedly checked out other women. After losing my

partner, I focused on work, and I rarely allowed myself a night of

pleasure with a stranger.

Except this note. I let my fingers close around it in my coat pocket.

There was something endearing about her shy message.

The second note came a week later when I once again sat at the bar

at Caballeros. The bartender reached under the counter and gave me an

envelope; this time it was hot pink. "Ellie, I have a note for you."

Another one! I forced my hand to go slowly as I reached for it.

"Thanks. Who from?"

"Miriam. She left just before you came."

I know now your name is Eleanor. The bartender calls you

Ellie and it sounds wonderful. Soft.

I sit here with my favorite margarita, black currant, and the

bartender tells me she thinks you'll be in later for a drink, since it’s Wednesday.

I'm that predictable? Damn, it sure sounds boring. And true. I kept reading.

I can picture you perched on the tall stool next to me, your

green eyes glittering down at me as you listen. You rest your hand on my arm when you laugh ...and of course this is all a dream. You just take my breath away.

Miriam

I reread the note. She fantasizes about me looking down at her...

Down? She’s short? I had to smile at myself.

"Good news?" The bartender winked and placed another glass on

the shelf behind her.

"Humorous." I felt my cheeks warm and quickly tucked Miriam's

note into my purse. I had no intention of answering this strange woman,

no matter how curious I was. After all, she could be an axe murderer for

all I knew. Oh right.

I paid for my margarita, and only then did it strike me that Miriam

and I had the same taste in drinks.

I didn't get another note for the next two weeks, despite my regular

twice-weekly stops at Caballeros. I sat at home and stared at my

computer screen, my mind completely blank when I thought about the

article I was supposed to start working on. One minute my hands rested

motionless on the keyboard, and the next, they pulled my black wool

coat from the hanger and I was on my way out for an impromptu visit to

the restaurant.

"Ellie," the bartender, Sandy, said warmly. "You're a sight for sore eyes. What a nice outfit."

I was dressed on the verge of casual in black gabardine slacks and

a black turtleneck. The only thing not black was the thick gold chain belt around my hips. "Thanks, Sandy. I do try."

"Yeah, yeah, you're very trying. What can I get you? A margarita?"

"No, not tonight." I didn't want to have what she usually drank. It was probably stupid, but I didn't want to have the same taste as her in

my mouth. It felt too...intimate. "I'll have a glass of champagne, please."

"There's a note for you again." Sandy handed it over, this time, a light blue piece of paper folded in three. She had a funny little lopsided grin playing on her mouth, which puzzled me. "You're popular."

"Oh. Thanks." My mouth was impossibly dry despite the

champagne, which I thirstily sipped again.

I opened the note, my heart seeming to slow to a standstill.

Ellie,

You are always in my thoughts, even if I haven’t been able to

go out for over a week. Isn’t it silly how a case of the common flu can put a stop to most things in life? Here I was dreaming of you,

and blowing my nose and taking cough drops at the same time.

And you know what...it was still so romantic. Yes, I know you must

be laughing, but it’s true.

Now when I'm well again, and back at work, it’s as if I see

you everywhere. I shiver each time I spy a tall blonde dressed in

black, hurrying down the street—sure it’s you. What is that a sign

of? That I 'm losing it? Perhaps.

I wish I could just pick up the phone and call you, ask you

how your day was. We could finally meet at Caballeros and have

our margaritas together, perhaps exchange a few thoughts on life’s

hurdles and mysteries.

Perhaps.

Miriam

No matter how I tried, I couldn't see this note coming from a

stalker. It sounded far too caring, and cautious, to come from someone

about to haul out duct tape and a stiletto at any given moment. I reread

Miriam's note. Perhaps.

I suddenly needed some privacy, if only for a moment. The note

had left me with a prickly feeling on my skin, and I just wanted to splash some cold water on my hot cheeks and compose myself. As I passed

along the bar on my way to the ladies room, I came to a quick halt when

someone swung her legs, long, nicely shaped legs in black nylon

stockings, into the aisle to leave. My eyes darted toward her face and

looked into dark brown, surprised eyes.

'''Scuse me," I murmured, intending to circle her and keep walking.

"Oh, my."

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. No problem."

She sounded as breathless as I'd felt after reading Miriam's

note...my head snapped up and I quickly glanced at the bartender, who

nodded vigorously.

"Miriam?" The question left my lips before I had time to think.

"Ellie," She sounded taken aback.

Miriam was gorgeous—skin like melted dark chocolate and

shining black hair, long and curly with subtle highlights, an exclusive

hairdo that could only have been created by one of Chicago's premier

hair stylists. Her emerald green skirt and jacket discreetly revealed

enticing curves, and a gold locket rested just above the neckline of her

white silk blouse.

"Nice to meet you." I grimaced, knowing how awkward I sounded.

"No need for pretense," Miriam said with a faint smile. "I'm sure the pleasure is all mine."

In fact it wasn't true. This is nuts. Just get out of here and back to work. My inner, sensible voice went unnoticed. "Ah...want to get a

table?"

"Why not." She hesitated. "If you want to?"

"Sure," I heard myself say.

We sat down in the corner booth.

"So, this wasn't how I planned it." Miriam shrugged with an

embarrassed smile. "I'm not a stalker—"

"I didn't get the impression you were, either," I quickly interrupted.

''We wouldn't be sitting here if I thought so."

"Unless you're stalling until the cops show up." She winked.

The impish look on her face was irresistible and I broke into

laughter. She smiled with apparent relief, and we went on to talk of

ordinary things for more than an hour. I thought I could hear traces of

immense loneliness and sorrow in her voice, but the more primitive part

of my brain was on overload, checking out her stunning face and

imagining her curvy body without clothes. It should've shocked me, but

somehow I got the feeling she was doing the same. I had no idea what

she saw in a woman like me, without a doubt looking colorless and dull

next to her exotic beauty.

"You amaze me," Miriam suddenly said, her voice darker and full

of fire.

"How is that?"

"You have this aloofness about you, and yet you seem to be the

nicest person I've seen in a long time."

"Um, now you've lost me."

"As you might have understood from my notes, I'd been watching

you from afar for quite a while." A faint blush crept up Miriam's cheeks, giving her complexion a reddish tint "And you are always so nice to

everyone here. They adore you. I think it was the kind way you treat

people that first caught my attention'"

"You must've hid rather well, because, believe it or not, I've never

seen you in here," I knew I had to be honest, even if it was hardly a compliment.

"I'm good at being inconspicuous." Miriam raised her glass of

water. "Here's to finally meeting. Cheers."

"Meeting. Cheers. "

We sat in silence for a while, content with just looking at each

other, or so it felt. Miriam's full lips parted and showed charmingly

uneven teeth in a white smile. "You look so incredible," she whispered.

"I can't take my eyes off you."

"You have got to be joking. You're the gorgeous one. I have no

idea what you see in me, but...I'm glad you wrote those notes." I nearly choked on my iced tea when a stocking-clad foot stroked inside my

pants leg. "Miriam..." One hot wave after another seemed to drown out all common sense. ''Oh, God..." My stomach twisted into a knot and the sensation spread down between my legs. And all this from the mere

touch of her foot?

"Want to go to my place? It's close, only half a block."

Did I? Dared I? My heart pounded and the wetness soaking my

panties gave an undeniable answer. "Yes. I'd like that very much."

Miriam tossed bills on the table and we hurried out. The air outside

was crisp and I wrapped my arm around Miriam's shoulders.

"That feels nice," she said and circled my waist with her arm. "It's cold."

We walked to her place in less than ten minutes. We spoke little.

All I could think of was undressing this woman and searching out every

single one of her secrets. The elevator ride was uneventful, since we

stood two feet apart, looking at each other with hungry eyes.

Miriam's hallway was painted in red ochre and small spotlights

gave it a cozy shimmer. I walked close to her and pressed her gently

against the wall as I lifted the coat from her shoulders. Miriam's eyes

were all fire, as if her body were about to ignite any second.

"Yes," she whispered. "Please, undress me."

Nothing would prevent that. I got rid of my coat and kicked off my

ankle boots, then unbuttoned her jacket and let it follow the path of her

coat. I gave a second long thought to hanging them neatly on a hanger,

but the enticing outline of Miriam's breasts underneath the thin silk was

enough to shove that thought to the back of my brain.

I cupped her left breast, rested it in my palm as I flicked my thumb

across the nipple repeatedly. Miriam groaned and arched into the touch,

her eyes locked on mine. "Ellie. Go on. Touch me. Please, touch me..."

"Don't worry. I have no intention of stopping unless you tell me

to."

"Don't."

I released her and opened her blouse with trembling hands to

reveal a white lace bra that contrasted stunningly against her satiny

smooth brown skin.

In a sudden frenzy, I unzipped her pants and pushed them along

with her hose down her legs. Her panties matched her bra, and her scent

wafted to me. It was all dark chocolate, vanilla, and a trace of musk, and I inhaled greedily. I leaned forward and pressed my lips onto the base of

her neck. Her silken hair caressed my face and I tasted her skin with

pleasure. Legs unstable, I forced myself to remain standing.

Miriam's arms went around my neck as I nibbled her skin, tracing

my way up to her mouth. Our kiss was feverish. "Miriam," I whispered against her lips. "Your bedroom?"

"This way." She took me by the hand and guided me through a

small, but immaculate, apartment. Her bedroom was decorated in shades

of white and grey, and the queen-size bed beckoned us with its velvet

charcoal cover and a multitude of pillows.

I continued to lead, since Miriam seemed to sense that I was more

comfortable that way. "Undress me," I said and placed her hands on the button of my slacks. "I need to feel you, skin on skin."

"I'd love to." Miriam's nimble fingers unzipped my slacks and

pushed them down. Soon Miriam had me in the same state of undress as

herself. "Oh my..." She swallowed hard. "Please..."

I wasn't sure what she was begging for, but I knew what I wanted.

This was not going to be a fast, mindless coupling. I wanted this moment

of passion to last, and unless I'd become completely inadequate in

reading other people, so did Miriam. There was no need for power

games, but it was in my nature to take charge. I did what felt right and

moved onto the bed, stacking a few pillows in the center of it. ''Trust

me?" I asked and patted the pillows.

Miriam wet her lips and joined me on the bed. "How do you want

me?" she asked with a husky voice.

''Naked, first of all." I smiled and cupped her cheek. "I'm going to make you feel so good." I brushed my thumb across her lower lip and

her tongue immediately darted out to lick it.

I reached around her and unfastened her bra. It slid slowly down

her arms and ended up on her lap where she knelt next to me. Her

breasts were young, pert, and with plump, dark brown nipples. My

mouth watered only to dry up instantly when I began to push her panties

down. A neatly trimmed patch of hair did very little to hide her sex, and

the engorged folds drew me in and I had to struggle not to spread her

open and plunge my fingers inside right away.

Miriam managed to kick off her panties without changing position

as she reached for the hem of my sports bra. She pulled it off and

smoothed down my hair.

"Like spun gold," she murmured and raised a tress to her lips and kissed it. My heart ached with the tenderness of her gesture, and I

trembled when she removed the last of my clothing.

I needed to feel her against me. I pulled her tightly to me and

reveled in the sensation of her hot, slightly damp skin. Miriam groaned

and I echoed her as we kissed again.

"God, Miriam, you're so wonderful, so sexy," I murmured in her

ear. "I can't wait to have you, but I don't want to rush this. I want to pleasure you, so...tell me if I do something you don't like, okay?"

"I can't imagine you would," Miriam whispered back, her eyes

dark with arousal. "Just touch me. Anything."

I pulled the small stack of pillows closer. ''Then get on these

pillows so I can give you your massage."

I half expected her to decline since getting on the pillows meant

having her well-rounded bottom in the air and quite exposed. Such a

position is vulnerable, perhaps too much so.

Miriam didn't seem to be of that opinion. She moved with grace

and placed herself on the pillows as she pulled one more from the larger

pile to hold on to. "Like this?" she asked huskily.

Oh, damn. Yes! I stared at the alluring sight before me. Miriam

kept her legs slightly spread and her ass was elevated, which made it

possible for me to see everything. The dark shadows between her legs

were full of secrets, and the scent of her arousal was almost more than I

could bear. "Yes." I slid my fingers across her back and then repeated the caress with my whole hand, pressing gently. Miriam moaned and

shifted a little. I kept up the almost-soothing motion as I wanted her to

be comfortable with my touch, but also because it felt so good just to

stroke her.

I massaged her shoulders and traveled up and down her spine

several times before I moved to her legs. Her thighs trembled as I

caressed them and I could see a dark patch on the top pillow underneath

her.

I finally let my hand make contact with her bottom. I kept the

caress light, teasing, to begin with. Miriam wiggled and turned her head

toward mine with a whimper. "Ellie...kiss me..."

I was happy to oblige. I took a firmer grip of one butt cheek as I

deepened the kiss. I examined every part of her mouth and lips as I

kneaded her ass. Miriam moaned out loud with every breath. I got up,

coaxed her legs farther apart, and sat between them. With my right hand

I parted her folds and found her rigid, drenched clit. Once I had it firmly between my fingers, I moved over her and pressed my breasts onto her

back. My hand was pinned between us, but I didn't need much space to

milk her clit. With small insistent caresses I moved my fingers in a

pattern that elicited even louder moans and whimpers from Miriam.

Her cries of pleasure made me wetter and I rubbed my center on

the curve of her ass. "That's right," I whispered in her ear. "You're so wet. So hot. And all this for me?"

"For you," Miriam groaned. "Oh, yes, Ellie, for you."

Her hoarse voice nearly did me in. My own clit twitched hard

several times and I feared I would explode before she came, and I didn't

want that. I wanted to pleasure her, to give her what she dreamed of

when she wrote those notes...for what she did when she broke my

solitude.

"Ellie! Go inside...please!" Miriam was undulating hard against my hand and it was easy for me to push my thumb inside and still keep in

contact with her clit. She gave a loud wail and tugged at the pillow she

was hugging. "Oh, yes!"

I heard her voice turn huskier, and a fine shimmer of sweat beaded

at the nape of her neck. I brushed my lips over the fragrant tresses and

murmured my encouragement. "It's okay to come. Just let go, baby. Let it come."

Miriam was sobbing out her excitement, and I pushed my thumb

farther inside, curling it slightly. Her orgasm started with small flutters, which grew into tight convulsions around my finger. Miriam's clit

throbbed and grew impossibly large while more wetness coated my

hand. I was a part of her body, and it seemed to welcome me in as

Miriam's orgasm went on and on.

I was almost envious at the length and magnitude of her release,

but also proud that I was able to bring her such pleasure. My body

shivered against Miriam's as she rolled over and turned to me.

"Ellie," she murmured and held me close. "Oh, damn…" Miriam had tears in her eyes, and I thought she was overwhelmed by her own

reaction.

"You're fine." I kissed her forehead and then her mouth. "I'm here."

"You are. You really are." Miriam sounded half in disbelief. "I've dreamed of this for so long."

"You have?"

"Yes." She sneaked one hand down between us. "I've dreamed of being with you and touching you...like this."

Small fingers slid along my drenched sex and I willingly spread

my legs. I hooked one thigh across Miriam’s hip as the burning

sensation sent new tremors through me. She found my clit easily and

circled it with quick fingertips. I gave a muffled cry as I pressed my lips into her neck and bit down on her damp skin. My center was burning

and I knew it wouldn't take long until I came. Almost afraid of letting

go, I tried to hold back the orgasm, but she brought her other hand down

between us as well and began to push two fingers inside me.

I rolled over on my back and she followed me in a fluid motion.

She only let go of me with one hand and it returned instantly, this time

followed by Miriam's hot lips and her very agile tongue. I gasped aloud

and arched my back when she flicked her tongue over my swollen clit

and sucked at my folds repeatedly. It was right about then that I learned

that I'm not above begging.

"Please, Miriam, please...take me," to I whimpered in a strange and alien tone. "Don't tease. Just do it."

More fingers filled me, stretched me, and it was such an

extraordinary feeling. She possessed me and I happily surrendered. I felt

safe, even though we were virtually strangers. Or perhaps because she was a stranger. Waves of heat washed over me, closed around me,

endless and overpowering. The orgasm erased everything else from my

consciousness for precious seconds. My sex burned, and only these

waves could put out the unbearable fire.

"My sweet Ellie.” Miriam's voice whispered terms of endearment

in my ear. "You're so beautiful. You come so passionately. " She drew on the last words as if tasting something delicious.

"Mmm..."

"Come here." For being so small, Miriam was remarkably strong,

and she held me safely in her arms for long moments in silence. I curled

up, sated for now, and protected.

"Thanks."

"No need for thanks, but you're welcome anyway." Laughter

permeated Miriam's voice. "God, you're the sexiest, most gorgeous

woman I've seen or been lucky enough to hold in a long time."

Miriam looked up at me with her dark eyes and I saw how kiss-

swollen her lips were, how her eyes shone with what looked like

happiness. "I still have no idea what you see in me," I sighed, but couldn't help but smile. "But I'm glad you persevered."

"I'll make it obvious with time, what I see in you." Her face

flushed. ''That is, of course...if you want to see me again. I...I..."

It was painful to see her pretty face so uncertain and to hear her

uncertainty. "Yes. I do want to see you again."

Miriam looked relieved and she quickly kissed my chin. "Good."

I let my eyes roam her body and a new surge of sexual energy

stirred in the center of my stomach. Her nipples were still rigid, and they were irresistible. I lowered my head and sucked the closest one into my

mouth. God. She tastes so good. Ripe and just the right size, her nipple filled my mouth, and my sucking motions made her whimper.

"Ellie! Yes, yes." Her voice trembled and her fingers combed

through my long hair over and over. ''That's it."

As I worked her nipples Miriam was squirming, spreading her legs

wide and tugging at me.

"I need you. I'm burning up. Just feel how wet you've made me.

Feel it."

I did. I plunged two fingers inside her without hesitation, and they

met no resistance at all, merely silken wetness that enveloped me. I

looked at her red sex and I knew it was now my turn. Her taste was a

mix of something incredibly sweet and spicy, and I lapped greedily at

her.

Miriam hooked her legs over my shoulders and kept them open as

wide as I imagine it was possible. She gave me wonderful access to her

vulnerable folds and I sucked at them gently as I kept up the steady

movements with my hand. I'd already added more fingers and knew

from the snug fit how full she must feel.

I moaned into her and nibbled gently at the outer lips. "So good."

"Yours!" Miriam cried out and at that, I locked my lips onto her clit and sucked it hard.

She came with a sharp cry that dwindled into sobs and whimpers.

Miriam undulated over and over into my mouth and I made sure I didn't

let go. Her orgasm lasted even longer this time and toward the end, I

knew I didn’t have long to go myself. When her tremors had subsided, I

flipped her over on her stomach and I stretched out on her back.

"You drive me insane," I growled in her ear. "You're so fucking beautiful." My language was deteriorating, a sure sign that I was losing control. "Oh, God, Miriam..." I slid my legs down on the bed until I straddled her ass. Pressing my heated sex into her, I rubbed my aching

clit against her sweat-slick skin. "I'm going to come."

"Come, then," she groaned and pushed back against me. "Take my ass like that and come for me."

Her language and the way she spoke, in a pressed, passionate tone

of voice, nearly did me in. I moved against her, with her, and she was

right there with me, urging me on. Her voice entered me as if she'd

pushed her fingers inside again, and I needed...more. Just a little more,

to push me over. I pressed my hands in between her and the mattress and

found her hard nipples.

Her cry, and the way her body tensed, was all it took. My clit

erupted and shot bullets of pleasure through my legs and my abdomen.

My own nipples burned where I rubbed them against Miriam's back. In

wave after wave, the orgasm took what strength I had left, and I slumped

at Miriam's side on the bed, sweaty, tousled, and wetter than

I'd been in a long time.

"I've got you." She wrapped one arm loosely around my waist, and it kept the connection going.

"Yes." It was all I could muster as I tried to find my bearings.

"You're amazing." Miriam was gasping for air and I realized that she had come again with me.

"You make me forget about everything else," she said. "And I love it."

I couldn't stop the satisfied, broad smile from appearing on my

face. "I'm glad." I closed my eyes and listened to my heart slowly settle back to normal. "I'm really glad that I came home with you."

"I wasn't sure I was ready," Miriam said softly, ''but I'm glad you noticed me."

COMING TO A HEAD

ANDREA MILLER

imee's soft, pink tongue wrapped around verb conjugations

with a grace rare in French 101 . And her first note (neatly

A folded and furtively pressed into my hand) said she planned

to major in the language—for her the next best thing to aesthetics.

Aimee hadn't wanted to attend university, but her parents had said they

wouldn't pay for her to muck with lipstick. Looking at her big eyes and

slender, snappable limbs, I would decide she'd enrolled because she was

essentially a good girl. Then, looking at her chiselled cheekbones and

straight back, I would decide that she'd enrolled because she was

secretly sharp-shrewd. The compliant Aimee, after all, had a swanky

apartment and a silver sports car. She didn't need a part-time job and she had ample pocket money for the creams and powders with which to

practice technique.

Of course, by the end of September Aimee and I were as thick as

thieves and she was practicing on me. On Friday nights she'd paint my

lips a glossy red, perfect for dancing. And on Tuesdays she would slick

hot wax on my calves, leaving me stone smooth. Weeks slipped by like

this until it was mid-November. Outside, cold, the trees stripped bare.

Inside, a warm, yellow light from Aimee's lamp.

"Hmm, how should we do this?" she murmured, fingering a strand

of her blond hair. "I know—you lie on the bed."

Aimee had never before given anyone a bikini wax and I'd never

had one done. But for the past week she'd been insisting that men like

panties with a high-cut leg and that the style required a little grooming.

As an incentive she'd even bought us lacy lingerie treats wrapped in

tissue paper.

She laid an old sheet over the duvet and tested the temperature of

the wax. "Perfect," she said. "Are you ready?"

We both looked down at my black pants, still neatly buttoned up,

and a film of sweat suddenly glossed my skin. All my life I'd tried to

avoid naked moments at sleepovers and in locker rooms. Moments just

before nighties or gym shorts when other girls might catch a glimpse.

And now here was Aimee asking me to be more naked than I'd ever

imagined and somehow I couldn't avoid her. The rhythm of her voice

was too compelling. The slope of her neck.

Fingers trembling, I undid the buttons one by one. Hesitated, then

rolled the fabric down the length of my legs. But Aimee still stood

waiting, looking at my thin covering of white satin. Finally I took a deep breath and pulled my panties off.

The bed had mounds of plump pillows and a wrought iron frame

with shiny brass balls. I sat down and felt the sheet, cool against my bare skin. "Keep your bum close to the edge,'" Aimee said. "Lie down and let your legs dangle off the side."

As I got into position a blush burned from the tips of my ears to

my chest. And I felt strangely like a mermaid or seal. Nothing separate

about my legs. No possibility of a gaze falling between them.

Aimee sat down on a chair she'd dragged next to the bed and began

to snip at the flat top of my triangle with tiny scissors. At first her touch jolted me like a bite. But quickly, I realized that being worked over with a cold silver mouth and warm fingers was not so terrible. In fact, it was

giving me a strange, tingly feeling.

As Aimee made her way to the tip of my triangle, I let her part my

thighs. My folds bloomed and I imagined how the glistening ruffles

must look to her. I was now beginning to understand that my shame was

burning into pleasure and the realization brought me, full-force, back

into hot shame. I didn't want Aimee to know how delicious it all felt. I

wanted her to stop; I wanted her to continue. I couldn't help but squirm.

Aimee's eyes—and mouth—were so close to me I could feel her

soft, warm breath graze my now-clipped fur. She ran her fingers through

her handiwork. "Beautiful," she said. "Now we're ready for the next step."

The wax, hot but not painfully so, was the color of honey and

sticky like it, too. Aimee dipped a flat piece of wood into the vat and

used it like a paintbrush to slick a small section of my hair. Then she

pressed a thin, white cloth into her gooey art and in a single quick

movement, she held down my skin with one hand and ripped the cloth

off with the other, taking my hair with it and leaving a pink, tender spot.

Again and again Aimee slicked on wax and pulled it off. And I

winced each time she yanked, but the pain felt necessary and right. Like

it was my punishment for the pleasure I'd taken in her softer touch.

Finally, when I had a neat triangle edged with what felt like fire, Aimee

rubbed me with a soothing cream. The tips of her long hair brushed my

inner thighs.

"Let's see how you look in your new panties," she said, gathering up the discarded strips of cloth and putting the lid back on the cream.

I wobbled to Aimee's dresser and found the panties in a bag

between bottles of perfume. I stepped gingerly into each lavender leg,

careful not to scrape the lace on my raw skin. And then I modeled for

Aimee. Making a catwalk out of the bedroom. No longer shy.

''Next time," Aimee said, fixing me with her blue eyes, "let's give you a sphinx."

"What's that?" I wanted to know.

''That's when we take it all off—make you bare like a little girl." I shivered then, thinking how much it would hurt. How shamefully wide I

would have to spread my legs and how good it would feel to have Aimee

massage cream into every pink crevice. My breath caught in my chest

and I felt a quick throb between my thighs. It would be so hard not to

squirm, I thought. So hard not to squirm toward her warm breath and

agile tongue.

I looked away and hurried to find my clothes. My new panties

were damp with sticky traces of wax...and something else.

A few weeks later I was talking long distance to my mother. The

reproach in her voice was heavy like winter layers and I was wavering,

the phone cord drooping. Then I pictured Mum's fat fingers closing over

chunks of fruitcake and Aimee driving away in a streak of silver. And I

was suddenly firm; I was going, too. As soon as we finished exams

Aimee and I were driving to Florida—to her grandmother's house. Her

parents wanted to buy us plane tickets because they thought highways

and motels could be dangerous for two lone young women. But Aimee

sweet-talked their blessings out of them. We thought driving would be

an adventure. And truly, it was.

We drove down the coast, peeling off layers with the crossing of

each state line. We made up stories about the cars we passed and

changed our own identities in every greasy spoon. But soon the sun was

a hot yellow-white and we had the windows rolled down, our hair

whipping in the wind. We had arrived.

After a sultry Christmas that smelled of salt and suntan oil, our

skin was golden for New Year's Eve and we dressed in little more than

heels and perfume. Aimee bad gotten her hands on fake IDs and the plan

was to have our midnight kisses at a dance club. "Since I'm driving, I'll just have one drink," Aimee said. "But you have as much as you like."

The bar was full of beautiful people bumping and grinding on the

dance floor. And the air was thick with smoke and iridescent bubbles

that were being pumped out of a machine. As it was my first time in a

bar, I was nervous and piña coladas slipped down in remedy. After I'd

twirled four paper umbrellas between my fingers, Aimee leaned over

and said in my ear, "I bought myself a holiday treat and I've been

meaning to share it with you..."

A bubble floated by and she popped it with her fingertip. Then she

smiled, teeth flashing under the strobe lights, and I followed her out of

the bar—not yet midnight. I wanted to know what the treat was, but she

told me it was a surprise and that I'd have to wait. We drove to the

outskirts of town—saying nothing, music blaring—until Aimee pulled

into an industrial park and stopped the car on an empty dead-end. "It's in the trunk," she said. "Just a sec."

Aimee's heels crunched against gravel and she came back carrying

a cloth bag with a pattern of tiny cherries. I had no idea what could be

inside, but I felt tingles of anticipation and twinges of fear. Whatever it was, it had to be something important or else there wouldn't be this

mystery.

Slowly, Aimee loosened the drawstring and pulled out a long,

silver wand that flashed orange under the strange glow of the streetlight.

I'd never seen anything like it before, yet I instinctively suspected what it was for. "What is it?" I faltered and Aimee cocked an eyebrow.

"I'll show you," she said.

After adjusting her car seat so that she was slightly reclined, Aimee

began to slide the wand's tip over the thin fabric of her dress, worrying

her nipples into sharp, perverse points. A private act, crude even, and I

looked away, caught my expression in the mirror—mouth and eyes

circles of surprise. But there was something compelling about what

Aimee was doing and I couldn't stop my gaze from roving back.

Besides, she had her eyes closed; she couldn't see me watching. Couldn't

see me watch as she gently tugged on her low-cut dress and sent her

breasts spilling out the top. Couldn't see me watch as she turned the base of the wand, and with it now humming, rubbed it over her naked nipples.

Aimee's dress was short and she already had her legs cocked open

so that her panties were visible. But suddenly she spread her thighs a

little more and ran the wand between them. Her chest started to heave

then, her breathing change. She pushed her panties to one side of her

folds, pressed the wand inside of her, and bore down on it, swallowing

the silver while circling her clit with her fingers. Finally she made little throaty moans that made me throb and she buckled under her own touch.

For a moment Aimee sat panting, the wand still buried in her. Then

she slipped it out and handed it to me. "Try it," she said. "It's fantastic."

Reckless with booze and the slick that had gathered between my

legs, I accepted the wand—still wet and warm from Aimee—and slid it

under my skirt. Through my panties, it hummed against my clit and it

felt so delicious I almost forgot someone was watching. I threw my head

back and rocked my hips until, soon, my panties were soaked and I was

pulling them off, rushing to press the shaft to my bare skin.

Just before leaving for Florida, Aimee had given me a sphinx,

making me as bald as a little girl. So that meant I could have been

compared to a little girl in at least two ways, because on that New Year's eve at age eighteen I was also as tight as one, too. I had kissed several

boys and let them grind their cocks into my clothed, indifferent thighs.

But I was still a virgin. I'd not even had my own fingers inside.

Nevertheless, I had liked the look of Aimee riding the wand, and I

suddenly needed to know how it felt to be impaled like that.

I positioned the silver tip at the mouth of my snatch and for a

moment I just let it rest there—the vibrations humming every crevice

while my fingers worked my clit. Soon, however, my hips began to

move with a life of their own. Made tiny thrusts that slowly swallowed

the wand and ripped me open. My eyes watered, but the pain somehow

made rolling my clit feel even more delicious. And my hips rocked

faster, harder, until, with Aimee's eyes on me, I came against my hand,

the rod jammed in my hole to the very hilt. Tears in my mouth and hair.

Blood on the black leather seat, blood in my nails—even my French

manicure blushing.

Quickly I shoved the wand back into its cherry bag and back into

the trunk. Then Aimee and I drove to her grandmother's house, music

blaring. Me looking out the window at inky landscape, shadowy houses,

dark figures and her looking straight ahead.

And that is how it was for the rest of the trip—everything

awkward, every space too small—the corridors in which I had to pass

Aimee, the princess bed in the guest room we had to share. Looking

back, I think it was probably me that made everything so uncomfortable.

I was just so confused about what it all meant to me, to Aimee, to us.

Still, I knew that I didn't want to lose our friendship, so back home I

tried hard to make things return to normal between us. And for me that

meant never mentioning the silver wand and it meant that instead of

practicing with makeup and wax, we watched movies and drank coffee

with two guys from school.

Though everyone said they were good-looking—Chris with his

smoky eyes and Jason with his broad shoulders—I could never work up

any excitement for either of them. Unlike when I watched Aimee

wriggle on the dance floor, watching Chris or Jason never made it throb

between my thighs. I simply admired their beauty the way I might

admire that of curtains or show dogs.

Spring came and my true feeling became more and more painfully

obvious to me. Perhaps it was watching pigeons strut with puffed-up

chests and seeing flowers spread for bees. Or perhaps it was just that

time had mellowed the shock of such a graphic night with the dildo and I

was finally ready to move on. But either way, I was now explicitly

aware of how I wanted to touch Aimee—how I wanted to trace her

collarbone and taste her salt and perfume. The only problem that

remained was my own virginal self-doubt. Sometimes I would look at

her milky skin and decide that she'd never want to touch me. Then at

other times I would look at the soft blue web just under the surface and

I'd decide that she would—that secretly her blood rushed and throbbed

just like mine. At any rate, it all came to a head one night at her place.

Chris and Jason were there, of course, and they'd brought beer—

presumably to loosen us up for that inevitable moment when they would

corner us and fumble with our bra straps. Chris doled out another cold

round and cracked his open. "Have any of you guys ever played Truth or Dare?" he asked. Though I had not, I knew where his question was

going and I wasn't surprised to find myself in the middle of a game.

What did surprise me, however, was that round after round we all chose

truth.

I don't know about the others—maybe they were just warming

up—but I avoided dares because I suspected they'd involve me doing

something messy and unpleasant with Jason, that and because truth,

unlike dares, could be dodged with lies. Unfortunately, lying was tricky.

I had to come up with answers that weren't so green they would make

me seem uptight, or so hot they would give Jason ideas. Walking that

fine line left me without the energy to come up with questions and

Aimee always had to think of something for me.

At first she asked stuff such as, "How often do you masturbate?"

and "What is the most erotic dream you've ever had?" But eventually she hit on a question that got my attention: "Have you ever done it with

another guy?"

Jason screwed up his face like the very idea tasted of sour milk and

for a moment I thought he might even spit on Aimee's clean pink carpet.

"No," he said. "That's disgusting."

Chris, sitting in an armchair by the window, nodded in agreement

then suddenly flashed a sly grin. "Two girls, on the other hand," he said.

"Now, that's all right. So what about you, Aimee? Have you ever gotten it on with another chick?"

"Hey, you can't just ask me a question. You have to wait until I

choose truth or dare."

"Well, hurry and choose." But Aimee didn't hurry. Instead she took a long, slow swig of beer and looked in turn at the three faces watching

her. Under her gaze, it seemed suddenly clear to me that Aimee knew.

Knew explicitly how I wanted to trace and finger all her lines and

crevices—the cleft of her heart-shaped ass, the curve of her hips. And I

felt more exposed then than I ever had, even the first time she'd waxed

between my legs. It was like I (not Aimee) had been asked the question

and that it was about so much more than what I had actually done with a

woman, but also about what I had wanted to do.

I tilted back my head and swallowed, polished off my beer, then

discarded the empty can on the coffee table. Metal met wood and Aimee

flicked a final glance at me. "Dare," she said.

The guys grinned at each other. "Okay," said Jason. "I dare you to kiss Heidi on the lips. Tongue and everything."

All at once the music coming from the stereo seemed loud and

hard. And with its rhythm filling my throat, I couldn't breathe. Aimee

was sitting on the floor a few feet away from me and I was sitting on the

sofa. We locked eyes but didn't speak. I didn't know what she would do

and it felt like a very long time before she did anything at all.

Finally, however, she crawled across the pink carpet until she was

on her knees right in front of me and I could smell her perfume—sweet

yet as heady as musk. She wrapped her fingers around my neck—under

the hair, right on the skin—and she pulled me to her. Kissed me softly at

first, then insistently. Her tongue curling around mine. Her teeth on my

lips. But too soon it was over and she was back in her spot on the floor,

my mouth watering for her.

"What do you want, Heidi?" Jason asked. "Truth or dare?" The guys were apparently getting off on this and hoping it would go further.

I didn't, however, care what they wanted. The only important thing was

that their presence seemed to free Aimee and me to do what we wanted to do. To choose dare.

Jason tapped his feet, cracked his knuckles. "I dare you to feel

Aimee up," he said. Without a second thought I got up from the sofa and walked over to her. Got down on the floor so that we were sitting face-to-face, kissing hard. Her dress so thin and slippery my hands instantly

fell into place.

I leaned into Aimee until she was lying on the floor and I was on

top of her, one of my legs wedged between hers and one of hers between

mine. In that way, we slid against each other, panting, as she worked my

skirt up to my hips and squeezed my ass. Finally she rolled me off her

and pulled down my soaked panties. She kissed the thin, sensitive skin

of my inner thighs and ran her tongue along the thrust of my hipbones.

Then when she had me squirming, she brought her mouth to the vee of

my crotch and licked a steady rhythm. I whimpered and rocked faster

and faster. Almost like I wanted her to swallow me whole.

I thought, this may be a dare but it sure feels like the truth. And

then I thought nothing. Just ground into her tongue until I came.

DEBUT

CHERI CRYSTAL

rom the very first page of her first novel, I was enamored. She

wrote the way I wanted to be held. She took me prisoner

F while I frantically turned pages, sitting at the edge of my seat,

my tight jeans digging into my swollen clit. Sometimes I actually came

in my pants in the middle of reading a sex scene. She wrote some of the

hottest I'd ever read. I had to e-mail this author. I had to convey how

deeply her writing touched me, how her words resonated in the core of

my soul and at the same time caressed my body like tongue and fingers.

I was over the moon when she answered my first shy note, and

within a few weeks we were exchanging e-mails regularly like old

friends. We wrote and chatted online for almost a year but never met.

Through e-mail we shared photos, secrets, desires, and laughter. We

discussed everything from writing styles to how she wrote her first

tantalizing sex scene. Her descriptions of fisting had me intrigued. I

wonder if she knew I had never tried it but was dying to.

Her name was Angel and at first sight I truly believed she was sent

to me from heaven. I was already in love with her mind but I knew it

was her body I was going to worship. She was a few inches taller than

me and stunning with her spiked red hair, small straight nose, and

emerald eyes. Her shoulders were broad, her waist was slender, and her

snug, man-tailored shirt showed off ample breasts. The top two buttons

were undone, revealing a throat I wanted instantly to lick. Her long legs

and the way they led to her firm butt had me drooling. With a jacket

slung over her shoulder and boots with two-inch heels, she looked like

an Amazon.

I wondered if she'd seen me. The cocktail hour was all abuzz and I

busied myself mingling with the other guests, waiting for our paths to

cross. The champagne was going to my head and elsewhere. It wasn't

even my big night. Well, not for a literary award but for something I longed for from the first moment I started having these fantasies.

Perhaps my latest romance novel would be in the running next year, but

I couldn't think about that now. I was about to meet her face to face. I

was presenting the award for Best Lesbian Erotica—how appropriate; I

could almost smell the lust oozing from my pores. She was up for the

Debut Fiction award, and I wished I were presenting that one. If it were

up to me, she would win in every category, especially Romance and

Erotica.

When she finally glanced in my direction and our eyes met, my

pulse quickened, my heart pounded hard in my chest, and I could feel

my clit spring to attention. I had dreamed about this moment for what

seemed an eternity and as she looked me over, the anticipation of

breathing the same air as her was unbearable. My skintight black

strapless dress with the plunging neckline seemed to do the trick. She

smiled as she checked out my cleavage. Thank you Victoria’s Secret for helping Mother Nature. I knew I was blushing furiously, but I watched her take me in, loving her slow sensual appraisal. I ached to run my

fingers through her short spiked red hair. I wondered if she was a natural redhead and yearned to find out. Her eyes lingered at my breasts once

more before they lifted to mine, gorgeous green eyes that sparkled just

for me. Her mouth parted in a mischievous smile.

''Finally,'' she said.

"Finally," I replied.

It was hard to believe that two critically acclaimed authors couldn't

come up with anything more poetic than that. After months of being the

biggest flirt this side of the Internet, I was finally meeting the recipient of my corny jokes, endless prattle, and long-winded beating around the

bush about what I really wanted. A mixture of amusement, pleasure, and

outright lust flitted over her face as if she was recalling every e-mail

we'd exchanged over the last year. For a moment, all of the secrets,

laughter, unquestioning friendship, and tentative exploration of new

sexual territory showed in the way her eyes gleamed.

We grabbed beers from a passing waiter, clinked bottles, and said,

"Cheers," in unison. We laughed. She had beautiful even white teeth.

"You look great," I said. Good enough to eat. Her Internet photos didn't do her justice.

"So do you," she answered, her eyes locked on mine.

I touched her arm and wanted to touch so much more. "Good luck

tonight. You're sure to win."

''Thanks, but have you read the others in the category? I think I

have some stiff competition."

"'Stiff' as in dead. There's no contest. You may as well claim the

prize so the two of us can go back to your hotel and fuck our brains out."

I couldn't believe I just said that. From the surprise on her face, neither could she, but then she grinned.

"You wanna?" She said it jokingly, but her gaze belied her

nonchalance.

"Sure, let's blow this joint."

We both laughed, knowing there was no way we were going to

leave before they handed out the awards. It was fun to tease, though,

except the teasing was making my clit twitch. Now that I'd met her I was

more and more sure that the things we'd hinted we'd like to do in a night

of passion were going to happen. Part of me started to panic, but I

looked at her again and I felt safe. It was going to be hard to concentrate on the ceremonies.

"Shall we go in?" she said when the lights flashed.

I nodded, and she downed the rest of her beer. I had hardly touched

mine. We gave the bottles to the waiter collecting empties, and she led

the way into the auditorium with her arm loosely around the small of my

back. Her touch was light but it sent electricity shooting through my

body directly to the heightened nerve endings of my clit. I shivered

slightly.

"Are you cold?" She put her arm around my bare shoulder. "Would you like my jacket?"

How sweet. I shook my head "You're so hot…I mean, your body is exuding enough warmth to keep me toasty."

"You're pretty hot yourself. You smell so good too." She rubbed

her cheek against my hair and I nearly fainted. Fortunately, we found

our seats just before my knees gave out.

Sitting close with only the armrest as a barrier, I leaned into her.

"You nervous?"

''Nah.''

"Liar. I can feel you shaking in your boots."

"That shaking has nothing to do with the awards." Her eyes were

hungry, as if she wanted to devour me in a single gulp. If she leaned

toward me one more inch, our faces would touch. I longed to kiss those

lips when she moistened them with her tongue. I wanted to be that tongue.

The lights went down and she nonchalantly put her hand on my

thigh just under my dress. I moved ever closer as her hand inched its

way up the inside of my thigh and spread my legs farther apart. It took

all my strength not to scream out, Don’t stop. Claim your prize.

I prayed that she would keep going, knowing the thin silk of my

panties would not get in her way. She pushed the material aside. My clit

was about to explode. Her nimble fingers caressed my soft curls and I

sighed. It was delicious. Keep going. You're almost there, almost.... and just when I thought I was about to get my wish the emcee took center

stage and began his shtick. Angel cleared her throat and readjusted

herself in the chair. If her clit was pulsating as frantically as mine, she was likely to miss her category being called, so I reluctantly let her go.

I delivered my well-rehearsed speech, laced with as many jokes as

I could muster, and announced the winner for Best Lesbian Erotica. I

didn't wait onstage for her to thank everyone, but made my way back to

my seat. Once seated. I could tell that Angel was sweating with

anticipation for her award. Best Debut Fiction was up next.

I took her hand and squeezed it. "Good luck," I whispered in her ear, purposely tickling her with my breath. The lights from the stage

were just enough for me to make out her hardened nipples beneath her

shirt.

I heard her name and jumped out of my seat. The cover of her

novel was larger than life on the two-story screen. She sat there stunned

for a second but got her legs to work and regained her composure. She

stood up and I hugged her in congratulations. The heat between us

ignited my fire even more. I was bursting with excitement. Seeing her

stride to the podium, so confident and poised, made her that much more

desirable, if that were possible. I wanted her so badly. My favorite book

had won, but more importantly, my favorite author had won, and I

planned to be the one to help her celebrate.

Angel looked radiant as she came back to her seat and,

impulsively, I kissed her on the lips. She flashed me one of her dazzling

smiles, took my hand in hers, and I lifted it to her lips. I put my hand on her knee and slowly made my way up toward her inviting crotch. There

were people all around us, which only made me more excited. I was so

turned on that I would have tucked her even if we were in Grand Central

Station during rush hour. Applause erupted just as I reached the goal. I

lost track of which category they were up to as I focused on Angel's

need. I imagined I could feel her stiff clit under my fingertips, so

swollen and hard that even her pants couldn't conceal its prominence.

She twitched when I fingered her. My nipples hardened and the muscles

tightened deep within my pelvis.

"I need the restroom," she whispered urgently in my ear and got up suddenly.

She made it almost out of the auditorium before I got up to follow

her.

I couldn't believe what I was doing. My heart thumped hard, and it

wasn't just from the steep incline of the auditorium and my three-inch

heels. I was so swollen that my clit was squeezed with each step.

Making my way out of the auditorium and opening the door, I quickly

headed to the ladies room. I made it there in record time.

Angel turned around as if expecting me and put her award down on

the counter. I practically flung myself at her, frantic for the taste of her lips, kissing her as I made my way down to her breasts—undoing

buttons two at a time.

She stopped me. "Hey, who's the butch here, anyhow?"

"You are, but I want you so badly I can't help it. Besides you like

to think you're so tough, but I know what a mush you really are."

She laughed. "So take me, then."

As I fumbled with her shirt, she led us into a stall. Since I was all

over her, she barely got the door locked. Possessively, she wrapped her

arms around me. Now look who was taking whom! Relinquishing control for the moment, I felt safe in her embrace. Never having felt this way

about anyone, I trusted her implicitly. The restroom was empty and the

thought that someone could walk in at any moment titillated me. I

soaked through my panties. If we kept up this fevered pitch, I knew I

was going to come and it was going to be quick; I was on the brink and

she hadn't even touched me yet.

I pushed up her bra and pulled one well-rounded, delicious nipple

into my mouth. I was teasing her hardened nipple with my teeth and

tongue when she groaned and stopped me.

"Oh, God, not like this."

"Was it too hard?"

"No, perfect. Just perfect. But let's get out of here. Our first time needs to be better than this."

"What could be better than being with you?"

"Let's get out of here."

"But what about your publisher's reception ..."

"We'll come back, maybe. I'm so hard—I need you now. My hotel

is around the corner." She interlaced her fingers in mine and grabbed the award with the other hand. "Come on,"

We practically ran to the hotel. The night air cooled my flushed,

hot skin, but it did nothing to alleviate the fire inside. We reached the

lobby of the hotel in record time and made out in the elevator on the way

up to her room.

Shivering from anticipation, l knew in my heart that I was about to

embark on new territory and realize my dream. Suddenly, I knew what I

wanted and I was surer than ever. The mere thought of her kissing me,

caressing me— fucking me, made me wet. The reality of it overwhelmed me. I felt as if I had finally arrived at the place I was supposed to be.

Angel didn't waste any time getting her key out and opening the

door. In one fluid motion, she lifted me into her arms and carried me

across the threshold. My limbs were putty. Again, I relinquished all

control to her. She set me down beside the bed.

My strapless Lycra dress slipped off easily as Angel grasped the

hem and pulled it down. She sucked on my neck as she removed my

Victoria's Secret bra that wasn't a secret anymore and playfully teased at my breasts. She returned her attention to my waiting mouth and

penetrated me with her tongue. I heard myself moan as her thigh made

its way up against my clit. I had my hands on her head pulling her

closer.

Angel pulled away just long enough to kick off her boots, remove

her shirt, sports bra, pants, and underwear. She was a true redhead. I

smiled. Her curves were beautifully accentuated with smooth muscles

that rippled slightly as she moved. Her skin was a creamy white that I

often dreamed about. She was flawless. We backed onto the bed, her

touch never leaving my tingling skin.

I couldn't take it a moment longer. "Please...I need you...inside."

"Soon. Let me look at you first."

She removed my lace panties, slowly torturing me as she spread

my legs as far as they would comfortably go. She licked her finger and

opened my lips before touching my tender, swollen clit. I thought I

would die.

''You are so beautiful. Just as I imagined you'd be," she said and

continued to stroke the length of my clit on either side with her thumbs,

slowly easing her finger inside me.

"So good." I'm sure I dug my nails into her arms, but she didn't even flinch.

"Deeper," I begged. I wanted her inside me. She took her time.

"I'm going to come..."

