Wild Nights

by Therese Szymanski

  “Ooo, I like Reese’s.”

  I knew I should look at her eyes—into her eyes. Not . . . somewhere else.

  “You’re gonna miss the toy show,” Brian said into my ear.

  Angela was straight. I’d seen her with that boy, her boss, after all. “Uh, yeah. Right.”

  “You go,” Angela said. “Come back after, though. When you’re done watching.”

  Just to think, right before I’d left D.C. I’d stood in my bathroom and felt terribly middle-aged as I flossed my teeth. I mean, really, who flosses, except those in dire need of a real life? I’d suddenly realized I needed something to happen to help keep me young and alive.

  I needed An Adventure again. Be careful what you wish for.

  I was careful not to block anyone’s view. That meant I stood aside so they’d stop trying to put me front-row center. Hearing the wolf calls was enough to make me want to distance myself from all that was happening around me—that and still having the image of boys holding the girls by their tits in my mind.

  “C’mon, why won’t you let me borrow it?” the dude-with-nopenis asked reaching for my nightstick again.

  When other people visit sick relatives in the hospital, they bring flowers and cards. When I went from D.C. to Detroit to visit my big bro’ in the hospital, I took my combat boots. Turns out, I should’ve also brought my nightstick and handcuffs. Lord knows, my stick wasn’t as easily grabbable as this one was.

  There really was no response to such a statement—I mean, “No, you cannot use my nightstick to replace the penis you don’t actually have,” or “I know my stick’s bigger than yours,” just isn’t something I could say in that situation. It’d only instigate a fight or someone trying to strut his nonexistent stuff.

  It was only after all of this, and a few guys offering quite repeatedly to buy me lap dances that I finally gave in to one particularly tenacious fellow. I wasn’t sure if he was paying for the dance himself, or if he’d taken up a collection, but he kept coming back to me, offering me a dance, and not asking anything of me in return. Really, someone offers you a lap dance with a hot chick when you’re really getting hot and bothered, what are you going to say?

  So I ended up in the room I’d earlier helped setup for lap dances. Brian told me and the other john the rules (if I’d known another “john” would be in the room, I likely would’ve kept declining the dance, but . . . ), we could touch breasts and ass and . . . well, there was just one area off limits.

  Truth be told, I wondered if the laws had changed, or if this particular company just had different rules than what I was accustomed to from my days of managing an adult theatre in the early nineties.

  And then the music came on and all those thoughts left my head.

  Leeka was naked and on my lap, sliding herself against me. She kept her legs spread over me, the entire time. She started by rubbing herself down on me, grinding on me. She reached for my nightstick as it got in the way, and I removed it.

  When she spread her legs around my face, I saw that she was becoming increasingly wet and turned on. And I had yet to touch her. She had to push my face into her breasts, guide my hands down to her ass . . . pull them up over her inner thighs and up to cup her breasts.

  I realized what was expected of me and I teased her nipples and looked into her eyes.

  She leaned backward, putting her hands on the floor and placing my head between her thighs. I could smell her. And I could see her excitement. She brought my head as close to her pussy as possible without forcing my face into her.

  She wiggled and moved ever so slightly to the music, going through the moves she usually went through while giving someone a lap dance.

  Maybe her increasing arousal was because I didn’t grab, grasp and pinch like others did. I knew, as I quite clearly saw her get wetter and more aroused, that she was getting more turned on— and that it wasn’t merely that she was naked with her legs spread around my head.

  She gave me what I’m sure most guys would love: An up close and personal look at all of her most private parts. Which she’d already been displaying for everyone present that night. Maybe I got something extra special, but it lost meaning because she shared so much so casually.

  I was hot and disgusted with myself when I left that room. I’d just had my face between the thighs of a stripper. Bought for me by a man. But she was hot. I couldn’t help my physical responses, so . . . I was in a right wicked Catch-22.

  It made it really easy to turn down another lap dance, but then my dance patron slipped me a couple of bucks and told me to get a drink and tip the bartender.

  So I got a bottle of water and tried to walk away, but he sent me back.

  I said I couldn’t.

  He didn’t accept that.

  So I went back to Angela and said, “I’m supposed to do this.” I leaned forward and stuffed the bills into her cleavage.

  “Then I should do this,” she said, taking a deep breath as she pushed her breasts together with her arms, really showing off her cleavage.

  I stared for a moment. Then I looked away. She was really hot.

  “I’m new to this,” she said, reaching out, over the bar, to lay a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve never flirted with a woman before.”

  “So why are you now?” The words were out before I could double-think them.

  “Because you’re hot.”

  I think I chortled. Whatever noise I made, I can’t spell. But then I said, “I look short, squat and polyestered in this uniform.”

  That’s when my sister-in-law showed up and all the boys were big with the “It’s all good,” lines and lies and my night got a lot more difficult. If I had been myself when I was 18 it would’ve been no big, but now, her checkup had me trying to cover-up any mistakes I’d made.

  But later on, near the end of the night, after so many folks had been kicked out, and most of the cleaning was done, I realized I could smell Heather, Leeka and Angela on my uniform. Little did I know I’d remember that when my sister-in-law commented two days later that she didn’t need to wash that uniform.

  It was when my hands were chapped from the cleaning, when my mind was boggled from looking for cleaning stuff, when the illegal card game was down to a dozen folks in the lobby and I’d blocked the front door from the wandering gaze of passing police, that I was posting something fun online that I felt someone enter my space.

  I could see her reflection in the monitor, so I kept at my posting. Even as she walked up behind me, wrapped her arms around me, and rested her chin on my shoulder.

  “You’ve turned down all drinks,” she said into my ear. “I haven’t.”

  “So what does that mean?”

  She slid her hands down to cup my breasts. “It means I’m horny as hell and I know none of those boys out there can take care of it.”

  I pulled her hands away from me and turned around to face her. “So it’s just the alcohol talking, eh?”

  “Like hell you know,” she said, reaching up to twine her fingers in my hair and pull my face to hers. “You have no idea how much you’ve been turning me on all night long. I saw how you were around Heather and Leeka: Protective.” She ran her hands up my arms, under my short-sleeved shirt. “And you’re strong, with nice muscles, but you didn’t get all stupid around naked women like everyone else here.”

  “I’m really running out of self-control for tonight, though,” I said, putting my hands on her waist—to hold her away or pull her closer, I didn’t know.

  “Good.” She leaned up, flicked her tongue out to lick my lips, and as soon as she slipped it between them, I nipped it.

  “Bitch,” she said, caressing my lips with her smiling ones.

  I gave up. I kissed her back. Wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in tight, I kissed her, then went inside her, running my tongue alongside hers, playfully nipping. With all of the blatant and open sexuality of the night, what I’d really wanted was this sort of intimacy—kissing and gentle, easy touching
.

  “So you want me, huh?” I said.

  “God, yes,” she said, pushing herself up against me.

  She was just a straight girl playing with me, but I’d call her on her bluff. I kissed her roughly, shoving my tongue into her mouth as I picked her up, pushed my thigh between her legs, and threw her against a wall.

  She rode my thigh as I kissed and suckled on her neck.

  “Yes, Reese, yes,” she said, pushing my hands down to grab her ass, then slowly drawing them up to her breasts, even as I pushed harder and harder against her cunt, so hard that her feet left the floor. It was like she wanted me all over her. And this time, I wanted it—she wasn’t the A-ticket ride at Disney.

  But it was also as if she was emulating one of the dancer’s lap dances. Like she was making me be the man to her woman, but I was a woman as well. This woman was letting me somewhere special, giving something to me even as she wanted what I could give her. What she really wanted was to dance in a give-and-take.

  I tried to control myself as I lowered her to the floor, trying to overcome my own urgency and horniness as I reminded myself how good she felt, how soft she was, how wonderful she smelled. I ran my lips lightly over her earlobe. “What do you want?”

  “You.”

  “So you say. You ever been with a woman before?”