''No, wait. Hold on. I want to taste you." Before I knew it, she had

my swollen clit in her mouth and was sucking it in a way that I had

never felt before. I was so wet, so close...instinctively she looked up for a second "Soon," she said.

And I obeyed.

The hints and the innuendos in a year's worth of e-mail and chat

had prepared me for this moment. I wanted her in ways I never trusted

any woman before. She inserted one, then two, then four fingers inside

me as she sucked and licked. The combined effort was sensational.

Enthralled, I held my breath to avoid even the slightest distraction each

time I got closer to orgasm. I didn't care if I died just then from

asphyxiation.

"I want all of you in me," I begged.

"Have you ever?"

''No, but I want to with you."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes...please."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. I trust you. Please, Angel. Take me. Fuck me, please!"

"Can you relax for just a minute, baby? I won't do that without

lube."

"Okay," I said shakily. I didn't want her to, but her concern that I not be hurt touched me.

She was only gone a moment or two, and after a hot, reassuring

kiss, her slick hand was between my legs again. Carefully, watching my

expression, she guided her fist inside me tentatively, at first compressing her fingers to fit in the tight space. I leaned on my elbows to watch as

she skillfully guided her fist up and in me as high as it would go. It cut like a knife at first but then, ooh, it felt soooo good in a wicked way. The more turned on I became, the more delicious it felt

A mixture of concern and awe on her face made me feel special—

loved, even. She looked like she was in a wonderful place and I was

right there with her. I concentrated on relaxing as she worked her hand

inside me, but my muscles had a mind of their own, tensing and flexing

with each thrust. I swallowed her up as she went deeper still. Watching

her excited me further until I could not bear it any longer. I lay back and enjoyed the sensation as she eagerly entered me at an increased pace. I

brought my legs up over her shoulders. She fit inside of me perfectly. I

was so wet, and I cried out in ecstasy again and again with each thrust,

"Harder, harder." I was so close—the rougher the better.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure! Do it! I'm almost there."

The last thrust accompanied by one last lick sent me convulsing as

I came all over Angel's fist. I shuddered again, letting the orgasm take

me over and over again until the last ripple ceased and all I could feel

was the calm of a warm glow. It was everything I'd imagined my first

time being fisted would be, but more importantly, it was Angel who took

me to that special place. Slowly she removed her fist, taking her sweet

time, and when she licked her fingers, I quivered. ''Ooh, baby..."

"You like?" She kissed my thigh, her voice sounding smug.

"Oh, I like. Come here. I want to give you my award for

outstanding performance. Turn over." I wanted to please her so badly.

"Two awards in one night. I don't know if I can stand it."

"You can stand it." Luckily, I had pored over Angel's every word and knew what she liked, but I was happy I had a few tricks of my own.

Her reactions reassured me that I was a bona fide sex goddess.

After we were sated, dressed, and freshened up, we walked back to

the auditorium hand in hand with the gentle breeze in our hair and

lightness in our step. Her arm was draped protectively around my

shoulder, and I had my arm around her waist with my hand in her back

pocket. She kissed my neck and I pulled her closer. Finding my soul

mate on the Internet was unbelievable enough, but our first encounter

and my first experience with fisting exceeded my wildest fantasy. We

made it back to our seats just in time for the lights to come up, signaling the ceremony was over. If we had been missed, nobody mentioned it.

Angel accepted congratulations from all who offered them, then finally

reached for my hand. She smiled at me and I melted at the heated

promise in her eyes.

We both had won debut awards.

PERSPEX WINDOW

CHEYENNE BLUE

ate pushes her way ass first onto the promenade deck. The wind

curls around the door, threatening to slam it back on her, and the

K sea swells enough that she lurches along the deck with a rolling

gait. Carefully, she cradles her glass of Chardonnay. A second quarter

bottle sticks out of her pocket.

She staggers along the deserted deck until she finds a sheltered

corner. Metal and Perspex windbreaks divide the open area, and she

presses up against a bulkhead, carefully setting down her glass on a

ledge and turning away from the wind to light a cigarette. She huddles

into the merge shelter and turns her collar up for the illusion of warmth.

Here, the wind isn't strong enough to be unpleasant, which is a good

thing for an addicted smoker on a nonsmoking Irish ferry. Kate inhales,

holds, and feels the nicotine steal through her blood.

She's the only one on deck as far as she can tell. One o'clock in the

morning, and the ferry is rocking its way from Rosslare to Cherbourg,

packed with holidaymakers and Irish couples on swift shopping jaunts,

off to buy cheap booze and cigarettes in France. Down on the car deck,

her Suzuki waits, its back seats removed to fit more cases of wine.

Shopping bags are piled on the passenger seat.

Kate pulls on the cigarette and the small lines crease above her

upper lip. The wind whips a strand of graying hair across her mouth, and

she pushes her free hand deeper into her jacket pocket. She can smell the

sea, taste its briny sharpness. Seven hours into the crossing, and her

body leans with the boat.

Inside the ferry's heated interior the corridors are nearly deserted.

There's a faint smell of puke creeping out under the door of the toilets—

probably from the group of underage lads determined to put the pints

away. The restaurants have closed, and most people have shambled off

to their tiny cabin bunks to close their eyes until morning.

Kate likes the sea air and she needs her nicotine, so she's here, on

the promenade deck, watching the moon carve a path across the slatey

sea. Out here, she is alone. Only the white bench seats stand solemn

sentry duty in the night.

A door crashes open behind her. Laughter, slurred and female,

reaches her across the nonslip blue matting.

"For feck's sake, Annie, can't you walk in a straight line?" The voice is young and Dublin and has an indulgent lilt to its censorial

question.

"I can so. It's this bleedin' boat that can't sail straight."

Kate watches the women making their stumbling way to the

railing. One bird-thin and fragile, the other stout with drafthorse

buttocks; one with cropped hair, the other with a mess of tangled curls.

They hold each other's arms as they weave their way across the deck.

''Not here," the thin one with cropped hair, Annie, mutters.

"Anyone can see us."

"There's no one around."

Annie is led back to a dubious shelter, to a nook behind one of the

entrance doors, sheltered from the wind by a sheet of rust and Perspex.

Kate waits, watching idly, as she finishes her cigarette and takes a

sip of Chardonnay. She can see them clearly, but obviously they haven't

noticed her.

"Here," Curly-head says decisively.

She turns Crop-head and wraps her arms around her. Her mouth

comes down, and Kate stifles a gasp. The kiss is long. Kate huddles

deeper into her jacket and sips. Women. Kissing.

She's not naïve; she knows it happens, and happens here in

Ireland, in spite of the church's stranglehold. And she has sometimes

wondered, in a sort of vague afterthought way when the TV showed a

lesbian kiss, what it would be like. But never has she seen it unfold in

front of her. The cigarette burns down to the butt as the women kiss, and

Kate watches. It's a long kiss, a deep, drugging kiss, and the two figures merge in the moon-wrapped night, blend into the deep blue of the deck

matting, fade into the shadows of the lifeboats. And still they kiss. Kate can hear the short pants of breath merging with the lap of the water

against the sides and the creak of the boat as it rolls. She waits, not

wanting to interrupt them now, although will they even notice?

They break apart. "I love it when you kiss me like that," the one called Annie says.

"You'll like what I'm about to do better."

''Orla, no, not here—"

"Here, yes here." Orla is insistent. "There's no one around. All the families have gone to bed. The football has finished. And if you'd

booked a cabin we'd be in it now, loving our brains out in peace and

privacy instead of out here on deck."

"It's cold," Annie whines, but Kate can see her hands burrowing

around Orla's waist, pushing up the bulky sweater to reveal a line of

white flesh. Is it really that ethereal white, or is it the moonlight?

"You were hot inside," points out Orla.

She's the one choreographing this. Kate can see her pressing Annie

into the Perspex, her hands moving purposefully over the waiflike body.

Kate knows she should move. Her cigarette is finished, and she

should return to the privacy of her own cabin, go to bed, and steep. But

instead, she takes a sip of wine and continues to watch. Orla and Annie.

Annie and Orla. A nice coupling to their names.

With a swift movement, Orla moves back, pushes up Annie's shirt,

flicking the buttons so that the garment falls open. Kate sees pearlescent flesh and small high breasts, tipped with moonlight. No bra. Annie's

nipples are raised to the moon. A brief moment of clear sight, then they

are covered by her girlfriend's hands, thumbs flicking her nipples.

Annie's head falls back, hits the Perspex.

Kate tilts her head the better to see, peering slightly around her

shaded alcove. She tries to breathe quietly, although it's doubtful the

women will hear her above the thrum of the diesel engine and the creak

of the boat as she cleaves through the inscrutable sea. In front of her, the women are kissing again, and although she can't see, she senses that

Orla's fingers are working the fastening of her girlfriend's hipster jeans.

"Ker—iste! Don't bloody bite!" Orla 's fingers muffle Annie's

shriek. Orla holds her hand over Annie's mouth, even as her face is

buried in her neck.

The objection fades to a sigh, and Annie kisses those same fingers

as they stroke across her lips. Orla stoops, and one of those high, tight

breasts is engulfed in her mouth. Annie's hands wind in those disordered

wild curls.

Kate fancies she can feel a mouth on her own breasts. There's a

tingle between her thighs, a sensation long absent. The scene in front of

her has a surrealty to it; the moonlight, the dark night outside its path, and the two girls, edged in gilt and silver.

Orla kneels—how hard the deck must be on her knees and Annie's

jeans descend. There are bowed white thighs and black panties banded

across her narrow hips. Then the panties are gone, slipped down below

her knees.

Annie spreads her legs as wide as the bunched jeans and

underwear allows, there's the dark shadow, the hidden cleft. Fingers part

the bitter sea, and then Orla's mouth ducks down, her nose wedged

firmly in the forest. She's there a long time. Annie's fingers wind in her hair, holding her there. When she lifts fractionally, Kate sees her chin is wetly shining. Her hand shakes as she takes a sip of wine, and her mind

spirals back to the last time someone's face was between her legs. How

long ago? She's forgotten the exquisite sensation, forgotten the feeling of being completely loved, forgotten the feeling.

Kate is so caught up in her own memories, her own cunt throbbing

hotly, that when Annie comes with a glass-shattering shriek, she's caught

by surprise. Kate's wine glass slips from shaky fingers and crashes to the deck.

"What the fuck?"

Orla rises, wiping her mouth with her hand while Annie struggles

to pull her jeans up. They are impeded by her panties, which have

twisted around her thighs. Both women are peering into the long

shadows that spill from the bulkheads.

Kate waits until Annie is decent again, then moves forward.

"Sorry," she says. "I dropped my glass." She moves as if to retreat back to the ferry's interior, but Orla's harsh words stop her.

"Have a good look, did you? Like what you saw? Going off to

complain to the steward?" And under her breath, ''Fecking middle-aged puritan."

Kate pauses, turns slowly. "Guilty on the middle-aged part. But I'm

not going to complain. You were..." She hesitates, knowing she should simply offer a frosty smile and leave, but is compelled to tell them how

they made her feel. But the words are too clumsy for the poignant

feelings of love and loss entwined within her. She settles for, "You were beautiful."

Silence greets her answer, and the girls exchange surprised looks.

Suddenly, they're no longer the confident young lovers; they're shy and

used to censure from strangers.

Annie moves to stand with her lover, wraps an arm around her

waist and leans her head on her shoulder. "How so?"

"I like to see young people in love. It gives me hope that

sometimes there's a happy ending."

"What do you mean?" Orla stands protectively of Annie.

Kate shrugs, aware she's said too much. She considers several

replies, but simply says, "It's not always a fairy tale."

"And don't we know it." Shared smiles, and a tentative bond

strings between them all.

Kate moves again, makes to sidle past them and away, out of their

lives, but an impulse makes her say, ''I have a cabin to myself. Why

don't you take it instead of me? Then you can continue uninterrupted."

The women exchange wary glances. "Why would you do that?"

says Orla. "Where will you sleep?"

"Where were you going to sleep?" Kate watches them. She's

already slightly regretting her impulse. Her bones are too old to sleep on the floor.

"In the children's play area," replies Annie. "There's foam on the floor, and there's only a couple of people there."

''Then that's where I'll go," says Kate, decisively. She fishes the

key out of her pocket. "Come with me now, let me get my stuff and I'll be out of your way."

They hesitate, so she adds, "I promise I won't disturb you, and you

can have some privacy." She addresses her comment to Orla. "Besides, I think you'd like to let Annie return the favor."

A snort of laughter. "Indeed." She makes up her mind. "That's very kind of you. Come on, Annie."

Kate leads them through the ship to her tiny cabin. "Let me get my

bag." Swiftly she gathers her toilet bag and her nightie, stuffing them back in her case with her clean underwear.

When she turns, Orla is right behind her.

"Two bunks." Orla states the obvious. ''Why don't you have one

and we'll have the other?"

Annie giggles; a breathy sound, hastily choked off.

Kate arches an eyebrow. "Privacy. Remember? You don't want me

listening in."

Orla advances so that she's practically nose to nose. Kate fights the

urge to step back. "But you wouldn't mind listening in, now would you?

After all, you stayed and watched on deck."

Kate draws herself up to her full five feet three. "I didn't have a

choice then."

"You have one now."

A beat of hesitation, then Kate shrugs, feigning a nonchalance she

doesn't feel. Her heart is leaping like a spooked rabbit "If you insist. I'll have the bottom bunk." She takes her nightie back out of the bag and

disappears into the tiny bathroom. When she emerges, hair hanging

loose and nightgown brushing her calves, the others are in bed. There

are muffled giggles from the top bunk, and two heads crammed in

together. She arranges herself in the lower bunk, turns to the wall, and

closes her eyes.

For a minute or two, all is silent. Slowly, Kate releases her pent-up

breath, aware of a faint sense of disappointment. She didn't really want

to hear them making love. No, she didn't.

The lights are out, and it's velvet black in the inner cabin with no

porthole. The only glimmer of light is the slight luminescence of the

safety notice on the wall. Kate tries to steady her breathing, self-

consciously aware of its fast, uneven pitch, fast above the steady throb

of the boat's engines. Finally her body relaxes, limbs twitching on the

edge of sleep.

That's when there's a noise from the upper bunk. A thump, and the

sound of a body turning awkwardly. Something hits the wall, and there's

the slide of skin over sheets. A sigh; Orla's, thinks Kate. She turns on her back and opens her eyes. Too dark to see anything. More rustling, then

the sound of soft kissing. Kate imagines lips sliding over heated skin,

imagines the taste of another woman.

"Yes. Like that." Orla's voice, gruff and tight.

Then there's only the sound of Orla 's breathing, faster, loud in the

quiet cabin.

When she starts to moan, breathy little murmurs of encouragement,

mumbled affirmations of pleasure, the knowledge of what is happening

pierces through Kate in a vivid dart of imagination.

"Oh yes," Orla says. ''Oh yes, yes, yesyesyes." And Kate's arousal swells out into the cabin to mingle with Orla's. Her own cunt is

throbbing, in sweet, pulsating waves, and she feels molten. The sound of

pleasure—even a pleasure not her own—is compelling.

Quietly, slowly, she inches her own thighs apart, and even though

no one can see, or care if they could, she casually rests a hand on her

own curved stomach and concentrates on keeping her breathing slow

and even. Her hand inches down to her panty line and farther, down to

the patch of hair, stealing ever onward until she can slide a finger along her slit, finding her pleasure point.

Orla's litany of joy is continuous, and Kate's mind runs through a

flickering kaleidoscope of possible scenarios. Is Annie kneeling between

her parted thighs, her face plastered to Orla's slick and swollen gash? Or are they lying entwined, with Annie's fingers pressing and rubbing

between Orla's legs? Maybe Annie has three, even four, fingers in her

lover's pussy, curling them around, pressing on pleasure points, filling

her, stretching her so that she knows that engorged feminine fullness.

What endless possibilities they have. Kate's mind spins, and her fingers

rub tiny concentric circles over her clit.

"Faster," commands Orla, and there's another bang, as if her head has contacted with the wall.

Kate pulsates in time to the breathing she hears. Stealth and silence

are abandoned, and she spreads her legs, rubs faster, uncaring of her

hitching breath.

Orla comes in a crash of noise, a howl of pleasure, and the bunk

above Kate shakes. Her fingers push her over the edge into her own

orgasm, a more muted pleasure than Orla's although she's sure her rapid

breathing has given her away.

The flutters still twitch around her fingers. She withdraws them

and raises her fingers to her own lips. Tentatively, she tastes. Above,

mumbles of pleasure, a small whisper of love. Then a strange, hung

tension permeates the room. Do they all simply roll over and go to sleep

now? Talk? Get to know each other? Kate wishes for a cigarette. But, in

the darkness, here in the company of strangers, she's content.

∴

As the ferry noses its way into Cherbourg, Kate stands on deck

with a cigarette. She sniffs her fingers. She can smell the sea.

HER

KI THOMPSON

am not a greedy woman. In fact, I pride myself on my sense of

self-restraint and a "moderation in all things" approach to life. I I was shocked, therefore, to discover that these tenets could so

easily be abandoned, all because of her.

The day I met her began auspiciously enough when I decided to

alter my usual routine by walking home instead of taking the train.

Looking back now, I don't recall why I decided to make this five-mile

jaunt on foot and in heels, except that it was such a lovely October

afternoon. The leaves in the park displayed colors of autumn fruit and

the air held that crisp expectation of mulled wine and evenings spent

fireside. As I exited the park and crossed the street, I was enveloped by

the heady aroma of baking bread emanating from a patisserie adjacent to

the comer. My stomach growled in anticipation of café au lait and a

warm, buttery croissant, so I diverted from my intended path and entered

the quaint shop.

It wasn't her looks that initially attracted me to her, though even

now, the thought of her full lips and topaz eyes arrests my soul. Rather,

it was the way she moved, like quicksilver unrestrained by its container,

free-flowing and sensual. She was placing a fresh rack of baguettes on

the shelf when the tiny brass bell hanging over the doorway called out its welcome. Stopping in her tracks, she glanced up at me and the

temperature in the already warm room spiked.

"Good afternoon," she greeted, looking intently at me.

"Hello," I returned.

I watched as a graceful hand rose up to place an errant strand of

silken jet hair behind a delicate ear. When it lowered, a streak of white

flour smudged her cheek, contrasting sharply with the porcelain skin. I

smiled inwardly and approached the glass counter with confidence. A

sample plate sat near the register and I selected a piece of pain au

chocolat, popped it into my mouth and let it dissolve between my tongue

and palate. She watched as my eyelids closed with pleasure.

"Good?" she asked.

"Oh my, yes. Very good." I opened my eyes and found myself lost

in hers.

"I've tried to make bread at home," I said, "but it just doesn't compare with this."

"You can't be afraid to handle it firmly." At this, a slow smile made its way leisurely across her face. "But don't overwork it either."

She hesitated, her thoughts reflected in her eyes. "I'm about to make more bread right now. I can show you how, if you like."

"I like," I said, returning the deliberate smile.

She stepped out from behind the counter and my eyes pursued as

she sauntered to the front door. Grasping a hanging sign that said

Closed, she flipped it so it faced outward onto the street. Then with a

loud click, she shoved the deadbolt to the locked position. Turning, she

crooked her finger at me in a conspiratorial manner.

"Follow me," she whispered with a look that harbored no refusal.

How could I resist? She led me behind the counters and through a

door that meandered back to the kitchen. The apron she wore in front

exposed a small ass from behind and I ogled salaciously as it swayed

irresistibly in front of me. I was at least six inches taller than she was and knew my large hands could cup those cheeks easily. The thought

made me weak in the knees. She stopped suddenly in front of me and I

nearly teetered forward into the very backside I was admiring.

We were standing in front of a stainless steel table that shimmered

from the fluorescent light overhead. It gave a clinical feel to the room

and made me shiver, whether from anticipation or the cool feel of it

under my fingertips I couldn't be certain. A miscellany of baking items

occupied the center of the table including a bag of flour, its top cut open with a small amount spilling onto the surface, and a half-full pastry bag.

She lifted my hand, drawing my attention away from the table, and

deftly inserted my index finger into her mouth. The warmth and wetness

of her tongue as it wrapped itself sensually around my fingertip instantly dispelled any sense of chill I had and I groaned, pressing the length of

my body against hers.

"Mmm, that feels good," I breathed as she sucked rhythmically.

Removing the digit slowly from her mouth, she pulled me by the

back of my neck with her other hand until our lips met. Tentatively at

first, then with greater force, she entered my mouth and explored its

depths. She took my tongue into her mouth, sucking slowly and gently

as she had with my finger, while at the same time pushing me down onto

the surface of the table. When my feet went out from under me and my

back hit steel, my head almost collided with the sack of flour left

haphazardly near the edge. Climbing on top of the table, she swept the

bag off to one side in a single motion, knocking it over in her haste. To

keep from sliding off the slippery surface, I reached out to grab the edge of the table, only to smear flour onto the sleeve of my suit jacket. I didn't care.

"You are so hot," she rasped.

She knelt over me, straddling my hips, and then slowly sat until her

buttocks rested lightly over my crotch. I pushed upward, trying to

connect with that soft ass, and felt her press down and undulate above

me. I could feel myself getting wet, and the throbbing that always

accompanied that feeling began to pulse its urgent demand. Needing

more contact, she reached down and pulled my jacket off my shoulders

and down my arms, pushing it to one side of the table. Her mouth

descended and took a hardened nipple between her teeth, sucking it

through my silk blouse.

"Oh, Jesus, yeah," I exhaled sharply.

I craved to feel skin on skin and, sensing the need, she began to

unbutton my blouse. Frantically, I fumbled behind her back at the apron

strings, yanking it off her waist, and then returned to the zipper on her

pants. Almost simultaneously I had her unzipped while she had me

unbuttoned. Shoving her pants down her hips, she rose up to help me

lower them while I leaned up so she could push my blouse down my

shoulders. We helped each other remove the pants and blouse and then

removed the rest of our clothing on our own.

"God, you are so beautiful." I looked at her in awe.

Her breasts were small and firm, the nipples bright rose against her

pale skin. Like the hair on her head, the triangle between her legs was

dark and thick, and I could see moisture glistening in its depths. I

couldn't resist; my hand snaked out to gently caress between her thighs,

my thumb gently stroking the soft nodule I found cocooned there.

"Oh God," she moaned.

I looked up to see her eyes closed tightly in concentration and her

mouth slightly open, breathing erratically. As my thumb continued its

exploration of her clit, I allowed my index finger to search out her

opening. When I found it, I teased the sensitive area by lightly flicking

in and out around the edges, like a butterfly flitting from flower to

flower. She began to move faster over my thumb and finger.

"Please," she gasped, "go deeper. Fuck me as hard as you can. I am so ready."

My efforts doubled as I plunged two fingers fully into her and felt

her come down hard in response. No longer capable of sitting upright,

she collapsed forward, her hands planted firmly on either side of my

head with her breasts dangling tantalizingly in front of my mouth. My

free hand reached out once again to seek the edge of the table for

support, but something soft and pliable found its way into my hand

instead; the pastry bag. I grasped it firmly and brought it between us.

When I squeezed it upward, a ribbon of chocolate spurted unexpectedly

across her left breast. Liking what I saw, I repeated the process on her

right breast. Tossing the bag aside, I took possession of her right and left breasts with my mouth, alternately sucking and tugging and lapping up

the chocolate.

"Fuck yeah, that feels so good! Bite my nipples too. Yes, yes, like

that. Oh God, yes, harder. Yes!"

She was pumping up and down like a piston on overdrive. The

juices pouring out from her center and running down my hand and arm

definitely told me I was on the right track. When her thrusting changed

to a steady rhythm, I felt her thigh muscles clench spasmodically and I

knew she was almost there. My free hand slid around to her backside

where I slipped the middle finger in unceremoniously and after a few

thrusts, she blasted off like a rocket.

With her sprawling on top of me, I could feel the pounding of her

heart against my chest, and rather than soothing me, I found it highly

erotic. The beat mimicked the throbbing between my legs and I found

myself pulling her hips downward to relieve the pressure. She slowly

rose up to place more of her weight where I needed it. She looked down

at me, an easy grin forming on her lips, and her eyes glittered to see the reaction she was causing in my body. Rocking gently, she dropped one

hand to find its way between my legs.

"Mmm, so wet," she purred.

Bringing her fingers to her mouth, she closed her eyes and sucked

in apparent ecstasy. Then she moved down my body until her face came

level to my crotch where she spread me fully open, her lips finding my

aching clit, hard and extended, in need of attention. She drew it into her hot mouth, gently at first, and then as I began to push upward, more

fervently, swallowing her approval of what she found.

"Oh baby, that's it, that's perfect, don't stop!" I wasn't sure, but I think I was shouting. "Keep sucking just like that. Now go inside...ohh, yes, yes, yes. "

I didn't need to tell her how to do it. She anticipated my every

need, sucking and fucking with just the right amount of intensity and

speed. I arched up, grabbing both of her shoulders, and held on. When

the storm hit, I didn't even try to seek shelter. I just let the elements take me to the inevitable conclusion.

Lying on top of me once again, she turned her head sideways so

that it nestled just under my chin. We rested like that for a while and I

stroked her back soothingly, coaxing our breathing pattern to a more

normal pace. When we finally got up to dress, I noticed I was partly

covered in flour, and she laughed good-naturedly at the sight.

"Well, I may not have shown you how to make bread, but I hope

I've shown you how to do something else." She traced a finger down my arm and brushed flour from my cuff.

I took her hand in mine and brought it to my lips, placing a brief

kiss inside her wrist.

"I hope you'll continue to teach me," I murmured. "I have so much yet to learn."

We kissed. It wasn't a sexual kiss, but one of future promises.

I returned to the little bakery on the corner many times after that,

but I never did learn how to make bread.

WORD PLAY

RADCLYFFE

hen you edit someone's work, it gets to be pretty personal.

You touch on a lot of private places, catch glimpses of so

W many secrets. I mean, we all know that anything worth

writing, or reading for that matter, has to have a little of the author in it, right? Sometimes maybe even a lot I don't, mean an autobiographical

"how I first got laid" blow-by-blow, but the underlying experiences and emotions that inspire the prose—the fantasies and fears, and

sometimes—between the lines—the needs and desires.

It's always a challenge, offering criticism without damaging an oft-

fragile ego, but after a while, there's an ebb and flow, a give and take,

that feels more like a tango than a tussle. At least, with luck, it does.

So, when I sat down to work, my mind wasn't on the pacing of the

final action sequence in my latest thriller. The deadline was closing in

fast, and I prided myself on never missing a deadline. But I wasn't in the mood for writing; I'd been thinking about her all day. About her last

book, I mean, the one I was editing. About the love scenes that I couldn't read without seeing her as the star. And, okay, seeing myself there,

too—the co-star to her dark hero. I resisted, just barely, pulling up one

of her e-mail messages to reread, not that I didn't have them all

memorized. We'd gotten close, maybe a little bit inside each other's skin.

It happens, when you share a passion.

The last message from her had been different—filled with taunting

phrases and teasing innuendo. I had resisted rereading it for days, afraid that the longing, already so close to pain, would paralyze me for good.

Mostly, I was haunted by the fear that everything I thought I'd read beneath and in between her words was merely a projection of my own

furtive desire. As with fiction, I would discover that I had created the

reflection of my own desire.

I couldn't deny the attraction, but I was far from certain of the

source. Despite what the theoreticians and critics say, I firmly believe

it's impossible to separate art from the artist. So how could I know if it was the heat of her words or the cool, amused distance she projected in

the flesh that was so compelling? At first, I decided it didn't matter—that twinge of discomfort that masked unwanted arousal—because it could

not, would not, lead anywhere at all. We had to work together, and while a little lust might stir the creative juices, too much just clouded the mind.

Like the last drink that would have been better left on the bar. And if

that weren't enough, there were rumors she was heavily involved. I don’t

share, not even my casual fucks.

But then somehow, when I wasn't paying attention, or maybe just

when I was pretending not to look, we'd exchanged a few e-mails that

morphed into something far more than one writer pushing another to the

edge. We'd crossed a line; extended the invitation. Try me. I'm ready.

Finally, after rewriting the opening paragraph four times and

ultimately hitting delete, I relented and opened the folder of e-mail messages to the last message. To the last sweet suggestion that could

have meant nothing, or everything.

I read it and heard her murmur the words in my ear, her breath

warm and teasing. I reread it, and felt her fingers skim my jaw.

I stared at the screen and felt the tremble of desire. And then I

wrote.

When I wake in the night, I reach for

you, the smell and feel of your body so

near drenching my senses.

First sentences define the world, paragraphs the universe. For a

writer, the tone and flavor and rhythm of the lines create texture,

sensation, heat playing over skin, fire simmering in the belly.

I stared at the words, knowing I could not take back the truth. I had

awakened in the dark, wanting coiled deep inside. I had reached out a

hand, so desperate for the feel of her, craving the touch of her fingers to relieve the aching need that had ascended while I slept. When her image

shattered like promises tossed into the wind, I stroked myself, imagining

it was her.

I am always wet, always so ready for

you then, when I have shed control and

surrendered my defenses.

I read what I had written, my body tight, throbbing to the rhythm

of my fingers on the keys. All because of a few words on the screen. Just

a few words that crossed time and space, slipping through, over, around

every barrier I had ever constructed—like the slick slide of fingers

through the channels of my engorged flesh. I read, and remembered—

the silvery sheen of passion streaking my thighs.

I whispered your name, a desperate

plea in the night. I parted my thighs,

baring my soul.

"What is it you need?"

"You know. You know. Please. Please

just touch me."

I saw her so clearly as the words filled my vision, the curve of her

mouth, the length of her fingers, the intensity of her gaze. I remembered

laughter and a quick toss of thick, unruly hair. I recalled a moment's

hesitation, and that instant when she wondered if she had revealed too

much. I saw her hands, lifting as she spoke, certain and sure. I saw them

now, traveling up the inside of my legs, a slow taunting journey of

pleasures waiting to be called. My fingers hovered above the keys, my

clitoris hard, a reminder I was flesh. Her fingertips only a breath away. I ached. I ached.

I forced my hands to move.

"What is it that you need?"

"You. Only you."

"Tell me."

"Touch me. Feel what you've done to

me in my dreams."

You trace a single line down the

center of my abdomen, your fingertip

burning my skin. I wait, breathless,

until you reach my weeping clitoris,

exposed and vulnerable, wet with the

tears of my desire. You hesitate, cruelly

probing—the flick of your nail steals my

breath on a whimper.

As I typed my sex twitched, and without thinking, I stopped and

slid my hand under the restraining layers of clothes. I squeezed, pressure screaming along jittery nerve endings, annihilation a breath away. I

worked my clit, faster, harder, my vision blurring for an instant, and I

lost the words. I stilled my hand, bearing down with brutal fury, trapping my wild need in impotent rage. If I could not find the words, I would

lose her.

I let go, leaving my desire to beat helplessly alone.

"Please..."

"Not until I say."

"I need..."

"No."

"Oh...you're making me..."

"No."

Fingers clamped around the pulsing

shaft, the pleasure-pain driving my hips

into the air.

"I need to." My voice an unrecognizable

scream.

"No."

I am dying to come. For you.

My body quickened as the word images took shape. Her body

weighing me down, her hand inside me. A relentless scream fluttered

around the edges of my consciousness and drove me into the scene,

through it. The desire burned in me to touch, to be touched. To be her,

them, you, us. My orgasm thrashed like a raving beast, clawing its way to freedom, threatening to let loose despite my fight to chain it down. A

wild thing, devouring me with pleasure. I was so close, my clitoris alive

with a heartbeat of its own, poised to rage with a well-placed caress.

"Do you want to come?" Your voice a

soft whisper, your fingers instruments of

sweet torture.

"oh yes yes...want to...need to..."

"Ask my permission."

"please please...please may I

come..."

I hear you laughing through my

screams.

I wondered if she would hear my moans, feel the slick come on her

hands as the eruption escaped from the hard core of my sex. I wondered

if she would fuck me back, with her words.

BEYOND THE BLUE HORIZON

FIONA COOPER

ou are lying limp on the chaotic surface of our planet, your

beautiful strong arms spread wide. Your fists have punched the

Y shattered pillows like meteors hurtling through space, your

bruised neck is bright with sweat and a vein jumps there, your heart is

racing so loud I can hear it. I am on all fours above you, my face and

chin are dripping with you, I stick my fingers between your laughing lips

so you can taste you too...

"Wonderful," I tell your perfect nipples a thousand times. "You are wonderful, you taste wonderful, you smell like heaven, and I adore you."

Your teeth graze my fingers and you run your tongue round your

lips...

"Well, I don't do anything for me," you say. "When I land I need to eat you... "

Your arm moves in a slow circle like the beating of a snow angel's

wing and you rub your hand on your perfect thigh where I have spurted

all over you. Another slow wing beat and you suck your fingers and

smile and nod with infinite wisdom.

" You," you say, drawing out the word like it was a mile long,

"mmm—the best taste in this world or any other."

I arch my back and breathe on your glistening fur and your whole

body shivers like a hologram. My tongue hovers on your steaming secret

skin, sleek and rosy and pulsing like a sea anemone, spread taut by my

fingers, and your head thrashes from side to side as ecstasy seizes you

over and over. Then your hand is in my hair, your fingers digging into

my scalp, dragging my face to yours as you growl into my mouth, your

eyes electric.

"You are in serious trouble."

I grin like some crazed slime-fanged alien and my hands are green-

scaled claws as I pin your fabulous wrists to the starstruck sheets and my eyes shoot lasers that glorify your naked beauty.

"What kinda trouble, lady?"

Now I am a grease monkey, chewing gum, an idle pelvic thrust

letting you know who's in charge.

"Big trouble," you say, wrapping your thighs round me, digging

your heels into my ass, pushing me into you.

"How big is big?" I say, deep and impassive like the guy who tore the doors down in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

"Big enormous mega mighty universal deep deep deep poo," you

say, cool as the best poker bluffer on the 24/7 stud gambling channel.

"I am sooo scared," I say, and my fangs clash the air by your ears.

You grip me tighter, thrusting up at me so our bones singe through the

flesh.

"I am teeerrrified." I burn your throat with my breath. "You're the only trouble I want to be in."

Now you struggle, and we wrestle—when we fight like this, you

really fight, and that takes my breath away, but if I hang on to your

wrists I'm okay, I'm the boss, my baby, because if you tickle me, well,

I'm finished.

I tug both your wrists into one hand and kiss you so our teeth clash

and our tongues rip at each other and our eyes lock and we are one.

My free hand slides through the swamp of our bellies and I thrust

my fingers inside you. Hard.

"Is that okay?"

"Mmm."

Your thighs clamp on my arm hard as the petrified jaws of a giant

clam and you throw me over, climb on me, knees on my shoulder. Jesus,

woman, you bowled me over the first time we met and I knew in my

guts that without you I am only half alive. When we let our eyes meet all

those years ago—a hundred people in the room and not one of them

existed—there was a deep space explosion like the proud and ancient

star we came from. A cigarette paper between us is too much distance.

Call it destiny, call it karma, call it fate, call it hey diddle diddle, shoo-be-doo, call it si si, oui oui, da da, doo wop, words cannot hold it—even

the word love holds only a microcell of our truth.

Your eyes are multidimensional as you look down into my soul.

Your hair is spiked and dripping and you smile wide as all the Osmonds

rolled into one. Then you drop your drooling mouth onto mine and our

faces slide together. You smell like a rainy field as the sun rises, you

with rainbows in the eternal skies of your eyes.

You arch your back and wriggle your thighs between mine, resting

one wrist on my neck, flipping the lid of our magic gel open, squeezing

the tube until your fingers are thick with a clear web and you flex your

hand into a fist. I am burning for your touch, I need to leap that first

bruising edge of almost pain and you know it, your wild smile shows it.

I spread my arms like a crucifix as you glide down my shaking

body. I push up to meet your mouth and you seize me between your lips,

suck me, your tongue huge and soft as you lick me over and over. Then

your tongue is stiff and delicate thrusting into me, circling me until I

could scream for needing you deep deep inside me.

One of your fingers joins your tongue, then your knuckles nudge

against me and I open wider and wider and drag you into me. You swim

up to my face, your fingers take it slow, nudging into me, your eyes very

still and glowing.

"You are mine," you say.

"I am yours," I breathe, dizzy with the feeling of your fist sliding into me. My body jackknifes over the edge of pain, blood roaring in my

ears, and I break every sound barrier, you shoot me higher than anything

that ever squandered rocket fuel and TV footage from a NASA launch

pad.

''Mine,'' you say and I feel your fingers peel from your fist one by

one and probe me as I shudder from head to toe, gripping your wrist and

needing you—my God is it possible—more and more.

Now you rock your hand inside me as galaxies fly by bright as

pixie dust. This is the bit that drives us crazy—crazier?—because we are

one and I need to swallow all of you, our mouths are a vacuum of desire,

and we cannot be close enough. All at once you are fierce and strong,

my soft-skinned gentle love, my lover, you possess me completely, I

flow like a flood dam. Every deep thrust and twirl of your beautiful hand

and I am in deep space, your blue eyes are liquid gold, and I have no

body, no skin, I am nothing but a creature born to love you, be loved by

you, I am a zillion formless cells merging into you.

"I'm...

nothing without you

coming

close to tears

to

we two are one

you..."

My perfect love, I am sobbing, biting your face, thumping your

shoulders with my fists, spouting like a geyser, laughing like a

madwoman.

You hold me close as I rematerialize from eight miles high, from

our waist down we are in the Everglades and clinging to each other, you

rescue me as wordless and tender as the Swamp Thing, take me to your

world which is our world, oh God my darling I was utterly lost until I

found you.

You pat me and totter to the loo and pee loud and laughing.

Somehow I crawl to be where you are and fall to my knees, bury my

head in your breasts and tongue your navel. As you stand I push my face

between your thighs and eat you, we fall to the cold tiles, then you pat

me again as I drag myself up to pee too. You are curled in front of me,

and I slide my smallest finger into your ass and let my hand splay and

play with you. I bend so I can cup your breasts and pull you to me, squat

behind you and bite into your neck as you whimper and shiver and fill

my palm with liquid ambrosia.

Millennia ago, we would have lived in a cave high on a hill where

a trickle of water and sunlight created a haze of ferns on the dark rock.

Our skin was shaggy and our feet were wide with long strong toes. Our

eyes were wild, our hands greedy and needy for the feel of each

other...well, these days I guess we're less hairy and the water comes

from taps and plants grow in pots. We love through all time.

Half drowning and delirous, we crawl back to our wrecked bed and

you splash icy fizz into our glasses. An empty glass is a crime and we

should have been arrested a thousand times. Someone a thousand miles

and years away grew luscious rosy grapes and a dozen people stripped

the vines in the sunshine, someone trod those grapes to pulp, someone

let them ferment and let their essence fill bottles and fly over the

oceans—and all for us. Because we're worth it, we are worth everything and anything.

We drink holding hands and look around—your stilettoes hurled

against the wall, black velvet pants inside out on the table, silk shirt like a crash-landed parachute, electric blue thong a butterfly on the floor,

electric blue lace bra crushed under the chair. My boots lie gawping on

the sofa, twin socks their laughing tongues, jeans concertina-ed over the

waste bin, somehow my shirt has flown to the overhead lamp shade, and

my leather jacket lies in a deflated heap.

"I love wrecking rooms with you," you say, refuelling our glasses.

"We need a big house," I say. "Lots of rooms and a cleaner whose middle name is discretion."

"And no visitors," you say.

"I don't think they could cope," I say. "We could do a dinner party—just about—then you'd turn into the She-Hulk and they'd be very

polite and wonder what they'd been drinking and why I'd dissolved into

a pool of desire."

"Me—the She-Hulk?" you say, all convent girl prim.

"Or the Blue-Eyed Thing," I tell you, "smashing down any barriers I might be fool enough to imagine could keep you away."

"Even more trouble," you say. "You have no idea how much."

"Show me."

"Only if you close your eyes and lie back," you say.

So I do.

I feel you slide the black blindfold round my face. This is familiar.

As is the feel of knotted silk on my wrists and the way you tether my

wrists to the legs of the bed. I like the trouble I'm anticipating. Then

there is silk at my feet and you are very quiet as you tie my unresisting

ankles wide apart. Okay. Less familiar is when you slide a gag round my chin, the way you slide a pillow under my bum. And though I can hear

the soles of your feet on the floor, recognize the sound of you changing

the CD, then there is only the sound of music. God, I want you, where

are you? Every pore of my skin is electric.

I feel the mattress dip a little and I open for you, wanting, needing,

expecting your tongue. Your hot skin brushes my inner thighs and my

fingers and toes curl into hyperspace—your mouth? Your hand—God

my love, touch me...

And then there is the warm weight of you on top of me and your

breath on my neck. Your hands on my breasts and you are glorious and

suddenly you are inside me, hard and wet, and I need to be free to wrap

myself around you, but I can't move, just feel you pushing into me,

pulling a little back then thrusting your hips against me, my darling, this is amazing.

"I want to fill you," you growl, tearing off my blindfold with your teeth, one hand on my throat now. Your eyes blaze like a solar eclipse

and your head clamps between my neck and shoulder, I can see your ass

clenching and plunging and a wide band of leather gleaming above the

cleft and I am choking on this gag until you tear my mouth free and fill

it with your tongue.

"I want..."

"Just wait. This is what I want," you groan, thrusting slow and hard with every word.

"I want..."

"No," you say like steel, "You want this. I know you do."

"I want this, I want you." I gasp.

"We're going to come together," you say, grinning, still slow and deep.

"Yes," I say, "I'm coming already, I can never stop coming to you."

Now your neck is pulsing and you are staring wild-eyed

somewhere above my head.

"What do you want?" you say intensely.

"Untie my ankle," I say. "Please. I need you to."

You curl over me, reach down and pull me free and I am suddenly

empty—your leather belt twitches the deep purple strap-on against my

thigh. I keep my legs flat until you are on me and in me again. Then my

legs clamp around your waist and you go deeper into me, your eyes

wide.

"Is that what you want?" you ask me like a high priestess.

"Yes," I say.

And then you thrash into me over and over faster and faster and on

and on and I am yours. Forever. And you are loving me like we've never

loved before and you scream as we come and still you invade me, still I

surrender over and over and it's never over until I shoot you right out of me and you free my wrists and your hands dig deep into my ribs and to

the heart of me. Our total ecstasy slides like an electric eel over my heart and curls right into our guts and pours from us like the turbulence where

a river meets the sea.

Now, my love, you have nothing, I have absolutely nothing left,

just us flying like the diamond rings of Saturn round our galaxy as our

bodies collapse together and melt like the wax of twin candles lit in

some ancient church and holding the prayers and hopes of the world.

We sparkle like a star being born, we meld, we melt, we blend, so

that even more I am part of you, you are part of me, we are one, I am

you, you are me, I am yours, you are mine.

I groan into your cheek.

"Forever..."

Your twin whisper fills my head...

" Forever..."

Then we lie together dizzy and silent.

In a while I know I'll unstrap you and tie you face down, the

soaking pillow under your belly. And I'll put on our new toy and push it

between your lips and into the depths of you, both arms flee to hold you.

But for now we crumple against each other, for now I can feel you

twitching very gently as sleep comes over you.

You open your eyes all of a sudden and look at me, proud queen of

my soul.

"I declare world peace," you murmur and your eyes close.

I lie and hold you sleeping.

My love, you are the ruler of my universe.

DISTRAUGHT TRUTHS

ASHLEY BARTLETT

was a little drunk and I stumbled as she pushed me against the

wall. Her mouth was on me, hot against my frozen skin. One

I hand pushed beneath my T-shirt while the other worked open

the button on my jeans. Her fingers squeezed my nipple and I groaned,

rocking my hips into her. Silently I begged for her to touch me. When

she forced her hand down my jeans, my head jerked back and hit the

wall. I dimly felt the pain in my head, yet I was too far gone to care. Her fingers slid through the wet heat between my legs. My hands found the

flesh beneath her sweater and I pulled her against my body, needing the

touch, not caring who she was. Slowly she pushed me closer to the. She

began to bite my skin, sucking on my neck. I knew it would leave a

mark.

"No. No. Stop that. No marks," I gasped.

"Shut up, baby, I know you want it," she growled.

I forced my eyes open at the sound of her voice. She was not

Finch. The breath escaped my lungs and my stomach tightened. I knew

it was coming the moment Finch entered my mind. I felt my body go

rigid as I rode the waves of pleasure. My head snapped back again. My

fingers curled in the air, seeking someone to hold. I bit my lip and tasted blood. Faintly, I felt her pull away, leaving me gasping against the wall.

I pulled a cigarette from my back pocket and lit it, inhaling deeply.

The wall dug into my shoulders as I sagged against it. I buttoned my fly

while I glanced around, wondering if anyone was watching. I couldn't

have cared less if they had been. I didn't care that I never asked her name or that she was cheapened by the fact that I wished it was not her who

touched me. She was not the woman I wanted.

I pushed through the crowd back to the table. Caitlyn and Sylvia

were still huddled by it, watching women pass by openly staring at them.

The club was mostly women with a few men scattered about. The

occupants were all in tight jeans and skimpy shirts. The long bar spread

the entire length of the back wall, the crowds of people lined up to get

drinks keeping the three bartenders in constant motion. A DJ and dance

floor took up nearly all of the remaining space. Women moved to the

beat of the music, all one being. The music was their heart. I could hear

it moving them. As I came closer to our table, the crowd pushed me

around and I felt a woman press against me.

"Nice display," a deep voice said into my ear. I could feel her

breath on my neck. Her voice aroused me more than the sex minutes

before. I looked back at her. Finch's distinctive smell flooded my senses; smoke and surprisingly feminine perfume. Her dark green eyes bored

into mine, deep and hazy. I saw some emotion pass through them. I told

myself it was jealousy.

She gestured with her chin at her hands. Four cold beers were

carefully dangling from her fingers. She shouted, ''I've got beer. Come

on, don't hold up traffic." To emphasize her point she thrust her hips into my ass.

I felt like I was going to melt; her body was fire against mine. I

couldn't tell if she knew how turned on I was. Maybe she thought it was

left over from my performance against the wall. Her eyes clouded again.

I found my voice. ''Yeah, yeah." My attempt at nonchalance came

out as a choked whisper. I turned back into the stream of people.

We managed to regain our seats at the table. Finch passed out the

Corona. Taking a deep swig, I resigned myself to getting drunk and

hoped the night would end. Hoped that I would stop wanting her. I felt

the light fuzziness spread to my limbs. My emotions were almost less

harsh, less poignant. I looked at Finch again. She was so beautiful it

hurt. Dark shaggy hair fell into her eyes. Her shadowed face seemed like

a mask of pain; a recent acquisition. I wanted to know what was making

her hurt, I wanted to make it stop.

Caitlyn broke into my thoughts, "I liked the show." She made her voice deep. "It was very sexy."

Sylvia laughed, adopting the voice. "Yes," she breathed heavily, "it made me so hot." She emphasized the last word while leaning down to

show off her cleavage.

"Fuck off," I shot back. I took a swig of beer.

Sylvia looked hurt. "Jeez, don't get so pissy."

"Yeah, you're a bitch when you're drunk." Caitlyn scowled. She

turned to Sylvia. "Wanna dance?"

''Yeah, I'd love to." Playfully she ruffled my hair. "We'll be back when you're more human," she laughed. "You know, not post-orgasmic."

I tried to smile but it came out as a grimace. The weekly outings to

floating clubs were beginning to drain me. I had been evading my best

friend for the last month, but she was starting to get suspicious. Soon

Finch would ask point blank why I was avoiding her. I pulled out my

cigarettes. Finch leaned close and lit it for me. I handed her one and she accepted it, her long fingers tightly touching mine.

"You wanna tell me what's bothering you?" Her voice in my ear

made my stomach tighten.

"Nothing," I grumbled, "absolutely nothing."

"Don't give me that shit, Tiff."

"Oh, would you like to tell me what's bothering you?" I punctuated my words by poking myself, then her in the chest as I spoke.

"Don't do that." She shook her head at me. "There's something going on in that head of yours."

This time when I looked at her, my eyes begged along with my

voice. "Not now, okay?"

She put an arm around me. It was meant as a comfort, but I was

finding it harder and harder to resist her touch. I shuddered. I could feel her stop her motion so I leaned closer, wanting the feel of her. She

tightened her grip, slowly rubbing my back. I felt her lips press a kiss

into my hair.

"I want another beer." I began to get up. As much as I had needed her a moment before, I now needed her to stop. If she didn't, I would

embarrass myself.

"Don't worry, I got it." She abruptly pushed off her seat. I watched her tall, lanky, boyish figure disappear in the direction of the bar.

When Finch returned she was carrying two bottled waters. "I

thought this might be a better idea than beer." She smiled. "Otherwise we'll hate ourselves tomorrow."

I managed a grin. "I guess you're right."

''You wanna go outside?" She nodded at the door.

"Sure."

She grabbed my hand and led me toward the exit. We walked away

from the doors. I realized we were still holding hands only when she let

go to sit on the curb. The only company we had was a burned-out

streetlight. I looked at our feet in the empty gutter. Our Chuck Taylors

were equally scuffed; however, hers were about four sizes bigger. She

had a good five inches on me, so she seemed to tower when we walked

together. I liked it.

"You want?" I held out a freshly lit cigarette.

''Thanks.'' She took it from me. This time our fingers did not touch.

Finch wrapped her gangly arms around her bare knees, which stuck out

of the holes in her threadbare jeans, and rested her head on her arms.

Periodically she lifted her lips to take a drag. I raised my hand to touch her, then lost my nerve and lowered it slowly.

"Tiff?" Her voice came out as a whisper.

"Yeah?"

She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. "'Never mind."

I put my hand on her bare forearm. The sleeves of the oxford shirt

she had on were rolled twice, revealing an expanse of tanned skin. A

large band of leather was tied around one wrist and a wide watch

covered the other.

"What?" I probed gently.

"Really, it’s nothin’." She pulled at the thin tie around her neck with both hands. The black silk folded and slipped through her fingers.

She scratched her neck. The unconscious motion made the shorter, dark

hair on the back of her head stand up. I loved when she did that. Her hair would stick out at odd angles when she was nervous. I wondered what

was getting at her now; she had been acting weird for a while. I realized

I was staring when she looked directly at me. The shadows in her eyes

spread, making them deep as fathoms. It gave her that brooding look that

made her so fucking sexy. Her mouth was slightly big for her face, and

her wide, soft, pink lips were slightly parted.

"Finch. I..." love you. Yeah, right. I looked away from her, afraid I might embarrass myself. I tried to look really intrigued by the streetlight above us. To stress my point I got up and walked toward the post. It was

metal with bits of paper, tape, and filth clinging to it.

"Why do you do that, Tiff?"

Confused, I turned around. "Do what?"

She stood and stared at her shoes. "You know. Hook up with

chicks like that." She seemed nervous. "You deserve better, you know?"

She shuffled her feet.

My mouth was hanging open, so I closed it "I...I don't know."

What was I supposed to tell her? I do it because I want to touch you so

bad I feel like crawling out of my skin to escape? I shoved my hands in

my pockets to hide their trembling. "Why do you care?"

"'Cuz it seems like all you do is get trashed and screw around

and...and it freaks me out."

Her words cut into me. Without thinking, I lashed out. "Well, babe,

I learned from the best." I nodded my chin at her. I knew I was being a bitch but I held my ground. She looked like I had slapped her. Her

mouth thinned out and turned down at the comers. A muscle twitched in

her cheek and her jaw trembled. I thought she might cry.

My words fell out. "Ah, damn. I'm sorry." I brushed her hair out of her eyes, so dark they were almost black. "I didn't mean that. I'm a

bitch."

"Yeah. You are." Her voice was cold. She turned and began

walking away.

''No, Finch, wait! Let me explain."

She stopped walking. Without turning around she said, "You don't

need to explain to me."

"Yeah, I do." I took a deep breath and stepped closer to her. We were only a foot apart, yet she still faced away from me. My voice was a

whisper. "I do it to get you outta my head. I can't stop wanting you. It hurts so bad. I just wanna stop imagining your hands on me, waking up

thinking about you." I stopped talking when her shoulders started

shaking. She finally turned around.

When she raised her tormented eyes to mine my stomach

plummeted. Silent tears left small tracks down her cheeks. I had never

seen her look so timid and unsure.

"Tiff, I want to believe that so much. I've spent months pining over

you." A small grin crossed her face, lighting her rakishly handsome

features. My breath caught in my chest. "You don't want me"—she

gestured at the club, her smile fading—''you make that pretty obvious."

She started walking away again. My heart stopped.

"Finch." I grabbed her hand and made her turn around. I brought

my lips to hers. In an instant she pressed her body against mine. My

head was tilted up, hers bent down protectively over me. I could still feel the fresh tears on her cheeks. An eternity passed before her tongue met

mine, so soft. I moaned deep in my throat. She wrenched her lips away.

Our bodies still touched.

"No. Stop." Her plea came out tinged with pain.

"Why?" I knew I sounded like a petulant child, but I didn't care. I reached for her again. "I want you so bad. Please."

She took a step back so our bodies were no longer in contact where

a moment before, her body was liquid heat against mine and I could feel

how much she wanted me. Now her posture was stiff, her gaze chilly.

"You don't want me."

"You're kidding me! I can't get you outta my goddamn head,

Finch." My voice cracked when I said her name. I tried to grab her hands but she moved them. "Why not?"

Her voice was lethal. "Because I just watched some chick fuck you

in a bar." Her eyes never left mine. "Because I watch you leave with a different woman every night and I can't take watching them screw

ou." She stepped closer, still not touching me. A note of tenderness

penetrated her anger. "Look at this." She placed two fingers under my chin and lifted it to show the hickey my earlier companion had left. "Oh honey. Why?"

Angrily my words burst forth. "'Cuz I can't touch you. I keep trying

to forget you, but your face is burned into my skull." I felt hot tears well up and pushed them away. "Every time they touch me all I see is you.

All I feel is you." I reached for her again. Deliberately, she stepped away from me.

With a low, calm voice she spoke. "Fuck you, Tiffany. You expect

me to believe that shit? You fuck other women to replace me?" Her

voice broke and a small laugh escaped. "Fuck you." She stalked away.

"Finch!" I called to her retreating back. "Finch, I'm an idiot! Come back." She couldn't hear me anymore. "Finch, I love you," I whispered to myself, but I knew she was already gone.

∴

Cautiously I knocked on Finch's apartment door. The lights were

out. "Finch," I called, "Finch, if you're in there answer the door!"

The other door on her landing opened and a grungy kid stuck his

head out. "Dude, stop yelling, she hasn't been home all night." He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and closed the door.

I stole a glance at my watch; just past midnight, I settled on the

cement stairs, prepared to wait until dawn if I had to. My cigarette pack

was digging into my ass again, so I pulled it out. Almost half full. I

placed one in my mouth, unconsciously touching my tongue to the filter

to make sure it was not backward. The bars of the handrail felt like ice,

but I leaned against them anyway. If I didn't, I was afraid I might fall

apart. I hated myself. The alcohol had left my system and was replaced

by a killer headache. I smelled like a bar: cigarettes, booze, and sweat.

None of these things mattered, though, because all I could think of was

Finch. I could feel her touching me—her lanky, muscled body warm

against mine, those soft hands pulling me into her. I let my head fall

between my knees wishing I could just do the damn night over again.

"What the hell are you doing here, Tiff?"

My head jerked up at the sound of her voice. "I had to talk to you."

I stood up, placing myself between her and the door. "I'm not leaving until I do."

Finch walked toward me with smoldering eyes. I thought she

might hit me for a second, and I flinched when she stepped closer. I

could feel her breath on my face, her perfume flooded my nostrils again,

and my nipples hardened when her breasts brushed mine. My stomach

tightened at the onslaught of feeling. I knew I was wet; but I tried to

ignore my arousal. Any second she would tell me to leave, probably

forever. I braced myself.

"Don't talk," she whispered through damp eyes. She kissed me

hard and backed me against the door. I felt her fumbling with her keys,

trying to open the door. When her tongue finally met mine I lost control.

I grabbed her hips and pulled her against me, sliding my thigh into her

crotch, moving my hands down to her ass. Then I bit her lip, sucking it

into my mouth. I heard the keys drop. My hands found the skin beneath

her shirt and I drew my nails up her sides hard enough to draw blood.

She gasped when I found her breasts, my thumbs brushing across her

sensitive nipples. Unconsciously I moved my leg higher between hers. I

tried to bring her closer to me, but the only barrier separating us was

clothing. I tore my lips from hers only to bite along her neck down to her collarbone. With one hand still on her breast I pulled the knot from her

tie and began unbuttoning her shirt

"Wait, Tiff, wait," Finch pleaded.

"No." I resumed kissing down her chest to her now-bared nipples.

She threaded her fingers through my hair, pulling back so I would

look at her. "We need to do this inside."

I nodded and silently waited as she groped for her keys and

unlocked the door. Once inside, Finch walked in the direction of her

bedroom. I made it as far as the hallway. I moved directly behind her,

then I slid my hands up her stomach to her breasts, lingering for a

moment before I slid her shirt off her shoulders and dropped it behind

us. Carefully I inspected the red tribal tattoo that ran from Finch's golden shoulder blade up her shoulder and wrapped around her toned arm. With

my lips I followed the tattoo, kissing, biting, and licking. My hands

roamed down her taut stomach to the curve of her hips. I trailed the

natural line of smooth skin, dipping just below the waistline until I felt her shudder and moan. She turned to capture my mouth in another kiss.

Groaning at the touch of her lips, I pushed until she was against the wall.

An almost painful cry escaped her.

"What did I do? Are you okay?" I brushed a shaking hand across

her cheek.

"The wall's just cold." She grinned.

"Deal with it." A laugh escaped me as I ran my tongue along her

ear. When I drew my thumb under the elastic of her briefs, she arched

against me.

"Please, you gotta touch me." She raised her hips to mine. I gasped at the pressure. Desperately I tried to ignore the heat between my thighs.

The button and zipper on her jeans seemed to open themselves at the

touch of my fingers. I brushed my fingers down the soft shaved skin; the

thick moisture flooding the tight space between Finch and her underwear

made me groan. I tried to draw a full breath but the air had left my lungs.

My lips found hers again as I began the slow circles I knew would drive

her insane.

Finch twisted away from the wall. "Please." The air escaped her

lips in short gasps. ''Now. Please, Tiff."

The sensation of Finch was killing me. She smelled the way she

always had; only now, I could smell the sex on her skin. The way she

smelled and sounded and felt would have been enough to make me go

off. I heard myself moan when I entered her. A cry tore from her lips as

she stiffened. I came the moment she did. The orgasm shooting through

my body almost crippled me. I concentrated on standing and threaded an

arm around her waist, whispering assurances in her ear as she quieted.

Her knees did not seem to work properly and she fell against me. I

slipped out of her feeling like my brain and body were no longer

connected. When I wrapped my arms around her she molded against me.

I waited in silence still unsure if she was angry.

"Bed," she whispered before calmly taking my hand and leading

the rest of the way. Once in the room, Finch stripped off her jeans and

made a move to climb under the sheets, "Aren't you coming?" The look on her face was uncertain.

Awkwardly I stood by the door, not sure if I should leave or stay.

"I... I don't know if you want me here."

Finch motioned me closer. When I stood in front of her she lifted

off my T-shirt and unbuttoned the fly of my jeans and pushed them

down until I could step out of the tight material. Gently she tugged my

hand until we were lying facing each other.

My hand wandered up and down, tracing the planes of her bare

body. Finch was clearly exhausted judging by the look in her eyes. I

pushed the dark locks off her forehead and kissed her. "Finch, I'm... I'm sorry," I said, "about earlier."

She nodded and curled closer, her eyes now closing. "Don't worry

about it"

"But..."

"It's okay, really. Just go to sleep."

"All right." I watched as Finch surrendered to sleep, hoping that tomorrow she would feel the same.

THE ART OF RECYCLING

REMITTANCE GIRL

lena, do you like girls?

Well, how else could she put it? Beatrix didn't think it was

E appropriate to proposition someone working in a restaurant;

it was a little like exposing them to secondhand smoke. After all, that

person was stuck there, working, a prisoner to the whims of the patrons.

She had always smiled very sincerely at Elena, regardless of whether the

interchange was an offer of more coffee or a request for the bill.

Beatrix stubbed out her cigarette and clicked her pen in

consternation, staring down at the scrawl she'd made on the paper

napkin. Second thoughts clawed at her belly and she whipped the tissue

off the table, balling it in her hand. Why couldn't she just go meet

someone in a bar like everyone else? Why was it that the only women

she really noticed were the ones she was never sure about? Perhaps it

was a subtle sort of masochism.

The couple at the next table broke out into peals of laughter.

Beatrix drained her cup of mocha, leaving enough at the bottom to soak

the wadded-up napkin and make the note unreadable, irretrievable, when

she dropped the thing into her cup.

"Ehr...ju want another mocha?"

Oh, the short, sun-streaked Eton crop and the serious wire-rimmed

specs. They made Beatrix quiver. But nothing was as lovely as that

Hispanic accent. Elena stood by the table waiting, pen poised at her

order pad, weight shifted to one hip. She had tiny hips. Beatrix imagined

that underneath the black waitress pants, delicate bones stretched white

skin, taut, sinewy, a protrusion to nibble on.

"Eh, chica! Up here! Look at my face. More mocha?"

Beatrix's eyes flitted up Elena's body. "Yes. Yes, please."

" Por fin! " grunted Elena and whisked the empty cup bearing the soggy missive away.

After a year of late Sunday breakfasts, their interchanges had

become less formal. Elena had slowly begun to take on the character of a

harried, abrupt, but warmhearted mother. Beatrix was disconcerted by

this; her feelings for Elena didn't run along familial lines. Moreover,

there couldn't have been more than a couple of years' difference between

them. Still Elena managed to make her feel like a wayward,

daydreaming child.

The new, steaming cup of mocha arrived. Elena slid it onto the

table in that inimitable way waitresses have of putting something down

in front of you with considerable force but still managing to keep all the liquid neatly in the cup.

''Thank you." Beatrix beamed upward, trying to look as grateful as

she could without actually appearing insane.

" De nada. "

It’s nothing.

Oh, it's not nothing to me, thought Beatrix.

The slim, work-worn hand slapped the bill down on the table with

determination. The gesture said, "Drink up and leave, there are other people waiting for a table."

Patisserie Valerie was always a very busy place on a Sunday. The

gold lettering on the door slated proudly that it was established in 1926.

It had been a meeting place for radical students in the sixties. Now it was full of late-blooming yuppies coaxing toasted hot-cross buns down the

throats of their screaming offspring.

Beatrix left the restaurant with the second paper napkin sitting

unused and unblemished on the table along with the tip.

The January drizzle turned the quiet London street to watercolor as

she walked back to her pokey studio flat. Sunday mornings were set

aside for brunch and Elena (although Elena didn't know it), and the

afternoons were dedicated to playing domestic catch-up.

Beatrix let herself into her flat; it smelled of must and cigarettes

and was furnished in postmodern skip. The overstuffed sofa where she

often fell asleep was slowly spilling its guts onto a worn Afghan rug.

The walls were lined in raw plank and cinderblock bookshelves,

overflowing with ratty paperbacks and even rattier hardcovers. A

mournful aspidistra corpse sat in a dried-up pot by the window awaiting

proper burial. It was her Sunday custom to prod it and consider throwing

it out, only to spot some minute but encouraging sign of life. She

watered its leafless skeleton with a mugful of tap water and opened the

window wide, letting in the damp breeze.

Her sleeping area was screened off from the rest of the room by an

enormous and very bad oil painting rescued from the back of the London

School of Art. It had cost her eight pounds to get it home, strapped to the roof of a minicab. The monstrous abstract had no artistic value that

Beatrix could see, but it made a decent wall.

Beatrix opened the window beside her bed as well and looked

down at the nest of rumpled bedclothes on her futon. It always looked so

empty. Sometimes when she lay in it, she saw herself from a perch

somewhere near the ceiling. It still looked empty, even with her in it.

A goose-necked reading lamp sat atop a pile of encyclopedias,

doing duty as a bedside table. Along one wall, obscuring the baseboard,

books stood in line, waiting to be read.

Pulling the bedclothes off, Beatrix wondered what it might feel

like to have a bundle of linen, warmed with someone else's body heat, in

her arms. She'd had women in her bed before, occasionally, but they had

never stayed long. Invariably, they couldn't stand her silence. She, for

her part, could never understand why people needed to talk so much.

They always seemed to need to fill up the silent spaces, flooding time

and volume with chatter, as if it would collapse if it weren't stuffed full of noise.

Right at the moment, of course, her inability to talk was clearly a

problem. She wasn't ever going to be able to ask Elena out if she didn't

get around to popping the question. But it wasn't done to just come out

with a question like that; one had to build up to it with inane chitchat.

Beatrix thought about this dilemma as she gathered up the hospital

sheets from her bed and made a bundle. In the tiny bathroom, she pulled

the Excelsior Hotel towels off the rail and sorted her clothes by smell,

finding the ones that needed washing.

Finally, having stuffed everything into a large bin liner, she

selected a book and set off for the launderette.

∴

There was almost no one at the launderette and Beatrix finished

her washing in record time. She folded the clean clothes and linen and

put them back in the black plastic bag.

On her way home, she approached the bus stop. It was Elena,

standing propped up against the post, waiting. Beatrix's pulse raced as

she walked toward her, trying to order the sequence of banal sentences

she knew she was expected to deliver. At the very end of it all, she had

mentally tagged the question: "Would you like to have a drink, or dinner or something?" Did that sound too desperate? Too needy? Well, it would have to do.

But as she came close, all that careful planning had to be dispensed

with. Elena's face was tear streaked and miserable. Her eyes were red.

Her mouth shut in a determined line, her throat moving, swallowing, as

if she was trying hard to keep herself from crying out loud.

Beatrix hesitated for a heartbeat and then touched the other

woman's shoulder. "Elena? Are you all right?"

Elena looked at her mutely and handed her an open letter.

Notice of Termination of Employment

We regret to inform you that we currently find

ourselves overstaffed, now that two of our long-term

employees have returned from their maternity leave.

Unfortunately this means we can no longer offer you a

position in our establishment.

We will be happy to provide you with an excellent letter

of reference which we are certain will enable you to find

alternate employment.

Yours sincerely,

The Management

Patisserie Valerie

"Oh dear," murmured Beatrix.

''Eh, it's nothing. Stupid to cry about it." Elena took off her glasses and smeared the flat of her palm over her cheek. A new flood of tears

spilled down over the wet skin.

It had started to rain again and the light was fading. Some of the

streetlamps were beginning to flicker on, making little difference to the

twilight. Colder now, a gust of wind picked up the droplets of rain and

hurled them sideways.

"Would you..." began Beatrix. She swallowed and tried again.

"Would you like to come and have a cup of tea? My flat's just around the corner." Suddenly she could hear the blood pushing against her

eardrums, her pulse throbbing in her dry throat.

Elena put her glasses back on and looked at her seriously. Beatrix

was almost sure she was going to be told to fuck off and mind her own

business. Then, quite suddenly, Elena's face broke into a small smile.

"Oh... so in de morning I esserve ju and now ju esserve me? So

ironical! Why not?"

The response shocked Beatrix and, while she was waiting to find

out that she'd hallucinated the answer, Elena slipped a strong hand into

Beatrix's. She stood there, feeling it grow warm.

"Well? Ju change jor mind?"

''No! Not at all," Beatrix said hurriedly and began to stride up the

street, pulling Elena and her bag of laundry behind her with indecent

haste.

They didn't speak as they walked, or as they climbed the stairs to

the flat. It was only when Beatrix opened the door and led Elena in that

she mumbled, "It's a mess, I'm sorry."

She dropped her bag of clean laundry and rushed to slam the

windows shut against the cold gusts rain-heavy wind. The room was

freezing and dark. Suddenly Beatrix was heartily ashamed of where she

lived. This woman deserved better—somewhere welcoming and warm,

cozy. Elena's expression did nothing to assuage her embarrassment. She

took in the surroundings looking stunned. Her eyes fixed on the canvas

that separated the living area from the bedroom.

"Oh... it's my wall," said Beatrix sheepishly. "Look, sit down and I'll put the kettle on." She led Elena to the sofa and practically pushed her down on it.

In a frenzy she filled the kettle, lit the gas ring, and pulled out the

mugs. She ran into her bedroom and grabbed the electric heater, yanking

its cord out of the wall plug. Finally she pulled the quilt off her bed and dragged it back, along with the heater, into the living room.

Beatrix plugged in the old three-barred heater into a socket near

the sofa, pointing it in Elena's direction. The quilt she wasn't so sure

about. She thought a moment and then shrugged, jumping a little as she

heard the kettle start to scream.

"Here, look, you'll be warm in no time!" she insisted, draping the quilt over Elena and tucking it in around her.

It suddenly struck her that Elena must think she was a bag lady or

something. But the woman said nothing. She had started crying again,

silently, sitting like a stone statue as Beatrix wrapped the quilt around

her legs.

She warmed the chipped teapot with boiling water, made the tea,

and bore it all into the living room on a tray that she set down on the

floor, near the heater. Lacking a sugar bowl, she plunged a teaspoon into

an old coffee jar full of sugar and looked up at Elena.

"How many sugars?"

"Two."

"Milk?"

"Jes."

"Do you like girls?" It had just tumbled out with the other

questions. Beatrix held her breath and waited. Suddenly she realized

what a stupid question it was, considering the circumstances.

"Jes."

"That way?"

"Jes, dat way."

Beatrix brought her the mug of tea, on bended knee, by

coincidence. She smiled and watched Elena wriggle a hand out from

underneath the quilt to take it.

She went back to fix her own. The electric fire's artificial heat

washed over her face, roasting it red, or perhaps she was blushing. But

she kept her face toward it as she asked, keeping her voice casual.

"Do you like me?"

Elena gave an abrupt little grunt that made Beatrix turn her head.

"Maybe... let's see how ju make tea." The voice was stern, abrupt.

Beatrix watched Elena take a sip out of the unchipped mug with a

FedEx logo. She held her own cup in both hands, trying to equalize the

temperature difference between her cheeks and her fingers.

"Mmm. Come sit here," said Elena. She pulled an edge of the quilt up and looked at the empty expanse of ratty sofa beside her.

Gingerly—very gingerly—Beatrix rose and walked to the couch.

She settled herself at a discreet distance, not touching her but close.

Elena smoothed the quilt over them both and clucked her tongue loudly.

"Bery good tea. But der is a ... a ... gap. Jes, a gap. All de cold air is coming in," she said huffily.

Beatrix shifted herself closer, till she could feel the line of Elena's

seated body right next to hers. It made her feel all squirmy—warm, too.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping tea and staring at the fake

wall. The colors on the canvas were dark and brooding, but the red glow

from the heater lit them in a new way, converting the whole painting

into a womblike cavern.

Beatrix set her empty mug on the arm of the sofa and turned to

Elena. Warmed now and feeling the heat radiating from the other

woman's body, she put an arm around Elena's shoulders and kissed her

on the cheek.

"Are you still sad?"

''No.''

It wasn't that Beatrix didn't like glasses, but they got in the way of

a good kiss. She reached up to pull Elena's off. Beatrix grinned and

pressed her lips against Elena's.

She had wanted it to be a gentle sort of kiss. She'd thought about

kissing Elena many times and she'd always envisioned that it would be

very gentle and languid. But now that it was happening, she couldn't

help herself. The knot in her stomach and the throbbing between her legs

drove the kiss desperately, and soon she was straddling her beneath the

quilt as she wrapped her arms around Elena's neck and pressed against

her fiercely as she fed at her lips. Her tongue flicked and plunged into

Elena's mouth, stroking and coaxing until she heard a low growl freed

from the other woman's throat.

Between them, Elena worried the buttons on her sweater, even as

Beatrix consoled herself with sliding her hands over her clothed form.

Nice plump little breasts pressed against Beatrix's hands as she cupped

them through the wool. And even through all those layers, she could feel

two hard, prominent nipples. She squeaked with need and fumbled

beneath Elena's pullover, shirt, bra, finally closing her spread fingers,

and trapping the big, burning hot nipples between them. They were as

big as raspberries and had the same effect on Beatrix as she buried her

mouth in the crook of Elena's neck. She pictured them dark pink and

plump; her mouth flooded at the image, her cunt flooded in response. As

she squeezed her fingers closed, Elena's hips arched up beneath her. The

fabric of their jeans slid and caught as they ground against each other, so hard it almost hurt.

"Jesus, mujer. Donde está tu cama?"

"Sorry?" Beatrix looked up from where she'd been feeding on

Elena's neck.

"Where de hell is jor bed?"

"Behind the wall," Beatrix whispered.

Elena glared at her. "Dat is not a wall. Dat is a piece of art."

"Yes... behind there."

"So, are ju going to invite me?"

"Absolutely, yes!" Beatrix was at it again, grabbing Elena by one hand and the quilt by the other, pulling her around the painting,

collapsing onto her futon and dragging Elena down with her.

What followed was a madness of layer shedding. Boots were

discarded, pullovers and shirts and jeans and bras and panties all

followed. Wriggling against Elena beneath the quilt, Beatrix suddenly

felt like a terrible host again. The heater was in the other room, there

were no sheets on the bed. Still, it didn't seem to matter to Elena, who

was plunging her fingers between Beatrix 's cunt lips. The chilled fingers made Beatrix twitch and chirp.

"Ah, Christ!"

"What?"

"Your fingers are freezing."

Elena sniggered as she slid her fingers back and forth through

Beatrix's wet slit.

''No problem. I warm dem up a little, jes?" And with that she

pushed two fingers deep into Beatrix's passage.

Just for a moment, it felt like she was being fucked with an ice-

lolly. Then everything melted and turned to syrup.

She pressed her own hand against her stomach to feel how cold it

was. Her fingers were freezing too and she copied Elena, plunging them

into the nest of hair and through Elena's furrow.

She felt Elena shudder and clamp her legs closed around her hand,

trapping it there.

"Friction—friction creates heat," panted Beatrix. ' Open your legs."

Elena relinquished her death-hold on Beatrix's hand and allowed

her to slide a thigh between her legs. Beatrix rolled on top and began to

move her body, rubbing the top of her thigh against Elena's mound,

pressing hard against her outer lips until they splayed and Beatrix felt

the hotter inner flesh slide against her skin, wet and warm and lovely.

She tried to be goal focused and sensible; nothing cheered a person

up like a good, hard orgasm. But it was difficult not to get waylaid by

the sheer pleasure of being in contact with skin, the gorgeous taste of

another's mouth, the curious electric shocks she got from grazing her

nipples against Elena's.

Beatrix mourned the normal sequence of events. Elena would

come, she would come, and then it would all be over. The prospect of an

empty bed, so recently warmed by the body of another... no, not this

time.

Beneath her, Elena's hips rolled and arched. Warm, strong hands

clutched at Beatrix's ass, pulling her hips down. Her thigh was slick with juice, every undulated thrust designed to drag Elena's clit over her skin.

To hell with body contact, she needed to taste her.

She coaxed Elena to loose her grip on her ass. Perhaps Elena was

close to coming—and that only fed Beatrix's urge to burrow her face in

Elena's cunt. Wriggling down the bed, squirming between Elena's legs,

kissing a long line of salty-sweet skin along the way, Beatrix finally got to her destination and pulled the swollen, matted lips apart.

Pointing her tongue, she traced the harder, solid line of each inner

lip from Elena's hole up to where they joined to above the hood. She

damned the weather and the darkness under the quilt. She would have

loved to see the color, the blush of blood beneath the surface of those

delicate membranes.

Elena panted and arched her hips, protesting at the tease with

animal sounds and fingers that threaded through Beatrix's hair. Then,

with the flat of her tongue, Beatrix dragged a heavy path from Elena's

passage all the way up to her clit, pushing the hood up as she lapped.

She worked slowly, taking her time to find all the other little spots that made Elena twitch, not just the protruding little nub. Finally, she settled her lips around the neat, small bud and sucked at it as if it were a nipple, lashing it with the point of her tongue all the while.

" Ay, Dios mío! " The fingers buried in Beatrix's hair grew frantic, pulling her head down even as Elena's hips thrust upward.

It was then that Beatrix eased her finger into Elena's tight, dark

passage. The walls fluttered and clamped around it, pulling it in deeper,

resisting each time Beatrix withdrew. As she added another finger, and

then another, Elena's legs began to quiver and Beatrix felt those warm,

lithe thighs close around her head. She sucked harder, flicked her tongue

cruelly at the clit that was now clearly throbbing. Thrusting her fingers

deep into Elena's cunt, Beatrix could feel the very start of the orgasm.

Fluids flushed between her fingers, soaking her hand and the

mattress beneath. Elena arched her hips and froze, a belly-deep guttural

cry breaking from her throat, but Beatrix kept on fucking her, dragging

her tongue over Elena's clit again and again with even heavy strokes,

prolonging the climax until she felt the spasms that squeezed at her

fingers subside.

Then she withdrew them, slowly, and moved her mouth to

surround Elena's entrance. She slid her tongue inside, shallowly at first, and then deeper, drawing out the flood of juices and feeding off them. It

was delicious, hypnotic to feel the aftershocks clutch at her tongue. Her

own cunt fluttered and throbbed in sympathy. She encouraged the tiny

tremors by pressing her thumb against Elena's clit and rolling it.

Above her, Elena was keening softly. The hands that had, just

moments before, grabbed desperately at Beatrix's hair were now stroking

and gliding over her head.

Beatrix knew she should wriggle up beside Elena for the traditional

post-orgasm kiss, but she just couldn't bear to leave the wonderful wet

cave between her legs. It was too nice, too warm, and the tiny

convulsions that gripped at her tongue each time she pushed it into Elena

...they weren't stopping.

She pressed inward, as deep as her tongue would reach, and let her

thumb slip and slide over the proud little clit that still pulsed so clearly beneath it. And slowly she felt Elena's hips begin to move again, not

violently, but in time with the tongue that fucked her.

Another torrent of liquid spilled over Beatrix's chin and all of a

sudden, without any warning, Elena was coming again, quietly,

shuddering and making different sounds this time. Like a puppy crying.

It was Elena who sat up and dragged Beatrix on top of her. She

licked and sucked at Beatrix's face until she found her lips. The kiss was long and deep and soft, and when it was over, Elena said, "I think jor turn now."

''No,'' whispered Beatrix. ''Tomorrow...not now. Just sleep with

me."

And even though Elena tried to insist, sliding her hand between

Beatrix's legs to try and persuade her, Beatrix refused. She didn't care

about coming; she just wanted to lie beside this lovely body. From her

imagination's perch, somewhere up near the ceiling, she wanted to look

down and see two bodies in the bed.

On the edge of steep, Beatrix heard Elena speak.

"De painting. Where did you find it?"

''Um…the wall? Behind the London School of Art, I think."

Elena curled around her body, spooning it. Beatrix nestled back

and covered Elena's arms with her own. "Why do you ask?"

"Dat painting—it's mine. It's bery bad. In de morning, I will make

ju a new one."

HERE ENDETH THE FIRST LESSON

RENÉE STRIDER

ou're out of your mind!" Stunned, Jo gaped at me. "You

can’t be. Not her. It's...It's..."

Y "It's what? A sin?" I had to laugh. I had just told my

longtime friend and colleague that I was in love. Well, in serious lust. I had to tell somebody, and she was really the only one I dared confide in.

Because the woman I thought about day and night, especially night, was

a nun.

"Well no, but... How could you let that happen? Robin, it's not

right. For God's sake—so to speak." She snickered at that.

We were sitting in my office in the hall attached to the church. Not

the Catholic Church, nothing to do with nuns. Jo and I did outreach work

with street kids for our church. We had just finished writing up a report

about sponsoring a halfway house.

I sighed, closing my laptop. "I didn't let it happen. It just did. I can't get her out of my mind."

"After all the women I've been trying to fix you up with." She

looked at me accusingly.

"Well, nobody was as gorgeous as she is."

"Yeah, she's pretty hot all right. If you don't think of her as a nun."

"I don't." That wasn't quite true. I couldn't forget what Antonia—

Sister Antonio—was, and that was why I hadn't made any real moves.

Yet. That had to change soon or I was going to lose it. Or go blind. I had to do something, and I intended to at a retreat that weekend. The theme

was Women's Spirituality in World Religions, with workshops, panels,

and meditation sessions. Antonia was the organizer.

After Jo left, more preoccupied than I'd ever seen her, I was free to

think about strategy.

In case you're imagining the object of my fixation concealed in a

black habit and veil, hands and generic face the only proof of a body

underneath, you can stop. Antonia was a modern nun in regular

clothes—trousers, even—if a little subdued and conservatively styled.

And she didn't live in a convent but in a very large brick Victorian house with other nuns downtown near the cathedral. Technically, they weren't

called nuns—as in cloistered—but sisters.

She and her housemates worked in the community. That's how we

had come to know her. She was a social worker, and we often attended

the same meetings and events related to youth welfare.

The first time I saw her she was sitting halfway down the table

from me at a meeting. As I sat down she looked over at me with the

clearest, lightest gray eyes I'd ever seen. I didn't separate out the other details till later: full red lips, straight nose, and dark lashes and brows beneath an unruly lock of straight black hair falling over her forehead. I was undone. By the time I found out she was a nun it was too late.

I think that she knew from the beginning how she affected me. She

must have seen it when our eyes first met because immediately her color

had risen, the kind of delicate blush you see only on very pale,

translucent skin. I wanted her and she knew it. My eyes said so. It was a

tacit acknowledgement that lay there between us in all of our subsequent

meetings in the year that followed. She also seemed to sense that I

wouldn't do or say anything about my desire because of what she was.

We didn't exactly become friends but we had many encounters and

conversations. We talked about my denomination, the most liberal of the

traditional churches in the country. We talked about the Roman Catholic

Church and its restrictions, and about her congregation of sisters. I told her about my beliefs and philosophy. She told me how hers had evolved

and changed over the years since she had taken her vows as a young

novitiate.

She asked me to call her Antonia, without the "Sister."

I could never tell whether she wanted me, too. If she did, she hid it

much better than I. At times just the sound of her voice made me wet.

She couldn't see that, of course, but when her gaze fixed on me, my

heart beat faster and the hot blood rushed through my veins, heating my

face. That was surely obvious to her, even through my tan and freckles.

Antonia was probably a virgin. I imagined her opening up to me. I

wanted to be the first to penetrate her with my fingers, enter her with my tongue. Some nights that vision would shudder through me to release. I

was obsessed.

One day, not long before the retreat, she touched my hair. "I love

the color of your hair," she said as she held a dark red curl between thumb and forefinger and raised those eyes, clear as water, to mine.

Sometimes I thought I saw desire in them, but I wasn't sure.

∴

Ste-Thérèse Spirituality Centre is a stone villa on a wooded estate on the lakeshore, an hour's drive from the city. It used to be a convent but now

serves as a retreat for both religious and secular groups. It's still owned and run by nuns, though, and some of the retreats are directed by them,

the congregation of sisters Antonia belongs to.

In the enormous, light-filled lobby of the Centre stands a replica of

The Ecstasy of S. Teresa di Avila by the seventeenth-century Italian sculptor Bernini. Ostensibly, the statue represents the mystical ecstasy

the saint experienced during a vision. In this vision God's love entered

her in the form of a flaming arrow thrust into her by an angel.

The saint's ecstasy certainly doesn't look spiritual to me. The

sculpture is incredibly erotic. From the position of her bare foot you

know that the saint's legs are splayed wide under the agitated drapery.

She's lying back. Her neck is arched, her face enraptured, with eyes

closed, flared nostrils, and full lips open. The smiling, bare-breasted

angel beside her, holding the arrow pointed at her, could be female, or at least androgynous. The figures are life-size.

I had been here before, conducting workshops or attending

meetings in which Antonia was also involved. This tableau is what

greeted me every time I visited the Centre. It was the last thing I needed when I was already in a state of anticipation about seeing her. The

provocative sculpture just intensified my desire. I wanted to see the

same rapture on Antonia's face. I wanted to be the angel, not standing

beside her but bending over her.

That Friday was no different, and the sexy saint was even harder to

ignore because this was the weekend that I was determined to get

Antonia off somewhere and seduce her. However, I also had

professional obligations here, so I went to my assigned room to unpack

and go over some notes. I was to lead a couple of workshops on topics

such as "Spirituality without God?" and to take part in a panel

discussion.

I had arrived early and the place was still quiet. Not even Antonia

had arrived yet. I walked through shadowed halls with gleaming floors

that smelled of new wax. As always, I could almost hear the sounds of

the women who lived here long ago—the murmur of voices, the swish of

habits, the soft click of beads.

My room on the second story was somewhat larger than the nun's

cell described in books, but not much. It was all white and the furniture

was plain and dark—a straight-backed chair, a small desk with drawers

serving also as a bedside table, and a wardrobe. On the wall above the

bed was a simple cross, without the tortured figure hanging on it.

In another century this bleakness would have been relieved only by

the tall window stretching almost to the high ceiling and opening out to a spectacular view of lake and sky. Now there was also a bright throw on

the narrow double bed and a colorful mat on the hardwood floor.

I sat at the desk and worked steadily for a while. When I heard cars

in the drive, I stretched and went to the shared washroom down the hall

to freshen up before joining the others.

∴

By late Saturday afternoon it was still the status quo. My time

hadn't been my own since the day before. Antonia had also been busy

with her duties, and I hadn't really seen her except when she introduced

speakers and facilitators—and this morning at breakfast.

We sat at the same table, across from each other. I noticed that a

few ends of her short hair stuck out from her head, and her eyes were

still heavy-lidded from sleep. The intimacy of that sent an unexpected

shock of lust to my groin so strong that I started. I managed to cover it

up by reaching for something on the table and making small talk with

my neighbor. When I dared look at her again, she was looking at my

hands. Slowly her gaze moved up to mine. Oh God. This time there was no mistaking the longing I saw in her eyes. I walked around in an erotic

haze for most of the morning.

Now it was late afternoon. The rest of the time was mine as I had

no more official responsibilities and could simply enjoy the beautiful

surroundings and the company of the other participants. And think about

how to get Antonia alone and in my arms.

I strolled across the front lawn and down to a small wooded area

by the shore. A tree with low branches provided shade in the hot sun,

and I stood with my back against it, looking out at the sparkling water.

The sun was still high. Nothing moved in the still air. I could hear only

faint voices behind me in the distance and the murmur of the lake swells

moving slowly to and fro over the pebble beach.

I decided that I would ask Antonia to go for a walk before the

string quartet performance to be held out on the lawn that evening. My

stomach tightened as I imagined pulling her against me within the

protection of the trees. I closed my eyes and suppressed a moan. When I

opened them I almost collapsed. She was standing in front of me, the

bright sun behind her casting her in shadow. She had followed me. I

moved so that I could see her face, and we stared at each other, lips

parted but speechless.

"Antonia? What is it?" I finally managed.

For the second time that day I saw hunger in those clear eyes, and I

was mesmerized. I would have stood there forever if she hadn't said

something.

"I want to come to your room tonight," she said in a husky voice.

"After the concert. May I?"

I tried to hide my shock. In all the seduction scenarios I bad

created in my mind, I had never pictured her as being the one to initiate

our first erotic encounter.

"Yes. Yes, I'd like that." I almost gasped the words. My heart

thudded so hard I hardly knew what I was saying.

She nodded and smiled as if she had come to a decision and had

expected my yes. By unspoken agreement we both turned to walk back

up to the house. My legs were weak. When she brushed against me on

the narrow path I could feel her whole body trembling, and I knew that

she wasn't nearly as cool and collected as she'd seemed down by the

water.

I pulled myself together and reentered the villa. As I walked

through the spacious lobby, I winked at the saint.

∴

During the recital I sat cross-legged on a blanket at the edge of the

audience. Antonia sat on the other side on a low camp chair. It was hard

to keep from looking at her, and when I did, her gaze would be fastened

on me. Her eyes appeared hooded at that distance and I couldn't read

them. But I could imagine. By the time I was back in my room I was wet

from arousal.

I stood looking out at the gathering dusk. The concert was over but

still the poignant echoes of violin and cello playing Barber's Adagio for Strings seemed to drift up from the lawn to my open window. To the

east a full moon shone on silvered water. To the west the sky was still

tinted rose.

I was getting impatient. I wanted her right now and wondered how

much longer I would have to wait. As organizer, she would have to stay

downstairs to say good-bye to the musicians, who had driven from the

city only for the evening.

It was dark now and just as I switched on the lamp near the bed,

there was a soft knock. My insides turned to liquid. I opened the door,

and she was standing there in a thin, white cotton bathrobe with a

delicate blue pattern, like a Japanese kimono with wide sleeves and belt

tied high on her waist. Her hair was damp and she smelled faintly of

soap.

I moved aside and she came in and stood against the closed door.

We just looked at each other, neither of us saying a word.

"I just got out of the shower," she said finally, smiling tentatively.

"I can see that," I said softly. I placed my fingertips on the triangle of skin at her collarbone and drew the robe apart very slowly, exposing

her cleavage and the swell of her breasts. I could see her throat move as

she swallowed. I opened the gown a little further, baring her shoulders

and the areolae of her nipples. They were dark pink. I knew her nipples

would be redder. Their hard points were pressed against the flimsy cloth.

I could hardly breathe. Antonia's breathing was erratic.

I caressed her bare shoulders and kissed her throat, then moved up.

Our mouths came together and I opened her lips with my tongue, sliding

it along and around hers. She moaned into my mouth. I moved my lips

down to her throat again, leaving a moist trail, and kissed the rapid

pulse. I wanted to bite her there and suck her.

She groaned, and with her bands on my buttocks, pulled me

against her. I was beginning to lose control and started to shove my

thigh between hers, then suddenly stopped. What was I doing? This was

probably her first time, and I had been about to take her up against a

wall—me fully dressed, her almost naked.

I held her close. "I'm sorry," I said hoarsely. "I'm going too fast."

"I'm not going to say 'Please be gentle,' if that's what you think,"

she said into my shoulder, breathing hard. She pulled away and looked

at me, her eyes dark with passion. "I want you to teach me, show me—

things."

I searched her face. Those words and that look in her eyes caused a

fresh rush to my groin. I was so wet for her. I pulled the zipper of my

chinos down and guided her hand inside.

"Touch me, Antonia," I whispered. "Please."

Without any hesitation she stroked down my belly into my briefs,

and farther down between my legs. Long fingers slid through my

swollen folds.

"Oh, yes, I've wanted this for so long," she breathed.

I stopped her hand and pulled it away because I was so close to

coming, and it was too soon. "See how wet I am for you? Are you as wet as that?"

"Yes," she said, her voice shaking. ''Touch me and see."

I undid the cloth belt and it fell to the floor. She spread the robe

open herself, displaying small, white cotton panties. She looked so

vulnerable and so sexy at the same time. I moved my hand slowly down

her stomach, caressing the warm smooth skin, then cupped her outside

the panties. They were damp. We both moaned as my fingers moved to

the heat between her thighs and found their way into her briefs at the

crotch. She was drenched and so very slippery. She cried out and arched

against me as my fingers slid along the base of her clitoris to her entry. I pushed gently but it was closed.

"Has anyone ever touched you before?"

''No, just me." Her laugh was almost a sob. I knew she was close to

the edge, too, so I withdrew my hand. I wanted her in bed. I wanted her

to climax there, to see it in her face.

"Don't leave," she begged. "Don't stop."

"I won't." I drew her to the bed. "I want you here, under me."

"For now, anyway." She gave me a knowing smile and sat down.

"Are you ever going to take off your clothes?"

I stripped as Antonia watched me. I had expected her to be shy,

uncertain, but she wasn't. When I was naked, she stood up and reached

for me, and explored my body—breasts, buttocks, the small of my back.

Her searching hand slid between my thighs, and I closed my eyes,

pushing back the orgasm.

"I've dreamed of this," she said, and her voice caught as she

stroked my abdomen with wet fingers.

Slowly I removed her robe. As I held her breasts in my palms, my

thumbs skimmed her nipples, rigid and golden red and so beautiful in the

lamplight. I got down on my knees and tugged her briefs down to the

floor, kissing the soft black triangle. She was trembling wildly, and I

held her tightly around her thighs to keep her from falling as I pushed

my face into her and licked her. I craved the taste and scent of her

arousal and thought I could die for them. She pulled my head harder

against her and thrust her hips forward.

I pushed Antonia onto the bed and as she lay back, I knelt between

her legs, spreading them with my knees. We looked into each other's

eyes as my hand parted her dripping folds, then my own. As I ground

my pelvis into her, our swollen flesh slid together. The sensation was

excruciating. She gasped, hands clutching my shoulders.

"Oh, God, Robin, I never imagined..."

I wanted to bring her to the edge without going over so that she

would be so aroused when I penetrated her that the pain would be

indistinguishable from the pleasure. When I knew we were both on the

verge I moved up her body, clenching my jaw to k.eep from climaxing.

"No, come back," she protested, writhing against me.

"Wait. I need to be inside you." I slid my fingers through her

slickness, pressing against the tight opening. I drove my leg between

hers, riding her thigh. We were both frantic. Then one stroke with my

thumb against her engorged clitoris, and the orgasm tore through her at

the same time as my fingers thrust into her through the barrier. Her body

went rigid as she convulsed with a strangled shout. When I saw the

rapture in her face I came instantly, jerking against her. We were

shattered, and the aftershocks went on and on.

∴

We had fallen asleep on our sides with my head pressed forward

into the nape of her neck and my arm wrapped around her hip with my

hand tucked between her legs. When I woke up we were still in exactly

the same position. I had managed to turn out the lamp just before

passing out and awakened to a study in black and white. The moon

shone directly through the tall, open window. It was almost as bright as

day in the room but without the colors.

Slowly and gently I pulled my hand out from its warm hiding

place. It was still sticky. I examined it closely in the moonlight. I

couldn't see any blood. I smelled it and licked it, and my stomach

swirled with remembered desire. Very carefully, so as not to wake her, I

raised myself up and leaned across her, barely touching her, and

examined the white sheet we were lying on.

"See any blood?" Antonia murmured sleepily as she stirred and

rolled onto her back. Startled, I laughed.

"No," I said, pulling back. I lay on my side, leaning on my elbow.

"Your lips are black in the moonlight, just like your hair."