  “N-n-no,” she gasped, exposing her neck to me. She kept trying to control my hands, so I held hers by her sides while I kissed and nibbled on her neck and earlobes, licking along her collarbone and back up until our lips met again.

  Almost.

  She’d been running on alcohol and adrenaline earlier, but now I was making it all stop, making it all real.

  I pulled back from her, looking into her beautiful green eyes. I released her arms so I could take her face in my hands. I brushed my fingers back through her hair. “Angela . . . Are you sure you want this?”

  “Reese, I’m no virgin or little girl. As soon as you walked in . . . Well . . .” She took my hands in hers and intertwined our fingers. “I saw your hands.” She unzipped her tight jeans. “Fuck me. Hard.”

  I met her gaze, then grabbed both her wrists in one of my hands, holding her arms up above her head, and shoved my thigh between her legs so she opened her legs further and moaned. Hard.

  I didn’t need to hold back. I knew what she needed, and I’d provide it. I shoved up her top, pushing her bra up with it, so I could fondle her naked breasts, feeling her hardening nipples under my palms as I continued kissing her ears, neck and lips, even as I slid my hands into her panties.

  She pushed herself against my thigh even harder. “God.”

  “Don’t call me god. Yet.” I loved how soft and warm and wet and accommodating she was.

  “Somebody could . . .” she gasped, “walk in.” She didn’t push me away, she didn’t stop riding my thigh.

  “Yes, they could,” I said. I pushed her jeans and panties down to her knees, and shoved my leg into her cunt again. She smelled so good. I knew what she wanted, and I’d give it to her. My need was centered on making her feel really, really good, and I had a great big need to fulfill.

  “Oh fuck.”

  “They can walk in anywhere here, now. Are you more worried about them seeing you naked, or about them seeing you with another woman’s hand in your cunt?”

  “God, Reese, I’ve wanted this . . . for so long—”

  I left a nice hickey on her neck, and raced my right hand down her body, tickling lightly over her skin, down to her pussy. I wouldn’t make her come too soon, after all, the teasing is half the fun.

  “When I saw you tonight, I knew I needed to have you touch me like this.” She pushed my hand between her legs.

  I pulled my thigh back and slipped my fingers down to fondle her swollen pussy. I slid them up and down her wetness, slowly coating them. Coating my entire hand with her juices.

  I kissed her lips, her neck, down her cleavage till I sucked and nibbled at each of her tits, lightly biting each nipple in turn. I kept my free hand moving over her flesh, reminding her just how naked and exposed she was.

  And I slipped a finger, two, then three into her, even while flicking her clit with my thumb, feeling it up and down and pushing it back and forth as I fucked her and sucked her.

  I stood and whispered into her ear, “I’m about to shove my entire fist into you.”

  “Ahhhhh . . .”

  “And you’re gonna like it. A lot.” I bit her ear lightly. “I’m gonna fuck you like you ain’t ever been fucked before.” I mighta been polyestered, but I still knew what she wanted.

  “Uh!” She struggled slightly against me, but I kissed her and bit her neck while slipping a fourth finger into her and tweaking a nipple, hard.

  She groaned in pain, but didn’t struggle against me. Didn’t push me away. I thought about worrying, but, she didn’t stop me.

  I dropped to my knees and licked her pussy—all the way up, then all the way down, before flicking her clit with my tongue and teasing it with my teeth.

  Then I shoved my fist into her.

  All the way.

  And she pushed away. She pulled from me and slammed herself against the wall. But I was all the way inside her.

  So I continued to lick her, playing with her clit, her pussy, even while I moved my fist around inside her warmth, feeling her surrounding me, feeling her soft insides all around my fist.

  She was rigid against the wall. Her eyes shut. Her legs spread.

  She was on the brink of orgasm. Her coming for me was a gift to me, and I intended to take it for all it was worth—I’d make her gift pay back. Triple. After all, my sexual/pleasing-woman sense was driving.

  I caressed a tit with my free hand, feeling her up and then playing with her nipple.