"So are your freckles and your nipples. Amazing."

She smiled and tugged me toward her and kissed me, her warm

smooth tongue sliding slowly between my lips. Our breathing picked up.

I felt the familiar rush low in my guts.

I groaned. "I'll be wrecked tomorrow. I still have to go over my

sermon for the eleven o'clock service, and then officiate at a wedding in

the afternoon. I'll have to leave here right after breakfast."

"Have you got your collar with you? I like seeing you in it." She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"I hardly ever wear my clerical collar." I sucked the soft hollow between her neck and shoulder." But I have one with me. I'll put it on before I leave, just for you." I paused and looked at her. "What are you going to do?"

She looked away. ''What do you mean? Tomorrow?"

"No. You know what I mean," I said, caressing her cheek.

"Yes. I don't know yet." Her eyes met mine again, as clear as ever.

"But tonight I just want you to show me more." Her hand slid down my side and over my buttocks. "It's not that late," she whispered into my ear.

"The moon is still high, and I'm so wet again. What about 69?"

"Oh God." I took a shaky breath and whimpered a little, then rolled over on my back. "First, how about this. Kneel above me, here." I patted my stomach. She straddled me in the moonlight, pushing down on me

lightly with her sex. I clasped her hips. "Now move up to my face..."

THE CASE OF THE STOLEN SHORTS

THERESE SZYMANSKI

Author's Note: This story depicts the absolute truth, except when it does not. The reader is advised to continue at the risk of her own suspension of disbelief and imagination.

ell, this doesn't seem to be getting any hotter..." I said to

Karin as we sat in the hotel sauna.

W "We've worked the temp control and the door guards—

maybe there's a basic on/off switch we're missing?"

Brains, beauty, sense of humor... She was married, though. I so

needed to get away from her. She was off limits to the nth degree. "Hey, do you want something to drink?" I held up my now-empty beer bottle.

"I'm just gonna run on down and get a refill."

"Oh, okay," she said, looking as if she couldn't believe I was

fleeing.

"I'll be back in just two shakes," I explained.

"Yes, please, another rum and Coke would be great."

I thought about hopping back out to the pool area to collect my

shorts. I was only wearing my dark blue Fruit of the Loom boxers and a

Vail T-shirt with a sports bra underneath and it was too nice a hotel to

wander into the bar quite so undressed. However, the hot tub out by the

pool was full of many lovelies and, knowing me, I'd sober up before I

finished flirting. Instead, I grabbed a nearby towel to wrap around the

boxers and headed down on the elevator.

I wasn't sure if the hotel bar was still open, but the mini-bar in my

room might suffice if it wasn't

I wrapped the towel around my waist and brushed my fingers

through my hair, standing it slightly on end into what a friend had

dubbed "baby bird" hair. It was now my trademark. Just as I finished properly mussing the 'do, the elevator dinged and stopped at a floor,

which elevators are wont to do. An attractive brunette strode in. She

wore red come-fuck-me heels, a red halter, under which she obviously

wore no bra, and a black miniskirt shorter than the black dress worn by

one hot author who was at the awards ceremony earlier in the night.

Damn, I was like a dog—or cat—in heat. This woman had obvious

itches and I wanted to scratch them all for her.

The little lovely smirked at me, obviously noticing my attention.

"See something you like?" she drawled in a faint Southern accent.

Leaning back against the wall, she crossed her long legs in front of her,

showing them to their best advantage as she assessed me.

I was emboldened by the many beers I'd had, so I suavely replied,

"Uh... Yeah." She laughed at me. I reckoned that wasn't a bad thing, since laughter showed she was comfortable.

"Interesting outfit you've got going on there," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Should I even ask what you've got on—if anything—under

that towel?"

"My boxer shorts. I was just up at the sauna and was heading for

the bar."

"Barefoot in your boxers."

"Ayup."

"Listen, is it just my imagination, or are there a lot of...you...here this weekend?"

"I think I'm the only me here this weekend. Least, last time I

checked nobody had cloned me. And actually everyone who knows me

thinks one of me is way more than enough."

She glared at me in a truly adorable way. "You know what I

mean."

There was something about her clear blue gaze that was familiar,

and I needed to keep her talking to figure out why. I had to keep her

interested and occupied.

The elevator dinged as it hit the ground floor. I held my towel on

with one hand and with the other gallantly indicated that she depart first.

"I'll tell you about it if you'll tell me where you're from," I said.

"I live in Chicago."

''Originally. That's not a Chicago accent."

"But it is the answer to your question."

"Fine. It's a convention."

"You have conventions?" she said, putting her hand on my forearm to stop me from walking away. Her eyes were huge with disbelief.

Her perfume swirling around my head was intoxicating. Maybe

more so since I really was intoxicated "Where are you from—

originally?" There was no particular reason I wanted to know, I just wanted to be able to identify that absolutely yummy accent. And I still

had to figure out where I knew her from.

"Virginia."

"I come from Dee-troit originally myself, but I live in D.C. these days." I shrugged and leaned close to her. "I'm here for a lesbian literary convention."

"It's a lesbian literary convention?" She looked me up and down, a teasing smile dancing on her lips and a playful glint in her eyes. "What?

Are you some sort of a writer?"

"Uh, yeah." I recognized that glint—that teasing smile that—single arched brow. She'd had her eye on me earlier tonight.

"Really? What do you write?"

She was interested. I just had to reel her in. "Sleazy lesbian

mysteries."

"Really? Get out!"

"So you want me to leave?" I turned to go, knowing she wouldn't

let me.

She didn't. She again put her hand on my arm. "No, I mean...

Stay."

"Well, you know, you'd better watch out. I'm actually rather well

known for being a bad girl."

"And just how bad are we talking about here?" she asked, running a fingertip lightly up and down my arm.

I grabbed her hand and pulled her into my arms. "I remember you,

you know. You were in the bar earlier," I whispered into her ear, burying my face in her silky hair. I'd been well aware of the gathering of straight girls eyeing the dykes and blushing.

She gasped and made a token protest, trying to push away from

me. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do. You knew earlier, in the bar. And you knew when

you saw me in the 'vator just now. It's why you started talking to me, in

fact." I wrapped an arm around her waist, pushed her up against a wall, and shoved my thigh hard between her legs, against her heat.

"Uh, ah, you maybe might wanna let me go now," she panted into

my ear, grinding against me.

"So no follow-through, eh?" I growled, running my lips softly up her neck. "You've been flirting with me all day. Are you trying to say now that you're not interested?" I dropped my hand to her bare leg,

tracing up the soft skin to cup her ass, running my finger along and just

under the edge of her silky panties.

She gasped, closed her eyes, and leaned into my shoulder. "I'm

straight."

"Sure you are, sweetie." I slipped my fingers inside the crotch of her underwear, dipping into her wet to lube both her and my fingers.

''Tell me—you're not really all talk and no action, are you?"I pushed her underwear aside with the fingers of my left band, then dipped my fingers

into her.

"Uh, God, yes, please," she moaned, then pushed her face from my shoulder, even as she humped my hand. "Your name, please, what's your name?"

I thought about answering a la Pretty Woman, all with the "what do you want it to be," but I didn't think we needed so many words. "Reese."

"Reese, yes." She buried her face in my shoulder again. "I'm not sure if I like you better all in black or half dressed. Or maybe that should be half undressed?" I'd been in black jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt earlier. With black boots, of course.

She was able to talk too much, which meant my hand didn't have

her full attention. I went knuckles deep inside her and flicked her clit

with my thumb, playing it back and forth.

"Oh, oh God," she moaned into my shoulder.

"Not so straight anymore, are you?"

''Take me back to your room," she said, pulling away ever so

slightly.

"No. You're gonna come for me the first time right here."

"The..." She jerked against me, trying to pull away. ''The...the clerk..."

''No,'' I said, still fingering her. ''You're gonna come for me the first

time right here, straight girl." I toyed with her plump nipple through the thin material of her top with my other hand.

"God, I can't, not here. He's watching!" She was grabbing at my

arms, squeezing my right forearm, half trying to push it away and half

encouraging me further.

''Then let's give the clerk a little show, shall we? Come for me,

baby."

"Fuck me. Now. Hard. Yes."

I wrapped her left leg around me, opening her further so I could

fuck her hard, in and out, while I flicked her clit back and forth. I

glanced back and saw that the lobby was empty. The only person in

sight was the clerk, standing behind the counter. We had his rapt

attention.

I lowered her halter, revealing a tit in its lush entirety. I licked all

the way around the nipple, then pulled it into my mouth as she humped

my hand, her ragged breathing filling my head. I fucked her, in and out,

teasing her clit harder and faster.

I ran my teeth over her hard nipple, then bit it.

"God, yes!" she choked out, convulsing against and around me

before she fell into my arms.

"Why don't we get a little more comfortable?" I whispered,

reaching down to pick her up.

"Yes, please," she said, wrapping her arms around my neck and

hiding her face against my shoulder.

I turned, hit the elevator call button, winked at the clerk, and

carried her into it. I touched the button for my floor, put her on her feet, and pushed her against the wall.

She practically sagged onto my thigh, which she began rubbing

lasciviously against. "So, how bad are you?"

"Very bad," I growled, pulling her hard against me while shoving my thigh harder between her legs.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and jumped up slightly to

wrap her legs around my hips. "Take me to your room."

I claimed her mouth with my own, enjoying her soft lips against

mine for just a moment before I slipped my tongue into her. Our tongues

tangoed, dueled, and the 'vator dinged again.

I carried her off, enjoying her mouth, her lips, the feel of her body

wrapped around mine. She was soft and warm in all the right places, and

she could represent whomever I wanted her to. Her soft curves belonged

to me, she was mine right now. She was giving herself to me, for

whatever I wanted.

"Strip. Now," I said once she was on my bed.

She sat up, kicked off her shoes, and looked me right in the eyes as

she pulled off her halter, then stood, unzipped her skirt, and let it drop to the floor.

"You're still not naked."

She stepped out of her panties. ''You've had me already."

"But I haven't made you scream yet"

''Then fuck me inside out." She lay back on the bed, draping

herself artistically across it.

I walked casually over to the TV and turned it to play some light

music. ''What do you want, straight girl?"

"I...I..." Her bashfulness was at odds with how she stared at me almost defiantly.

"Say it."

"I've heard that…well…" She got off the bed and came to me. "I want you to fuck me, hard. Take me. And use whatever you want to."

She pressed her naked body against mine, wrapping her arms around me.

"Fuck me, Reese. Hard and fast."

I picked her up. Threw her on the bed. I opened a drawer and

pulled out lube and a dildo, complete with harness. She was, literally,

fantastic and having all the right accessories ready was equally so. I

dropped my towel and boxers and let her watch me strap it on. I went to

her with the lube in my hand.

"Get me nice and slick."

"How about this way first?" She sat on the edge of the bed and

took me into her nice wet mouth. She worked up and down my long,

hard cock, taking me deep into her mouth and down her throat before

working her mouth back up. She gave me a blowjob. She let me fuck her

face. She blew me, relishing every moment of it, and the sight of it was

doing things for me I hadn’t thought any straight girl could do. And then

I put the lube into her hands so she could give me a hand job.

This very naughty straight girl deserved a really good time. I

pushed her onto the bed, putting her on her back, and climbed on top of

her as she gripped my shoulders.

I entered her slowly, pushing in all the way, easily and surely. She

arched up against me, urging me to go deep. She wrapped her legs

around me, forcing me to stay inside. She pushed my shirt up so her

hands were on my back. So she could run her nails up my back. Dig

them in. Scratch me and mark me.

And I fucked her. Slowly. Then faster. In and out. Riding her.

Fucking her. She used her legs to keep me inside her even as her nails

cut jagged lines down my back, hurting so much I groaned. I moaned.

And I slid in and out of her. I licked her collarbone, kissed her neck,

sucked her earlobe into my mouth, gently pulling on it.

I put some of my weight on one of my hands and used the other to

caress her body, to make sure she realized she was completely naked. I

felt her beautiful tit, cupping its lushness, and tugged on her hardened

nipple.

She arched against me, helping me fuck her. Her pelvis went up

and down even as I pistoned in and out of her.

"God, yes, please—harder! Faster!"

I twisted her nipple as hard as possible, pulling it so her tit

stretched from her body.

" Yes!"

I was brutal and forward, and once she came, I stayed inside her

for a few minutes, our sweaty bodies all but glued together. I lifted

myself and looked down into her incredibly blue eyes.

And then I kissed her and fucked her again. Fantastic.

And then I put her on the table so I could fuck her while I stood,

giving me better leverage and also allowing me to finger her clit while I

fucked her. And still be able to enjoy the beauty of her entire body laid

out bare for me.

And then I pulled all the way out of her, sat her up, coated my

hand with lube, and shoved my fist into her. No warning. No gentle

fingers first. Just my whole hand, my fist, ravishing her.

"Fuck!" she screamed, pushing against me, urging me on.

Her nails were biting into my bicep and her fingers were hard

against the other forearm. I knew I would be bruised later. But still, I

barely gave her a chance to acclimate to my hand buried deep inside her

hungry, luscious cunt before I started fucking her with it.

"Look down," I demanded. ''Now. I want you to see my hand

inside you."

I felt her tighten around me as she looked. She choked with little

moans as she fell back on her elbows to reveal her entire body to me.

She met my every push and the table got very, very wet.

''That was awesome," she breathed finally, lying back on the table.

I none-too-gently extracted my hand, trying not to hurt her, but not

minding that it did a little—in such a good way.

She looked up at me dreamily. "Let's go to bed and do all of that

again."

"Hmm," I said, going to the bathroom to get some water. I helped her sit up and drink some, soothing her parched throat from her heavy

breathing, screaming, and sounds of excitement and coming. "I think I may have had all the fantasy I can handle for one night."

Her lips full and inviting, she offered, "Maybe tomorrow?

Nooners?"

"Maybe." My evil mind had no trouble imagining it.

"So, what happened to you before?" she finally said, once she had her breathing under control.

"What do you mean?"

"You were dressed so...well...dapperly before. What happened?"

Oh shit. Karin. My shorts. "Y'know, I need to run up to the pool. A

friend was waiting for me in the sauna. Give me your room number, and

I'll get back to you."

I grabbed some drinks from my fridge, dropped off the woman—

without-a-name, as I've now come to refer to her, since I never did get

her moniker, and went back up to the sauna.

Karin was staring at the controls and looking as if she wanted to

kick them. "I don't think we're going to get it to work."

"Oh. Here's a drink for you. The bar was closed."

"You didn't have to break into your mini-bar."

"That's what took so long." I was thinking very fantastic thoughts.

"Why don't we get our stuff, then, and call it a night?"

"Sure. It's late and we're signing books at eight."

''Oh, that's right." We walked back to the pool. Or at least, the hotel doors that led out onto the roof, which contained the pool. There was a

wicked thunderstorm going on, and the doors were chained and

padlocked shut. I tried opening them as much as possible so I could push

out between them, to no avail.

"Reese, I don't think that's a good idea. You might get stuck. Or

dislocate your shoulder. Or worse. So you should stop that. Now."

There was no arguing with Karin when she used that Moogie

voice. She grabbed the phone next to the door and called the front desk,

quickly explaining the situation. A security guard came up and opened

the doors for us. He waited as we ran out into the pelting rain to where

we'd left our belongings.

Karin put on her shoes, and I looked all around. "Hey, where are

my shorts?" I asked.

Karin laughed and said, "No one will believe they walked off by

themselves. Who got into your shorts, Reese?"

That's when I knew I had all the makings of a good short story.

GETTING IN AND OUT OF HER SHORTS

KARIN KALLMAKER

Author's Note: This story depicts the absolute truth, except when it does not.

kay, I'm the woman who ended up with that writer's

shorts—you know, the pair that went missing from poolside.

O I was naked, they were apparently abandoned, so I put them

on. Given that we'd been trading glances all day it was quite a turn-on to be in her shorts.

There was also a pair of shoes, cute ones, too, and I was about to

slip them on—thinking I'd turn both shorts and shoes into lost and found

in the morning—when I saw the writer was coming back. There was

good news and bad news about that. Good news was she had a security

guard with her. Finding myself without my swimsuit and locked on the

roof during a thunderstorm hadn't been fun.

I grabbed a soaking-wet towel to wrap around my upper body. The

bad news was that the writer wasn't alone and the security guard was

lingering. Damn, the owner of those cute clogs was back, too. I just

couldn't be seen like this, in a borrowed pair of shorts and a towel that

was only making it more apparent I had nothing else on.

Back behind the big potted plants I went.

I heard the writer, in that silken butch voice of hers, ask, "Where

are my shorts?"

The other woman, some femme, laughed. "Who's in your shorts

now, Reese?"

Oh, she liked to be called Reese? I'd only heard Therese all

weekend.

"I love those shorts. They had great pockets and I didn't bring

another pair."

I fingered the hem guiltily. They were nice shorts. I hoped she

didn't look behind the plants and discover me. It looked bad, but really,

the only mistake I had made was thinking my ex was capable of some

fun for "old times' sake." A lot hadn't worked between us, but the sex always had. So when she proposed a quick, hot tryst behind the plants,

only a few feet away from the hot tub party, I'd agreed.

And then, once she'd coaxed me out of my swimsuit, she'd walked

off with it. Now you see why she's my ex. Truthfully, the only reason I

was so willing was this writer, Reese. The baby bird hair, dark eyes, and

little looks she'd given me that said she appreciated the style of a high

femme put me in very warm mood. Her gaze seemed to appreciate the

light pink polish on my fingernails and the glitter of my earrings, and a

girl likes that. It had been a while since anyone noticed the little things.

I realized with a start that Reese and the other woman were

leaving. I couldn't remember the other woman's name—another writer

but I don't think I'd read anything by her. Reese's books I'd studied,

certain parts more than others. She writes great sex and, well, a girl's got to wonder if it's all fiction, hasn't she?

The other woman, ringing for the elevator, was laughing and it

seemed to me that everyone around Reese laughed a lot. I love a sense of

humor. I mean, I love the kind of sense of humor that creates laughter,

not the kind that thinks swiping someone's swimsuit and leaving her

abandoned in a thunderstorm was funny. My ex was so dead when I

found her.

The elevator came and went, taking the other woman away, and I

watched Reese head for the fitness room, probably stilt in search of her

shorts. To my profound relief the security guard had not relocked the

doors. The hotel air-conditioning had me shivering instantly—wet

clothes and fifty degrees will do that.

No doubt I should have called my roomie on the house phone to

wake her up so I could get into the room. But I felt bad that I had Reese's shorts and she was obviously going to search high and low for them. The

least I could do was tell her she'd get them back. So I followed her into

the fitness room, which was even colder, and realized she'd really been

aiming for the bathroom, which made a lot of sense.

She had a really annoyed look on her face as she was closing a stall

door, and it only took her two seconds to look me over. Her expression

was funny, then, because the wet towel made her do a double-take as she

checked me out, but she was still a little annoyed.

"You have my shorts on."

"Yeah, see, I, uh..." I couldn't help but glance at myself in the big mirror to see what she saw. The pool towel was translucent and her

shorts were tight on me. "Someone swiped my swimsuit."

"Oh?" She stayed where she was and a little smile was dancing in her eyes. "Skinny dipping?"

"No, I was, uh, doing something I shouldn't have been." She was

definitely checking me out and I was shivering not so much from the

cold as from the way her eyebrow arched. "An ex played a practical

joke."

"An ex? Say no more." She was openly grinning at me now. "So, how am I going to get my shorts back?"

"You could take them off me." God, where had that come from? I

wasn't usually quite so...blatant."

She crossed the room slowly toward me, her gaze never leaving

mine. I backed up against the sink, not breathing. The shivers became

more pronounced as she planted both of her hands on the counter to

either side of me. "Hasn't anyone ever told you there are certain dares you never try on a butch?"

I shook my head. My mind took off at warp speed, imagining her

reclaiming her shorts and discovering that—and it was all her fault with

that look in her eyes—now they really needed to be washed. I closed my

eyes and gave myself to her voice.

"You're shivering," she said. "It's very cold in here."

"Wet." I indicated the towel.

"Is that all that's wet?" She leaned into me, then jerked back as the dripping, chilled towel touched her sport bra and skin. "I could warm you up but the towel has got to go."

She arched an eyebrow again, didn't move an inch and just waited.

It was up to me.

After a hard swallow I slowly unwrapped the towel.

Just as slowly she wrapped her very warm, very strong arms

around me and pulled me close.

She felt like a fantasy, like her heartbeat was in her hands, pulsing

on my naked back. I closed my eyes and gave myself completely to it.

"I've been watching you all day."

"And thinking what?" Her fingertips lightly traced the nape of my, neck, then drifted down my spine.

"Thinking things that made me say yes to my ex tonight."

She sighed like she understood. "If you weren't playing with her

heart I don't think there's anything wrong with a...stand-in."

"Well, she was playing with me, that's for sure. I got locked on the

roof, stark naked."

"Oh, poor baby. And no one to rescue you. Okay, I forgive you for

taking my shorts."

With a shudder I whispered in her ear, ''Do you want them back

now?"

She growled. "We're getting to the point of no return here. If you

mean it, tell me so because you're making me crazy."

I managed to lift my head from her shoulder. "Was I wrong

thinking you were watching me today?"

"No. I like red hair and I like a femme who is comfortable with her

sexiness, and you obviously are. It's a pleasure to watch you move."

"Oh."I took a deep breath. "Do you make love the way you sweet-talk?"

Her fingers went to the zipper on the shorts. ''Wanna find out?"

"Yes."

She hesitated, then ducked her head to look in my eyes. "I'm going

home tomorrow."

"So am I." I answered, understanding what she meant. Tonight

only, and that was fine with me. This kind of fantasy only worked for a

night and it had been a really long time since I'd been this bad.

She kissed my bare shoulders as she loosened the button and

carefully unzipped me. With a mutual wiggle the shorts slipped down a

little as she swept her hands firmly around my waist, then down to cup

my ass. "Oh, very nice," she murmured.

I wasn't shivering anymore. It was something else flooding over

my body, ripples of tension and awareness. Her bare midriff was warm

and her lips soft against my collarbone. I arched back as she leaned

down to flick her tongue over one nipple. I saw her smile at my little

gasp, then her teeth closed over it and she bit down just enough to make

me shudder.

Part of me couldn't believe this was really happening. "How do

you know I like that?"

"I don't—I'm just listening to my dance partner." She gave me a

long, intent look, wrapped me very tight in her arms, and the next thing I knew my bare ass was on the counter.

She stripped off the shorts and moved between my knees. I had to

brace myself with my hands behind me to keep from swooning onto my

back.

"Perfect," she said, then she bit my nipple again, a little harder.

"Stay just like that, baby."

I should have worried someone would walk in on us, but the idea

of it excited me too much to care. It was unlikely at two o'clock in the

morning, but if someone did we'd cover up and find someplace else. Or

let them watch. God, I was in a mood tonight. Her teeth felt fantastic and she seemed to understand what my body was saying. Her hands were

feeling my thighs and hips and ass like she could read my desire through

her fingertips.

I lifted myself on my hands enough to press my crotch to her swim

trunks. Something hit my clit just right and I pressed against it with a

stunned gasp. I was already so close.

"Uh-uh," she whispered. "Don't you dare."

''Touch me, then. Please."

"I thought you'd never ask." She ran her lips and teeth over my

shoulder, making my skin burn.

I groaned, loud and long, as her hand cupped me between my legs.

She was taking possession of me, and I could feel it in the tingling soles of my dangling feet and my burning, sweating scalp. Had I been cold? I

was on fire now.

She made that growling noise again. "You're ready, aren't you?"

"Yes." I put my weight on my hands and pushed myself against

her.

She turned her hand over, rubbing my swollen lips with her

knuckles, bumping along my clit as she opened me. "Oh, God, you're

wet."

"What did you expect?"

She bit my lower lip in response, "That it would be really fun to

fuck you off those stiletto sandals you were wearing this morning. I like

you naked."

She slid into me then, not slow, not fast, but firmly. My choked cry

drew a moan from her as she spread her fingers inside me. She massaged

me on the inside, immediately finding the right nerves and muscles. It

was so quick, so hot. Gasping, I couldn't hold back a hard, wrenching

climax.

It was over so fast I wanted to cry. Once was always enough to put

me to sleep.

"Uh-uh." She squeezed my nipple between her finger and thumb.

"You're not done. We're just getting started."

"Oh, fuck," I breathed out.

Her fingers danced on my clit, then dipped inside me, withdrew

and played again. "This is really fun. Your body can really move."

My thighs trembled as I held them as far apart as I possibly could.

I drove myself down on her hand, dying to put out the burning fire she

was stoking higher and higher.

She pulled me to the very edge of the counter, one muscled arm

holding me firmly down while she leaned hard into me. I realized she

had four fingers inside me and it was her thumb rubbing my throbbing

clit. She pushed in with the force of her whole arm, knocking the breath

out of me, and I responded with a hoarse cry, feeling as if I was clinging to my sanity by a rapidly thinning thread.

She could have anything she wanted. She could take everything I

offered. I tried to grind myself on her hand but she was holding me

down too firmly. She did all the moving and I surrendered to sensation

like I never had before in my life. She fucked me the way I'd always

wanted someone to fuck me, so good and so deep it was a fantasy come

to life.

My eyes tightly closed, shivers ran up and down my body as

another climax rolled over me.

"Wet," she said, "is going to give you a cold in this air-

conditioning."

My eyes snapped open. Her hands were still planted to either side

of me. She was starting to look at me as if I was odd, and that wasn't at

all what I wanted. I had to say something, but I could still hear the

fantasy echo of my eager, hoarse cries. "About that dare..."

Her smile was slow and sexy. "You should be careful who you say

things like that to. Another butch might have stripped you."

My inner femme wailed, "Aren't you going to?" but I wisely kept

my lips clamped desperately together. Thank goodness she couldn't read

my mind.

She finally leaned away from me and my entire body wanted to go

limp. "You can leave my shorts at the front desk or something. I

understand why you need them."

Gazing at her, at a loss for words, I knew exactly how her arms

would feel if she embraced me, and exactly how her hand would feel

learning all my secrets. She was a fantasy and yet she was reality, too. I was sure there were surprises about her that would be delightful to

discover. "Maybe I could mail them to you after I wash them. They're a little...wet." Like me, I wanted to add.

She shrugged and then tried to cover a yawn. "I'm so sorry. It's late and that's not usually what I do in the presence of a half-naked beautiful femme."

God, she was sweet and sexy. I bet she was cuddly when she woke

up in the morning. It didn't look like I was going to find out. Not now,

not here, at least.

A true gentleman, she walked me to my room to make sure I

arrived safely in my half-clad state.

I said shyly, "If anyone saw us now they'd never believe we

behaved."

Her grin was genuine. "It's because I'm so tired. It's one of those

times when what didn't happen is far more interesting than what did."

She gave me a peck on the cheek that I'm still dreaming about.

Here's the big confession. I never did send her shorts to her. I

figured I'd give them back at the next convention. Maybe invite her to

take them off me again, if I really could get up the nerve.

Meantime, they're great shorts with all those pockets. And I even

got a free Chapstick out of the deal.

EVERY LIFE FOR A THOUSAND YEARS

JC CHEN

was swimming in a lake in the first memory I have of my

Beloved. She pretended to enjoy the water as she waded out

I knee deep to greet me. I've learned since then that she loves

everything about water except swimming in it. It is one of my favorite

memories of her: one hand holding the hem of her dress high above the

waterline, exposing the leanness of her thighs, the other hand shading

her eyes from the sun while watching me intently and possessively. I

asked her what her name was but she only laughed. Her laughter was

clear and joyful; the sound of it drew me to her.

We spent that first day talking on the bank of the lake. She was

wise and witty and her stories were exotic and grand. I felt naïve and

awestruck around her but she never seemed to tire of my company. At

dusk, we agreed to meet again the next day at the shore of the lake. We

met every day for a month. She would bring journals with her. Some of

them contained pictures and stories of places she had been. I would lie

with my head in her lap as she read to me from her memories. She also

brought journals of places she wanted to go. I would sit side by side with her, equally engrossed by the silkiness of her skin and brilliance of her

smile as the maps and paintings of these faraway lands. I had never

much imagined the world beyond my lake before she brought it to me in

her books.

I was the one to suggest that we go. On the last day of the first

month we were together, I turned to her white she was reading aloud

about a land with a thousand waterfalls. Although I wasn't looking at the

pictures, I could see the landscape in my mind: cascades of silver,

rolling green hills, the serenity of a perfect azure sky. I wanted to see it with my eyes and I told her so. She looked at me then with eyes full of

hope. I felt a new kind of warmth burn through me like fire in my veins.

I would go with her to this land of a thousand waterfalls. I knew I would

go with her to the ends of the earth.

∴

It is still dark outside and the sun is not due to rise for a while. The

wind is brisk and cool against my naked skin and I can hear the surf

crashing wildly against the rocks far below. I hear my Beloved

approaching and I turn to greet her. Despite the darkness, moonlight

ignites the highlights in her hair like smoldering embers in a blanket of

coal. She sets a large velvet satchel down on the ground and steps into

my embrace. Her long silken robe is warm where I press against her and

cool where it flaps loosely around my back and thighs. She smells like

autumn, and standing this close I catch just a hint of our morning

lovemaking.

She presses a soft kiss against my neck before pulling away from

me to unfasten the silk tie around her waist. The robe slips from her

slender shoulders toward the ground where the wind grabs hold and

whisks it away. She stands radiant before me. Her pale and flawless skin

gleams in the moonlight and the darker tips of her nipples are just

beginning to harden against the cold. My breath catches in my throat and

my heart beats fast and heavy.

∴

Our home consists of three buildings: two small bungalows—each

with a large workspace and a smaller sleeping alcove—and the main

house. The three buildings are situated on the corners of a perfectly

square courtyard. The fourth corner—diagonally across from the main

house—is open, offering an unobstructed view of the valley below.

These days we spend most of our time in the main house, although my

Beloved still keeps her painting studio in one of the bungalows.

I can be found most often in the library. Our collection spans

centuries, but our most valuable tomes are not literature at all. Along the eastern wall, behind a thick protective brocade curtain, are the shelves

that hold our personal journals. There are hundreds of volumes, each

leather-bound and inscribed with our names and the years covered

within. Most mornings my Beloved and I read together from them. It is a

curious and wonderful experience akin to remembering and learning at

the same time. I do most of the writing, but she is responsible for the

numerous maps and pictures that adorn the pages. The journals serve as

the collaborative visual memory of our time together.

Along the back windowed wall of the library is my Beloved's pride

and joy: a large screen composed of eight panels with ebony frames

encircling gold that has been beaten paper thin and stretched across the

frames like a canvas. On this golden canvas is painted a story like no

other. It took my Beloved over half a lifetime to complete the painting,

and even now she cannot resist fussing over its finer details with her

brushes and her colors. Reading from left to right like a book, the panels depict the legend of the Dragon and the Phoenix and their never-ending

quest for the Pearl of Knowledge. The first few panels are dark and

violent, with the Dragon and Phoenix battling mightily for the Pearl, but

successively the images become lighter and more peaceful, ending with

the final panel: a triumphant joining of souls with the Pearl as a unifying rather than dividing force. It is a familiar story, painted on gold in vivid colors but also rendered in black and white throughout our journals.

∴

The sky is slowly illuming. The glow of the predawn is dim above

the horizon but strengthening with each passing moment. My Beloved

picks up the satchel from the ground and unties the drawstring holding it

shut. Her fingers pluck away at the old, heavy knot with confidence.

When the bag is finally open, she reaches in with reverent care and pulls

forth a large and luminous pearl. The diameter of the pearl is such that

her fingertips cannot quite touch when she grips it. Tentatively, my

Beloved offers it to me, cradled in the palm of her hand. The surface of

the pearl is smooth and iridescent. As I step forward to take it from her I can see the writing etched just beneath the surface, catching and bending

the light like facets in a gemstone. It reads:

Every century a Race to run

For the Pearl. From rising sun,

Around the world, 'til day is done.

Memories kept for She that won.

For She that lost, a life redone.

The cliff upon which we stand is atop the mountain where our

home is built. We only come up here for the Race since the climb is

difficult and the view is almost as grand from the safety of our

courtyard. Yet every time I come here I am struck by the majesty of it

all. It is the top of the world and on a cloudless day like today, I can see the horizon extend in a perfect circumference around us.

I take my Beloved by the hand and walk her to the very end of the

plateau. Her footing is firm and confident despite our tremendous

altitude. I slip behind her, wrap my arms securely around her waist, and

urge her closer to the edge for a better view. My body melts into her

curves as I pull her against me.

"Beautiful," she whispers.

"Yes, beautiful," I reply.

She turns in my arms to face me. Her eyes are wide and brimming

with tears. "Is it always like this?" she asks.

"Yes, my love. Always." I kiss away the tears that roll down her face.

∴

The night after I told her that I wanted to see the waterfalls, my

Beloved brought me home. She set me up in one of the bungalows,

which had a workspace that looked like a small library with a table in

the center. There was a stack of blank scrapbooks on the table that she

said I could use as I pleased. I spent a little time exploring my new space but it wasn't long before I wanted to see her again.

I found her in the courtyard with an ancient journal she had never

shown me before. She was wearing a dress made from multicolored

layers of translucent silk and when she moved, I could see tantalizing

hints of her body beneath. She motioned for me to sit across from her on

the grass.

''There's a story I want to tell you," she began, "about two immortal souls, the Pearl that binds them, and a fantastic Race."

I watched as she set the journal down before her and caressed the

weathered spine with reverence and tenderness. A gibbous moon floated

in the night sky, bathing the courtyard with an ethereal glow.

"The souls are immortal, but their memories are not. Every one

hundred years, the two souls must race each other around the world to

see who wins the Pearl. The winner retains her memories for another one

hundred years. The loser is reborn with no recollection of her past life.

The Race must occur or both souls will lose their memories forever.

"In the beginning, these two souls were fractious and vicious. Each

viewed the Pearl as power over the other and they spent their lives

battling for advantage over the Race.

''Over time, the fighting wore them down and they realized that

this power they sought so mercilessly brought them only loneliness. This

legendary hatred ultimately dissipated and in its place, these two souls

discovered something far greater in love."

Her voice, like her laughter, was clear and melodious. She spoke

the words of the legend with a lyrical cadence. It was a hypnotic and

romantic fable that made my heart pound with yearning and inspiration.

I reached over and clasped her hand gently in mine. When she didn't

resist, I brought it slowly to my lips, rotating slightly to place a single, soft kiss on the inside of her wrist. The sensation was electric, a pulse of desire and intensity that raced from my lips through my entire body. I

saw, too, the effect of my kiss on her: the slight tremble in her body and her sharp intake of breath. Emboldened, I reached out and traced my

fingertips over the smoothness of her face, imprinting the tactile memory

of her beauty. Her skin, normally fair and luminescent, was suffused

with a warm flush that extended down and over the curve of her bosom.

I leaned in and pressed another kiss gently to the side of her neck,

savoring the staccato rhythm of her pulse beating beneath my lips and

tongue.

She was able to undo her dress with her free hand while guiding

my mouth to the soft swell of her breast. I continued my kisses around

her nipple, feeling it harden with my touch. I took one, and then the

other, into my mouth, reverently loving her with only instinct and her

gentle moans to guide me. As absorbed as my senses were with the

nearness of her, I forced myself to memorize the way the light played

across her body as she arched beneath my caress.

I wanted to wait, to indulge myself in the feel and taste of her, but

she urged me onward, her hand on my wrist pushing me lower.

"I've waited so long..."

She gasped when I stroked her but her hips moved against my hand

in hunger, not pain. I traced a path of kisses from her breast over her

stomach and down to where my fingers were warm and slick with her

desire. I inhaled the intoxicating scent of her arousal—for the first time and the thousandth—and she writhed beneath my tongue as I tenderly

stroked her open. Her hips responded to my touch, bucking against my

hand and mouth in urgent need. I felt the reciprocal heat that rose within me, flaring ever higher in rhythm to my stroking until we became united

in fire, burning beyond thought or feeling. I wanted to wait a little

longer, to luxuriate in the wonder of the moment, but her need was

insistent and I couldn't stop. I found myself swept up in her passion,

cresting immediately with the first spasms that clenched deep inside her.

When the frantic beating of both our hearts finally subsided, I

brought her wrist once more to my lips, returning to the spot that began

my journey. From her wrist I traced a light path following her pulse with

the tip of my tongue. I kept moving over her shoulder and up the slender

column of her throat until our lips touched and fused.

∴

The sun is moments away from breaking the plane of the horizon,

signaling the start of our Race. I turn to my Beloved and see the stiffness in her stance and the clench in her jaw. I reach out and touch her face

ever so gently. This is her first race and she is anxious. I lean toward her and kiss the furrow in her brow. The muscle in her jaw relaxes

infinitesimally. I won't push her further. This is the tenth race I

remember, and worry still sits in my gut like a stone.

What if I lose and she doesn't love me in my next life? What if I

win and I can't find her? Every lifetime is a first time for one of us.

When the sun rises, she will take to the skies as a Phoenix and I to

the sea as a Dragon. It will take us the day to circle the earth with the

winner arriving back to this spot before sunset. Then the two of us will

return to our home for one last night together. In the morning, the one

who won the Pearl will remain and the other will be reborn somewhere

in the valley below our home.

As the arc of the sun edges above the horizon, I rum to her one last

time and capture her eyes with mine. "I will find you," I promise.

I see the last of her tension melt away in the daybreak as her easy

confidence returns. She smiles at me with a love I have treasured over

every life for a thousand years and replies, "No, my love, I shall find you."

FUCKING: A VIGNETTE OF THE MIDWEST

LYNNE JAMNECK

as it because she was leaning up against the red brick

wall—was that why I noticed her? Navy cargo pants, Doc

W Martens that were probably fraying at the seams. Her

hugger T, black and slight from age, showed that, despite her butch

appearance, her breasts were nothing but womanly. Not small. A

generous handful. And fucking perfect.

That would only be the first time that particular word would come

to mind where she was concerned.

∴

I find it terribly amusing that my male friends are hard pressed to

believe that I work in a lesbian strip club. That, in fact, such an

establishment exists at all. Their favorite argument is that lesbians just aren’t that way. What way? They don't enjoy having another woman's tits shoved in their faces? Getting a lap dance from a chick with an ass

you can bounce coins off? The only difference is a dyke can maybe hide

her hard-on better. If she wants to. Well. In her pants. It always shows

on her face.

∴

It's Saturday night. My favorite day of the week. Saturday nights

the club is always full. At eleven p.m. they lock the doors and no one

else gets in. It's a sort of unofficial private party. The right people are in the know, you know? Things get real rowdy behind those locked doors.

It's early evening when I see her leaning back against the wall like

that. She's real lean and sleek. Short blond hair gelled back just like that.

∴

Half past eleven and the crowd's going insane. Fuelled with

enough alcohol and free-floating pheromones, everyone's intentions are

set to overdrive.

Dylan's turning on libidos as she does her cowboy thang onstage to

Sheryl Crow. "Maybe Angels." Hell yeah!

My set starts at twelve. I like that; on the cusp of the old and the

new.

I watch from behind the bar as Dylan struts. Her legs are strong

and confident as she kicks them out in front of her in that brash swagger.

She's wearing Levi's so worn they'll probably dissolve beneath the first

insistent caress. Scuffed cowboy boots and a Stetson round the picture

off well. But it's the brown leather chaps and that "come-on-over here-darlin'" smirk of hers and the substantial bulge in her crotch that drive the girlies crazy. She works those beautiful boy-hips of hers, working

the crowd into a frenzy until a sexy redhead bounds onto the stage

amidst a howl of coercion and applause.

The bouncers here don't drag people off stage. It's not necessary.

And there seems to be an understanding amidst the spectators of who

they can do it with. No one has ever invaded my space while I strip.

They watch me. Somehow they never try and touch. ,

Dylan's John Deere T is on the stage. Her nipples are stiff beneath

the overhead glow, her skin tanned. Dylan really works on a farm, see.

Stud farm couple of miles out of town. The Midwest sure has its perks.

Dyke cowboys are beautiful creatures.

Dylan pulls the redhead against her, hand splayed on the small of

the woman's back. Their hips move together slowly.

"Get a room!" a voice yells from a corner, laughing.

Angels, yes. Not maybe. Definitely.

Heather's up after Dylan, right before me. She's playful and teases

the butches into clamping their beer bottles until their knuckles go white.

Heather does her thing to Tori Amos's "Sweet Dreams." Every

time Tori croons "Who's your daddy?" several women volunteer with gusto. It helps that Heather mouths the words down to the crowd with

her glossed, red cherry lips.

I'm still behind the bar with Sinead, the bartender. My little ritual. I

have one or two vodka straights before I go on. Fluids the limbs.

I'm making a sexist joke with Sin when I look up from my drink

and see her there. The lean and sleek girl. She looks a little mean,

huddled within the shadows. All the lights are focused on the stage.

"Who's your daddy?" Tori croons again. Heather blows a kiss at one of her prospects and the leather madam sticks a collection of bills in the

barely there elastic of her panties.

Sin's gone, relating to the needs of customers at the other end of

the bar.

"You're one of the strippers." Mean girl doesn't ask. She states.

"I'm up after Heather." I lean in closer because I don't want to have to shout. She smells of sandalwood. I notice her arms are really muscled.

I feel a faint flutter between my legs at imagining the rest of her body. "I have to get ready. She's almost finished. Let me buy you a drink. For

while you're watching."

She notices I'm flirting with her right away but she remains cool. I

smile. She says a cold beer would be great. I practically order Sinead to

give her the coldest motherfucking beer she can find in the fridge before

dashing off backstage.

While waiting in the wings for Heather to finish her set, I hear the

unmistakable sounds of fucking from somewhere in the shadows. Then I

see Donna, our stage manager, looking at me slyly from a nook in the

wall, her hips pumping into the dark.

Don't forget my cue, I mouth as the applause outside starts to drift and Heather, naked, slips past me. A muted moan in the shadows is all

I get for a reply.

Heather smirks. Her body glows with sweat. "Donna's fucking the

hired help again, isn't she?"

Just then my cue sounds. I'm amazed at how Donna can make an

announcement with such a steady voice while I know she's doing what's

she's doing back there.

The song begins.

∴

I've always loved the Boss. I wanted my girlfriends to be like him.

As the strains of "I'm On Fire" start, the club abruptly goes still.

The rumble of mixed voices falls in a hush. No one even clinks a glass.

Sin stops serving drinks and I notice how she winks at me just as the

house lights go down.

The club is dark now. A subdued spotlight bleeds on me as I move

to the song, tempting the need of the music into my legs, my back,

shoulders, hips, arms.

I'm barefoot. I can't walk for shit on high heels.

Part of my appeal, I know, is my androgyny. The butches and the

studs come to see the vulnerability that hides behind my dark eyes and to

appreciate the tone of my curves. The femmes come for the danger in

me, my ability to play the switch. And the bois... They come because

they see parts of themselves reflected in my angles.

She's sitting down, almost right at the back, watching me. Her legs

apart and feet planted firmly on the ground, beer bottle in one hand and

smoldering cigarette in the other. Jesus, she looks hot.

There is a hushed, burning appreciation as my clothes come off.

What I wear isn't fancy. It's not lacy and it's not silk. It's gender

functionality. Maybe if you walked past me in the street you wouldn't

look twice.

That's why the crowd gives me such reverence. I make the

everyday untouchable.

∴

"Where you from?" I ask her.

"New Jersey."

"Yeah? You got that grit. It fits."

She smiles. "That there—that's a great compliment."

We're standing outside on the curb. It's two o'clock in the morning.

The chill in the air makes me shiver as she lights a cigarette for me.

I inhale and blow smoke. "Listen, what the hell is your name?"

She laughs. A comforting sound, low and easy. "Jake."

"Jake," I repeat, rolling the name around my tongue. 'What are you doing in Michigan?"

She hitches her shoulders. "Guess I started driving one day and

ended up here."

I watch the muscles in her arms flex.

∴

She's renting a room, but I take her to my flat. I'm not exactly sure

why, but I don't want to have sex with her in a motel.

We both know that's the deal. And that's good, because it's what

we both want.

I already saw it back at the club in the way she looked at me while

I stripped. Those Docs of hers firmly on the ground. She was solid. Her

intentions were clear in every move she made, whether blowing smoke

out the car window or stroking her big square hand intently up and down

the inside of my thigh. We don't talk much in the car on our way to my

flat.

"Actually, I don't usually go to strip clubs." She says this and looks at me intently from the passenger seat. I can't remember if I'd actually

asked her about it.

∴

We're going to fuck the way I strip. I can feel it.

I've just closed the heavily padlocked door behind me when I feel

the touch of her hands. Her fingers trail down the sensitive skin of my

hips…

When I touch her it's her back I feel, all muscled and coiled and

hard. Our bodies aren't touching yet. We're just breathing. I take hold of her wrist and guide it up inside the front of my shirt. I neglected to put my bra back on after my set. Her fingers brush skin, making my nipples

strain. My hands travel down and massage her ass through the coarse

material of her navy cargos.

"I'm not going to fuck you up against the wall or something trite

like that."

"Umm...okay?"

The corner of her mouth tilts as she looks at me. I want to kiss her

real bad. She shakes her head. "Where's your bed?"

I lead her to it. It's unmade, of course. It's not like I was expecting

company.

Jake pushes me down. She stands at the edge of the bed, legs

slightly apart, feet firmly on the ground.

"Get over here," I can't believe I'm telling her what to do. Jake takes her shirt off, but the undressing goes no further. Her stomach is

ripped. Fucking washboard flat. Chiseled. She crawls on top of me and

we finally kiss.

Her tongue is hot. I taste cigarettes and beer and smell sandalwood

and the faint musk of aroused sweat. I pull her down on me and sigh into

her throat at the weight bearing me down into the wasted mattress. I

can't move. She holds me down with no effort at all.

Jake doesn't stop my fingers from pulling at her button fly but I'm

having a hard time because she's heavy and her hips keep bearing down

on me. Frustrated, I try to push against her stomach, push her away, just

for a moment.

Our kiss breaks wet and breathless. The morning air feels tight.

"Want me to fuck you?" Jake asks.

"Jesus, yes." I've never had a butch show such respect, such

restraint. The girls I sometimes pick up at the club usually can't wait to get my clothes off. Sure it's a kick; and a compliment.

When they buy into the stripper fantasy.

I feel Jake's hand touch mine down between her legs. Our fingers

tangle and I hear metal buttons pop. I force my hand inside her pants and

feel the substantial cock she's packing. Jake exhales loudly when I start

fondling it leisurely.

''Not so fast," I say as she tries to push me away. Where is her

restraint now? With my other hand I reach out without looking and

fumble on the bedside table until I find half a tube of KY. I take my

hand away from her only long enough to squirt a generous blob of the

warming liquid into my palm and then return it back through the fly of

her boxers and smear it slowly up and down the length of her cock.

My hand moves slowly up and down. I'm all too aware of the

effect it has on Jake as the base of her cock applies subtle pressure on

her clit every time my hand disappears way down.

"Fuck..." Jake growls. Her eyes are half closed, generous lips slightly parted. She looks as if she's momentarily forgotten about me. My hand

keeps up its pace, never faltering; steady and slow while Jake's breathing becomes shallower and faster.

I sit up until my mouth reaches her ear and say, "Let me jack you

off."

Jake grunts as my hand inside her cargos suddenly becomes more

insistent. "You're going to make me come," she hisses between clenched teeth.

I don't say anything, but my hand starts to stroke her cock faster.

I'm surprised when Jake suddenly seems to gain her awareness again.

With one strong arm she pushes against my chest, pushes me flat on my

back. She suddenly remembers—she's the one in control.

She rips my hand away from her crotch and holds it down against

the mattress so hard it hurts. With her mobility restricted, lying on top of me and holding me down, she nevertheless manages to free her cock.

For a moment she struggles with it and I fight against her to even up the

ante, but fuck me, she's just too strong.

Jake pushes herself into me with a sneer—the first sign of

dominance I've seen in her all night.

The breath catches in the back of my throat but I make no sound.

Instead I hear the bed knock hard against the wall. There's the sudden

release, a whoosh of blood as Jake releases her grip on my wrist.

Quickly—before she can restrain me again—I lace my hands behind her

neck just as she starts fucking me.

Her strokes are long, slow and deep. Her eyes don't leave mine for

a second. She starts to breathe hard and move harder too. I start to say

things; even, I think, beg her to please, pleaseplease not ever stop.

I feel like I am going to detonate. My head is spinning and I'm

mumbling half-formed words. Jake pulls herself up to lean over me and

starts fucking me really hard and fast, barreling me toward a swiftly

approaching orgasm that on the one hand I want and on the other want to

postpone, to chase away.

Neither of us can stop ourselves.

I shudder and buck beneath Jake and she keeps pushing, keeps

riding me until she comes herself. I think she shouts some obscenity at

the wall behind us. Either the wall or at me, I'm not sure. Both prospects are equally erotic.

∴

I wake up early in the morning, thirsty as hell. Jake is sleeping, her

broad, strong back toward me. I sneak out of bed and go to the kitchen.

I'm swallowing mouthfuls of Fresca when I feel her behind me.

Neither of us says anything. She pulls down my clean pair of panties and

fucks me from behind against the cold kitchen sideboard. And rough.

This time she lets her fingers do the talking, all the while whispering

harshly just below my ear how goddamn beautiful I am.

Wouldn't you want that? Such devotion and aggression in one

perfect package. I'm drunk on her. I'm lucky that she's fallen in love with the Midwest. Every night when I strip she's at the back with her beer.

Watching me. She sets me on fire.

MIRROR

EVA VANDETUIN

he's not afraid of me yet, but she wants to be.

I've left her alone in the bedroom, told her to strip and put

S on the black leather cuffs I've left out for her. Now I'm

watching her through the keyhole. This rickety Victorian house allows

old-school peeping, and I appreciate that. The room is just a little drafty, and I've left it cool, knowing body heat will warm it once we get started.

In the meantime, she's kneeling on the bed with an expression that's both

nervous and a bit sulky. There are goose bumps on her skin, and her

nipples are taut with the chill. I've left her waiting long enough so that she's gone through at least one cycle of tension and calm and back to

tension again. She is, perhaps, just a little annoyed. My mouth twists in a half smile. The waiting is delicious. So is watching her while she doesn't know she's being watched. Her hands move restlessly on her thighs, the

rings on the cuffs glinting in the light; she chafes her torso, arms, and

breasts for warmth, and maybe for comfort.

I choose that moment to open the door and she looks at me, faintly

embarrassed to be caught touching herself, even in such an innocent

way—and the embarrassment annoys her too, and puts a bit of defiance

in her eyes. She stares at me coolly, like an ordeal is about to begin, as if we're not both here because we want to be. My breathing quickens a

little, pleasantly restricted by the corset I'm wearing; I feel armored next to her nakedness.

Standing in front of her, I catch her hands in mine and hold her

arms out away from her body to take a long, hard look. Her chin tips up

a little, but she gazes at me steadily as I admire her: teardrop-shaped

breasts with prominent blue veins, nipples clenched and flushed red,

generous hips, a sparse triangle of dark hair below the graceful curve of

her belly. I trace a finger down her breastbone and abdomen, teasing her

cleft. "Show me," I tell her, and still holding me with hard eyes, she spreads her legs to display a lovely smooth-petaled flower of a cunt,

flushed deep pink with blood. I take my time, then look her in the face,

smiling, letting the hunger show. She looks back at me unwavering,

gray-green irises set under long, straight black lashes. She wants to be

touched and she won't say it. I'll make her wait.

I sit on the bed behind her and pull her against me so she can feel

the leather and hard boning of my corset against her back, how exposed

she is next to the thickness of my shell. My lips trail down her ear and

neck as I pull her hands behind her, joining the cuffs with a metal clasp

from my bodice. There's a set to her shoulders that tells me she won't

resist physically, but she's wary, not at all ready to surrender, not yet. I have something to prove. For now, though, I just keep kissing her, biting

at her neck gently, rolling her nipples between my fingers. Her breathing

changes; she's leaning against me now, her head against my shoulder,

her eyes drifting shut. I can feel her hips longing to thrust forward, but there's nothing there to touch. Still too early for that, yes.

And I am behind her, so she can't see when I reach to free the knife

that's sheathed at my back and bring it to her exposed throat. But she

twitches when she feels the edge, and her eyes open, her breathing a

little faster. "That's my athame, sweet," I purr in her ear. '"Traditionally, they're blunt, but mine is sharp. Feel?" She nods almost imperceptibly in acknowledgement, and I turn the knife, let her feel the cold flat against

the artery in her neck, then drag the point slowly down her body. My left

hand comes up to grasp her jaw, holding her arched against me as I

reverse the knife and touch her exposed clit with its metal pommel. She

shivers; her hips shift forward again, and when I bite her earlobe, she

moans. In her ear, I whisper, "I would so love to make you bleed. It

would be so beautiful, all that red on these white sheets," and I rub the ridged hilt of the knife against her clit for emphasis. She makes a

strangled sound, her bound hands move restlessly against me. "But there are so many other pleasures we can subject this soft white body of yours

to. Why should we rush?" I ask her, and with a slow pressure I allow the hilt of the knife to slide into her cunt. Her pelvis moves to accept it, but I don't let her have much; I keep my grip on the hilt near the blade and

stroke her clit with my thumb as I carefully fuck her with the knife. Her

eyes roll, but she says nothing. It's too quiet, but I don't really want to hear myself talk. I'd rather hear her scream.

I pull the knife from her with a final caress and she moans a little, a

disappointed sound. The knife goes back in its sheath, anointed with her

juices, and I lick my fingers, then give them to her to suck, turning her to the side a bit, cradling her. She lets me do it, but her eyes are guarded

again as she looks at me, daring me to try harder. I love her resistance;

looking at her. I have to fight the urge to rub up against her hip to satisfy my tingling cunt. How unseemly it would be, when really we're just

getting started. Instead, I lunge forward suddenly and close my mouth on

her exposed throat, pricking her with my teeth. She stiffens for a

moment, then relaxes again, feeling the vulnerability of the pose, and I

reward her with an open-handed caress on her mound. Her body is

deliciously responsive, her cunt already dripping; my excitement is

growing with every shiver of her skin,

I release her, then turn her and push her down on her stomach,

freeing her arms only long enough to attach them instead to the

bedposts, along with her ankles. Having her thus comfortably spread-

eagled, I caress her body, then leave her alone again to gather my tools

and to let her nervousness rise. On another day I might take her up

gently with feathers and horsehair brushes to peak with a painless

flogging, but today I think that would disappoint her. She doesn't like

pain, but she wants a little fear. Returning, I rub her back, buttocks, and thighs vigorously, bringing the blood to the surface, then slap her lightly, three times. She doesn't flinch. I feel my smile stretching my face, my

teeth beginning to show. I know it's not a pleasant expression, but she

can't see. I am so hungry. I can barely wait.

Still, I start with light blows, dragging the soft tails of the flogger

across her skin between lashes. As first I'm not causing her any pain, but after a few minutes I begin to increase the speed and intensity, and I see her wincing now as I hit the same spot on her thigh over and over, the

skin turning a rosy pink. I move back to her buttocks, strike her harder,

and she gives a short, painful bark. Again. She's pulling at the restraints now, thrashing a little as I beat her. Harder. "Fuck!" she says, involuntarily. Again. "Ow, goddammit, fuck!" I hit her again, pushing her, and with each blow a little more profanity escapes her with a little

more force, until she's screaming the words at me, cursing me, pulling

hard against the cuffs. "Goddamn you, you fucking— ah! Bitch! You fucking whore! You—shit! Ow, ah God. Fuck!"

"You're full of flattery, my dear," I purr in between breaths,

moving my hips with the rhythm of my blows. She's out of words now,

just screaming, growling, biting at the sheets beneath her, incoherent

with rage. "You want me to stop?" I ask her sweetly, but the only answer I get is a strangled roar as she again struggles with the bonds. "Then beg," I tell her, and she screams again, curses me. "Beg," I say again,

"Beg, beg, beg," timing the word with the blows, and after a few more enraged screams she chokes, "Please stop hitting me, please please ow fuck please lady I'll do whatever you want please oh fuck oh God please—" and suddenly I do stop and there is silence except for our breathing, hers ragged, mine deep with exertion but steady. For a

moment I struggle with the urge to turn the flogger in my hand and ram

the handle into her, but I hold back; this is more for her than for me, and I don't want to hurt her in ways she doesn't want to be hurt. Instead, I

kneel beside her, stroking back her short brown hair, and she heaves a

sob, tearlessly. When I touch her face, she turns her head to kiss my

fingers, and I know this was what she wanted. I lean down, murmur

nonsense endearments in her ear.

There's a bottle of aloe vera by the bed, and I take it down and

stroke the gel into her skin, cooling the angry heat of the beating. I rub tension from her shoulders and knots from her thighs, telling her how

lovely she is, how gorgeous, how desirable. I reach between her legs and

gently touch her outer labia, feeling the heat that lingers there. A little more aloe and I'm rubbing her clit, she's moaning softly, unresisting.

And as much as I loved the fierceness of beating her, I want to do this

much more. Slowly, I unhook the corset, baring my torso, and toss it to

the side; I pull off my panties to let the short, thick cock I'm wearing

swing free. Wiping the aloe from my hands, I replace it with a generous

dab of lube, slicking her up and then my equipment, already warm with

my body heat. I put my weight on her, my nipples tightening at the chill

of the aloe evaporating from her back, and slip inside.

She groans and moves against me as I grind her pelvis into the bed,

pushing her clit against the mattress, and my own cunt throbs with the

pressure as my cock pulses into her, just enough length to push firmly

against her cervix at the end of each thrust. Her moans are half sobs, and it's the sound of her more than the pressure that gets me close. I slide a hand under her to stimulate her clit more directly and she's screaming

again, in pleasure instead of pain this time, but she sounds just the same, only with a bit less profanity—and then she's thrashing, coming, and I

let her finish before jamming my fingers under the harness and into my

own throbbing wetness. It only takes a few desperate thrusts before my

orgasm explodes through me and I catch myself, remember not to

collapse on her, so much more exhausted than I am.

I take my time unbuckling the harness, detaching her from the

bedposts one limb at a time, and then I gather her up into my arms, both

of us naked now. For the first time this evening I give her a real kiss, my mouth tender on hers. As I pull back, she looks up at me, her eyes finally vague, no longer hard. But there's still a flicker of mischief in them, and after a moment she whispers, "Bitch."

I smile, playing the game with her. "Slut."

"Whore."

"Floozy."

''Tramp.''

"Jezebel."

"Harlot."

...until we run out of insults, and one of us starts to giggle, and then

we're both laughing, voices raised in identical cackles, equally

shameless, equally spent.

THE DECISION COIN

NYRDGYRL

ll roads lead to therapy." After making this pronouncement,

the patient settled back and folded his hands in his lap to

A await his therapist's return volley.

Oh God, I need some relief. Losing the battle of keeping her

posture erect and her demeanor interested, Dr. Odessa Martin slumped

back into the shadow that crossed her desk. Pressing her fingertips

together, she pretended to evaluate the declaration, then said, "I believe that's all roads lead to Rome, not therapy."

"Rome...therapy, what's the difference? I'm here, aren't I?"

The pencil Odessa habitually twirled suddenly snapped, scattering

wood slivers across her desk and eliciting a self-satisfied smirk from her patient. She quirked an eyebrow at her least favorite client, then selected another pencil from her stockpile. He'd bested her again. Odessa's

profession required patience and neutrality, two qualities that she

grappled with constantly. Over time, she'd realized that most people

were reluctant, at best, to deal with reality. Without volition, her hand

rose and rubbed a crescent-shaped scar that creased her hairline. It was a parting gift from a former patient who'd found another use for her

summer heels.

When she was a child, her grandmother had filled her head with

stories about Sojourner Truth and Martin Luther King. God knew she'd

never heard his call, but making her people proud had been woven into

the very fiber of her being. Every day of her youth, she'd endured

lectures about the importance of service until she bristled with purpose

and grabbed the shield, eager to take her turn on the field of battle.

Before her conversion, the pictures of Martin Luther King that graced

every wall in her gram's house seemed benign. Afterward, she always

felt like the man himself was beaming down on her with approval. Most

people contented themselves with one formal portrait, but her gram

collected his picture like other people did thimbles.

Service had been her calling; unfortunately, lately she'd grown

tired. Nothing she said or did seemed to provide anyone any relief.

Especially herself. Her normally cocoa brown skin was drawn and her

soft "good hair" had dried out and become as brittle as the tumbleweeds that skittered across the highways of this godforsaken part of the

country. Misguided love had lured her away from Georgia and landed

her deep in the Sonoran Desert.

Killing time, she doodled in her notebook, knowing that the

session was very near its end. Within seconds, her patience was

rewarded when the clock struck five.

"Well, Mr. Clement, looks like our time's up. Same time next

week?" As much as she hated dealing with this man, Odessa had bills to pay and he was one of her few self-paying, private clients. All he really

needed was someone to harass, and she'd filled that role nicely. No one

else would have put up with his nonsense.

Heaving a huge sigh of relief, she ushered him out the door. He

was her last patient of the day. Now all she had left to do was finish her notes and close up the office before heading home for another solo

dinner. Afterward she'd drive to the clinic to facilitate her codependency group.

The next morning she overslept, then broke her favorite coffee

mug while hurrying to keep her appointment with her friend and

department head, Dr. Leslie Craven. She'd called in desperation, needing

to talk to someone, so Leslie had cleared an hour out of her busy day just for her. Despite her best intentions, Odessa was late and her hastily

applied makeup failed to camouflage her state of mind. Leslie met her at

the door to the suite, then ushered her directly into her office.

"What's wrong, Odessa? What's upsetting you?" Leslie settled her onto the cushioned sofa, then drew a chair up close enough to touch

Odessa's twitching leg. "Is it Carmen?"

Odessa dropped her head into her hands and scrubbed her face,

trying to dam the tears that trickled down her cheeks. She wept silently

for a few moments, then gathered her composure and faced her friend.

''No,'' Odessa said "Not Carmen. We're through. I've told you that."

"Then what is it?"

"It's everything, Leslie. I can't take it anymore." She looked around for a pencil, then ran her fingers through her carefully styled hair, a sure sign that things were not right in her world. She said, "I can't face another patient or student. They're sucking me dry." Raising her tear-stained face, she whispered, "I'm going crazy. I'm distracted and

disorganized and I want to..."

Leslie pursed her lips, then motioned for Odessa to continue.

"It's everywhere. I see the tops of people's skulls popping open like washing machine lids and I'm pouring detergent into the open hole. It's

crazy. You've got to help me, Leslie. I can't stand it."

Leslie's eyes widened. "I have an opening for Tuesday and

Thursday mornings at say...7:30? I also think you should clear your

schedule and—"

" No. Not more therapy! I tell you, I can't stand it." Odessa's bottom lip quivered as tears once again coursed down her cheeks. "I want...I mean I need...time. That's all. I just need some time."

Wrapping her arms around Odessa's body to buffer her ultimatum,

Leslie said, "Time! Girl, all you've had is time. You've been skipping your session regularly and look what's happened. Absolutely not,

Odessa. Those sessions are mandatory. I won't settle for anything less.

Not if you want to keep working, that is."

"That's...that's just it, Leslie. I'm not sure I want to...that I can keep working."

"You can't mean that, Odessa. You're too good and do too much

for people in this community to turn your back now."

"But what about me? What about what I need? What I want? When does that matter to anyone?" Odessa threw her soggy tissue into the

wastebasket and snatched three more from the box by her side.

"You need to recharge your batteries. Why don't you use my condo

in Sedona? Take some time to reflect on where you're going. After you

come back, we'll talk about this some more."

Odessa nodded eagerly. Getting away might be just what she

needed. Her enthusiasm waned when she asked, "But...my students and

the clinic? What about them?" As an afterthought she added, "My

clients, who'll see them if I go away?"

"I'll handle all of that, Odessa. You just go ahead and take care of

yourself."

∴

Odessa steered her Lexus convertible onto exit 298 on I-17, trying

to let the muted pastels that painted the desert landscape ease her worries about her car. It had been acting up for weeks, intermittently cutting out for no discernable reason. She'd been to her mechanic three times, and

each time he'd returned it hinting that Odessa was mistaken because he'd

never been able to duplicate her complaint. On the way up from

Phoenix, the car had shuddered twice, but after a quick prayer, the

engine smoothed out. It would have been just her luck to stall out on the

way to a much-needed vacation.

She'd forgotten her sunglasses, so when she turned west on

Highway 179, the brilliant sunset dazzled her eyes and forced her to the

side of the road. When her vision cleared, she put the car in gear only to have it stutter, then stall. Her dead car brought fresh tears and she cried until her sinuses ached, grinding the ignition again and again in

frustration, unconsciously mimicking her clients' senseless repetitive

behavior.

She was still crying when a loud metallic tapping made her clasp

her chest in fear. She whipped her head around squinting through her

tears to make out the features of the figure standing beside her car.

Whoever it was backed away and was standing with her arms extended

sideways, assuming a harmless stance that went a long way toward

relieving Odessa's fright. After wiping her face, she cracked the window

and asked, "Can I help you?"

Stepping closer while still keeping her hands out to her sides, the

stranger said, "That's what I was going to ask you. You're the one sitting by the side of the road."

Bristling at the stranger's tone, Odessa ground the engine. She

pounded the wheel in frustration. '"My car won't start."

"I see that. Pop the hood, ma'am." The stranger sauntered to the front of the car, rapping the fender with a knuckle when Odessa was

slow to comply.

Rubbing her freshly bruised hand, Odessa climbed out from behind

the wheel and walked toward the front of the car. Dangling legs and a

muscular green-clad butt greeted her. The stranger had practically

climbed into the engine compartment and was whistling tunelessly while

she tinkered with the visible wiring. Absorbed in admiring the

mechanic's physique, Odessa had to jump back to avoid a collision when

the stranger pushed herself from under the hood.

"I'm going to have to give you a tow, lady. I can't fix this here."

"A tow?"

"Yeah, I even brought my truck along. See?" The stranger peeled

blue nitrile gloves from her hands and waved them behind her at an

idling tow truck. She sketched a bow. "Wendy Harper at your service."

Odessa blinked, oddly discomforted by her timely rescue. Her luck

usually wasn't that good. She eyed the driver's pixie face and spiked hair and said the first thing that popped into her mind. " Really," she drawled.

"Are you sure it's not Darling?"

"Darling? Why'd you call me that? We've just met." Wendy stuck

her hand out, then pulled it back to stuff the gloves in a pocket. "My name's Wendy. Wendy Harper. What's yours?"

Blushing at her runaway mouth, Odessa extended her hand. "Oh,

Odessa. Odessa Martin, but I didn't call for a tow."

"I know. I was just taking a ride and saw you sitting there."

"In a tow truck?"

"How else would I tow your car?" Wendy tucked her hands into

voluminous pockets and rocked back and forth on her heels.

"Of course." Odessa eyed her rescuer warily, watching for any

sudden moves. This woman had a manic gleam in her eye that many

would mistake for enthusiasm. Odessa's experience led her to believe

that the tow truck driver was clinging to the edge of the sanity abyss

with her steel-covered toes.

As Wendy pulled the tow chain and was hooking it to the Lexus'

undercarriage, Odessa asked, "What's wrong with it?"

Straightening from her crouched position, Wendy shrugged her

shoulders. "Dunno, Om, but whatever it is, I can't fix it here."

Odessa growled, "It's Odessa, not Om."

''That's what I said, Om. You know, your initials, O-M. Like those

meditation things."

"Mantras?"

"Yeah, mantras. Om is a pretty common one, according to the

TV."

"Do you meditate?"

''Nope, no need. I've got my coin." She pulled a hand from her

pocket and flicked her thumb, sending a flash of brightness spiraling into the air. Once it landed, she opened her palm with a flourish and

displayed its well-worn surface. "Frowny, next answer's no."

Odessa stared at the coin nestled within the mechanic's small palm.

"Excuse me?"

Speaking slowly, as if she were explaining the miracle of birth to a

small child, Wendy said, "Smiley face is yes, frowny face is no. Came up frowny so the next answer's no."

''You can't mean that you make all of your decisions by flipping a

coin?" Odessa fumbled in her pocket for a pencil, her expression

incredulous. Every time she thought she'd plumbed the depths of bizarre

behaviors, someone deepened the well.

"No, I don't, not all of them. Only the ones I'm not sure about."

Wendy smiled. "See, it worked. You asked a question and my answer

was no. Works every time." Finished with hooking the car up, Wendy

waved Odessa into her truck.

Resigned to meeting lunatics at every turn in the road, Odessa

prodded, "And where did you get this idea?"

"I saw it on TV."

"On television?"

"Oh yeah. I've got a great one too. It took me years to save up, but

I've got a flat screen TV that's this big." Wendy spread her arms out to their full span, which outlined pert breasts under her jumpsuit. "I watch it whenever I can. Bubblegum Crisis is my favorite."

Odessa was now certain that Wendy was still mentally with Peter

and the boys but, still, something about her made her skin flush and her

belly heavy with longing. She shook herself mentally, surprised at her

suddenly surging libido, and forced her attention back to the peculiar

conversation. "Tell me more about the coin."

Scowling, Wendy said, "I'm trying, but you keep interrupting."

"Sorry, go ahead." Odessa schooled her features to present a

picture of complete attention and twined her traitorous fingers together

in her lap to keep them from tracing Wendy's sharp cheekbones.

Shifting into gear, Wendy said, "All right, then. The Science

Channel said that everything on a computer happens with either a one or

a zero. That's like my coin, except I made it with smileys and frownys."

"Smileys and frownys..."

"Uh-huh. I tried thumbs, but I never could remember which one

was up."

Odessa turned her face toward the passenger window to hide her

smile. "So smileys and frownys work better for you?"

"Yeah, I made it myself. See, it's cool." Wendy rummaged through her pocket until she found the coin again and then offered it to Odessa.

Odessa took the coin, snatching her hand back when a spark leapt

between their fingers. The coin was well made and obviously had seen

lots of use; both sides were worn from repeated rubbing. Wendy kept

glancing out of the comer of her eye as Odessa turned the coin

repeatedly. Something was niggling at her subconscious that Odessa

couldn't bring to the forefront of her mind. "Go on, Wendy. You were

telling me about how you came up with this."

Wendy grinned. "Anyway, the show said that lots of things happen

because of one and zero. If computers can do everything with them, I

can too."

Intrigued, Odessa asked, "Why didn't you just use yes or no?"

"'Cause not everything's a yes or no answer. Sometimes I have two

things I can't decide between and the coin helps me choose. It works

great! You should try it."

Something about Wendy's simplistic logic made Odessa reconsider

her initial opinion of the tow truck driver. Maybe there was more to this

woman than first appeared, her physical response to her notwithstanding.

She sat in silence until just after they had passed the sign that announced Sedona proper.

"Wendy, would you mind dropping me off'? I'm staying at a condo

on Arroyo Roble Road." She waved a hand at her rumpled clothing. "I'd like to change and get something to eat before I have to tackle my car

again."

"Sure, Om. Not a problem. Just tell me the address and I'll take you

there."

They pulled up in front of the address and exchanged information,

Wendy licking her pencil stub before copying Odessa's insurance

information and having Odessa sign the paperwork consigning her car to

Wendy's care. Each time they touched or made eye contact, Odessa's

skin tingled, making her blush and duck her head to hide from Wendy's

knowing grin.

Wendy carted Odessa's substantial luggage out of the car and into

the condo, grunting with effort. Odessa tried to help but Wendy waved

her off saying, "I've got it, Om. You just watch."

Odessa willingly complied, manual labor being something she

avoided at all costs. Besides, she was only too happy to watch Wendy

work, admiring the wiry muscles that the woman revealed when she

unzipped her jumpsuit and tied the dangling arms around her waist. Her

muscle T-shirt was sweat stained, but Odessa ignored that to think about

how nicely Wendy's small breasts would fit in the palms of her hands. It

had been a while since she'd been with a woman. Carmen was her last;

sex with her had been infrequent and one-sided, with Carmen always on

the receiving end. Odessa licked her lips, imagining Wendy's fingers

tangled in her hair, holding her in place while she ravaged her breasts

with her teeth and tongue. She shivered awake when Wendy brushed her

fingertips against her arm.

''You all right, Om? You had a funny look on your face just then.

Anything else I can help you with?"

Blushing furiously, Odessa shuffled her feet, embarrassed to be

caught fantasizing about sex with a stranger. She cleared her throat,

hoping her voice would sound normal. "I'm fine. I was just...thinking."

Waggling her eyebrows playfully, Wendy teased, "Must have been

good, you were really moaning. I thought maybe you were in pain or

something."

Odessa cringed, then climbed the stoop, shuffling backward when

Wendy followed her. She was at least nine inches taller, placing

Wendy's mouth even with her breasts. Though it was still warm out, her

nipples rose and stiffened, reaching out for contact. Seeking distance,

Odessa pressed her shoulder blades against the door, unintentionally

thrusting her breasts forward even more. Instead of moving away,

Wendy stepped closer until there was less than an inch separating her

lips and Odessa's straining nipples.

"Something tells me you want me to stay."

Wendy's breath brushing against her nipples almost made Odessa

come on the spot. She opened her mouth, nearly panting her denial.

"Yes...I mean...no. I want…you...to...go."

Wendy cocked her head and stepped away, giving Odessa some

much-needed space.

Maybe I tapped into a ley line. Sedona was riddled with energy

vortexes but as far as Odessa knew, none of them were sexual.

"Are you sur e? I'd love to stay and..." Wendy stepped closer and ran a fingertip across Odessa's nipple. In a singsong voice she chanted,

"Stay or go, yes or no. Stay or go, yes or no. Stay or go, yes or no."

Odessa writhed under Wendy's fingertip, her blood pounded in her

belly, making it difficult to think, and still Wendy chanted, "Stay or go, yes or no."

Finally following her body's lead, Odessa said, "Yes. Stay."

Wendy's gray eyes twinkled. "And you didn't even need my coin."

Odessa fumbled behind her for the doorknob, stumbling into the

room when the door opened behind her. Wendy followed, catching

Odessa by the wrist and raising it to bet lips to nibble the pulse point.

Legs close to buckling, Odessa groaned, then leaned in for a kiss—

she had to slow this down or she would come in her pants before Wendy even really touched her.

Wendy deepened the kiss, maneuvering Odessa down the hall

toward the open bedroom door. When the back of Odessa's knees

bumped into the bed, she fell backward, finally breaking the suction that

bound them together. She raised her bands to Wendy, beckoning her to

join her on the bed, frowning slightly when Wendy raised a hand and

said, "Stay there. Don't move. I need a shower."

Breathless and confused, Odessa flopped back onto the bed and

traced a crack in the ceiling with her gaze. She'd never had such a

physical response to a stranger before but knew that she wanted

whatever magic Wendy possessed. Needing to take the edge off her

desire, Odessa slid a hand under her waistband, inching her fingers

toward her aching center. Just before she touched herself, Wendy poked

her head back into the room and said, "Ah ah ah. No touching. The wait will make it better." She grinned at Odessa's groan and flashed her naked ass as she returned to the bathroom.

Odessa lay still, listening to Wendy singing in the shower. She

couldn't make out the words or even the tune but found herself somehow

mesmerized by Wendy's voice. She couldn't wait until that mouth, those

lips were snugged in her most intimate places, sucking her neatly shorn

lips. Lost in her daydream, Odessa didn't hear the shower stop, didn't

hear Wendy moving around, didn't hear anything until Wendy was

standing naked between her legs, holding out her hands to help Odessa

stand up.

Wendy turned her around to face the bed, rubbing her naked

breasts against Odessa's silk-clad back. When Odessa pressed backward

into her, Wendy slapped her ass and said, "Stay still, this is my rodeo."

Breathing raggedly, Odessa tried to comply while Wendy

unbuttoned her blouse. Cool fingers pinched and pulled her nipples

through her bra, and Odessa sagged. Her nipples had never been as

plump and sensitive, and Wendy played them like a jazz pianist,

interspersing herky-jerky tugs with smooth finger riffs. On the verge of

coming just from nipple play, Odessa tried to turn around again.

''No, no." Wendy pushed her onto the bed, trapping her arms in her

shirt sleeves by rolling her over onto her back.

Nipples pointing to the heavens, Odessa swallowed thickly when

Wendy licked her lips.

"We need to get that bra off, but...not...just...yet." Wendy bent over and tugged Odessa's slacks and panties from her hips, leaving them

crumpled around her ankles. ''Now I think I'll—"

Eyes glazed with desire, Odessa panted, ''Touch me, Wendy. I

need you to touch me."

"Oh, I will. I will. Don't you worry." Wendy dropped to her knees and peeled Odessa's shoes off, massaging her feet, then taking the time

to run her fingertips up the inside of her thighs, stopping just before she reached Odessa's aching slit. Odessa's hips rose, seeking contact, but

Wendy denied her by kneeling on her pants, pinning Odessa's feet to the

floor. "Now I've got you, my pretty. If only I had some lube."

"In my bag. The blue one. Please, Wendy. I need you."

"Just a sec." Wendy left the room, then returned with the blue bag, upturning its contents onto the bedroom floor. "Pantyhose, underwear, socks, bras..." She paused to finger a lacy edge, making Odessa wish

those fingers were fondling her nipples instead of her underwear, "Ah, lube. Now where's my jumpsuit?" Odessa's eyes tracked her as she

moved around the room, then widened when she snapped on a pair of

blue gloves.

"What...what are those gloves for?"

Wendy resumed her position between Odessa's legs, pouring a

generous amount of lube onto her gloved hands before dripping some on

Odessa's fiery slit. Odessa jumped when the cool lube hit her clit and

Wendy once again stomped on her pants, forcing her hips back onto the

bed. Rubbing her hands together, Wendy said, "Now where was I? Oh,

right here." She touched her lubed fingers to Odessa's opening and

probed gently to gauge its elasticity.

Odessa moaned deep in her throat and her eyes rolled back in her

head when Wendy inadvertently brushed the tip of her clit with one of

her fingers. "Oops. Sorry about that." She pushed a little deeper, curving her fingers upward to press on Odessa's g-spot, then asked, "Have you ever been fisted?" Odessa's head thrashed and the only sound she

produced was a series of grunts and moans that increased in volume and

intensity every time Wendy moved her fingers. "I'll take that as a no, then." She poured more lube onto the palm of her right hand, pushing

three fingers, then four, into Odessa's wide-open snatch. Finally, she

tucked her thumb into her palm and Odessa swallowed her hand whole,

grunting when Wendy's fist pressed against the walls of her womb.

Wendy stepped off Odessa's pants and straddled one of her long

legs, twisting her right hand and gently massaging Odessa's lower belly

with her left.

Odessa moaned, "Oh...my...God! What are you doing to me?

I've...never...felt like this before." Rising up on her elbows, she pried open her eyes, falling back when she realized Wendy's hand was

completely inside her body. Coherence deserted her when Wendy

pressed her wrist against her g-spot, reducing her to grunting, moaning

and sobbing in pleasure.

Wendy rode Odessa's straining leg, waiting until she was on the

edge of coming before she moved her left hand down to Odessa's cleft.

Using her thumb, she massaged Odessa's lips, avoiding her clit

completely until Odessa called out, "Touch me! Touch me!" So Wendy did.

When Odessa's mind cleared, Wendy was kneeling between her

legs, her right hand still being squeezed intermittently by Odessa's

womb. She was wet all over, sweat dotted her forehead, and moisture

seeped around Wendy's wrist, running down the crack of Odessa's ass

and drenching her asshole. She sighed gustily, twitching whenever

Wendy moved, too weak to protest when Wendy withdrew steadily until

the thickest part of her hand popped flee. Wendy snapped off her gloves,

wiping her hands on a towel she'd placed beside Odessa's hips, then

climbed onto the bed, kissing her way up Odessa's quivering body.

Wendy said, ''That was some ride, huh?"

The edges of Odessa's lips turned up and she whispered, "I'll say,

cowgirl," then closed her eyes when sleep dragged her under.

A slash of sunlight woke her and Odessa stretched, pleasantly sore

from the previous night's activities. Wendy was snoring, back turned and

curled around herself. Odessa resisted the urge to run her fingertips

down the knobs of Wendy's spine. She chuckled softly; one leg was still

entangled with her pants, but Wendy bad taken the time to free her from

her blouse and bra at some point during the night.

She shook her leg free and Wendy stirred, then rolled over,

throwing a leg over Odessa's hips. "Ready for round two?"

∴

They spent the next two weeks together, mostly in bed, only

occasionally venturing to Wendy's garage to check on Odessa's car.

Wendy used her coin frequently for decisions both large and small, and

each time, Odessa felt an idea niggling at her subconscious. They were

lying in bed, sharing their last afternoon together, when Odessa was

stuck by a thunderclap that she eagerly shared with her new girlfriend

Wendy said, "I don't know, Om. It doesn't seem right to sell it. I

thought it up for free. Maybe I should just share."

In a million years Odessa never imagined herself saying the words

that were about to come out of her mouth, but she was desperate enough

to take the chance. "Flip your coin, Wendy. See what it says."

∴

Odessa changed her name to Charon. Life was good on the talk

show circuit; she'd even introduced her grandmother to Oprah, which

almost made up for the disappointment she'd seen in her grandmother's

eyes when Odessa had resigned from the university. Wendy was

especially pleased because she was the star of their infomercials. As the

spokesperson, she could watch herself on TV anytime she wanted. The

only thing she liked better was dragging Om off to bed for a

midafternoon romp.

Odessa/Charon was ecstatic because in an odd way, she was still

helping people. It didn't hurt that they'd made a mint within three months of marketing the coin. She didn't even feel guilty about her new

livelihood. The coin was Wendy's idea, but she'd come up with their

instruction manual and sales pitch all by herself The Decision Coin: two

extremes that lead to infinite possibilities.

TOP OF THE CLASS

RADCLYFFE

llie punched in the first three digits of Cindy's phone

number and then hesitated. With a sigh, she pushed the off

A button and surveyed the mountain of clothes that had

sprouted in the middle of the bed as she'd tried on and discarded outfit

after outfit. Somehow, the excuse that she couldn't go out because she

had nothing to wear felt thin, even to her.

"I can't believe I let them talk me into something as stupid as this."

She fingered the leather chaps she had purchased one summer for a

horseback camping trip. Smiling, she recalled that the concept had been

a little bit more glamorous than the actual event, but it had still been fun.

Of course, most of the clothes she'd purchased for the eight-day

excursion never saw any further use. "And they're not going to tonight, either."

Eyeing the black leather pants and mesh top with a shake of her

head, she scooped up the whole pile and dumped it on a chair, then

marched to the closet and pulled out what she usually wore for a night

out with friends—jeans and a scoop-necked, ribbed white T-shirt. All

right, so it was true that the simple attire always got her plenty of

attention. The jeans hugged her high, tight ass, and with no bra under the form-fitting T-shirt, her breasts just screamed for a warm palm to cup

them. The thought of fingers playing across her tight nipples caused her

belly to twitch. "Okay. Okay. So maybe they're right and I do need a little recreational sex, but vanilla will do me just fine."

A glance at the clock told her she had less than ten minutes before

Cindy and Jeri arrived to pick her up. She still wasn't certain how she'd

let them talk her into going with them to Chances, the local leather bar.

Just because she'd played that stupid Truth or Dare game at Jeri's

birthday party and had even more stupidly told the truth about one of her

favorite fantasies was no reason to repay her honesty by dragging her

out to a club where she would only feel out of place.

"So come on, Al, tell," Cindy prodded. "What’s your favorite jerk-off fantasy?"

"What makes you think I—"

Cindy and Jeri hooted her down, and Allie grinned.

"Okay okay. Truth." She sighed. "I want to top this incredibly hot butch and have my way with her."

"So why haven’t you?" Cindy asked.

"I haven’t a clue how to go about it. Afraid of being turned down, I guess. "

"Yeah, but," Jeri chimed in, "if you didn’t have to worry about any of that...what would you do?"

"I'd tie her up and torment her and then fuck her silly."

And after that, they'd badgered and cajoled until she'd agreed to at

least go with them , just to see.

"So, I'll stay for a drink or two to keep them happy, and then I'll

beg off," Allie muttered as she leaned close to the mirror to apply her eye makeup. "At least then they won't call me a chicken any longer."

At the sound of her doorbell ringing, she shouted down the hall

from her bedroom, ''I'll be right out!"

Hastily, she grabbed her keys and pulled open the door. "Oh!"

The woman standing on her front porch looked like she'd stepped

directly out of Allie's favorite wet dream. Short thick dark hair, cobalt

blue eyes, a lopsided grin, and even, white teeth. The package was

spectacular, and the wrapping even better. Long lean legs sheathed in

skintight black leather, a matching vest over nothing but flesh, and

a suggestive swelling below the wide studded belt that signaled a

surprise tucked behind her fly. Her bare arms and stomach were tight

with muscle. A silver bar pierced the top of her navel, and a tribal band

tattoo circled her left biceps.

Allie resisted the impulse to touch her just to see if she was real.

"Allie?" Gorgeous Creature inquired.

"Yes?" Allie replied in a high, thin voice she barely recognized.

She cleared her throat, feeling foolish. ''Can I help you?"

Again the megawatt grin, this time accompanied by a subtle shrug

of broad, strong shoulders that set off ripples of pleasure in the pit of

Allie's stomach,

"I'm Ryan," Fantasy Lover extended her hand, "And I'm yours for the evening,"

Allie stared. Heartbreak Material was obviously a nutcase. "There's

been a mistake."

Ryan smiled as if she'd heard that one before.

Allie hurried on, "I was just on my way out." She started to close the door. "If you'll excuse me."

"Cindy and Jeri won't be coming, so there's no need to hurry."

The little voice of reason in Allie's head screamed, Close the door!

but the part of her brain ruled by Id won out. She leaned against the half-open door. "How do you know them?"

Ryan slid two long tapering fingers into the slit pocket on the front

of her vest and teased out a folded piece of paper. She held it out

between her fingers. Clever fingers. ''The work order."

"I'm sure there's..." Allie took the note, skimmed the few lines, and laughed in disbelief. "They paid for you to be my...slave?"

"If you desire." Ryan nodded toward the paper. "Apparently they thought you would prefer that. However, if you would like to reverse the

scene, that can be arranged."

"I'm going to kill them," Allie muttered under her breath. Still, she was beyond intrigued, and there really didn't seem to be anything overtly

crazy about the woman standing in front of her. Well, if you didn't count

the fact that she...hired out...as a sex slave. She looked Ryan up and

down. "And if I want to be the slave, do you just...switch?"

"I can," Ryan said seriously, "but you might prefer a replace—"

"No!" Allie spoke so quickly that she surprised them both.

Blushing, she added hastily, "I mean, this...arrangement...seems fine."

"I'm glad."

Allie studied Ryan's face, certain that she had heard gentle

sincerity in her voice. But then, nothing about the situation was real. So what did it matter how she sounded? "You're serious?"

"Yes, quite."

"Are you…is this…safe?"

Ryan nodded. "If you mean me, yes. If you mean anything that

might happen, the answer is also yes. I'm experienced, and you can trust

that I won't allow anything to happen that either of us would regret."

Allie released the door, and it swung open as she leaned her back

against the doorjamb, her arms crossed just below her breasts. The very

idea of having sex with Ryan, a perfect stranger, was perversely

exciting. She was hot. But every time Allie thought of actually

dominating her, of being free to do anything she wanted with her, she

felt a thrill that was entirely new. It went beyond physical excitement. It was as if every cell in her body buzzed with sexual anticipation. "And you’ll enjoy it?"

Ryan bowed her head, dropping her gaze from Allie's for the first

time. "It would be my pleasure to serve you."

"I don't know wh—"

"Perhaps you wish to bring me inside where it is more private. So

you may examine me and determine if I please you. Mistress."

Allie's breath caught as heat raced over her skin. She knew if she

thought about what she was doing, she'd close the door and leave Ryan

standing alone in the dark. And she'd never know if her fantasies were

any more than that—unrequited dreams. She'd imagined just what she'd

do so many times she'd only been waiting for permission. She stepped

inside. "Follow me."

Then Allie turned and walked to her bedroom. She did not look

back when she flicked on the small lamp just inside the door, but she

knew Ryan was behind her. She could smell her. The thick, hot odor of

desire. She sensed as soon as Ryan had lowered her gaze that she was

saying Allie was in charge, and Allie didn't intend to pass up this chance to do what she'd been dreaming of

"Kneel by the bed," Allie said, pleased by the quickly muffled

gasp. She slowly circled Ryan's kneeling form, all of her senses

inexplicably heightened. She saw the tiny hairs at the back of Ryan's

neck flutter as she passed and heard the breath rush in and out of Ryan's

chest. Seeing all that power and beauty harnessed and waiting, hers to

command, drove the last whispers of resistance from her consciousness.

Everything in the room receded from her awareness except Ryan and the

steady rush of blood into her pulsing clit.

She stopped and traced her fingernail along the edge of Ryan's jaw,

over her chin, and down her throat. "Take off your vest."

Wordlessly, Ryan unbuttoned her vest and dropped it on the floor.

Her breasts rose proudly, tight cones tipped with hard dark nipples. Allie grasped one and twisted slowly. With a groan, Ryan tipped her head

back, her eyes half closed.

''Oh did I hur—"

"I am here for your pleasure." Ryan caught Allie's free hand and drew it to her other breast. "Pain arouses me. You can trust me to say enough."

Allie heard the unspoken message. She won’t tell me what to do.

She’ll only tell me to stop.

Allie caught Ryan's other nipple and set up a back-and-forth

rhythm, tugging and squeezing, first one then the other. After a few

minutes, Ryan's thighs flexed and her hips jutted up with each jerk on

her breasts. She panted, her hands tying palm up by her sides, the

supplicant before the altar of desire.

"You like this," Allie grunted through the heavy curtain of lust that clouded her vision. Her jeans cut into her swollen sex, riding over her

clit, rough and raw and almost hard enough to make her come.

"Yes," Ryan said through gritted teeth. ''Christ yes."

"Get up."

Allie barely gave Ryan time to get her balance before she grasped

Ryan's breast and sucked the nipple into her mouth. Ryan's flesh was

hot, so hot. And sweet. She bit down, unthinking, aching inside. So

hungry for her. She pressed her crotch against Ryan's iron-hard thigh.

She wanted to get off, needed to. She bit again, mindlessly.

So softly Allie could barely hear, Ryan whispered, ''Harder.''

Allie shivered and fanned her fingers over Ryan's throat. Blood

raced wildly beneath her hand. "Would you like that? For me to suck on your breasts, leave my marks on you?"·

Ryan swallowed convulsively, her hands trembling on her thighs.

She had not been given permission to touch. "Yes."

''Then why should I?" Allie mused, struggling to appear calm when

all she wanted was to rub her hard, wet clit over Ryan's skin and drench

her in come. But that would be too easy. For both of them. "I'm not here to pleasure you, am I?"

"No, Mi—"

"You may call me Allie," Allie said, molding her palm to the soft, warm leather between Ryan's legs. She squeezed and massaged the firm

cock inside. "Say my name. When you beg me to let you come."

Ryan's legs jerked and she moaned. She panted out, "I...stop,

please...I want...oh..."

She’s good. I wonder just how much she’s playing. Allie jerked her off methodically, relentlessly, until she knew it wasn't an act and that

Ryan would come with a few more twists of her wrist. She wanted her

to, wanted to see this strong, sexy woman writhe on the floor, coming

for her. But she hadn't reached the end of her fantasy just yet.

"Should I stop now?"

"If it pleases you to stop," Ryan gasped. "I want...I..."

"What, Ryan. What do you want?" Allie demanded harshly.

"Let me make you come...Allie."

Allie yanked her band away and in one motion stripped off her tee.

She cupped her own breast and fisted the other hand in Ryan's hair. She

jerked Ryan's head down. "Not until I say."

Ryan's mouth was warm, her tongue just rough enough to burn her

nipple with rapid swipes in between the tease of teeth. Eyes closed, Allie swayed beneath the onslaught, releasing Ryan's head to fumble with her

own jeans. She got them open and the zipper down.

"Stroke my clit," Allie gasped. When she felt Ryan's hand skim

down her belly, she grabbed her wrist and forced it down the tight vee of

her jeans. ''Oh yes...hard, I like it hard."

The force of Ryan's arm pumping and Allie's hips thrusting in

response propelled them toward the bed. Allie's knees hit the edge and

she fell, Ryan following her down. The fingers on Allie's clit drove into

her cunt, impaling her with pleasure. She arched off the bed, screaming

as she came.

Before the last electric jolt pulsed from her clit to her core, Allie

shoved Ryan off and onto her back. Just as fast, she pushed her jeans off, straddled Ryan's hips, and pinned her to the bed with her hands clamped

on her shoulders. "I did not tell you to make me come," she panted, sweat dripping from her face onto Ryan's.

"I...I'm sorry, Allie," Ryan murmured, licking the drops from her lips. Her chest was damp, washed gold in the slanting lamplight, her

stomach tight, muscles rippling.

"I don't care if you're sorry." Allie ran her nails down the center of Ryan's stomach, twisting the silver bar in her navel as she passed. Ryan

groaned. "You do not make me come without permission."

"Yes. Allie."

Allie tugged loose Ryan's belt, then cinched it around both of

Ryan's wrists and looped it over the bed frame, tethering her arms above

her head. "You do not come until I say."

"Ye-yes, Allie." Ryan's thighs twitched

"You ask to come." Allie flicked open the button on Ryan's pants and pushed her hand inside, watching the pulse jump in Ryan's throat.

She pulled out Ryan's cock, raised her hips, and took it in to the hilt. She nearly came with the sudden pressure on her clit. Her head snapped back

and her breasts heaved. She closed her eyes and rode. "Oh, so good."

"Please," Ryan whispered. ''Touch my breasts."

Allie tugged on Ryan's nipples to the tempo of her pistoning hips.

Ryan's thighs went rigid and she arched from the bed. "Fuck my cock,

Allie. Fuck it."

"Yes, yes," Allie chanted, sliding almost all the way off the thick length before plunging back down, one long stroke after another. "Yes yes yes."

Ryan thrust to meet her. Faster, harder, deeper—"I'm going to

Come!"

Allie's eyes snapped open. ''You are not!"