  Her eyes were glued shut and a tear dropped from one. “Yes,” she said.

  I opened my hand inside her.

  “Please.”

  I fondled her insides.

  “Fuck.”

  She was all but squatting on my arm, sweat pouring off her. I went to town with my mouth. Licking, sucking, flicking.

  She rode my fist, my face.

  I started fucking her with my fist, pulling almost all the way out before shoving it back in, down past my wrist.

  “Oh god, oh god, oh god!” She screamed, her insides tightening on my fist so hard I thought she might break my hand, even as her come drained out of her.

  “I think—oh, no, not in here,” Leeka said from behind me. I turned briefly to see her and Heather stop in the doorway, keeping anyone behind them outside of the room. I glanced up just long enough to see Angela notice them as well.

  They obviously just wanted to see her come. So I made her come. Maybe I shoulda told her my real name and number. I’m sure the next time I floss I’d wish I’d done just that.

  Unrequited

  Kristina Wright

  What I remember most about that weekend with Julie was the couch. Even when I refuse to let myself remember the other stuff, because remembering the good also makes me remember how I got my heart broken, I still remember that damned couch. It was bright orange vinyl, a glossy, saggy relic left over from the seventies and destined to finish out its life as the crash pad for Julie’s friends. I spent one long, agonizing night on that orange couch and I can still remember the crackle and smell of the vinyl.

  “It came with the apartment,” Julie told me as she showed me around her small one-bedroom place. “Is it okay?”

  I tried to smile, but the couch didn’t look very comfortable. Still, it was the best, the only, choice I had. “Awesome. Thanks.”

  Julie had been the first one I’d called when I hit Atlanta. Truth was, Julie was the only one I’d thought to call, the only one I’d wanted to see. I was twenty-two and running south—nine hundred miles away from a nasty family situation to the one place I felt safe—Julie’s arms. I’d been in love with her almost since the day I’d met her, but she had no idea how I felt. As far as she was c
oncerned, we were best friends.

  Only friends.

  “I’d let you share my room, but Kevin moved back in last night.” She gave me a lascivious little wink that made my stomach flip-flop.

  Kevin was her on-again, off-again boyfriend. Things were on again, apparently.

  “The couch is great,” I said, eyeing the orange monstrosity dubiously. “I won’t stay long.”

  That last part cost me a lot to say. I wanted to stay forever. I wanted her to want me to stay forever.

  “Oh, please. You can stay as long as you want.” She handed me a pillow and blanket and grinned. “I’d better get to bed. Kevin wants to make up.”

  I tossed all night, the vinyl couch squeaking with every restless movement I made. Behind the closed bedroom door, I heard Julie and Kevin. The walls were as thin as my flimsy cotton T-shirt, so I heard every whimper. Every giggle. Every moan. I pulled the pillow over my head, pressing my cheek against the cool vinyl couch. God, I was tired, but the sounds coming from the next room—and the continuous loop of images playing in my fevered imagination—wouldn’t let me rest.

  It was a long, long time before I fell asleep to the soft sound of Julie’s breathy moans. I dreamed I was trapped inside my own heart, pounding out the rhythm of my heartbeat as I tried to escape. My heart was made out of orange vinyl.

  I woke at dawn, blinking away the panic of not knowing where I was. Then I remembered. Julie. A moment later, I felt like I’d been sucker punched in the gut. Kevin. I lay there on the couch, my sweaty cheek still pressed against the hideous vinyl, pillow flung halfway across the room. I rolled onto my back and groaned as every muscle in my body protested.

  I heard a soft sound, little more than a catch of breath. For a moment, I thought they were fucking again. My stomach clenched until I realized what I was hearing. Crying.

  I didn’t know what to do. My first instinct was to go to Julie, but I knew better than to get into the middle of a lovers’ quarrel. A couple of minutes passed and those soft crying sounds were tearing me to shreds. I couldn’t just sit there on the couch and wait for them to come out, so I padded to the bathroom and started the shower. The water did little to soothe me. I needed to know if Julie was all right.