"Please, please," Ryan gasped, head thrashing as she struggled to free her wrists. "Allie, please...oh please...I need to co—"

"Ryan," Allie shouted, pulling Ryan's head back by her hair. "You will not come before I do."

Ryan's eyes were glazed, her mouth soft and vulnerable. "Yes,

Allie."

Allie's cunt spasmed and clamped down on the cock. Her clit

turned to stone. "Ohh, here I come." She brushed her breasts over Ryan's face and shuddered, bearing down, forcing the cock into the base of

Ryan's clit. "Come with me."

"Thank you, Allie," Ryan gasped, her mouth against Allie's breast.

Allie came twice as Ryan plunged into her, coming long and hard

with broken shouts of pent-up pleasure. When Allie's muscles were too

weak to hold her up any longer, she fell onto her side. Ryan's cock

slipped out. ''Unh, miss you already." She released Ryan's wrists, then dragged her hand down Ryan's hip and grasped the shaft, tugging it until

Ryan twitched and groaned. "Nice."

"Thank you."

Allie opened one eye. "How did you know I'd want it?"

Ryan grinned. "Didn't. Just wanted to be prepared."

"Good idea." Allie sighed contentedly and skimmed her fingers

over Ryan's mouth. "Mine for the night, you said?"

"As long as you desire. Mistress."

"I can see you still need instruction." Allie kissed her. 'This time, try to do as you're told."

Ryan laughed. "Yes, Allie."

MAKING IT EASY

SASKIA WALKER

ometimes it's hard to say hello. Saying "I want you" can be

harder still.

S I want you. The words were drumming in my head and in

my heart, louder, louder, daring me to blurt them out. But how would

she react? My body was on fire with need to see her, to touch her, to

taste her—but my stomach was balled with anxiety. Chill, I told myself.

Chill.

Chrissie was so self-assured, so knowing, and I was a bundle of

nerves. The last thing I wanted to do was stutter and stumble my way

through a conversation, when what I really wanted to do was to tell her

how I felt, to ask her if she was interested in more. Damn it.

I sighed, rested back in my seat, and eyed the road ahead. The

creak of the shelves behind me had become familiar now and I didn't

need to look back through the hatch to reassure myself the books were

safe. They were captured in angled metal shelves, the mobile library

taking on the road like a loaded barge, sturdy and resolute.

The rolling landscape of the Yorkshire moors filled my vision. The

road was a gray ribbon unfurling across the expanse of fields, the

English countryside made up of patches of green, marked out by old

stone walls. A line of cottages rose up to break the horizon, signaling the village of Etherington. We'd be there inside five minutes. Tension

beaded up my spine. I'd waited impatiently to see her again, to be here

and to absorb the smile that fueled my imagination so vividly. At night, I twisted in my sheets, thinking about her, wet with longing to lose myself

in her arms.

She'd known as soon as she caught sight of me standing there in

her shop, gawky and mesmerized by her smile. She'd known and she'd

responded. Gently, soft and all woman. I wanted her from the first

instant, and what had been a gem of desire that I had nurtured and

treasured had now become a nagging need to confide and take action.

I'd first met Chrissie when I went into the small village shop to

pick up a chocolate bar and a newspaper at the end of my first week in

the new job. It was also the first time we had pulled into Etherington.

Brian, my senior, announced we took lunch there and that meant he

visited an old pal for an hour. When I glanced round and asked what

there was for me to do, be nodded over at the post office sign.

"Village shop, post office too. Get yourself some lunch. I'll meet

you back here in an hour." He hauled the brake on, drawing the mobile library to a halt in the bus lay-by.

"Isn't it illegal to park here?"

"It's a peaceful place. The buses only come by every other hour,

we'll be fine."

"Do we have any customers here?" I nodded back at our store of

books, the stock that kept the isolated villagers supplied with reading

material.

''Three. Ida has a large-print romance. I've got three new ones for

her to choose from. Bill likes something on bird watching, and he won't

remember if he's read the book before. Jonathan will read anything on

politics or health, but be prepared for a lecture on the state of the world when we hand it over." He glanced at the clock on the dash. "No need to think about that until one thirty, though. Union rules." He winked and opened his door. ''There's a pretty bench overlooking the churchyard.

P'raps get yourself some food to fatten you up and head over there."

With those words of sage advice he climbed out of the cab and

disappeared.

"Fine. Whatever," I murmured to myself. Brian was okay, a

likeable person, even if he had assumed a rather fatherly role in my life.

We'd established a reasonable working relationship in the week since I'd

started on the mobile library run, and he'd even promised I could drive

the wagon on occasion. "In time," he'd added, "when you've discovered your confidence."

Fine. I rolled my eyes but couldn't argue. His teasing about my

scrawny figure was beginning to wear thin, though. He was a stickler for

rules too, so we couldn't work through lunch even if there was nothing

else to do. I'd climbed down and locked up, pacing over to the post

office and village shop with grim determination.

As soon as I walked in the door and the chimes overhead

announced my presence, Chrissie had turned toward me. The whole

world and all its irritations fell away.

She had a wide smile and shaggy wheat-colored hair. Her green

eyes seemed to tease me, sending naughty messages as they twinkled my

way. A black cobwebby garment over a jade T-shirt drew my attention

to her outline. Full. Lovely. Her jeans were as worn as mine. She looked

as if she wrote poetry, but I would later find it was sketching that gave

that creative edge to her character.

"Hello there, you're a new face."

I would learn soon enough how direct she could be.

"Are you out walking on the moors?"

''No, I"—I gave up pretending to choose chocolate and gestured

outside onto the road, awkwardly—"I'm the new assistant on the mobile library."

"Oh, right." She put out her hand. "In that case, welcome."

I took her hand. ''Thanks.''

She squeezed me, slowly. "Some of the villagers couldn't manage

without the service."

"So I gather, and that's good news for us." I felt a loss when she took her hand away. "Do you take any books yourself?" I was hoping I could deliver some for her.

She shook her head, smiling, "No, I go up to town once a week or

so and stop by the main library then, but you never know, you could

convert me."

I grinned. "Just let me know what you like, I'll make sure we stock

some."

We talked, for an age. I didn't notice the time flash past. A couple

of people stopped by for goods or for the post office service, and she

managed to serve them unobtrusively, never breaking away from our

chat.

"Have you always lived out here?" I asked, when the last person

left.

She looked at me with searching eyes. "No, it's about three years

now. I split with my partner, and when she'd gone my life in the city felt wrong, I used to come out here to walk on the moors and take photos for

sketching. When I saw this place going onto the market, I made it my

fresh start,"

A fresh start. She felt like my fresh start. If I could make it happen.

Four weeks on from our first meeting. Just that one hour spent together,

once a week, and I'd fallen for the postmistress at Etherington. I had to

let her know.

Brian clicked his fingers in front of my face, snapping me out of

my thoughts.

"Sorry. Miles away."

"So I see." He hauled the van into the bus lay-by. "I said Fred's away from home, so I suggest we deliver the books, then get off to

Skipton and have a hot lunch there."

"Oh. Sure." Damn. I'd been living for this moment. I had to see her. But Brian was the boss. "I've brought a letter to post, I'll just pop over." I gestured at the shop. Brian nodded as he got out of the cab.

She was on her stepladder, stocking the high shelves, her long

trailing skirt swishing around her shins.

"I can't stay," I blurted when the door shut behind me. The door chimes seemed to echo sadly around me. I stood with my back to the

door.

"Fred's away, isn't he?" Chrissie smiled, stepping down and turning toward me.

I melted inside, then nodded, peeling myself away from the door.

"I just came by to..." What? What could I say?

She watched me move, her gaze touching me. Everywhere. "I'll

miss our chat, Joanne." She did it again, she made it easy.

"Me too." Relief hit me. She knew.

"In that case, why don't you come over this evening? After hours."

I stared at her, taking in the teasing look in her eyes. Had I

imagined it? "Really?"

"Why not?" She rested one hand on her hip, green eyes twinkling.

My thighs clenched, desire pumping hard in my veins. Try as I

might, I couldn't wipe the grin off my face. ''I'd love to."

"Come over about eight, I'll open some wine."

"I will, thanks." When I walked back to join Brian, I might as well have been walking on air.

∴

Her mouth on mine, opening me up. Shock hit me, then it melted

away, leaving me boneless, speechless. She turned away and lifted our

wineglasses, nudging mine into my hand. I drank deeply, focusing on

the glowing embers of the fire in the grate.

She reached over and brushed my hair flat. "We both knew it was

going to happen, Joanne."

My hair bounced up under her hand, as awkward and prickly as I

was. "Yes. Sorry, I'm not very experienced. I want this so much but I just look at you and I lose it."

"What's your body telling you?" Her glance was teasing, but only in a good way. She knew already.

I smiled. "It's telling me all the right things, you know that."

"Yes, I do. And mine is the same. "She took my fingers to her

nipples, nut-hard through her sweater.

I bit my lip, my hand shaking as it rested over her full breast with

its knotted peak.

"All you have to do is stop thinking about it," she breathed. "Trust your body, let it run free. It will guide you."

I lifted my gaze from her shirt, where her breast burned an imprint

on my palm, making me want to stain it with my mouth—if I was brave

enough. "Easy to say—"

"Yes," she interrupted. She lifted my hand from her breast and

kissed it in the palm, sending my nerve endings crazy. "But I can show you a way to make it easy to do, as well."

A disbelieving laugh escaped me, but my fingers were clutching at

hers, hopefully.

Her gaze locked mine. "Will you trust me to show you how?"

I about managed to nod.

She stood up and took me by the hand, leading me out of the

sitting room and up the stairs to her bedroom. My heart thudded loud as

I looked at the bed, so inviting with its colorful patchwork quilt and

plump pillows. Here we were, at the heart of the matter.

Chrissie flicked on the bedside lamp and then walked back to

where I stood in the doorway. She switched the overhead light off.

"Don't worry, love." She ran her fingers against my cheek. I turned my face into her palm, kissing it gratefully. She smelt of musk, of woman,

of desire.

She took my bands and stepped backward, step by step easing me

into the space, closing the door behind us. She kissed me, holding my

face in her hands as her mouth opened me up.

I moaned, gasped against her mouth, trembling with need.

She drew back, giving a throaty chuckle. "You're like a nervous

little bird about to take its first flight, aren't you?"

I nodded.

"Close your eyes."

I did so, immediately putting myself in her hands. Entirely.

She moved away and I felt loss. I heard her opening a drawer, then

returning. "Don't peek."

Fabric touched my face. It shimmied into place over my eyes. A

blindfold. My fingers automatically went to it, curious. It felt light, silky, like a scarf. She tied it in place and then began to unbutton my shirt.

"We need to teach you to trust your body more, to respond to your

desires and be confident in pursuing them." Her voice was like an aural caress, soothing and arousing all at once. She pushed the shirt back over

my shoulders, exposing my breasts. "By depriving you of your sight, it will force you to focus on your other senses." As the shirt fell away, her fingers traced the outline of my breasts, tantalizingly, making me reach

after they'd moved on.

"I see," I replied, and then laughed at my own comment. I was

indeed absorbed by what she was doing to me, wondering what was

coming next.

"Good, that means I can enjoy you without you flying away, little

bird." Her fingers popped the buttons on my jeans and she shimmied

them down my hips. Her breath passed over my skin as she ducked low

to steady me while she stripped me. I was so focused, was like her doll.

Her trick was working.

And then she was standing, her arms lifted, and she moved closer.

I started when I felt bare flesh against mine. Her breasts and mine,

touching. Hers large and soft, nipples peaked and squashed against my

smaller tits. She kissed my mouth and my hands reached out for her,

touching her bare arms, her shoulders, her neck. I wrapped my arms

around her, sinking into the experience.

I threw my head back when she moved to kiss my neck. "'Oh,

Chrissie, I've been aching for you."

"And me for you." She continued to undress and then guided me

toward the bed, sitting beside me. Her fingers traced along the insides of my thighs, her hands easing them open.

I had to bite my lip to stop from crying out when I felt her head dip

down between my legs. She kissed me, opening me with her tongue,

sending shivers of pleasure through my entire groin. I clutched at the

bedcovers.

"As soon as I saw you, I wanted you," I blurted. The words were

tumbling out now, my fears, my needs and my knotted nerves all

unleashed under her tutelage. "At night, I wanted you so much, I

dreamed of you."

She rested her tongue over my clit, pressed firmly, rousing me to

fever pitch, and then lifted away. "I know, I've been thinking about it too." Her warm breath swept over my aroused flesh as she spoke. "But we're here now." Her mouth engulfed my clit again.

She was so right. We are here now. And it was more special than I

could ever have dreamed. My entire body was wired into her mouth.

Sensation swamped me. Her body rolled closer and she stroked one

strong finger at the mouth of my cunt, dipping inside, where I clenched

her, making her chuckle. She lapped and probed, rocking back and forth

in time, and her actions hammered the breath out of my lungs. Her

thumb replaced her tongue and I felt her mouth move up against my

belly and then rest on my breast with a hungry kiss.

Urgency hit me. My hands moved into her hair, my hips rising

from the bed.

When she moved again, lying alongside me, and kissed me, I

needed to respond so badly that I went to lift the blindfold off. She must have been watching. Her fingers caught mine.

''No, feel your way, trust your instincts." She returned her

attentions to my cunt, where she stroked one finger inside, hooked it

against the plump pad of flesh on the inner front wall.

Desperation made me bite my lip, but I wanted it all and I reached

for her. I stroked her shoulders, my fingers raveling themselves in her

tousled hair, then shifted to cradle her full breasts, my thumbs tracing

over the diamond-hard tips of her nipples. Each and every time I touched

her, she swayed closer, moaning aloud. That did strange, powerful

things to me, sending me deeper, further than I might have gone, making

me brave. "I want to taste you," I whispered. "Please. I want to make you come."

She turned around on the bed, never ceasing her attention to my

clit. Pleasure spangled through me when I felt her climb over me and I

breathed her in, my face between her thighs, her breasts resting over my

belly. I reached up, my mouth groping for her, and then we were totally

joined, each engulfed in the other. Her mouth on my clit, mine on hers.

Our hips rolled, fingers stroked. We moved in time, drinking each other

in, stroke after stoke leading us on in the dance. I was adrift on a hot tide of pleasure and my hands groped for the solidity of her thighs to ground

me as I hit home and my hips lifted, my clit throbbing, my core m

spasm.

She groaned, nursing my tender clit in her mouth as she rode out

my moves, her thighs trembling with pleasure on either side of my head.

Her sticky juices ran down into my mouth and onto my cheeks as she

shuddered to completion.

I squinted into the light when I took off the blindfold and then

smiled when I saw her glowing face smiling down at me. She looked

even more gorgeous, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. My chest ached

with pride.

She lifted the scarf in her fingers. "Did it work, little bird?"

"Like a dream." I nodded, laughing, and pulled her into my arms, brave at last and no turning back.

∴

The road to Etherington didn't look like an unfurling ribbon

anymore. Nowadays it looked like Chrissie's blindfold, wavering across

the landscape, tempting me in for more lessons in how to lose myself to

her love. My heartbeat lifted when I saw the road rise and the outline of

the cottages appeared at its end, marking the spot.

"You look happy," Brian commented over the drone of the engine

and the creaking shelves.

"I am."

"You're settling into Etherington well enough, since you moved

out here?"

"Oh yes. Indeed I am. Feels like I found home, you know?"

He nodded. "It's a beautiful spot to be, no doubt about it."

''That it is," I replied. That it is.

When we reached the village, I hauled the mobile into the lay-by,

pulled on the brake, and looked at him for his feedback.

He gave me a wink and a nod, signaling approval of my first trip at

the wheel. Apparently he'd decided that I had discovered my confidence.

I smiled and shook his hand. And isn’t that just the icing on the

cake.

THE FRENCH LESSON

KIM BALDWIN

Waterloo Station, London

he Eurostar looked fast and futuristic with its streamlined

shape and smooth conical nose, all bright red and brilliant

T blinding chrome. And I was going to travel in the very

poshest car, on this, the poshest train around. When you're out to fulfill a fantasy, it's best to do it up big, I say. I'd dreamed all my life of going to Paris, and getting there was part of the whole experience. The Chunnel

Train would deliver me to my destination in less than three hours,

providing unmatched accommodations and the scenic splendor of the

English countryside on the way, while freeing me from the hassle of

airport security checkpoints and endless waits.

Of course, you can't have everything. Though I hadn't minded

exploring London by myself, my fantasies of romantic Paris—with its

candlelit cafes and moonlit bridges—had always involved seeing it with

a lover. But I hadn't been very lucky in the romance department, and I

just got tired of waiting. So instead of having wild sex on the train to

Paris (as I'd always fantasized), I appeased myself with an upgrade to

premium first class.

The car was nearly empty when I got on board. An attendant in a

crisply starched uniform was serving drinks to the only others on

board—a young couple, seated halfway down the long car. I paused in

the aisle to admire what was undoubtedly the most luxurious train I'd

ever been on.

The gray and burgundy seats were wide and plush, with deeply

cushioned headrests and ample legroom. Each seat reclined and had its

own folding table made of cherry. The floor was gray carpet. The décor

had touches of Art Deco, with etched glass accents on the windows and

stylized sconces providing soft, subdued light.

I chose a seat in the back, on the aisle, facing forward. It's a good

place if the car is empty, like this one, because I get the maximum view

out of both sides of the train.

A moment after I settled into my seat, the steward approached with

a smile.

"Welcome aboard the Eurostar. May I get you a beverage?" he

asked with a Scottish brogue.

Now, I've always been a sucker for accents, and hearing a variety,

of British dialects during the past week had been a real treat. But it was Paris I was really looking forward to. French really does it for me, if you know what I mean. Ooh la la. Gets me all hot and bothered, though I

haven't a clue beyond oui and par- lay- voo what any of it means.

"I'd like some Earl Grey, please," I told the steward, and he gave a little bow of his head and retreated toward the back. I returned my

attention to the young couple. They were oblivious to everything but

each other, holding hands, their heads bent together, talking in low

tones. They looked very much in love.

Suddenly, she was standing there—near the front, her presence

filling the aisle. I hadn't seen her come in. I sucked in a breath at the

sight of her as all the air rushed out of the car.

She was tall and sleek and beautiful, dressed head to foot in form-

fitting black leather—pants and jacket and laced-up boots that came to

mid-calf. Powerfully sexy. Subtly dangerous. Perfect androgyny. Her

hair was dark and fairly short, with shaggy bangs that half hid her dark

eyes and long, lush eyelashes. She looked about the car, taking in its

accoutrements with a pleased nod. Her glance fell on the young couple

and lingered on them a moment, then continued on toward the back,

toward me. I felt a chill of anticipation run up my spine.

When her eyes met mine, she froze—and when I did not look

away, a smile curled at the edge of those dark red lips, making her even

more beautiful. She raised her eyebrows and cocked her head in

question.

Still I could not look away, or breathe, or swallow, or think a

rational thought beyond oh, please.

"Miss?" The spell was broken by the steward, who'd materialized

beside me. I glanced up dumbly as he served my tea, blocking my view

of the apparition.

He had a small silver tray in his hand containing cream and sugar,

cup and saucer, napkin and spoon, and a small teapot of tea. There was

also a plate of assorted cookies and freshly made scones, normally a real

favorite, but I couldn't wait for him to set it down and leave.

"Thank you," I mumbled, finding my voice.

"Just ring if I might be of further service," he said, indicating a call button by my hand. "I'll be serving brunch in an hour." He retreated toward the back again as the train began to move.

I saw her then. She had taken a seat on the aisle, several rows

away, facing me. Watching me. Of all the available seats, she had taken

one where both of us could see each other easily and also get a view of

the couple sitting in between us.

The steward reappeared and took the woman's order. Her eyes

never left me, just as mine never left her. She licked her lips in a most

inviting way and appraised me with a candor that I found both unsettling

and unbelievably exciting. As her gaze skimmed over my body, her hand

absently caressed the armrest of her chair. I felt something twitch in my

belly, a stirring of beat. I missed every bit of the scenery flashing by, and my tea grew cold.

She glanced toward the couple sitting between us, and I did, too.

They were kissing now with abandon, their arms around one another,

unmindful of their surroundings. That twitch in my belly got worse. My

eyes went back to the woman. Her smirk reassured me that she was

getting as aroused as I was.

Without warning, we were in the tunnel, and the car darkened

dramatically. A mild case of claustrophobia kicked in. I took a deep

breath and tried not to think about being under the English Channel for

the next half hour or so. I was suddenly aware that it was particularly

dark right where I was sitting. I glanced up and noticed for the first time that the wall sconce nearest me was burned out.

During that momentary distraction, she appeared beside me.

" Je peux me joindre à vous? " she asked with an amused

expression. I stared up at her, transfixed, letting her rich, fluid voice

wash over me, understanding not a word and never more frustrated to be

lingually deprived.

When I didn't answer, she frowned and said, " J'ai fait une erreur? "

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't speak French." I said. It must have been clear from my desperate tone of voice that I didn't want her to

leave.

Her frown disappeared and that rakish smile returned. " Oh, ça va être amusant, " she said, almost to herself. And then, gesturing toward the seat beside me, added, " J'ai demandé si je pouvais me joindre à toi. "

It was at least clear now that she was asking if she could sit with

me, so I nodded like an idiot and got up to let her in, fumbling with the

tea tray.

She paused briefly in front of me and brought her hand up to

lightly stroke my cheek. " Et polie avec ça! C'est mignon, " she purred seductively.

Speaking French to me was like pouring gasoline on a fire. Every

time she opened her mouth, I got hotter. On the other hand, it would be

nice to know what the hell she was saying. "Do you speak English?" I sputtered as she withdrew her hand and we took our seats. "Par-lay voo ang-lay?" It was the one phrase I had learned.

" Non," she answered, shaking her head. " Désolée." Those luscious full lips of hers stuck out in a disappointed pout.

"Damn," I muttered under my breath, and she understood that well enough to laugh—a throaty, rich peal of delight that broke the language

barrier and made both our intentions clear.

Her dark eyes bored into mine as she moistened her lips

provocatively with the tip of her tongue. I could feel my heartbeat pick

up. " Fini? " she inquired, tilting her head toward my tea.

I nodded.

She picked up the tray and rose to set it on the seat in front of us;

then she folded my table back out of the way and very deliberately

raised the cushioned armrest that separated us. When she sat back down,

she turned to face me, tucking one leg up beneath the other, and I did the same.

" Tu es belle, " she said, her eyes falling to my breasts and lingering there. " Très belle. Et très sexy. " That last word was clear enough. I wondered for a moment whether I really was dreaming, but she

reassured me I was very much awake when she leaned forward and

placed her hand lightly on my thigh. I swear I could feel the warmth of

her hand through the thick denim of my jeans.

Restraint slipped away. I didn't care where we were or who might

be watching. I wanted her, as I'd not wanted anything in a very long

while. My heart was hammering in my chest, and I was finding it a little

difficult to breathe. I couldn't contain a soft moan of pleasure.

She smiled again, obviously pleased at the encouragement. "Je

t'excite? " she murmured as her hand began to move, fingertips tracing an excruciatingly slow path up my thigh.

Excite. Okay. I got that one. She’s asking whether I'm getting

excited, I think. No problem there. I nodded mutely as my mind willed

her hand to continue its teasing path of exploration.

She didn't disappoint. Her fingertips skimmed the fly of my jeans,

danced across the soft plane of my stomach, and then grazed my

painfully erect nipple. "Mmm," she purred. " Délicieux. "

Delicious. Got that one, too. Suddenly I was feeling pretty

bilingual after all. My body leaned toward her of its own accord. I was

on fire. "Please," I groaned.

Her lips curled upward in a satisfied smirk. " Non. " She shook her head, correcting me. " S'il te plaȋt, " she instructed, grazing my nipple again with a fingertip. A promise.

" S'il te plaȋt, "I dutifully repeated, my voice unrecognizable.

''Très bien, chérie, " she said, rewarding me with a firm pinch of my nipple. It sent a jolt of desire through me and ratcheted up my

arousal to a fevered pitch.

" S'il te plaȋt, " I begged again. "Oh God, you're making me crazy..."

She silenced me then with a scorching kiss, thrusting her tongue

into my mouth, claiming me with searing intensity. Her hand slid around

my waist and she pulled me tight against her body.

If all the blood in my brain hadn't fled to the lower regions of my

anatomy, I might have been grateful I'd splurged for the roomy seats of

first class and that the premium car was so blissfully empty. But I was

beyond rational thought by then, immersed in the overwhelming

sensations of her hands on me, her warm breath on my face, her body

pressing mine against the seat back.

" Touche moi, " she whispered as she unzipped her jacket and led my hand to her breast. She was wearing a thin, silky top and no bra, and

her nipples were already rigid and sensitive, too. I pinched one lightly

between my fingertips, then the other, and she groaned, reclaiming my

mouth in another kiss as she shifted her weight to straddle me in the

oversized seat.

She tasted like chocolate and espresso, and she kissed me hard and

long, as though she, too, had fantasized about an encounter such as this.

I was lost in her, oblivious to all but the sensations roaring through

me. I cupped her breasts in my hands, fondling the weight of them,

caressing the nipples roughly with my thumbs. She moaned into my

mouth and pressed her body more firmly against me, grinding against

my stomach. My hips rose to meet her, and we rocked together, both

seeking greater contact.

She broke the kiss. She was breathing hard, and so was I. " C'est fou ce que tu m'excites, " she whispered next to my ear as her hand slipped between our bodies, seeking the fly on my jeans. I didn't need to

know what she said. We were speaking the same language now.

She was only fractionally faster getting into my pants than I was

getting into hers—our hands found each other at almost the same

moment. I'm not sure which one of us was wetter—it was probably too

close to call.

We stroked each other in unison, working in an unspoken, teasing

tandem to prolong the experience. When I felt her nearing her peak, I

would back away—lighten my touch just enough—just as she kept me

on the edge of my precipice, until both our bodies screamed for relief.

"Please," she begged in a ragged voice, her face pressed against my neck, and we came together then, in a shattering burst of frenzied

strokes. We collapsed against each other, gasping for air. I had not yet

regained my wits or my strength when a burst of light filled the car. We

were out of the tunnel.

My companion gave a disappointed sigh and gently extricated

herself from my embrace, smiling at me mischievously as she

straightened her clothes and sank into the seat beside me.

I managed to zip up my fly just before the steward reappeared. He

tried to hide it, but the trace of a smile on his face as he addressed us

suggested he was probably well aware of what we'd been up to and had

timed his entrance accordingly. "Are you ladies ready for brunch?" he asked.

Since I was blushing profusely and hadn't yet regained my ability

to form a coherent sentence, I was rather glad my companion spoke up.

" Quelques fruits et croissants, s'il vous plaȋt, " she told him. " J'ai des projets pour elle à Paris, mieux vaut s'assurer qu'elle garde toute sa vigueur. "

Whatever she said made the man smile. The fruit and croissants

part I understood. But I didn't get the rest.

" Comme vousle désirez, " the steward replied and turned to go. I hadn't considered that the train staff would be bilingual, though it made

perfect sense. "Wait!" I called after him.

He turned back around with a puzzled expression.

"I got the fruit and croissants part. What else did she say?" I asked him.

He chuckled. "She said she has plans for you when you get to

Paris, and she wants to make sure you keep your strength up."

I had a feeling that by the end of the week, my French would be

perfect.

LONG ROAD HOME

LC JORDAN

haddayagive, whaddayagive, gimme forty, forty dollar,

now fifty..."

W The auctioneer's voice droned on, competing with the

chorus of cicadas perched somewhere high in the maple trees on this

September afternoon. There was a decent crowd milling about,

numbered paddles in hand, rising and falling in some random dance set

to the cadence of the bidding.

My parents were having a belated midlife crisis. At least that was

my theory. In truth, they were tired of the Midwest winters and had

decided to become nomads, buying a motor home and following the sun

with the seasons. Most of the contents of my childhood home were being

auctioned, but my parents were leasing the house and not selling. I

suspected that was an insurance policy of sorts in case their new lifestyle didn't agree with them and the wanderlust only lasted a year or so. As

for the liquidation of the furniture, I would bet a year's salary that my

mother agreed because it would be the only way to get my father to part

with the living-room couch and chair and provide the possibility of

getting new ones.

I had flown in for the weekend to be on hand for the auction and

stick around until Monday when the new tenants would arrive. Friday

night I saw my parents off, waving as they maneuvered their RV out of

the drive and feeling very much left behind even though I had moved out

years ago. It is a sobering thing to realize that you are old enough for

your parents to be retired, much less to have them run away from home.

The fact that they had me later in life didn't help any with my complex

about aging.

My one contribution to the whole affair was a '65 Ford Galaxy in

good condition. It was my first car, a gift from my parents my junior

year of high school. Most kids that age want something new and fast and

foreign, but not me. I fell in love with the burgundy body, white top, and fender skirts. The same fuzzy white dice were still hanging from the

rearview mirror.

So many bittersweet memories were tied up in that car. I lost my

innocence right there on the front seat, but not exactly in the usual way

that comes to mind. When I left for college, my father agreed to store it

for me, and I'd kept it all these years as some sort of connection to a part of my life that I had carefully locked away otherwise.

Now, with everything else moving forward, I reasoned it was as

good a time as any for me to stop looking back. I had told my father to

consign it to the auction with a minimum price of seven thousand

dollars. It was the last thing to be sold, and the crowd had gathered

around it in the driveway, waiting for the bidding to start.

I leaned back against one of the rack wagons parked in the yard, a

glass of iced tea in my hand. The chilly condensation dripped onto my

jean-clad leg, soaking through the denim and leaving a dark spot.

Reaching down to try and brush it off, I heard a soft voice speak from

directly in front of me.

"Cat?"

I froze. No one had called me that in years. The blood pounded in

my ears from bending over and I slowly straightened. Everything in the

background faded as I faced the woman standing two feet away. With

the exception of a very few more pounds and a small scattering of early

gray in her chestnut hair, she looked exactly the same as she did the last time I saw her. We were eighteen then and she had just bolted from both

my arms and my car.

"Cat?" she repeated. I still hadn't spoken. I never expected to see her here, today, or ever, for that matter.

Not waiting any longer for me to confirm my identity, she

hesitantly continued. "I thought it was you." With a wave of her hand, she indicated the yard filled with people. "I saw a flyer and couldn't believe it."

Finally finding my voice, I spoke more harshly than I intended.

"Couldn't believe what, Ashley?"

Pausing a moment before answering, she replied, "I couldn't

believe your parents were leaving. They've just always been here, you

know? After I saw the advertisement last week I called your mom and

she told me about their plans. And I couldn't believe you were selling the car." The last sentence trailed off as she looked away. "I knew you'd kept it. I've seen your dad driving it from time to time."

Everything was instantly just too close to the surface; the old pain,

the disappointment in both Ash and myself, the effort spent trying to

forget and remember. "I held on to it too long as it is," I answered flatly.

Taking a deep breath and meeting my eyes, Ashley spoke with

determination. "We need to talk, Cat."

"Stop calling me that, and no, we don't," I shot back immediately.

"Stop calling you what?" Ashley asked, confused.

"Cat. Nobody calls me that now. My name is Catherine." In truth, everything about me became longer as the years passed; my name, my

hair, my regrets.

A little glimpse of Ashley's rarely seen temper was beginning to

show. "Fine. Catherine, we need to talk," she clipped out.

"We have nothing to talk about," I stubbornly replied.

Just then, the auctioneer announced that bidding on the Galaxy was

about to start. Abruptly, Ashley turned her back on me and walked

toward the driveway. My traitorous eyes watched her retreating form,

and it was then that I spotted the paddle in her hand. Something in my

stomach did a little flip, and I quickly sat my glass down on the wagon

and made my way toward the crowd.

The auctioneer began his chant, starting the bidding at seven

thousand. Several numbered paddles went up, but I was only interested

in one in particular. When the bid increased to eight thousand, the

paddles decreased by a third. At nine, only half were left and as I

scanned the group I saw Ashley holding hers up, staring straight at me.

It was already a warm day, but I swear my body temperature rose

ten degrees with the look she gave me. Waving my arm wildly. I

shouted, ''Ten thousand!"

The auctioneer stopped his chant and patiently explained, "You

don't have a number; you aren't registered. You can't bid."

It took a second for that to sink in, then I shouted, "It's my car!

Like hell I can't!"

His round face becoming red, the auctioneer peered down at me

from below the rim of his straw cowboy hat. "The car is consigned

bidding already started. The minimum selling price has been met."

Pointing with his gavel to the small trailer hitched to his pickup truck, he yelled back. "If you want to bid, get a number."

At this point the crowd was far more interested in the crazy woman

who was shouting than in bidding. All of them except Ashley, that is. In

the brief silence that followed, she held up her paddle and sweetly said,

' Ten thousand."

That damned chant resumed and I made a mad dash for the trailer.

In the space of time it took me to produce my driver's license for

identification and wait for the infuriating man's wife to register me, I

heard him shout, "Sold to the lady for twelve thousand!"

As I exited the trailer, the crowd was slowly dispersing. I could see

Ashley standing by my Galaxy, waiting. I stopped a few feet away and

asked, "Why?"

"You tell me," she retorted. "Why keep this car all these years if it meant nothing?"

Ignoring her question, I countered, "I can refuse to let you have it."

"I can call my lawyer," she said, not backing down an inch.

Suddenly too tired to fight, I brushed past Ashley and leaned in the

driver's side open window. Reaching in, I grabbed the black-and-white

fuzzy dice from the rearview mirror.

''Take it," I said as I walked toward the house and closed the front

door.

∴

I sat on one of the stools at the bar in the kitchen until the evening

sun slanted low in the west windows above the sink, bathing the room in

a pale coral glow. The auction company had left after distributing all the sold items and collecting the fees. The two rack wagons, the crowd, and

my Galaxy were gone. The only evidence left of the entire afternoon's

events was the trampled grass in the yard and the license plates that

Ashley had evidently removed from the car and laid on the front porch

step. They were on the counter now, and I traced my finger along the

raised letters and numbers. One last time I let the memory replay of the

final drive Ashley and I had taken over ten years ago.

It was our senior year of high school and our volleyball team had

finally won the state championship. Everything had been golden that

year; perfect grades, perfect win record, perfect friendship. Graduation

night we flipped our tassels and posed with our diplomas for what

seemed like a hundred photographs for our families. Deciding to skip the

usual parties, Ashley and I took the Galaxy out on Highway 45 and just

drove, singing loudly and off key with every song that came on the

radio. We were still a little wound up from the euphoria of passing that

first major milestone in life, but we were also starving, so we decided to head back to Ashley's house and raid the kitchen.

I pulled into her folks' driveway and cut the engine. We sat there a

few minutes, talking about what we were going to do that summer and

what college would be like. Somewhere between listening to Ashley's

laughter and watching the happiness radiate from her face, I thought to

myself how beautiful she was. She was the embodiment of strength and

innocence and she made me feel so alive. There was no way I could help

falling in love with her, right then, right there.

Dimly I realized she had stopped talking and was just quietly

sitting there, looking at me. My hand reached out of its own volition and

brushed back a strand of dark hair that had escaped her tie. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for me to lean over and kiss her.

To say I was unprepared for the jolt of electricity that touching her

lips with mine caused would be a vast understatement. I pulled back

suddenly, afraid of what I would see in Ashley's eyes. They were closed,

and when she slowly opened them, a myriad of emotions swirled around

in their dark blue depths. Desire, love, and panic were there, and not

necessarily in that order.

Without a word or a glance back, she opened the car door and

hurried inside her house, leaving me at once both lost and found and

forever changed.

I didn't see Ashley again all summer. It felt like I'd lost my best

friend, and I guess I had. Anyway, it hurt like hell. In the fall I left for a West Coast college on a volleyball scholarship. As far as I knew, Ashley

had gone to her school of choice as well.

That winter when I came home over break, there was a card

waiting for me. Inside was a note with Ashley's new dorm address and

phone number, written in her distinctive script. Over the next four years

my mother became a messenger service, dutifully forwarding two cards

a year from Ashley; one for Christmas and one for my birthday. In each

card was a request to meet but I never replied, not being able to bear

hearing some placating speech about how she liked me a lot, just ''not

that way." To her credit, Ashley never asked for my address, and after eight cards, she stopped trying.

After college, I joined the AVP and began playing open beach

volleyball tournaments. Once or twice, after I began to make a name for

myself, I could have sworn I saw Ashley at some of the matches. During

year two a rotator cuff injury simultaneously ended my playing career

and began my coaching career. Over the next four years our university

managed to make it to a Division I championship twice. The stats for my

personal life were far less impressive; I never seemed able to sustain a

relationship for more than a few months.

Ashley had fared well, or so my mother kept me informed.

Surprisingly, she had returned to our hometown high school and began

teaching chemistry, no less. I knew she had never married, and I

wondered why someone so wonderful stayed single.

The persistent honk of a car horn drew me from my musings. The

image of what my father would have had to say to whoever the unlucky

driver of that car was provided me with a much-needed moment of

comic relief. Another long blast sounded and I slid from the bar stool

and walked to the front door to investigate. The neighborhood had

always been a quiet one, and I didn't blame my folks for leaving if every

weekend had become this noisy.

Stepping out onto the porch, I waited a few seconds for my eyes to

adjust to the waning light. There in the driveway sat Ashley, parked in

the Galaxy. Just to be sure, I blinked a couple of times. Before I could

even form a thought, she hit the horn again.

"Get in!" she shouted loudly enough for the entire block to hear.

"Are you insane?" I answered back, glancing left and right, hoping none of my parents' neighbors were witnessing this exchange. After the

free entertainment of the auction that afternoon, I was certain that at

least Mrs. Perkins would be on the lookout for any further drama at 503

Mulberry Lane.

Another drawn-out honk shattered the otherwise still evening, and

somewhere nearby a dog began to bark. Taking the porch steps two at a

time, I quickly covered the distance to the driveway and stopped inches

from the driver side door. When I opened my mouth to speak, Ashley

cut me off. "Get in."

''There is no way I'm getting in that car with you," I said calmly. "I don't even know why you'd think: I would."

"Oh, I think you will," she answered just as calmly. "Either that, or I'm going to sit out here all night honking. You can either get in or call the police and have me arrested for disturbing the peace or trespassing or whatever," Ashley said with a hint of anger in her voice.

I just stood there staring at her, cursing whatever fate made her still

so beautiful after all these years. Part of me wanted to climb in that car and roll back the odometer ten years and another part of me wanted to

just finally move on, whatever that meant. If there was any shortcut I

could take somewhere between the two destinations, I wished I knew

which way to turn and find it. Sensing my indecision, Ashley got out of

the car and leaned back on the door, folding her arms across her chest

against the cool air of the evening.

"Listen, Cat," she began, then corrected herself, "Catherine, please.

Just come for a drive with me and I promise if afterward you still don't

want to see me, I won't contact you again. Ever," she said quietly.

The finality of her tone made me realize that this was it. There

would never be another chance to resolve this part of my life, for good

or bad. Ashley was watching me, those blue eyes melting a path through

my heart.

"I should have my head examined," I said with conviction as I

walked back to the house to lock up. Returning to the car, I opened the

passenger door and paused. "I don't suppose I could drive?" I ventured, trying to gain some control over this situation in which I felt very much

out of control.

Breaking the tension, Ashley nearly snorted with laughter. "Hell

no," she finally got out. "You never would let me drive this car. After all it's taken for me to get behind the wheel, do you honestly think I'm

going to just hand over the keys?"

"Hope you're a better driver now than you were then," I

commented dryly as I sat down on the wide bench seat.

"Funny, Cat...therine." Ashley grinned as she started the engine and backed out. "Nice to know your sense of humor hasn't changed."

I couldn't keep the small smile from my face. I had missed this. the

teasing and verbal sparring. The ache in my chest made me admit just

how much. We rode on in silence for several miles as Ashley took us out

beyond the reach of the lights of town. I rolled the window down an inch

or two, letting the crisp night air pass over me, trying to clear my

thoughts. The hum of the tires on the pavement was calming and I

turned a little in my seat, studying Ashley's profile.

Suddenly, I had to know. Right here, right now.

"Did you hate me?" I gave voice to the fear I'd kept inside for so long.

Ashley's head jerked in my direction and the Galaxy swerved a

little. "No!" she shouted, the word filling the space between us. "No,"

she repeated, softer this time. "I could never hate you, Cat. I…"

Frustrated, she took a deep breath. "Let me find a place to pull over, okay?"

Parker's Pond was just up the road and Ashley turned in, cutting

the engine but leaving the dash lights on. For a moment, neither one of

us seemed able to speak and only the crickets broke the silence. I was

about to make some desperate comment on the weather when Ashley

found her courage and continued.

"You turned my world upside down with that kiss, Cat."

I sank down in the seat, not sure where this was going.

"I was afraid," she went on. "Afraid of you, afraid of me, afraid of what I felt. I was angry with you for changing everything, and I was

angry with myself for being such a coward. By the time I had sorted it

out in my head, you were gone and wouldn't talk to me. I didn't know

how to fix it at that point. I could never hate you, Cat. I love you.

Always have, always will. So I guess the real question is, do you hate

me? I wouldn't blame you if you did," she said, sounding resigned to

hear the worst from me.

Replaying her words in my mind, I felt a little light-headed. This

was not what I had expected. Trying to process it was nearly impossible

at the moment and I just sat there, not saying a word.

Mistaking my silence for an answer, Ashley reached for the

ignition. "I understand, Cat. You don't have to say it."

"Wait," I said, covering her hand with mine. "Just give me a minute, okay? You always were so damn impatient."

Turning her palm over and lacing her fingers with mine, Ashley

slid from behind the steering wheel and faced me. With a look that sent

every available ounce of blood in my body straight south, she lowered

her voice and asked, "Why don't you shut up and kiss me?"

"What?" I almost shouted. My senses were on overload from her

thumb stroking my wrist and the thought of tasting her lips again, even

for a moment. I could smell her scent, sweeter than I remembered, and it

was becoming difficult to breathe, let alone form sentences.

Gaining confidence, she moved a little closer until our bodies

touched from thigh to shoulder. Leaning forward until I could feel the

warmth of her breath against my cheek, she spoke in a tone of voice I

had never heard until that night. "I said, why don't you shut up and kiss me? I can pretty much guarantee you'll get an entirely different response

this time."

"It's not that simple!" I protested, not really able to come up with one good reason not to at the moment

Looking me straight in the eyes, Ashley spoke with emotion. "Yes,

it is that simple if you want it to be."

I wondered if it actually could be. It took me all of ten seconds to

decide that it could, and was. Laying my palm against her cheek, I

captured her lips in a kiss so full of desire that it took us both by

surprise. Ashley recovered quickly, however, and returned the kiss with

an equal amount of passion. As she tilted her head a bit more, I felt her

open to me and I took the invitation. My tongue traced her full lower lip, sucking it gently before gliding over the sensitive skin inside.

I felt Ashley shudder and surge against me, her breasts pressed

against my arm. The immediate flood of wetness between my legs tore a

groan from my throat as I gradually ended the kiss with one last stroke

of my tongue and several nips along her jawline. Keeping my eyes

closed, I rested my forehead against hers, trying to ignore the almost

painful throbbing of my clit.

Ashley was having a hard time getting her breathing under control,

and when she finally did, she laughed nervously. "Wow,'"

"Wow?" I echoed, teasing. ''That's all you can say?"

"How about I'm sorry," she offered.

Frowning, I opened my eyes. "You're sorry? For what?" I started to pull back, but Ashley brought both hands around my neck, keeping me

right there.

"I'm not sorry for this, Cat. I'm sorry for the past, for hurting you.

And I'm sorry I missed out on ten years of kissing you." She ended with a small smile, searching my face for some sign of hope.

I closed my eyes again, overcome. When I opened them, Ashley

was still gazing at me intently, waiting. Not able to find adequate words, I tried instead to show her what was in my heart. Grasping her hips, I

tugged her forward, guiding her over me as I leaned back across the seat.

My hands found their way under the hem of her Henley, slipping

beneath the waistband of her khakis and coming to rest at the small of

her back. This time when my mouth found hers, it was gentler but filled

with meaning. It was a kiss of absolution and love, and I did my best to

let it speak for me.

Ashley understood and threaded the fingers of one hand in my hair,

pulling me even closer. The other hand trailed down the front of my shirt

and came to rest low on my stomach. I felt the heat of her palm through

the material, shivering when she began to tug it loose from my jeans. A

firm thigh pressed between my legs, rocking hard against my crotch.

Groaning deep in my chest, I tore my lips away from hers as my hips

lifted up off the seat. Insistent fingers freed the buttons on my shirt,

tracing random patterns on my skin until finally circling my left breast

through the fabric of my bra. Ashley bent lower and I felt her moist

breath on my nipple, causing it to harden even more. When she grazed

the tip with her teeth, I almost threw us both off the seat.

"Wait," I managed to protest. "We can't do this here; there isn't enough room. Besides, I don't want the first time we make love to be in

a car." My face flushed at the confession.

Ashley seemed to consider this for a moment but made no move to

sit up. Instead, she just shifted to the side, allowing me to lift my torso and lean back against the door. A thin sheen of perspiration covered my

body and I reached up to brush the hair away from my neck.

A smile slowly spread across Ashley's face as she drew an

imaginary line down my chest to my naval. "Cat?" she spoke in my ear, her tongue coming out to taste the lobe as she flicked open the top

button on my jeans.

"Yes?" I replied, my voice higher than normal.

"Cat?" Ashley repeated.

I sucked in a breath as I felt the remaining buttons surrender.

"Have you ever made love to anyone in this car?" Playfully,

Ashley grasped the elastic of my bikinis and snapped it back against my

skin. I nearly came right there.

"What? No, why?" I managed to answer.

"Because," Ashley explained, ''this is where we began, Cat. I want another chance. I want to put life in reverse and then shift into high

gear." Her hand dipped inside my bikinis. Finding the wet heat there she parted the swollen folds, stroking, once, twice. "Unless," she whispered against my neck, "you want to drive."

My eyes slammed shut as her fingers closed around my clitoris.

''That's okay," I ground out. "I have a feeling it's going to be a short trip." Blindly, I cupped her face and claimed her mouth as she entered me, taking me home.

∴

The trunk lid closed on the Galaxy, Ashley's luggage packed

inside. I took a final look around the old neighborhood, waiting for her

to make one last check of her house before we left for California. She

came out the front door, closing it for the last time. Walking to the car, she stopped in front of me and placed a quick kiss on my lips.

"Who's driving?" she grinned, daring me.

Reaching into the back seat, I pulled out the fuzzy dice and bung

them from the rearview mirror again, making them twirl.

Turning around, I held out my hand to Ashley. "Give me the keys,"

I answered. "You're dangerous when you drive." Laughing, she

complied.

"So can this thing make it all the way?" Ashley asked as we

headed west on 157.

"Are you serious?" I answered. "Look how far it's taken us

already!"

THE TEMPLE

AMIE M. EVANS

he Temple is quiet except for the steady, soothing sound of

the water being returned through the filter back into the turtle

T pond. I sit with my back perfectly straight on the wooden

bench facing the mirror. The sheer material of my dressing gown reveals

the form of my breasts and the darker color of my areolae. The silver

hoops that pierce my nipples flash as the light hits them.

Sixteen years ago, Kate held my wrists over my head as the strange

woman put surgical clamps on my nipples and rammed the sharp silver

needle through my flesh. It happened over there on our bed. I touch

myself now, and I am wet from the memory.

I woke, confused, a ball gag in my mouth, my shackled ankles

attached to the rings in the floor, my head in Kate's lap, as she stretched my arms up toward her. I could see her face, the intense look in her eyes, but I couldn't lift my head to see my own body or anything else. I could

feel the weight of the mysterious stranger as she straddled me. I twisted

in revolt, thinking Kate would allow someone else to fuck me. I cried

out, but it was muffled and deformed by the gag. I pleaded to her with

my eyes. For the first time, I was afraid.

"Shh, Isabella," she said, soothing me with a warm look from her ice blue eyes. "It's all right. Don't move."

I'd heard those words before, seen that look in her eyes, and I

believed her—trusted her. She wouldn't let anyone else take me. I

belonged to her. I relaxed and stopped fighting against my bondage. I

felt the stranger's fingers touch my nipples. I felt the clamps—like no

other clamp I'd ever felt before—being put into place. My cunt got wet

from the pressure on my nipples; then Kate kissed my forehead and her

hands slipped from my wrists into my palms. The prick of the flesh

didn't exist, just intense pain and a burning as a rush of endorphins hit

my brain. An unfamiliar voice said, "Breathe for me." And again pain, burn, pleasure—as the stranger pierced the other nipple. I moaned and

grunted a mock protest.

"Almost done," Kate's familiar voice said as she looked away from my breasts and into my eyes. "There." She released my hands and

stroked my forehead. She lightly touched the healed cuts on my breasts

that had just thickened into scars, then attached the leather shackles

around my wrists, hooking them to the O-rings on the wall at each of the

bedposts. She cupped my face in her hands, softly kissed my nose, stood

up and gave the woman, whose face to this day I have not seen, her

money. Turning back to me, she slid a finger between the folds of my

labia as she lay half on top of me, half next to me. I was wet and

euphoric from the fear, the piercing, and the realization of what my love

had just done.

She unzipped her pants and the hard silicone cock popped out

"You're so wet," she said as she fingered me. I twisted and squirmed at her touches. Played outraged. Played resistant. She pushed her cock into

me, fucking me hard while lightly pinching my nipples, sending

increasingly stronger jolts of pleasure through me. Kate clamped her

hands onto my bound wrists and fucked me like I was an inanimate

object and when I came, she kept fucking me until I came again.

I was brought up Catholic, attended a parochial school and church

until I entered college. In high school, I researched alternative religions with fevered passion. I spent hours reading books on Taoism, Buddhism,

Satanism, and Islam. I searched mythologies and cults for proof or even

a sign that a god, goddess, or multiple divine beings existed. I wanted

desperately to believe. I wanted to find something that sparked the

spiritual fires inside of me, lit up my soul. I never found any proof. I

never even found any hints. I stopped believing in gods.

In college, I looked for a spirituality that wouldn't leave me empty

and needing. I waded through texts looking for something that would

touch my soul and stir the powers I felt inside myself. I practiced yoga,

transcendental meditation, and tai chi. I played with Wicca and

paganism. I build altars and shrines and participated in ceremonies to

honor the seasons. I dabbled in voodoo and tarot cards. None of it filled

me up. None of it stopped the aching desire or the longing need for

completeness. None of it enabled me to save my soul, tap my spiritual

energy, or move into a higher plane. I was always left empty—a spiritual

void.

Then I met her.

∴

I let the robe fall from my shoulders, then slide the silk slip with

the antique white lace over my head. It fits the curves of my body

perfectly, holding my breasts taut and high, cutting in at the waist and

flaring out at the hips. I pull stockings, new from the package, onto my

legs. The sheer black nylon clings to my freshly shaved skin and stops at

mid-thigh. I attach them to my pink and black garter belt, then apply a

small spray of perfume to each wrist and the back of my neck. Returning

to my original position at the dressing table in front of the mirror, I

select a black eyeliner pencil and apply it close to the lashes—thin, even lines emphasizing my lids to complement the makeup on my lips and

cheekbones.

The prick of the needles was new to me twelve years ago. That

Kate wanted me so completely yet still wanted me as an individual,

separate from her being, was not something I had experienced, nor had I

imagined that those contradictory impulses could exist in the same

person.

She instructed me to sit straddling the weight bench. A small table

with her equipment on it stood next to the bench. Kate ran the blade of a

straight razor over the flesh of my upper back, removing the tiny layer of soft baby fuzz, then treated the area with a disinfectant. She laid the

transfer on my back, placing it carefully, then removing it. Using a hand

mirror, Kate showed me the ink design—two cherries with a stem.

Her hands felt foreign; she touched my back as if it were a canvas.

Gone were the soft, firm strokes of reassurance, replaced with the artist's hands seeking, searching, ready to create, transform. "Don't move," Kate cautioned me, and I heard the buzz of the tattoo gun. I clutched the sides of the bench as the new sensation moved through my flesh and Kate

adorned my body with her art.

She owns me, not because of a mutual contract, an agreement, or

an exchange of money. She is not my Mistress; I am not her slave. She is

not my Daddy; I am not her little girl. Sex is my religion; she is my God.

I worship her—not in the way that little children worship Santa Claus

and their mothers, or the way priests worship their idols. I worship her in the intimate way prophets worship their gods. I have seen the burning

bush, and my God has spoken directly to me. She has laid her hands on

me, marked me physically and mentally. I worship her not with blind

faith, but because she has been tested and proven. She has demonstrated

her divine powers. I am her high priestess. Like Moses, I will lead my

people out of servitude and into the Promised Land through her word

alone. She reveals the divine prophecy and the mystical secrets. She

places the holy manna in my mouth. I am nothing before her, and yet she

has chosen me.

∴

I open the jewelry box on my dressing table. An assortment of

necklaces lies on the velvet lining—sparkles, thin chains, elaborate stone settings, and her favorite, classic white pearls. I select the medium-length strand and clasp it around my neck. The necklace belonged to my

grandmother, a stern woman of English descent who was a social snob. I

attach a bracelet to my wrist. It belonged to Kate's grandmother, a

flamboyant woman who seized life with gusto. I think they would

approve of my use of their pearls, if not of my erotic choices.

I like the pearls because they hold our families' history. Intact in

the mucus and dirt that are of such value to society, our families'

struggles, lives, and loves are held fast. Kate chose a pearl, small and

silky, as the bead for my labia piercing. It was our sixth anniversary. The room smelled of sage and musk. The piercer, a young, tattooed girl, had

agreed to allow Kate to watch. The lace of my dress pushed up around

my waist, my feet in stirrups, and my genitals shaved bare, I felt oddly

exposed.

Kate sat slightly to the side and behind the woman as she prepared

my clit for piercing and talked in a singsong voice indicative of how

many times she'd repeated this procedure and its instructions. No sex,

she said, for six weeks. She clamped my hood then pierced it, all in

Kate's view. The ring with the pearl holder was in before I was even able

to process that she was done.

In the car in the parking garage, Kate placed a dental dam over my

genitals and softly stroked my clit until came.

I have always, from the first time I met Kate, felt as if I've known

her forever. Forever. The word was incomprehensible, meaningless,

mystical until her. Our bond is from a long time ago, as if we'd shared

the same womb. Comfortable and safe. Someone I know, love, honor.

And yet, she has felt new each day. New and unknown. Someone to

explore, learn, consume. Her marks on my body are a road map of our

time together. Gentle strokes of affection, passion-filled yearnings to

strengthen our bond.

Offerings of my flesh, my spirit, I give to Kate.

∴

Offerings of my flesh, my spirit, I give to Isabella.

I cannot think of anything more important to me than touching her.

I'm addicted to the feel of her flesh under my hands. Addicted to the

scent of her skin, the taste of Isabella's cunt. I'm addicted to the sound of the moan she makes when I slip a finger into her and the little noise that seems to fight its way out of her when she comes. I'd do anything to

make her happy—to satisfy her needs. Sometimes I'm afraid I can't.

Afraid she'll want too much—more than I can give her.

I search my soul for a sign that I am worthy. I pray for strength. A

vision that I deserve to receive the great honor Isabella has bestowed

upon me. I am her vessel, her tool, and through me she will be able to

reach the Promised Land. My fear is great, but my desire is stronger.

I swing the blade separating the shrublike weeds from their bases,

then pull the roots out of the dirt. The weeds will grow back—they

always do since I am unable to remove all of the roots despite how hard

I try. In a few weeks, I'll have to return to the yard with my blade and

hack them away again. Some cuts don't last. I could remove them

permanently with a chemical herbicide, but I like the ritual of cutting

them. The process of cutting and pulling, cutting and pulling. The battle

that these weeds and I are engaged in endlessly. I like the solitude of the act, the weeds and their resistance, the shine of the blade, and the gleam of the sharp edge when it is held just so. The secure, heavy feeling of the handle in my hand, the pump and rush of my muscles as I use them to

hack, chop, cut, and pull the plants from the soil in which they grow—

defiantly.

The first time I ever marked her body was eighteen years ago, with

a blade—my blade. A smooth metal dagger with red stones set into the

black handle in the form of a cross. I bound her arms to the overhead

beam with fur-lined leather cuffs attached to silver chains. Then I put a

spreader bar on her legs. The sound of metal on metal excited me, but

not like the sight of her. Her body in a barely there leopard-print teddy.

Her thighs exposed almost to her waist by the high-cut sides and the

low-cut back. Her limbs spread open. The G-string bottom with just

enough material to cover a quarter of an inch stripe across her lower

back. "Two snaps at the crotch," she'd told me when she bought it, "so you can get inside me without taking it off." She knows exactly what

I like.

But it was the breasts I wanted now. The nipples almost showing,

raised up and out by the shelf design of the top and pushed toward me by

the X-form of her bondage, her cleavage the focal point. I turned my

back to her and withdrew the dagger from its black leather scabbard. I

could hear the chains clank as she stirred and strained to see what I had, what I would do to her first. Turning toward her, I wasn't sure if I could do it. Maybe I'd tease her, taunt her with the dagger. Trace a pattern on

her skin without breaking it open. I knew I was ready; I wasn't sure she

was.

I stepped close to her, lightly kissed her forehead, and grabbed a

handful of her black hair. I jerked her head back, exposing her neck, and

ran the very tip of the dagger down the side of her throat to the valley of her cleavage. Isabella sucked in air, then stopped and held her breath,

her body completely still. I allowed the point of the knife to push against her left breast, just hard enough to be felt yet not break the skin.

She moaned and slowly released her breath. I let go of her hair and

lifted the dagger from her flesh. I traced a path with the point down her

back and up her side. She moaned again. "I want your blood," I said in a low voice without the emotion I felt. "I want your flesh and your blood."

She moaned again, slightly rocking her hips.

I repositioned the dagger in the small gap between her breasts,

pressed lightly, and reached down and undid the two small snaps to

expose her. "I want your blood and your soul," I said as I slid two fingers into her wet cunt.

She moaned and carefully rocked her hips toward my hand.

''You're wet," I said as I pumped my fingers deep inside her.

Isabella was warm and soft and felt so ready. I wanted more of me

deeper inside her. I pulled my fingers out and grabbed her chin, leveling

her eyes with mine.

''This is forever," I said, holding her gaze.

"Forever," she repeated.

"Don't move, sweet. Don't move at all." I placed my hand on her

breast and held it so it would remain still. She whimpered, a small

helpless sound, and I looked into her eyes. Deep, dark black pools full of trust, fear, and excitement met mine.

The dagger pushed into Isabella's flesh just deep enough to release

her blood and leave a light scar when it healed. I drew a two-inch line

across her right breast. Her skin resisted for a moment before the blade

bit through it and released her blood. It ran slow at first for a moment

and then dripped down in a steady, almost even stream. As I withdrew

the dagger, Isabella groaned and moved her hips toward me. Her eyes

were closed and her head hung back, exposing her neck to me. I watched

the stream of crimson, red against her pale white flesh, trickle down

between her breasts and pool in her cleavage.

I made the same mark on her left breast, then reached down and

touched her clit. Her wetness had spilled out, allowing me to easily slide my fingers across it. Isabella's body rocked as she made sounds of

needing more. I bent my mouth down to her breasts and licked from the

collected blood. I turned my attention to the wounds I had inflicted on

her body and lapped at both of them. Her blood tasted like iron as it

coated the inside of my mouth. I locked my lips over the incision on her

left breast and sucked, pulling more blood to the surface as I stroked her clit.

I consumed her, pulling her every essence into me, then used the

dagger to cut a gash across the palm of my own hand, allowing my

blood to come forth. I placed my bloody hand over her mouth, and

Isabella sucked my fluid from it.

Joined forever through the power of blood magic, I am chained to

her—bound to her needs. Her hunger is all consuming and within that

hunger lays my power. Without her belief, her want, I am nothing but

another fake prophet. Her endless desire gives me strength and power.

Her lust for more gives me purpose and drive. Her trust makes me

confident. Her belief makes me real. Her love gives it all meaning. All I

want to do is satisfy her and I never want her to be satisfied. Her body is the spring of life, the Garden of Eden, the seed of existence from which

all things come. It is my responsibility to reach deep inside of her and

pull forth from that dark space what lies hidden there to release her soul.

I am honored that she has chosen to allow me to have unlimited access

to her body and mind, that she believes I am strong enough to lead both

of us through the darkness—her darkness—into the light of salvation.

I take my vows seriously, for eating from the wrong bee will

tumble us into eternal ignorance, expose our nakedness to each other,

and prevent us from seeing the beauty. But sampling the fruits is part of

my charge, and she has left it to me to be the ferryman and guide her

across the river of bones inside her own being.

∴

I pile the hacked stems, leaves, and assorted plant materials into a

heap. Later I'll feed them into the chipper to reduce the pieces to

manageable sizes. The chips will be added to the top of the composter

along with a bit of soil and water. Then I'll turn it once each day so that the contents will ferment, mix, and decompose into what will ultimately

become a highly compact, intensely fertile growing material for the

flower beds. Because of this process, from the remains of the resistant,

defiant weeds will come the delicate buds of the bleeding hearts, irises,

and tulips. But only if I handle them correctly with care to every detail, remembering each day to attend it, mix it, and watch over its

transformation. Adding just enough of what it needs, protecting it from

too much and not enough; from carelessness, overindulgence, and

neglect.

The sound of flesh sizzling like steaks on a hot skillet, the scent of

human meat cooking crisp fills the room. I am overcome by the pink-red

of her meat, the piercing cry of her voice, her unrelenting compliance to

allow me to mark her body with symbols of my own unworthy devotion.

I place the burn pack on top of my newest offering and sob,

overcome by the moment. Her ass had been in the air; as the iron

imprinted its tribal pattern deep into her flesh, it sank into the mattress. I feel as if our flesh has become one. I cradle her in my arms and gently

stroke between the folds of her labia. She is, as always, during these

intimate moments, wet. Her desire confounds me as it honors me. For I

am a heathen in the Vatican, ignorant of the correct rituals, what words

to say, when to stand or kneel; but not of the power and glory around

me. Her body, like the consecrated wafer, has been lifted up on high

before me. The sanctified host has been offered and I have responded, "I am not worthy, but only say the word and I shall be healed."

And she has said the word.

Amen.

I have been called like Abraham to sacrifice my best, my favorite,

and my offering has been received. I wandered in the desert, tempted by

false prophets and the devil himself before I saw the divine spirit made

flesh in Isabella's form and all of my pain and suffering were washed

away by her blood. She's mine. Her body is my responsibility. She's the

temple and I have to make sure everything is in order. I'm the priestess

sworn to protect the goddess and to perform the rituals in praise and

honor of her.

∴

Isabella walks down the steps to the second floor, wondering if

Kate is done with the yard work. She holds herself perfectly still four

steps from the bottom when she hears the front door open. Kate's eyes

sparkle as she takes her in head to toe. A vision of loveliness. Isabella's dark hair is pulled up into a bun held in place by rhinestone pins. A red

satin dress in a style out of fashion before either of them was born, but

cut perfectly to accent Isabella's hourglass figure and display the

cleavage Kate has loved for so many years, clings perfectly to her body.

Matching ankle-strap high heels with rhinestone clips and opera-length

gloves finish the dinner outfit. She is stunning in Kate's eyes despite or perhaps because of the fine lines around her eyes, the extra fullness of

her belly, and the gray in her temples. She is every bit the femme fatale

Kate first met twenty years ago—and yet so much more.

"You're too much," Kate says, putting her arms out to her. "You hot thing." Isabella moves down the remaining steps. "I'm all dirty,"

Kate says, stepping back from her.

She's wearing a one-piece work suit, faded from years of use. The

sleeves are cut off, her muscular tattooed arms are pumped from the

labor she has been doing. She is covered with dirt and grass from an

afternoon in the yard. Kate smiles at Isabella, sweat dripping from her,

the veins in her neck popping. Her blond hair hides the silver and her

Nordic ancestors' blood has served her well, allowing her to age

gracefully. From where Isabella stands, the lines on Kate's face can

barely be seen and softness in her middle abdomen is hidden by the

jumpsuit.

"I don't care." Isabella steps into her and Kate wraps her arms

around her. Kate smells of earth and sweat, of comfort and love. Isabella

smells of musk and exotic oils, of sex and desire.

It's been twenty years since Kate first took her metal blade to

Isabella's breasts and made her hers. Twenty years since she embraced

her in the folds of her anus and promised it would be forever. Twenty

years since Isabella lay open and exposed the deep darkness, and Kate

agreed to explore, control, and indulge it. Twenty years since they first

shared in the flesh and the spirit. It has been a lifetime, but today as they stand together, arms around each other, they kiss with all the newness

and excitement of two lovers sharing their very first kiss.

REUNION

LISA FIGUEROA

he last thing I wanted to do was go to another family reunion.

Is there anything more boring than a bunch of relatives

T gathered together to drink beer, grill fajitas, and chase after

small children? My mother had other ideas and piled on the guilt about

how both sets of grandparents weren't getting any younger and that I had

cousins whom I'd never even met. The woman is a connoisseur of

passive aggression, so there was no point in trying to argue. Rosa and

Blanca, my younger, identical twin sisters, would simply smile back at

her when met with resistance, themselves students of the school of

manipulation in which our mother gave daily classes. If it hadn't been

for my grandmother, Abuela Frida, insisting, I wouldn't have gone at all

She was a woman who, at age eighty-two, had survived three husbands,

a bout with breast cancer, and as she liked to often brag, still drove her own fucking car.

My family has known I was a lesbian from the time I was twelve,

starting with my first devastating crush on Serena, my best friend since

kindergarten. Their way of dealing with it was not to mention it or ask

too many questions they didn't want answered. My mother finally

stopped trying to fix me up with boys in high school when I discussed

the futility of such attempts with my Abuela Frida. She was the only one

who accepted me for the person I was and even respected me more for

being true to myself.

"Mama doesn’t understand, Abuelita. I never have, nor will I ever be interested in boys."

"My daughter is a hardheaded fool. I told her to back off, but she never wants to listen. "

"I don’t know what to do. I'm thinking I shouldn’t bother going to college. What’s the point? I'll never be able to live my own life. "

"Emilia, don’t worry. I'm going to have a long talk with your

mother. I'll remind her about her great-aunt Cuca. Even back then we

knew about women who loved women. To each her own, I've always

believed I respected your mother’s decision to marry your father and live her life, so why shouldn’t she let you live your own life? You're not a child anymore."

"Thank you, Abuelita. You always understand."

So, my Grandmother Frida became the emissary of peace in my

family when she at long last convinced my parents, my mother in

particular, to give up on useless dreams.

Now that I was home on spring break from UCLA, I was ready to

relax and have some fun, and as always, was open to the possibility of

finding love. A family reunion wasn't exactly what I had in mind,

although I was looking forward to some good home cooking. After too

much Taco Bell, I had almost forgotten the pleasure of handmade flour

tortillas.

Breakfast had been over for hours, but I had to help myself to one

last warm tortilla and generously slathered it with butter. I took a huge

bite, savoring the heady taste and textures combining in my mouth. Too

much of this sort of thing might start expanding my backside to an

uncomfortable point, but for now, I had a feminine plumpness that still

turned the heads of both sexes. What mattered to me most was the

attention I received from soft butches. They were the sexiest women on

earth as far as I was concerned, and never failed to attract me.

My last girlfriend, Davila, had been femme like me. She was pretty

in a classic Latina way, full chest and mouth and not much of a

backside. Her best feature were her dark chocolate—colored eyes

framed by striking thin eyebrows like Greta Garbo's. We met at the

beginning of my first semester, breaking up amicably by the end of it

when we decided we were better as friends than lovers. In our last

conversation, we had talked about what we both wanted from a

relationship and how we would never find it together.

"Emilia, I knew we wouldn't last from the minute we first kissed,"

Davila had said.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Remember how we looked at each other waiting for someone to

make a move? You finally kissed me, and although it was enjoyable, I

felt like you were taking on a role you really didn't like."

"Well, that's true. I don't like to be the one who makes the first

move. I like a woman who knows what she wants and then grabs it,

especially when it's me."

"Exactly. That's why you will never be completely happy with a

femme. You need a more butch woman. A woman who is more

comfortable taking charge. I'm not that kind of a woman and neither are

you."

"You make us sound completely helpless. I'm a strong, single-

minded Chicana, like my mother and grandmother before her. It's just

that when it comes to intimacy, I like my lover to take control. There are enough other areas in life for me to exhibit power in the relationship.

Besides, control isn't just physical, is it?"

"Emilia, I was never your match, but I do hope you find her

someday."

"So do I. I hope we both find what we're looking for."

Thinking back on our conversation made me feel vulnerable and

melancholy. I wondered if I would ever find that missing link, that other

half to make me complete. My mother bustled into the kitchen carrying

several bags of groceries with my grandmother Frida following close

behind.

"Are you going to sit there all day, mi hija? I have your sisters scrubbing the bathrooms, your father cleaning up the backyard, and your

abuela is going to help me cut up meat and vegetables for the fajitas.

Maybe you can bring in the rest of the shopping bags," my mother said before she had set down a single bag of food.

My abuela smiled and winked at me conspiratorially. "Your

mother has been barking orders all morning. I even saluted once," she said.

Her daughter sighed dramatically, hands on hips, until I nodded

and went to bring in the last of the bags, wondering if we were planning

on feeding the entire neighborhood. My mother continued to direct the

family as if she were in command of an intricate military operation.

There was no choice but to go AWOL. I went upstairs and got ready for

the reunion.

∴

By the time I reemerged downstairs, the first of my relatives were

arriving. I hugged favorite aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews, needing

to be introduced to many I hadn't seen before or in a long time. My

parents always made sure to mention proudly that I was home from

college. The attention embarrassed me a little, but it was nice to be

bragged about. I wandered into the backyard, dug a soda out of the ice

cooler, and sat down on a wicker chair. The warm weather bad been

perfect for shorts but now I regretted the decision when the wicker fibers kept pinching the backs of my legs. I adjusted my shorts self-consciously. There was nothing to do but try to get through the long,

boring night with as little pain as possible. I studied the stars, looked at the faraway tiny suns, and imagined my true love out there somewhere

among the cosmos. A shooting star caught my attention and I thought

about making a wish. Some cynical part of me resisted, though I gave in

to my hopes and dreams and made it anyway.

I was in the midst of a large gulp of soda when the most attractive

woman I had ever seen came into the backyard. My throat closed up and

I coughed and sputtered loudly, causing her to turn and look at me. I felt my face blossoming into a sunburned shade of red as I wiped my eyes

and tried to smile. She was devastatingly gorgeous.

The stranger wore tight blue jeans and a blouse with its long

sleeves rolled up. She wasn't wearing a bra; her small bust didn't need it, though what gave her away were adorable, pert nipples that insisted on

pushing through the blouse's flimsy material. Her dark hair was very

straight and short, reaching only the nape of her neck, but it seemed

shorter because she had both sides tucked behind her ears. She had soft,

honey-colored skin tone that matched my own and large, almond-shaped

eyes. The firmness in her jawline intrigued me the most, as it gave

strength to her face along with a boyish handsomeness. My legs

trembled and for once I was glad to be sitting in that uncomfortable

wicker chair. The backs of my knees were sweating at the same rate that

the heat and moistness grew insistently between them.

She looked at me and our eyes locked as the intensity with which I

had stared at her was equally returned. I wondered for a morose second

if maybe she was a cousin or niece and thought about the possibility I

might be contemplating incest with a close relative. Such an awkward

complication must be considered when anyone falls into lust with an

appealing visitor at a family reunion. As she approached, I drank my

soda as if dying of thirst.

"Do you mind if I sit down here?" she asked, motioning to the

chair next to me.

I was trying not to imagine the places where I wanted her to sit,

preferably naked, so I simply shook my head in the negative.

After all that staring, we now both couldn't make eye contact, even

though I was sure she was looking at me whenever I glanced away. She

opened her can of soda as I gazed at her hands. They were large and

smooth. There wasn't any jewelry on her fingers, though she wore a

slender leather bracelet on one wrist. She also had a necklace with a

single charm of the letter L. L for lesbian, perhaps?

I finished the last of my soda and before I set the can down, she

stood up.

"Would you like another one? I'll go get you one," she said before I answered. I watched her walk away, staring at her tantalizing backside,

so perfectly framed in those tight pants. There was a confidence in her

step, a certain glide I had often noted in butch women that made my

insides tingle and my ears itch. On her way back I noticed her eyes on

my bare legs, so I crossed them as sexily as I could. She tripped,

stumbled, and dropped right into my lap. Exactly what I wanted,

although not in front of all my family members. The wicker chair rocked

dangerously, then tilted backward as we both fell in a heap on the soft

grass. I laughed, huge bursts of giggles that broke the tension.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she kept saying until she realized we weren't hurt, then joined in my laughter.

"Let's get out of here," I said as I noticed some of my relatives watching. I grabbed her wrist and led her out a side gate into the front

yard where it was quiet. We went over to the sidewalk and sat down on

the curb.

"My name's Emilia," I said.

"I'm Louisa. But you can call me Lou."

I leaned in very close, obviously startling her, although she didn't

pull back. I noticed her lips parting as if expecting me to kiss her. I

didn't.

"What are you doing?" she finally asked.

"I'm trying to see if there's a resemblance or anything to my side of the family."

She laughed lightly. "You won't find one. Although you're very

beautiful and I wouldn't mind looking like you, I'm not related to you."

I was so abuzz over her compliment that it took a moment to

register what else she had said. "We're not relatives?"

"Well, technically maybe, though not by blood. I'm the half sister

of your cousin Ricky's ex-wife."

"So, you mean there's no chance of our children being born with

two heads?"

''Not a chance." Lou grinned and tilted toward me as if searching

for something. My lips parted slightly but she didn't back off as I had

done. Instead she looked around quickly, then cupped my chin with one

hand and kissed me once, firmly. Our tongues barely touched, but the

thrill of contact made my pussy contract.

"I don't usually kiss strangers," I said playfully.

"Hey, I thought we were familia."

I laughed, breathing in her scent, a rich woodsy freshness that

intoxicated me. I felt lost in her aura and wondered if perhaps I was

falling in love. It was as if I had found my true mirror image, the femme

counterpart of myself reflected within her butch masculinity. She had the

potential to be everything my ex, Davila, could never be or hope to be. I

wanted Louisa like I had never wanted any woman. But what did she

want of me? Maybe just a quick exchange of fluids and then adios?

"I still don't know anything about you," I said breathlessly.

''Ok, let's see. I'm twenty-eight. Single. Chicana, of course. I'm a

nursing student at USC in my final year. And most important, I think

I'm falling in love with you."

I kept finding it difficult to focus. Her eyes were alight with

intelligence, and something more, love? A part of me was afraid of

moving too quickly, afraid of being disappointed.

"Well, you don't know anything about me," I countered.

"You're wrong. Your grandmother, Frida, filled me in when I first

arrived. She cornered me in the living room and told me all about you. I

have to say I agree with her. I happen to think we would be perfect

together, too."

I stared at her with my mouth open, which she took as a signal to

move in for another kiss. This time when our lips met, our tongues had

time to explore and taste each other. When we parted, both of us

breathing fast, I said, "Come with me."

I took her inside, past several staring relatives in the living room,

including my smiling Abuelita Frida, up the stairs, and into my

bedroom. The moment I turned the lock in place, Louisa had me in her

arms in a tight embrace. I secured my fingers behind the back of her

neck, entangled in the thick silky hair as our lips met and parted in a

lingering, wet kiss. We devoured each other's mouths while our bodies

pressed together, my generous curves yielding to her leaner, firmer

build. Her large hands, which I had so admired earlier, were now

smoothing themselves over the contours of my heavy breasts, down the

soft swell of my belly and backside. Every place she touched rocked me

with desire, and I perceived a similar need building within her as well.

She abruptly pulled her mouth away, gasping in an effort to catch her

breath.

"I want to make love to you, Emilia. If you don't want to, we

should stop now. You're driving me wild. I know this is crazy but I feel

like I'll die if I don't have you right now."

I opened my eyes, my mouth still pursed in motion of a kiss. Every

nerve was on fire, as if I might go up in flames ignited by nothing more

than the warmth of her breath on me. Only her touch could quench the

overwhelming yearning inside of me. I answered her by unbuttoning her

shirt. With each button I released, I kissed the soft, warm flesh I

exposed. I had been right earlier. She wasn't wearing a bra. My efforts

eventually uncovered two small, pert breasts with large erect nipples. I

licked each one teasingly as she panted and reached for my top, pulling

it up over my head. Before she could get hold of my bra strap, I undid it

myself more easily and my full breasts came tumbling into view. She

buried her face in them, drawing me closer, her soft moans echoing my

own. I noticed her intention of catching one of my hard nipples within

her mouth, but I stopped her by backing away toward the bed. There was

a look of lusty determination in her smile as she took off the rest of her clothing while I did the same.

She wrapped her arms around me and carried me to the bed, then

settled in next to me. I watched the joy on her face as she scanned me

from head to toe, all the while running her hand down the length of my

body. My juices were overflowing by the time she reached my warm

mound. Her gentle fingers spread its lips, exploring the liquid desire she found. As her fingertips brushed against my hard clit, she withdrew them

and put them in her mouth, smiling at the taste. She kissed me again,

hard, her lips bruising mine, as I too shared in the essence of my inner

folds. Our bodies crushed against one another, burning flesh rubbing,

squeezing until she ended up on top of me. My thighs opened and at last,

our aching pussies converged, the heat and wetness we generated

mingling together. She released my mouth to give her full attention to

my breasts, pausing just briefly within the valley between them and then

flicking over my right nipple with tongue and teeth until she finally drew it completely into her mouth. She sucked greedily and steadily, first one

and then the other as I writhed in delight.

I reached down between her thighs and spread her warm pussy

with my hand, her slippery wetness allowing my fingers to move with

ease up and down her engorged clit. She was forced to release my

nipples as she tried to muffle her groans by burying her face between my

breasts. No longer able to stand the pleasure my hand produced, she

grasped both of my wrists and held them above my bead as she stared at

me, her face aglow with love and longing. She kissed me once more,

then traveled her way down my body, ending her journey between my

pussy lips, kissing them open with her face. Her soft groans matched my

own as she teased my clit with her tongue in steady, demanding flicks. I

was already so wet it didn't take long before a huge orgasm erupted over

me, and I grabbed a pillow to muffle my scream of release while I rode

the waves of bliss.

Afterward, Louisa lay next to me, again rubbing my belly as I

slowly came back to my senses. Desire and hunger still gleamed in her

eyes, needs that hadn't been quenched yet. I moved on top of her, my

breasts and long hair spilling onto her chest as she wrapped her arm

around my waist.

"Wait, what are you doing?"

"It's your turn," I said, sliding down her body. She stopped me with shaky hands.

"You don't have to do that. I'm happy just making you happy."

I shook my head. "It's not going to work like that Don't you see? I

want you the same way you want me. To me it's not making love unless

we both are satisfied."

She gave me a strange look as if she'd never thought about it that

way or never had the opportunity to and slowly, reluctantly parted her

legs, her pussy opening like an exotic flower. I dived in like a bee drawn to nectar as I explored her inner warmth, licking and sucking until,

trembling, she strove to open them even farther apart for me. I was

relentless in my pursuit of both of our pleasures, capturing her clit

between my gentle teeth and strong tongue until she began to buck

wildly against my mouth with her hips. Her hands clawed the sheets as

she shook with the force of her orgasm's onslaught that made her call

out, "Emilia, mi amor!"

I lapped up the last traces of her sweetness, kissed her now-

reposing flower, then reclined beside her. Her eyes were closed as I

searched her face, feeling a sense of contentment that I had pleased her

so fully. When she opened them to meet my eyes, the depth of love I

saw reflected there was almost overpowering. Louisa gathered me into

her arms and we held each other tightly, both of us giving silent prayers

of thanks that our years of longing had finally been assuaged.

Since that first night, we have been inseparable. It wasn't long after

spring break that we moved in together in an off-campus apartment, both

of us intent on finishing school. Last year we celebrated our fifth

anniversary in my parents' backyard where we had first met. We decided

to have a small commitment ceremony and invited the family for another

reunion. Even though some members didn't show up, my parents and

sisters were there. My mother insisted on calling it simply a family

reunion, but Abuela Frida made sure everyone remembered what it truly

was by throwing rice and singing her version of "I Love You Truly" in Spanish. It wasn't just a family gathering, but a ceremony celebrating the union of Louisa and me. For me, it was a true reunion with the lost part

of myself, mi otra mitad, Louisa, my other half, who had been missing for so long and was found at last.

BONUS NIGHT

RADCLYFFE

e're causing a stir," Allie murmured as she and Ryan

waited for the elevator in the lobby of the Four Seasons

W Hotel. A woman in a floor-length gown and dripping with

diamonds stared at them with an expression of distaste. Allie supposed it

wasn't every day that the guests of the five-star hotel saw two women

dressed in leather from head to foot. Allie ran her gaze over Ryan's long, rangy body. As always, she was dressed totally in black: tight T-shirt,

studded belt, motorcycle pants and boots, and—Allie knew from

personal experience—a thick black cock strapped around her lean hips.

Allie smiled and jutted her hips so that her already short black leather

skirt rode dangerously close to her crotch. "You are just too hot to go unnoticed."

"I think it's more likely to be you, babe." Grinning, Ryan traced an index finger down the center of Allie's chest, dipping inside the deeply

scooped Lycra top to skim over her breasts. A gasp of outrage was

audible behind them, and Ryan laughed.

"I love you when you misbehave, but I'm not so sure about the rest

of this," Allie said as the elevator opened and they stepped into the empty car. Not surprisingly, the woman waiting with them did not get

on. "What if the client isn't happy about me coming along?"

Ryan leaned her shoulder against the wall. "Trust me, I know her."

"She might just see another top as competition."

"She's hinted at things. She'll like it."

"Well, we know she likes you," Allie said, "since she calls you every time she's in town."

"Jealous?" Ryan teased.

"If I got jealous every time you went out on a call, I wouldn't have

time for anything else." Allie leaned close and cupped Ryan's crotch.

''Considering how popular you are."

Ryan murmured in approval but the tiniest bit of unease flickered

in her eyes. "It's just work. You know that, right?"

"I've known since the first night we met that women pay to top

you, baby," Allie said, "since that's how we met." She laughed. "I still can't believe Cindy and Jeri hired you to be my slave for the night. I’ll

never be able to repay them for that little present."

''Neither will I." Ryan nuzzled Allie's neck, sucking hard enough

on the soft skin at the base of her throat to elicit a groan.

"I don't remember hearing you ask if you could do that," Allie said in a dangerously soft tone of voice, pressing her palm flat against Ryan's chest and pushing her back against the wall. "Have you already forgotten that tonight you'll still be a slave?" She edged her thigh between Ryan's and quickly drove her knee into Ryan's cock. "Hers and mine."

Ryan stiffened from the unexpected pain and the pleasure that

followed immediately from the pressure on her clit. "I'm sorry."

''Not as sorry as you'll be if you forget your manners, especially in

front of another mistress,"

"She's not my mistress," Ryan whispered.

"For however long she pays you to be, she is," Allie said sternly.

Then she kissed Ryan softly and stroked the thick lock of dark hair that

fell over her forehead back from her face. "You have my permission to please her in any way she requires."

"Yes, Allie."

The elevator opened into a quiet hallway, dimly lit with sconces at

intervals along the corridor. They made their way to the corner suite,

where Ryan knocked. A moment later, the door opened and a woman

with collar-length, honey blond hair regarded them silently. Allie judged

her to be somewhere in her late forties or early fifties. She was Ryan's

height and several inches taller than Allie, statuesque in a classic way.

Her full breasts were evident beneath a black silk shirt, the top three

buttons of which were open to reveal creamy cleavage. Her waist,

circled by a thin black belt, was not narrow, but appeared solid beneath

tailored charcoal trousers. Her hands, one of which rested loosely on the

doorknob, were large and elegant.

"Ryan." she said by way of greeting before her gaze shifted to

Allie and traveled slowly over her body. "I didn't realize we were having company."

"If it pleases you," Ryan said softly, "Allie will see that you are well served."

"Really," the blonde said with interest. She turned her cool blue eyes to Allie. "Is she yours, then?"

"Yes."

"May I ask why you're willing to share?"

"I've never seen her work. I'd enjoy that."

The blonde nodded thoughtfully, then held the door open wide.

"I'm Deirdre. Please come in."

Deirdre led the way through the suite, to where an iced bottle of

champagne stood in a gold-plated cooler beside a king-sized bed. A

platter of cheese, fruit, and crackers had been placed on a nearby table,

next to which was an oversized silk-upholstered chair. She indicated the

food with a sweep of her arm. '''Please, help yourself."

Ryan stood next to the chair while Allie poured a glass of

champagne and handed it to Deirdre. Then she poured one of her own

and lifted a plump ripe strawberry to her lips. She bit into the strawberry, then sipped the champagne, noting the hungry look in Deirdre's eyes as

she stared at Ryan.

"Ryan, you haven't properly greeted Deirdre, have you," Allie said softly.

Wordlessly, Ryan knelt before Deirdre. ''Good evening, Mistress."

Deirdre stroked Ryan's head absently, sifting dark strands of hair

through her fingers as if Ryan were a favorite pet, her eyes on Allie.

"Will you allow me to command her?"

Allie savored the last of the fruit, licking the juice from her lips.

''Of course."

"Please make yourself comfortable," Deirdre said to Allie, nodding nearly imperceptibly toward the chair. "More champagne?"

'Thank you," Allie said as she stepped around Ryan's still form and

settled into the large chair. She extended one arm along the broad

armrest and held out her champagne glass for Deirdre to fill. As she

sipped, she watched Ryan while Deirdre idly caressed her face and neck,

judging by the rapid rise and fall of Ryan's shoulders that she was

already excited. Allie knew from experience that just the thought of

being dominated was enough to arouse her lover.

"She's a lovely animal, isn't she," Deirdre murmured, tilting Ryan's face up and rubbing her thumb over Ryan's mouth. "And so talented."

"Yes," Allie agreed, imagining Ryan's lips and the magic they were capable of. She saw Deirdre take a step closer, thread her fingers

through Ryan's hair, and rub her crotch over Ryan's face. She knew

Deirdre would feel the heat of Ryan's breath on her clit even through her

trousers, and her own clit twitched as she watched. She hadn't known

what to expect when Ryan had suggested that she come along,

explaining that Deirdre had intimated more than once that she enjoyed

watching a good scene. Allie was discovering the same was true for

herself. "She has a marvelous tongue."

"Let's put it to work." Deirdre smiled lazily at Allie, then leaned down and kissed Ryan. "Help your mistress with her clothes, Ryan."

When Ryan reached for Deirdre's belt, Deirdre stepped back. "Allie's."

Ryan couldn't quite hide her look of surprise as she turned toward

Allie, but Allie carefully kept her expression neutral, even though her

pulse jumped. She sipped her champagne as Ryan moved to kneel

between her legs and slid both hands along her thighs beneath her skirt,

guiding the leather up her hips. Allie had worn nothing under it and she

was wet. She knew Ryan could smell her excitement and wondered if

Deirdre could see the glistening evidence of her passion. Ryan caressed

Allie's hips but made no further move until Allie cradled the back of

Ryan's head and drew her gently forward.

"Slowly, Ryan," Deirdre said as she stepped to the side of the

chair. "Let me see you lick her."

Allie caught her breath at the first touch of Ryan's warm tongue

separating her swollen lips. She released Ryan's head as Deirdre's hand

gently brushed hers aside. When Ryan delicately ringed the hard

prominence of her clitoris, she shuddered. When the tip of Ryan's tongue

teased at the hood covering her most sensitive spot, she drained her

champagne glass and set it down with a trembling hand. Ryan knew her

body so well that she could keep Allie on the edge of orgasm for hours,

but her stomach was already fluttering and she was afraid she would

come too quickly.

"Don't suck her yet," Deirdre whispered, as if hearing Allie's fears.

She looked at Allie, her own lids heavy, her voice husky. "She makes

you want to come right away, doesn't she?"

"Yes," Allie admitted thickly. Lids nearly closed, she rested her head back against the chair, a trembling smile on her face. Ryan's head

moved in time to the steady thrusting of Allie's hips. "Especially when she flicks her...oh!" Her eyes opened wide. "She's making me come!"

"Ryan!" Deirdre said sharply, tugging Ryan's face away from

Allie's sex. Allie cried out, her hand flying to her clit. Even though a

stroke would push her over, she did nothing but press her thumb to the

base of the rigid core, forestalling her orgasm. Her chest heaved, nipples straining against the tight Lycra shirt.

"Did I tell you to make her come?" Deirdre demanded.

"No, Mistress," Ryan gasped, her eyes dark with desire.

"Take out your cock," Deirdre ordered, walking around behind

Ryan. "Quickly."

Ryan yanked open her heavy belt buckle and tugged at her fly.

Then she dug inside and pulled out the long, thick length of her cock.

When she started to rise, obviously expecting to enter Allie, Deirdre

pushed her back down with a firm hand on her shoulder. Then Deidre

knelt beside her, angling her body so she could see Allie's face. She

wrapped her fingers around Ryan's cock, making an appreciative sound

deep in her throat. Ryan groaned when Deirdre worked her hand quickly

up and down the shaft.

Looking at Allie, Deirdre said, "Are you ready to come now?"

"God yes."

"Suck your mistress, Ryan," Deirdre ordered softly, her arm

vibrating rapidly between Ryan's rigid thighs. "She wants to come in

your mouth."

Ryan leaned forward, her eyes on Allie's, and closed her lips

around Allie's pulsing sex.

Deirdre smiled at Allie. "I'm going to jerk her off when you come.

Tell me when you're coming."

"Soon," Allie gasped.

"Is she making your clit hard?"

Allie nodded, her head twisting from side to side. "Her mouth is so

damn hot."

Ryan was panting, her clenched fists pressed to Allie's thighs. Her

hips jerked unevenly as Deirdre pounded the cock into her tortured clit.

"Lick me, baby," Allie sobbed. "I'm so close."

Deirdre ran her tongue over the rim of Ryan's ear. "Your mistress

needs to come, Ryan. Suck her now, harder."

"Oh I'm coming!" Allie cried, grasping Ryan's head.

Deirdre pumped the cock furiously and Ryan stiffened, moaning

into Allie's cunt while Allie rode her mouth. Tears leaking from her

eyes, her gaze riveted to Allie's face, Ryan came against the base of the

cock while Allie's clit exploded between her lips.

Allie wasn't aware of Deirdre moving until Deirdre yanked Ryan's

head from between Allie's legs.

''Get your cock into her," Deirdre ordered.

Ryan, still shaking from her own climax, struggled to guide the fat

head of her cock between Allie's drenched lips. The added pressure

against her overly sensitive clit as she pushed inside made her stomach

tighten reflexively. "I'll come again," she gasped. "Please...may I come?"

"Wait, baby," Allie said gently, bending her knees around Ryan's leather-clad thighs and setting the rhythm by pushing herself up and

down Ryan's cock. "Fuck me nice and slow. You can come when I

come."

"Allie..." Ryan's face was contorted, her face and hair dripping sweat. She braced both arms on the chair. "I don't think I—"

"Listen to your mistress," Deirdre commanded, her voice strained.

She hurriedly kicked off her shoes and pushed down her pants and

underwear. She stepped close to Ryan, one hand opening herself,

exposing her fully aroused clit. "Bring me off while you fuck her."

Allie stared at Ryan's face pressed between Deirdre's trembling

thighs. "Suck her clit, baby."

Deirdre cupped the back of Ryan's head and, groaning quietly,

smiled shakily at Allie. "I'm going to come on her face. Soon. Are

you...oh fuck...she's so good." Deirdre's eyes closed for a second but she forced them open. Her breath came in short pants. "Is she making you

come?"

"Uh-huh." Allie arched, slid her fingers to her clit, and

masturbated, the cock buried to the hilt inside her. "Coming now...so hard." She screamed, her shoulders jerking up from the chair.

Ryan thrust blindly, driven to climax by her lover's cry.

Deirdre laughed harshly, shooting off in Ryan's mouth.

When Allie opened her eyes, Ryan was slumped between her legs,

her head resting on Allie's stomach. Allie caressed her damp cheek.

"Okay, baby?"

"Mmm," Ryan murmured, eyes closed. "Wasted."

Allie sighed and turned her head, searching for Deirdre. She was

leaning against the bed, dressed once more, lighting a cigarette. "I think we might need to pay you."

"Oh, I don't think so." Deirdre drew in the smoke and exhaled with a satisfied smile. "Ryan alone is priceless. Tonight? This was bonus

night."

MARKS

RONICA BLACK

he cigarette tip glows orange against the night, hypnotizing

as it grows. The sound of it burning, like crinkled paper, is a

T strange comfort. The wispy trail of its tail makes me cough,

reminding me that I hate smoke. Yet I keep inhaling, relishing the pain

and coughing it brings on. The brown liquid in my glass hits my lips,

cold and aggressive. I don't usually drink either, but the raw emotions

that are eating me alive have led me to open the tiny bottles from the

hotel mini-bar. I blink back against the sting of tears and wonder at the

cause. The smoke? The alcohol? The pain? I stare out at the night

settling in around me and accept that it's all three. The sky is dark and

clear, not a cloud in its wake. I look to the moon, small but proud, and

wish for rain. The evening air is comfortably warm but I wish it were

cold. I down more of the burning liquid and wish that everything around

me would reflect how I feel. But that's not the way it works, I guess. The world doesn't care about your pain. It only cares about continuing. Am I

going to be able to continue? Christ. I don't know. I know I have to, but

my heart is beaten.

It started weeks ago, gradually. Just like everything does. We

stopped making love. She stopped kissing me back. I would wake up in

the middle of the night all alone and rise to find her on the couch. She

started drinking again. They may sound like huge red blinking signs of

trouble now, but when you live it, you don't see it that way. You stumble

upon each sign, like a pebble in your path in the dark of night. It's small, but it still trips you up. And yet you recover quickly, regain your

balance, acknowledge it almost unconsciously, and move on. You

continue on your path and don't give it a second thought. Not until the

next pebble comes.

Eventually there are so many pebbles, you find it difficult to walk.

Then and only then do you actually take a moment and step off the path

to examine what it is that's happening. That's where I am. Right now. I'm

off the path, rubbing the back of my neck and examining each pebble.

They're not all her, though. A good number of them are from someone

else.

I caught her staring at me about a month ago, and later on caught

myself staring at her. I found myself watching the way her mouth moved

when she spoke and the steady, alluring pulse of the vein in her neck. I

began to realize that I held my breath when she was near and then

breathed deep as she walked away, wanting to capture her scent. Sounds

pretty and pink and romantic, doesn't it? It probably would be if it

weren't for three other tiny little things. Actually they're monumental.

One: I'm taken.

Two: She's taken.

Three: She's my boss.

But those three enormous factors can be cast aside, swatted away

like mere gnats when you want what you want and need what you need.

But they always come back. They never die. They simply wait.

Wait for you to open the door to your hotel room after leaving her. They

slip inside with you just before you ease it closed. You're in a daze, lost in her aura as you lean back against the door. And that's when you feel

it. The sudden, hard slap against your cheek. The three things hit you

hard, one right after the other, inflicting a pain and guilt you never

could've imagined.

You need to hear more to fully understand. Let's go back to

yesterday. Back to when I was still innocently stumbling along my

pebbled path.

∴

"Good, good. That's it. Pull the tank top down a little farther in

front."

The model complied and my camera raced, clicking a mile a

minute. My body moved equally fast, circling her, ensuring I captured

every possible angle.

"Excellent. Now lean down, rest your elbows on your knees."

My brain was flooded with the excitement of creativity. I had her

now, suspended in that realm where everything was perfect. The

sunlight, the sand, her eyes, her skin. She gave a cocky grin from her

pose on the old wooden chair. My camera continued, every click

sounding like it had its own heartbeat. Like it was alive and feeding off

her image.

I was in my zone, desperate to catch the perfect collection of all

that encircled her. Around us people moved about, talking, testing light,

setting up props. But I ignored it all, falling down to my knees in the

cool sand for a shot underneath. She sat on the chair with her legs resting apart, her elbows on her knees. The white threadbare tank top pulled and

stretched downward, offering just a peek of her dark mocha areolae. I

stood and stepped to the side, snapping shots of the tattoo that had been

drawn on her upper arm. I grinned, loving the look, the whole package.

This was my doing, the messy, textured hair, the fake tattoo, the tank top and tight men's boxer briefs. All of it. She grinned in return, liking my

approval, turning her head oh so slightly as if she were flirting in a cool butch fashion.

"Yes, perfect."

I stumbled backward a bit, my camera glued to my face. My bare

feet sank down into the soft mounds of sand, securing me, making me

feel right at home there on the beach. And as I continued to capture the

magic, I felt it. Felt her. I knew without turning that warm amber eyes were sprinkling their heated sweetness all over my skin. It was a feeling

that was becoming all too familiar. She had arrived and was watching

me.

My heart kicked alive at the realization, ignoring any ounce of

reason my brain tried to summon. I took another step backward, trying

my damndest to keep focused on my work. My feet kept on, unsure but

determined, until they came upon something firm. I reached out, trying

to gain my balance as the object beneath me moved suddenly. A strong

hand gripped my forearm, steadying me. I lowered my camera and

turned, searching for the source. Cal stood glaring at me, raising his feet to brush off the expensive shoes I had stumbled upon. The hand that had

steadied me didn't belong to him, however. It belonged to the woman

who stood at his side. The woman whose eyes had recently begun to

haunt me. She stared intensely into me and I nearly lost my balance

again. Alex, though, remained stoic, obviously not nearly as affected by

my presence as I was by hers.

"Sorry," she offered, just as calm and collected as her gaze.

"Normally I wouldn't interrupt your session, but we need to talk."

I wished I knew her well enough to venture guesses as to what was

going on in her mind. But I didn't. All I knew was that her presence

moved me, caused my body to react in ways I understood but did not

necessarily approve of.

Alex's gaze wandered over to the model, who sat patiently waiting

for me to continue, and I searched desperately for a sign of raw

attraction from her but saw none. It was rumored that she was gay and

seriously involved, but I didn't know for sure. We never really talked.

We just watched one another. I looked to her left hand and found the

simple gold band on her ring finger. I felt my face flush and glanced

down to my own similarly decorated ring finger. I didn't know what it

meant anymore. I knew what I wanted it to mean, but it wasn't totally up

to me.

I knew why Alex and Cal were there and readied to defend myself.

I gave a nod to my girl on the chair and set down my camera. ''Take a

break, Danny."

The young model rose hesitantly, her expression one of cautious

concern for me as the two executives folded their arms. Alex spoke first.

"What's going on here?"

The color of her eyes fooled me, wanting me to believe that she

was warm and passionate. Her tone, however, left me feeling chilled to

the bone.

''Cal tells me that you fired Isabelle."

I eased a hand down into one of the numerous pockets of my cargo

shorts and let the ocean breeze play with my hair. Even though I was

shook up, l had to remain calm. "Cal was mistaken." I glanced over at him and gave him an eat-shit-and-die grin. "I don't have the authority to fire models."

''Then exactly what is it that happened? Where is Isabelle?"

I shrugged, inwardly cursing at the mention of the high

maintenance, snotty model.

"I have no idea where she is."

Of course, in reality, I had a few good ideas of where I wanted her

to be. But they weren't nearly polite enough to mention.

''Why isn't she here, Gina?" Alex asked, her voice lowering with

frustration at my evasiveness.

I swallowed, strangely aroused at her sultry voice. My body and

mind continued to conflict over the effect she had on me, I cleared my

throat and forced myself to speak, "Because I refuse to shoot her."

I saw Alex's face lighten a little, glad, it seemed, to be getting an

honest answer. Her reaction caused more stirring inside. An elation of

sorts. My eyes skimmed over her pressed white polo blouse and khaki

shorts as I waited for her to respond.

"Why?"

An eyebrow rose over an amorous eye. She had caught me

looking. Oh shit.

I answered quickly, trying to sound as strong as I wished I were.

"She's not right for this cover,"

I heard Cal scoff next to her.

"It's not your call," he spat at me. "We decide who's right—"

I took a step toward him and cut him off, my anger growing. "It is my call. I'm the photographer; it's my ass on the line." I was no longer concerned about keeping my cool. "I'm doing what I was told—taking

this underwear account and making it appealing to the gay market."

I paused and felt a throbbing in my temple. He stood staring me

down and I felt like a pit bull, ready and raring to fight but chained back just out of reach.

"What's your point, Gina?" Alex asked.

"As a gay woman, I know what's hot. And Isabelle isn't it."

"She's the hottest model in the country!" Cal let out as if I were unbelievably stupid,

"I don't care who she is," I shot back. "She looks like a fucking skeleton and her attitude sucks." I crossed my arms over my chest. "She doesn't look gay."

Alex watched me carefully while Cal threw up his hands and

began to pace. "Show me what you've done."

I opened my mouth, expecting to have to explain myself, but then

snapped it shut in surprise. Instead, I moved to the monitor that rested on the table behind me. I touched the screen and brought up the recent

photos. First were the ones of Tony, the lean-looking Italian with a

strong jaw and body. He was beautiful and more than enough to get the

gay men drooling. Next were the few photos I had taken of Isabelle just

before she and I both exploded into temper tantrums, I grimaced at her

pale body and Easter egg-colored clothing and eagerly brought up the

photos of Danny, the athletic-looking young model I had personally

called in to replace Isabelle.

Alex studied the photos in silence. Cal came to stand directly

beside me and began making more dramatic noises as he looked over the

shots.

''These, they look, she looks..."

"Gay?" I questioned, this time with a tone that left him sounding completely stupid.

"Yes!" he cried out, before he could stop himself. I laughed at him and his face became livid with anger. "She's wearing men's underwear, for God's sake! This isn't what I wanted!"

I narrowed my eyes and shouted, "Lesbians aren't what straight

men and the media want them to be. We aren't all skinny, we aren't all

femmes. Isabelle isn't right for this shoot, and I refuse to waste my time with her."

Since Alex had no response, I began to pack up my equipment.

The asshole corporate suits would once again get their way, and I wasn't

about to go through it again. Too many times, too many shoots, I had

rolled over and obeyed against my art. I was fed up, sick and tired of the way gay women in America were being represented on television and in

magazines.

Alex spoke as I worked, ignoring the fact that I was taking apart

my camera. "I like what you've done. I'll show all of the photos at the meeting with the client. It'll be up to them." She eyed me matter-of-factly, then left with Cal nipping at her heels.

I finished the shoot in a daze, thankful that at least for the time

being, I still had a job. I covered my lenses when the sun went down and

dragged myself back to my hotel, ready for a long hot shower and a

good meal. Reverberating throughout the lobby were the unmistakable

sounds of steel drums and Caribbean song. I let the music soothe my

mind as I waited for the elevator. The doors opened, I stepped in and

pushed the button for the fifth floor. I was alone, but just as the doors

began to slide shut, Alex slipped in. She stood next to me, offering me a

slight smile. The elevator rose and hummed, and we stood and stared at

the ground. Inwardly, my heart increased to a maddening pace. I caught

her scent, which I unconsciously compared to her eyes. Warm and fiery.

"You did great work today," she said, startling me.

I raised my eyes to find hers resting on me. My skin tingled at the

softness of their caress. The sun had kissed her cheeks and arms and

there appeared to be sparks in her eyes. Golden sparks. She smiled

again. Easy and relaxed, a bit crooked.

"Thanks." I fought off the stutters and, strangely nervous, kept talking. ''The whole Isabelle thing..."

She raised a hand and cut me off. ''No need to explain. I couldn't

agree with you more."

Shocked, I felt my jaw fall open. "Really?"

"Yes." The elevator stopped and the doors opened. "This your floor?"

"Yes."

She motioned with her hand, allowing me to exit first.

Surprisingly, she walked next to me and continued to talk as we made

our way down the hall.

"I really like what you did. I think every lesbian who sees those

ads will agree. They're hot."

"You think the head honchos will go for them?"

She gave me another easy grin. "I know what they'll choose

because it's my job to know. Your work is hot, tempting, edgy. They

would be crazy not to run those photos of Danny in every gay magazine

and newspaper there is."

I felt my face flush in response to her praise. The fact that she was

older than me and was my boss only seemed to heighten my attraction to

her.

She stopped and pulled out her key card. Her room was right next

to mind. Again, heat rushed to my skin as that realization settled in my

mind.

"Thanks," I managed, reaching in my back pocket for my own

room key.

"Don't mention it. Keep up the good work."

She left me with another smile and a lingering look that skimmed

over my mouth before returning to my eyes. Her door closed, and I was

alone and breathless with her fading scent. I stared after her for what felt like an eternity, feeling like a fool with a mad crush—tempted to tell her but wanting to run from her.

When I finally went in, my room was dark and cool, the steady

drone of the air conditioner the only sound. I made my way to my bed

and sank down. Resisting the urge to let sleep wash away all my

thoughts, I switched on the bedside lamp and reached for the phone. I

kicked off my sandals and rested one foot over the other. I could still

feel some remnants of sand, grains that were like the shards in my mind,

still sticking to me, rough reminders.

I dreaded the phone call to her and hated myself for dreading it. I

had lost more than just weight the past couple of months. I had lost faith and knew deep down that I had lost her. Her line rang five times before

she picked up. And when she did, she sounded like she had the day

before. And the day before that.

Beaten, sad, distant.

"Hello." She knew it was me. I could tell by her tone. I could also tell that she had been drinking. Had it been anyone else on the line, she

would've sounded more her usual self. She always seemed to play it up

for me.

"Hi." I spoke softly and lightly, already on guard and wary of her state of mind.

"Hello," she repeated, this time in a sullen greeting.

"How are you?"

"Fine." Her voice raised a pitch as she slurred.

"You don't sound fine."

Silence.

I hated this. Hated this goddamned game she always seemed to

want to play.

"I miss you," I confessed, hoping it would help to open her up a bit.

''No, you don't, but that's okay."

I clenched the receiver tightly, frustrated. Here we go again. She was going to tell me how it was that I felt.

"I do miss you. More than you know." I missed us. The way we

used to be.

She laughed. "It's okay; you don't have to do this. I know you don't

miss me."

God damn it. I wanted to hurl the phone across the room. I was so

sick and tired of this. "Don't tell me how I feel."

She paused a moment, sighing. "Look, you need to just forget

about me. Just stop thinking about me."

"Baby, listen to me, please. I love you. Can't you just accept that?"

My voice quaked with emotion. She was killing me inside. Slowly and

surely.

"I don't disbelieve that you think that you love me."

That was it. That was her response.

Oh God. I collapsed against the bed, the phone clutched to my

chest. My body shook with quiet sobs. I couldn't do this anymore. I just

couldn't I heard her continuing on from the receiver, oblivious that I

wasn't listening. I didn't know what to do. How to feel. I only knew that

I could no longer bang my head against the wall just to convince her that

I loved her. Not when she wasn't willing to accept it. It was useless.

I rose up and tentatively placed the phone to my ear. She seemed to

hear my shaky breaths, the hitching in my throat.

"I don't know what to do," I confessed.

"Yes, you do."

She didn't slur those last few words; in fact, she sounded assured

and calm. I hung up. It hurt. Hurt so badly. I stood and hastily wiped the wetness from my face, angry and torn. It was the first time I had allowed

these feelings to manifest. I was finally ready to let them out after weeks of pushing them down, trying desperately to convince her.

I walked into the bathroom and stripped off my clothes. I turned

the water on as hot as I could stand it. I stepped in and let it assault my skin, punishing the sand and sun from my body but doing little to erase

her words, her final surrender. It beat down on me, just like her mood,

steady and hard and painful. And I let it. Let it until it turned icy and

cold.

When I emerged I grabbed a towel and patted my tender skin dry,

eyeing myself in the mirror. The woman there appeared wounded, her

eyes deep and lost. My throat tightened and I knew I had to get out of

there. I couldn't stand to look at her.

I dressed quickly, jeans and a tank top. I said fuck it to the bra and

headed out with my nipples hard little stones under the tight cotton. The

air outside felt cool and fresh and I welcomed it as I hailed a cab. I rode in silence and paid the driver extra for allowing me to. The sea breeze

kicked up as I made my way to the door. I could already hear the music,

loud, thumping, wild. Several laughing men lingered around the

entrance and they openly eyed me as I went inside. The bartender

glanced at me and then did a double take as he poured a shot of whiskey

for someone else. Sensing but ignoring the questions in his eyes, I

ordered:

"Give me two of those."

Slowly he retrieved two more shot glasses and turned them right

side up. "You know where you are?"

"Yes."

My answer wasn't good enough, though. After handing another

patron and me our drinks, he motioned with his hands.

"These are all men here."

I downed the burning liquid. "You're very observant."

He wasn't impressed. "There's no women here, honey."

I downed the other shot, squeezed my eyes shut at its strength, and

said, "There is now,"

I left him and his gender problem behind and walked right onto the

crowded dance floor. I stood and stared up into the searching lights,

allowing the warm, muggy air to lull me. Slowly, I began to move. The

bass shook me to my bones and the thump rattled in my chest. It moved

me. In every way possible. And then, like a miracle, I began to feel free.

I melted into the music and into those around me. We were all one,

a slave to the beat, pulsing and gyrating, hips brushing hips, breath

kissing breath. I raised my arms and felt strong hands on my waist. A

man moved in front of me, facing me with a grin. He was smaller than

me and shirtless, with a playfulness in his eyes.

"I spy something different."

Then the hands from behind gave way and another voice, this one

in my ear, said, "Something with tits."

I felt him move and watched as be rounded me to join his shirtless

companion, tossing an arm around him.

"You are hot, though," he continued, stroking his chin as he looked me up and down. ''Okay, you can stay!"

The song changed, mixing slowly but surely into a new rhythm.

The guys continued to dance around me and we moved together, like a

well-oiled machine. They touched me and I touched them. It wasn't

sexual. It was the beast of the beat. Our bodies glistened and pumped. I

felt connected, I felt wanted, I felt good. My eyes drifted closed as my

arms raised over my head. I felt hands on my torso, inching up under my

tank top but stopping below my breasts. I was sexy, yet I was safe. It

was wonderful. I opened my eyes and focused through the thick haze of

grinding, pulsing bodies. I blinked. Once, then twice.

I stopped moving. My breath hissed from my chest. Alex. She was

there. Standing along the back wall. Watching me. My body tensed at

her stare, my heart pounded with sudden need. Oh God. I wanted her,

wanted her not only to watch, but to touch, to put her mouth on me. I

swallowed hard and did the only thing I could do. I danced.

With my eyes fastened to hers, I slithered and pulsed, lacing my

hands over my partner's as he glided his over my exposed torso. I

pretended he was her and I showed her what it would be like if he were.

I tilted my head back in pleasure and writhed beneath his touch. I saw

her jaw clench with intent and, wanting more of that from her, I reached

out and pulled the small man in front of me closer. I ran my hands

deliberately over his moist chest and abdomen, stroking him as if he

were her. They moved into me, one from behind, one in front. We

rubbed and touched and breathed. I watched her watching me. I saw her

eyes flash with a molten amber desire. She was turned on. Dangerously

so.

She pushed off from the wall and strode closer, skirting the dance

floor. She stalked slowly, like a deliberate predator, watching me as she

moved, a sleek black huntress in dark jeans and black sleeveless shirt.

She circled us from a distance and I followed her, turning, drawn to her

eyes, drawn to her desire. She neared the waving chain wall that led to

another room. She stood staring at me. Waiting for me.

Hypnotized, I left my partners and headed for her. I made my way

through scores of dancers, my sights trained firmly ahead, holding her to

me like the force field of a magnet. People around us parted ways, the

music grew foggy and distant, time seemed to slow. I reached for her as

I drew closer. I cupped her fiercely warm face and slid into her. My

mouth found hers with a hunger I had never experienced before. I

plunged into her, over and over, claiming all that she gave me. She felt

hot and slick and hungry. Her fingers tangled in my hair, holding me to

her. Her tongue swirled around mine aggressively and I heard her groan

with an insatiable desire. Her body rubbed up against mine and she

tugged my head back. When our lips parted, mine tingled, full with

excited blood.

"This way," she breathed, her eyes flashing with yearning.

She pulled me along after her, her free arm shoving back the

dangling chains. We hurried, passing numerous shadowy figures, all of

them locked in various shapes of embrace. We reached the far wall and

she turned, yanking me to her. Immediately, I grabbed her hands and

pressed them up against the wall. I kissed her just as aggressively, hard

and fast, long and wet. She groaned again as I pressed into her, holding

her captive. Desperate for more of her, I tore my mouth from hers and

attacked her neck. I felt her flinch under my teeth and she whispered

raggedly in my ear.

"Don't leave any marks."

The fire inside me flared dangerously. The fact that she belonged

to another only heightened my desire. The rage and hurt from my own

relationship pounded through me, turning me into a hungry, ravenous

being. I needed her, needed this. I kissed her again, determined and

driven to have her. She kissed me back, battling for dominance. I was

stronger and hell-bent on getting my way. I craved her skin and

assaulted her neck like a thirsty creature of the night. She squirmed

beneath me and freed her hands from mine. She pulled on my head,

breathing again about marks. But I refused to hear her and kept on, again

sucking her.

She tasted so good. Hot and sweet. I ran my hands up under her

shirt and squeezed the warm weight of her breasts. She arched into me,

still tugging on my hair. I found her nipples and pinched. She cried out

and then clenched her teeth just before she jerked me in for another

heated kiss. As our tongues dueled, I reached down to her jeans and

quickly unbuttoned the fly. She stole her mouth from mine as I shoved

the denim down over her hips.

"Hurry. Oh God, hurry." Her breath tickled my neck.

Other voices and soft cries floated to us, encouraging. She began to

buck in their rhythm, desperate for the pleasures they felt. With her

pants pulled halfway down and her demands in my ear, I reached out

and cupped her layered flesh through her panties, rubbing the heel of my

hand against her shaft. She tensed powerfully and bit into my shoulder. I

felt her wet heat and felt my own crotch flood with excitement. She was

so incredibly hot, and alive, and ready. I had to have more. Had to feel

more. She wanted it too.

I tore down her underwear and slammed her back harder against

the wall. She looked into my eyes like a desperate, dying creature.

"Make me come," she insisted. "'Now."

She leaned forward slightly and teased my lower lip with her teeth

as she spoke. "Hurry, Gina."

A low moan came from within me. I kissed her forcefully as my

hand found her slick, hot core. She shuddered and cried into my mouth

as my fingers edged her blood-filled clitoris, stroking up and down the

sides, playing it just right. She turned her head, desperate for the breaths that weren't coming. I moved my hand lower, gathered the warm silk

pooled at her hole and spread it over and around her growing cleft.

I rubbed and stroked her, forcing the pleasure to build. She

quivered at the direct contact and I knew she couldn't take much more.

With my fingers adequately lubricated with her desire, I stopped the

sensual assault and pushed up into her, nearly lifting her off her feet. Her eyes flew open, wide with intense pleasure. A hoarse gasp escaped her

as I braced myself to take her weight. She hugged my shoulders tightly

as I lifted and supported her left leg, holding her open to me. Her body

bore down on me, encasing my fingers, swallowing them up inside. I

pumped her slowly at first, long and deep, loving the feel of her all wet

and tight. She made low, throaty noises and continued to close her eyes

tightly and then open them in surprise as each wave of ecstasy washed

through her. Tiny beads of sweat formed on her upper lip, the pleasure I

was milking coming to the surface.

"Please," she managed to say. "Fuck me."

Her eyes held mine and I saw the erotic haze cloud her pupils. My

insides burned brighter with white-hot beat and I pumped her shorter,

harder, faster. She tossed her head back and strained her neck.

"Mmm. Mmm."

She couldn't speak, but I didn't need her to. My fingers fed her,

filled her, fucked her. I pushed my thumb forward and found her

twitching clit. Her body tightened as my hand performed its incredible

magic.

I kissed her and found that she was barely able to kiss me back. I

looked into her face and wanted to get lost in her. I wanted to crawl back down inside her with every inhalation she took, wanted to curl up in the

warm confines of her soul. She seemed to sense this and focused on me.

We spoke. We shared. We welcomed.

And then she came.

Her soul bled into mine and we swam there in that warm tide of

raw existence for what felt like an eternity. Her body tensed and then

shook, her eyes clenched and then devoured, her mouth moved and then

silenced. Eventually she let out a long sigh and fell limp against me. I

moved cautiously and slid my fingers out of her tight, pulsing crevice. I

stood back and watched as she dressed herself. My hand felt heavy and

stiff and I opened and closed it, feeling the sticky wet of her against my skin. She buttoned her fly and gazed at me. I expected her to speak but

was surprised and startled when she grabbed my neck and pulled me to

her for a kiss.

It was softer than before, but more deliberate. Her full lips sucked

mine, her tongue rimming them, teasing them. And then, in an instant,

she turned my body and shoved me up against the wall. Her hands

pressed into my chest, ensuring I wouldn't escape. She slowly licked her

lips and lowered her hands. I reached for her wrists, not sure I was ready for what was in her hungry eyes. It would be a huge exposure on my

part. And the final blow to my already sinking relationship.

She seemed to sense this, sensed how close I was to the edge. She

fought me gently, encouraging me, and tugged open my jeans with a

mischievous laugh.

She dropped to her knees and held me firm by my pants. Inch by

inch they went, exposing the heated skin of my thighs. Her breath sent

shock waves of lust up my spine, causing me to gasp and grab hold of

her head. I held her back, unable to take it and unsure of my desire.

Fucking her was one thing, but letting her fuck me was another. My

head swam in a sea of confusion, lust, and betrayal. Her fiery eyes

looked up into me, slowly baking into my conscience, sweetening it,

warming it, seducing it with pleasurable promises.

My hand fell to my side, useless. My other remained in her hair as

she leaned closer to my center. I watched her lower her gaze and extend

her tongue. She worked her way up my thighs to my panties and I nearly

collapsed as my knees buckled from the warm, velvety caress. She

braced my hips with her hands and moaned as she licked her way to the

soaking cotton that held my flesh. Her tongue flattened against the fabric of the panties, stroking me up and down with just enough pressure to

make me buck. My hand tightened in her hair. Suddenly I didn't think I

could continue. I heard someone climax not far from where we were. It

sounded wild and low, like a howling animal.

"I...I can' t," I rasped. This wasn't what I really wanted. This wasn't where I wanted to be. And she, she wasn't who I wanted.

She looked up at me. "Yes, you can. I'll make sure you can."

She started to pull my panties down but I stopped her, thinking

somehow that if they remained, I would be okay, things would be okay.

She studied me a moment, as if trying to understand. Then she moved

into me again, this time rimming her tongue under the seams of my

panties. I swallowed hard and tilted my head as the pleasure raced up

through me. She teased my clit by stretching her tongue to lightly skim it and then pulled away back to the edge. I shivered as she traced all

around me, over and over, shooting for my clit in quick, torturous

movements. Unknowingly, I rocked my hips into her, my body growing

desperate for more.

She conceded and pressed her face into me, her mouth and tongue

alive and feeding, sucking me through my panties. I cried out and held

her head to me. The pleasure was great but not nearly enough. It was

killing me, and suddenly I was reminded of the desperate look in her

eyes just moments ago. I was now feeling the intensity she had felt. She

sucked me harder, groaning into me. I groaned back, panting, dying. It

wasn't enough, dear God it wasn't enough. And I had to have it.

Hastily and nearly trembling, I moved my hand from her hair and

tugged at the side of my underwear, exposing my craving, starving flesh.

She stopped long enough to let me and then refastened onto me. She fed

my aching flesh its pleasure and then fed herself with the reward of my

nectar. My mouth fell open and sounds escaped me as the pleasure

intensified. I shoved into her, loving it, loving every last bit of it.

I looked down at her head and watched it bob back and forth, my

meat held firm between her powerful lips. I came as I watched her work

me. My legs stiffened and I pushed myself into her forcefully, insisting

she take all of me. She held me in her mouth for ages, swirling her

tongue around the captured flesh. I clung to her head and shuddered, my

breath coming out in short groaning grunts.

"Fuck," I managed, my eyes closed.

"Mmm," she moaned.

I stilled as the last bolt of satisfaction shot through me, electrifying

every cell. My legs trembled and my heart pounded in my ears. I felt her

release me and then lick me long and hard with her flattened tongue. I

twitched and groaned and nearly fell, unable to take any more. I heard

her laugh, but it was faded and distant. My limp body leaned against the

wall as my mind began to settle. When I opened my eyes she was

standing before me, that sexy crooked grin on her face, my come

glistening on her chin. She reached down and gently grasped my jeans

and brought them up. My hands came to life and I managed to button

them without assistance.

She was watching me curiously, seeming to enjoy the way I was

trying to pull myself together.

'That was hot," she said, leaning into me, nipping at my ear.

"Yes," I agreed, feeling a strange, lethargic calm come over me.

"Yes, it was."

We left right after that and shared a silent cab ride back to the

hotel. She took my face in her hands and kissed me long and tender in

the elevator. It lasted the whole way up. We said good night in front of

our separate rooms. I let myself in. I didn't bother with the lights. I just threw myself down on the bed and fell fast asleep.

When I woke in the morning I didn't know where I was. I had been

dreaming I was at home and in her arms and everything was okay. Just

like it used to be. I sat up and turned on the bedside lamp and let my

heavy head fall into my hands. I felt guilt, cold and heavy. It stabbed me, plunged into my heart sharply. I wanted her, wanted us. Eventually I sat

down and lifted the phone. I dialed her number but she didn't answer. I

left her messages pleading with her to talk to me, insisting that we could work it out somehow, but got no response. I paced. Then I called our

voice mail and typed in our code. There were no messages to retrieve.

She had heard them all.

I dropped the receiver and let it hang itself an inch from the floor. I

sat there for hours, staring at the sunlight that was desperate and bright around the pulled-tight curtains. I finally rose and stood like a zombie in a shower that was cold but that I couldn't manage to feel.

∴

And that's what brings me to the here and now. This is why I'm

smoking the cigarettes that I don't want, wishing for rain when there isn't a cloud in the sky. I'm in pain and wanting, needing for everything around me to reflect that. But it doesn't. The world keeps on turning,

mocking my pain, knowing but not caring.

I shared my story because I had hoped it would help, but now I just

feel worse. Now I am all alone and torn and hurt. And exposed. Do you

care? I doubt it. We all have problems and you're probably saying that I

deserve this pain. I betrayed myself and my love.

I agree. Maybe I do deserve this.

A soft knock calls from my door. I rise and walk slowly to it. The

peephole shows me it's Alex. I breathe deep, my insides still in painful

turmoil. I open the door and lean forward to peek out.

"Hi." She's grinning at me and she looks fresh and alive and

alluring. Her scent sends my beaten heart racing.

"Hi." I'm unable to smile back and my face feels like stone.

She reaches up and brushes my cheek and instantly I feel hot blood

surge some life back into it.

Now for those of you who already dislike me, this won't come as a

surprise. But for those of you who have yet to make up your mind or are

holding out hope for me, this will seal the deal. Because despite my

raging turmoil, devastating guilt, and inner determination to get back

what I lost, I find myself pushing the door open the rest of the way. I

stand still and watch in silence as she enters, her hand trailing down my

chest as she walks past me. She turns then in front of the bed and raises

her hands to her neck.

"There aren't any marks, are there?"

I shove the door closed behind me and walk with singular intent up

to her.

"No, there aren't any marks," I reassure her, my breath quickening in response to my need.

But there will be this time.

KNOCKING BOOTS

EVECHO

One Day Only

"Butchin' Back"

B/Bs and Friends

UNCENSORED

Come as you are

oon nervously wiped her nose, scratched her eyebrow, then

dragged her fingers through her spiky hair and on down to play

B over the soft fuzz at the back of her neck. Her hairline was neat

and freshly shorn that morning, something she loved to touch or have

someone pet, usually someone like the cute femme sitting across from

her who was devouring a falafel salad and sipping on a mango smoothie.

Her leg started bouncing faster in an effort to bleed off the

butterflies building up in her stomach. She smiled tightly at her date but her mind was preoccupied with nervousness and impatience. Boon

swapped the vibrant wagging to her other leg, slower this time.

It seemed the lunch dragged interminably, but when Boon picked

up the bill, her watch showed that it was only three p.m. Much too early, isn’t it?

She pulled out her battered wallet, which was linked to her belt

loop by a thin chain. Inside was a card that announced the party she had

been waiting for, the one slated for one day only—today. It was a

closed-door affair for butches at the new bathhouse, and Boon had

screwed up her courage to go. She stared unseeing at the card lying

squashed among scraps of paper and phone numbers in her wallet. For

the first time since she came out, Boon was about to admit to liking

another kind of woman.

"Yeah, later, babe," she said, winking at the girl who had scored a free meal from her. As soon as they parted, Boon began walking to her

destination. Her feet stomped on the pavement, past the adult and record

shops, and past the urbanwear stores where she bought half her clothes.

She looked at the women headed in the same direction, wondering if she

would meet them there.

Naked! I'm going to a bathhouse for a naked butch party! She

thought giddily. Immediately, she stopped to inspect her attire of ragged

denim shorts, dykey-T and boots, reflected in a shop window. Will they let me in? She knew that she appeared underage, what with her

androgynous boi looks, but so did most of the club scene. Except that

this wasn't a dance club. Boon trembled at the possibilities of what

might happen today.

I have to know. No one else could come with her. She had picked

up the flyer and hidden it in her pocket because she wasn't confident that her mates would understand. They were all young, and although

raucously open about their sexuality, Boon didn't think they would be

that open with her if they knew about her secret fantasy.

The venue's frontage appeared like a closed shop. It was discreetly

painted dark brown with the lot number stenciled in white on a side

panel. There were a few women milling outside, smoking and chatting.

Boon eyed a few of the obvious patrons; one had white crew-cut hair

and a sleeveless denim jacket that showed her thick arms and big chest,

and another, dressed in a leather body suit, was parking her bike. Boon

walked straight through the loose crowd, keeping her eyes forward even

as she felt theirs checking her out. Her skin prickled and she was very

aware of her street hip clothes—her legs were bare from mid-knee to

ankle and her top felt very thin. Her denim shorts were suddenly rough

and scratchy, and her boots clompy. Boon felt as nervous as an imposter,

or a virgin.

The bouncer at the door exchanged her ticket for a white wristband

before letting her enter. Inside, the foyer was comfortably lit for

business. Boon got into the queue so she could nonchalantly peruse the

room without being too obvious. There were at least twenty hot women

in the lobby distracting her. For one day a month, the whole building

was women's space, but today was a special-themed event. Boon was

aware that by standing in view, she was putting herself on display.

When it was her turn at the counter, she was given a transparent

packet containing information and safe sex kits. After a quick laser scan

of her wristlet, a locker key was provided. When asked, Boon nodded

and paid $10 for two towels and shower gel.

''There's information and a map of the venue inside this bag. Lube

and rubbers are available on every floor and in the play areas. If you're

not sure what to do or what to use, ask the guides who will be patrolling

the venue. They're the ones in the fluoro green shirts you can see in the

dark." Boon's head was reeling from the instructions. The woman

stopped talking when she saw the lost look on Boon's face. Gently, she

smiled and asked, "First time at a play party?"

Boon nodded, she was so embarrassed. The brown-haired butch

with the happy eyes was being so kind. She swallowed. "Yes."

"You'll be fine." A locker key was looped into Boon's wristband.

"You can come out anytime to the chill-out area on the first floor where nothing happens. There, you can rest and eat, or watch the movies and

sports on the big screen."

The greeter then pressed on Boon's hand and assured her, "You can

always say no. Just be sure where you're at." She winked. "Rules are posted everywhere and the guides are happy to help, just don't try to get

them frisky—they have a job to do."

Boon smiled at that, feeling slightly better. Then they went over

the map together before Boon headed through the turnstile for the

lockers. The glass tunnel to the showers and lockers afforded a view of

the gym. There were quite a few women there, mainly around the free

weights. Boon wondered if the Spandex-clad muscular women would be

interested in her small, slim self. One of the rules was "no sex in the gym," as it was unsafe. Looking at the sweat running down bulging

limbs, Boon could imagine that other fluids on the equipment and

benches might cause injury.

Rows of lockers and benches in the changing room were set out for

utility, but the choice of a closed or open shower was for pleasure as

well as cleanliness. Boon was suddenly thrown into nude company,

although not all the women were naked—most were partially clothed.

The ruling attire seemed to be towels, sport bras, singlets, or shorts.

Boon tried not to stare but she gloried in the variety of women there for

a single purpose.

She found her locker and started putting her stuff away, but

hesitated at her clothes. She hadn't brought any spare—she wasn't even

wearing underwear! Taking a deep breath, Boon looked around and saw

short-haired women dressing and undressing, one had her ass slapped as

she was slipping on a harness, and a couple of bois walked around

boldly wearing only tight Jockey shorts. Swiftly, before she could think

about it, Boon yanked off her top and chucked it into her locker before

slamming the door shut, only to open it again to grab a safe sex kit. Then she strolled casually around the back to the showers.

By the time she left the area, her nipples were tightly raised and

she was slightly wet from watching women washing themselves, a few

deliberately alone and others making out under the open showers. She

had been surprised to see some naked couples kissing and fondling each

other gently while others were more intent; the prison shower scene she

had expected from watching bad porn was not there at all.

Exiting the bright section, Boon turned a comer and saw a couple

kissing. A stout brunette butch was holding a lean blonde, possessively

running her hands up and down her sides as they kissed hungrily. They

were both wearing jeans and polo shirts with the bathhouse's logo, but

the blonde had one band inside the other's fly. Boon was surprised, until

the brunette opened a door marked "Manager" and they both stumbled inside.

Turned on now, Boon wandered up a floor. She knew from the

map that there were play areas, saunas, a pool, and private rooms where

she could see more of what she wanted, or participate. Her nervousness

was all but gone, replaced by a low-level flame in her gut. Her breathing

was becoming steadily heavier as she caught glimpses and heard

unmistakable sounds from the rooms she passed.

The farther inside she went, the darker it got, until she came to a

curtained area that separated an almost pitch black section from the rest

of the floor. The guide nodded to her as she slipped past the curtain—

into darkness filled with slurping, sucking sighs, and moans that gave

away the purpose of the room. It was the sex space for anonymous

encounters known as the Back Room.

No sooner had Boon walked in when she felt hands on her bare

torso. One pair was joined by another; a body rubbed against her back,

and lips descended on her shoulders and neck. Her breasts were covered

and played with, the hands switching and flowing all over her body,

front and back. Boon was drowning in the acute awareness of sensation

that blindness brings. She felt a tug and her shorts being unbuttoned

even as a large hand covered her wet crotch and squeezed her through

the denim. Reaching back. Boon grabbed long hair, and it suddenly

confused her.

''No,'' Boon gasped. She stopped the hands at her waist. Why did I

stop them? Long hair, what's wrong with long hair? It reminded Boon of femmes, and that struck her wrong somehow.

"No?" a deep voice rumbled into her ear. "You sure?"

The woman behind ground her bulge into Boon's ass and that

confused her even more. Boon hadn't been prepared for a packing

femme.

The hands lifted off and she felt the coolness of two departing

bodies. Alive in the darkness, she could see wristbands floating eerily in motion. The intrusive light of the exit signs barely touched the occupants of the room, but she could hear them and feel the heat. She could smell

the arousal in the room, and she almost fell on her knees to search for a

source. Instead, she turned around, saw the slit in the curtain, and rushed out into cool air that washed over her sweating body.

Hurrying to the nearby washrooms, she quickly chose the first stall

inside. The short swinging doors didn't have locks, but Boon didn't

notice. She sat on the toilet, cradling her head. She hadn't been prepared for the sexual overload of the Back Room, but the effect it had had on

her was apparent. The coldness of the tiles slithered up her bare back as

she leaned backward and slipped her hand into her unbuttoned shorts.

She was slick wet. Boon closed her eyes and touched herself to the

memory of the room she had just left.

The creak of door hinges didn't break her concentration until she

felt the presence of another. Boon opened her heavy-lidded eyes to see

an Amazon inside her cubicle. The woman was massively buff, square-

jawed, and had long blond hair in a ponytail trailing on her collarbone.

She was also palming the cock that was poking out of her boxers as she

stared hungrily at Boon. They were both naked from the waist up.

Long hair! Boon fell to her knees when she realized who it was she had felt in the Back Room. Thank God.

The muscular woman moved two steps forward and offered Boon

her cock. Faced with the object of her fantasies, Boon parted her lips in

anticipation. She rubbed herself harder, almost delirious for her first

taste of girlcock. The blonde pumped her tool in her fist slowly,

teasingly, watching Boon tremble, fixated on her hand movements.

Boon's eyes glazed over with desperation as the cock slapped her face

lightly but was kept just out of reach of her chasing mouth. She seized

the pale shaft in a light grip and stretched out her tongue to taste it. The silicone toy was smooth but for its molded ridges. The Amazon held the

cock still at the base, dipped a finger inside herself, and smeared her

wetness on the head just before Boon engulfed it in her mouth. Boon

tasted the slight saltiness, and she relaxed her throat muscles to let the cock plunge in, slowly breathing through her nose and suppressing her

gag reflex. Now she could smell the heady muskiness when her nose

touched the blonde's groin. Boon sucked cock like it was the best thing

she ever ate.

To the groans of the butch, she took the light thrusts in her mouth,

one hand dropping to touch herself. The standing woman gently rubbed

Boon's hair, even the fuzz at her nape, while Boon acquainted herself

with the girth and length of her tool. Eventually the butch drew it out

and helped Boon stand up. Boon's face was red and saliva glistened on

her cheek. They kissed greedily. Boon almost swooned at the feel of the

hard body and strong arms enfolding her, an aggressive tongue already

plunging in and curling in her mouth. This time, she didn't resist when

her shorts were dropped. Big hands covered her buttocks and squeezed,

spreading the cheeks for thick fingers to snake in.

Boon was dizzy with desire as she was turned to face the stall wall.

The big butch took Boon's hands and placed them at the top of the short

partition, covering them there with her own. She kissed and placed nips

all over Boon's arms, shoulders, and upper back. Her hips were mock

thrusting, sliding the dildo between Boon's buttocks. Boon whimpered

with need, knowingly preparing herself for what she wanted. Her ass

was humping back but she couldn't move much as the blonde had her

trapped tight against the wall.

She failed to notice the glory hole at crotch level until she felt a

light touch on her pussy. Someone on the other side of the wall spread

her cuntlips and latched onto her clit. The hot mouth sucking her clit into range of a flicking tongue was a new distraction, and Boon moaned

loudly. The hard body immobilizing her against the wall, but making her

accessible to an anonymous licker, was a restraint on her movements but

not her rising response. The cock slid into her easily from behind, and it continued to slide in and out effortlessly. The controlled movements of

the woman fucking her and her own juices were easing the dildo's

passage. Boon moaned and writhed, trying to have more of both—

fucked from the back and eaten out in front. But if she moved as she

wanted, she would lose one or the other, so she remained in place,

pinned as much by her desire as by the conspiring actions of her lovers.

Then, notching up a gear, the butch started banging her harder,

hard enough to shake the stall wall, and the person eating her out

changed her tongue swipes. They kept up the rhythm even when Boon

cried out, coming again and again, not stopping until they were satisfied.

Multiple orgasms later, Boon slumped back totally on the butch behind

her, who lightly strummed her erect nipples and nuzzled her ear. Boon's

legs were shaking.

"Yes?" the Amazon chuckled.

Boon nodded, her mouth too dry for speech. Her clit was still

pulsing and her inner thighs warm.

The butch kissed her and said quietly, "Thanks." Then she gently sat Boon down on the toilet and left.

Boon didn't know how long she stayed in the stall, but an insistent

sound from outside seeped into her attention. She leaned forward and

peered through the glory hole to see two women fucking on a sink. One

of them was balanced on the basin, her knees held up until her booted

feet were almost at ear height. She was spread open for the tall woman

fisting her. The sight of the red vulva receiving the hand sunk up to the

forearm, two bald women in boots fucking each other's brains out,

almost made Boon groan out loud as her clit throbbed to life. She

cupped herself as if to contain the flowing abundance the view caused.

Boon watched the coupling and stroked herself. The one receiving the

hand was chanting, "Yeah, yeah, fuck, yeah," while the other woman's reflection in the mirror revealed her delight. Suddenly, the one on the

sink shrieked her orgasm and both women grimaced at the clutch of

vaginal muscles. They stopped moving to kiss and touch each other's

faces tenderly. Then Boon saw the tall woman's arm slowly rotate and

pump slightly and her other hand fall on her lover's clit. Their murmurs

started up, but Boon stepped into her shorts and quickly slipped out of

the washroom to leave them some privacy.

As Boon descended the back stairs, the smell of chlorine rose up to

let her know she was nearing the indoor pool. She followed the sounds

of splashing and echoing voices to the largest play area in the house.

Under the cooperative natural light, it was full on with butches and bois

engaged in fucking, licking, jacking, watching, and playing in the water.

Swimming wasn't a prescribed activity.

Boon shed her shorts and boots and walked the length of the pool.

She had left her inhibitions with her clothes and now she openly prowled

for any takers.

She made eyes with a thin boi who was watching her. With an

incline of her head, she followed the boi to a shallow alcove within sight and sound of the whole area. Boon pushed aside towels and shoes before

sitting open-legged on the stone bench. The boi immediately knelt

between her ankles. Boon could not take her eyes from the orgy around

her. She was so turned on by the unbridled display of butch love that she

could feel her juices seeping out of her crumpled pussy lips.

The boi lifted Boon's left foot and cleaned it with her tongue, then

moved up to perform cunnilingus between Boon's toes. Boon watched,

fascinated. Experimentally, she moved her other foot under the boi and

rubbed the distended clit with her big toe. The boi's thighs spread farther apart, inviting Boon inside. Boon poked her lower digits into the moist

crevice but brought them out to pedal the boi's clit when it became clear

that she was jacking off on Boon's foot. The boi's squatting position

opened her up easily, and she held onto Boon's leg as she skewered

herself on Boon's foot. Boon couldn't believe that she was fucking

someone with her foot.

The boi was moving energetically, faster and faster she bounced

until she shuddered and creamed Boon's foot completely. Sighing with a

small smile, she dropped to the floor and proceeded to lick the

appendage clean.

A naked woman, who had apparently been watching, came up and

quietly spoke to the hoi. As if reprimanded, the boi moved off with her

eyes lowered. The woman, Boon thought in awe, was a perfectly

sculpted female David, right up to her thick curly hair. She wasn't lean

or chunky or as buff as the Amazon earlier, but her abs were tight and

her athletic upper body vee-d to a slim waist. Boon had never seen a

more beautiful butch. There were muscles showing in all the right places

on this woman's body, and when she placed an arm on the bench, Boon

had a ridiculous urge to worship it.

The butch woman smiled and sat next to Boon, watching Boon

drool over her body. She shifted to lie half propped against one side of

the alcove and opened her legs, placing one on the floor and the other on

the bench. She ran her hand over her pussy, spreading it open in

invitation. Two fingers pressed downward to raise her stiff clit.

Boon didn't wait. Her mouth was already watering at the sight of

the Adona and to be able to taste her pleasure sent her own clit swelling

up.

Boon took the opportunity to slide her hands over the tense abs

bunched in position. Her fingers bumped over cakes of muscle, soft and

hard impressions that mesmerized her, making her senses scream for

more contact with the incredible body.

A hand to the back of her head firmly guided Boon's face to the

butch's pussy. She wasted no time diving in, eager to please and hungry

for a taste. The woman placed one arm behind her own head and

watched Boon eat her out. Her lips parted as her tongue hung out and her

breath turned into excited pants. She kept her hand on Boon's head,

stroking her hair at first, then using it to direct the pressure. The pleased smile on her face flickered with each lick and suck at the right spot.

Boon used every technique she knew to raise the clit higher into

her mouth without making the woman come. She was getting off on

servicing the butch and having the gorgeous woman naked in her face.

When someone rubbed her ass and stroked her back, Boon tried to twist

round to see who was behind her, but the hand on her head gripped her

firmly in place. Someone strong lifted her ass and one of her legs onto

the bench. Boon whimpered when a thick cock was pushed into her cunt.

The butch in front of her suddenly captured her wrists in one big hand

and pushed her face back to the job she had abandoned when the cock

took her by surprise. The hands roaming her ass were now clasped to her

hips and leveraging the cock plowing into her.

Boon tried to concentrate on the erect clit in her mouth, but the

woman behind her really knew how to fuck. All three started moving to

an urgent rhythm, their grunts and labored breaths catching the attention

of the other women in the hall. The thrusts into Boon were short and

rapid now. Sensing that the choreographed coming would be dependent

on her as the link, Boon sucked hard on the clit and mercilessly tongue-

lashed it. She wanted both butches to come in or on her. The reclining

woman held Boon's head tight as she roared at her looming orgasm and

humped her pussy into Boon's mouth. Fingers found Boon's clit and

jacked her off just as the woman behind her drove her cock harder into

Boon, coming and jerking with loud groans.

When the threesome finally stopped moving, whistles and applause

pierced the pool room. Boon was trembling from the experience, but the

grin never left her face. Exhausted, she turned on her side, barely aware

when someone covered her with a warm towel, and fell asleep happy.