Gotta Have It

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  “But don’t you think there’s something…uh…almost noble about it?” The electric sensation of his fingercircling my anus was making it hard to speak. “Anyone can do it the regular way, but…oh, yeah, that’s good…when you have anal sex you have to slow down and think.”

  “You definitely have to take it slow,” Mike said, nudging me up on my hands and knees and popping open the lube. His finger brushed my crevice again, anointing my entrance with the slippery gel. He paused, then slipped his fingertip into the hole a half inch or so. I took a deep breath and willed myself to relax. His finger slid in farther.

  “What are you thinking now?” he asked.

  “That I wish it was your cock instead.”

  He seemed to agree because the next thing he did was tear open the condom wrapper. I felt a smooth hardness pressing against my opening. Tilting my hips up, I breathed past the sensation of something pushing out as he went in, willing my asshole to open like a flower in May.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” In fact I was better than okay. On impulse, I squeezed my muscles around him; clench, release, clench, release.

  He moaned.

  “You can move now,” I said.

  He bent forward and reached around to pleasure me.

  “No, just enjoy.”

  His hand dropped away, and I brought my own finger to my clit, strumming the hard nugget protruding from my slick, satiny skin.

  Mike began to thrust, carefully, as if performing an ancient ritual.

  He’d fucked my ass half a dozen times, but now the sensations were noticeably different. I was softer, more open—yet still so aware of being taken and of giving myself solely to this exotic pleasure.

  I pushed back against him, quickening our pace. It was good. Really good. I felt his thighs trembling against mine. My own thighs began to shake as my orgasm gathered at the base of my spine. Almost clawing at my clit, I exploded around his cock, milking him with my tight ring of muscle.

  Mike’s moans rose up, up to a ghostly tenor, and I knew he was coming, too, his thrusts driving my hips forward and my face down into the pillow. And then a second wave of pleasure bloomed inside me. I’d gotten exactly what I’d wanted: I was getting fucked in the ass and loving every sublime, decadent minute of it.

  That’s when it finally hit me. Think, slow down, pay attention, do it for the sheer sensual pleasure, embrace the extraordinary. Anal sex was poetry. Fucking poetry.

  When Mike and I had caught our breath, I knew I’d tell him everything I’d thought and felt and learned while he was fucking my ass. Then maybe we’d analyze the poem we’d made together.

  Or maybe we’d just enjoy.

  INDEPENDENCE DAY

  Kate Pearce

  Sure, I’d like a drink, but I’d like a fuck even more.”

  I watched his face, the way his brown eyes narrowed as he took a slow, deep breath. “Yeah?”

  “Don’t you want to?”

  He leaned so close, the brim of his Stetson cast a shadow over both our faces. Greedily, I inhaled a hint of leather and lemon soap, shivered at the slight rasp of his stubbled jaw against my cheek when he spoke. “Hell, yeah, but there are dozens of horny cowboys in this bar who’d be just as willing.”

  “But they’re not you.”

  His faint smile died. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “You do look kind of familiar, but not like a regular Buckle Bunny.”

  “I don’t even know what that means.”

  His slight smile made me conscious of my business attire. My black jacket, short skirt and pink blouse looked out of place in this sea of denim. Did he remember that I’d belonged here once? That like a bad country song, I’d given it all up for a useless, cheating city boy?

  He shifted his stance against the bar, shutting out the yelling customers, the tunes on the jukebox and the scent of alcohol and desperation. I reached out and ran my thumb along his full lower lip. I gasped as he bit down on the tip of my finger; just like that I was wet. He took my hand, kissed it and gave it back to me.

  “The thing is, honey girl, I share a room.”

  I licked my lips, saw his gaze follow the motion. “I don’t care.”

  “So my buddy can join in, or watch the show?”

  “Whatever works for you. I’m easy.”

  “I got that.”

  I made as if to leave, and he caught my hand, his strong fingers encircling my wrist. “I’m not complaining, honey. I like a woman who knows what she wants. But why me?”

  I offered him the truth, aware that it was all I had, knowing somehow that he would walk away if I didn’t. “Because you are one-hundred-percent different from the asshole I divorced today. And I want different. I want you. I want to go back to where I belong.”

  “We’ve done this before? Or do you think I’m the kind of guy who’ll do anyone?”

  I smiled. “You’re still talking to me, aren’t you?”

  He stared down at me, a glint in his whiskey-brown eyes. I wondered whether he liked what he saw. I’d never been a skinny girl. Even as a teenager I had big boobs and an ass to match. In his cowboy boots, he was about a foot taller than me.

  He nodded. “Let me buy you that drink, and while I’m getting it, why don’t you take yourself off to the bathroom and take off your panties.”

  I smiled. “I’ll have a beer.” He nodded and turned back to the bar, presenting me with his broad back and fine, denim-clad ass.

  It only took me a couple of minutes to remove my tiny panties and get right back to him. Somehow he’d procured me a bar stool. He helped me sit up before sliding a tall, frosted bottle of beer across. “Cheers, honey girl.” He held out his hand.

  I placed the tiny scrap of folded black and pink lace in his palm and watched him slip it into the front pocket of his faded jeans. He picked up his beer and clinked it against mine before taking a long drink. I jumped when I felt his cold fingers brush the inside of my thigh. “Open up, honey, I want to see if you’re wet for me.”

  I looked around the crowded bar, but no one seemed to notice what my cowboy was doing. I relaxed my thighs and shivered as his fingers crept higher and settled over my already swollen clit. “You know what would be really nice?” he murmured. “To sit you up on that bar, spread your legs wide and rub your clit with the lip of this nice, cold beer bottle.”

  I swallowed hard as he considered me. “That would be great, apart from the fact that we’d be spending the rest of the night in a cell for lewd behavior or something.”

  “You’re right.” He circled my clit with a figure-eight motion that made me want to squeeze my thighs shut around his strong hand, crush his palm against me and ride out the sensation until I came. His fingers plucked at my labia and I squirmed forward on the seat. “Nice and wet,” he continued to pet me. “Definitely wet enough for my cock.” He glanced down at my blouse. “I bet your nipples are hard, too.”

  I could only nod and force myself to sip my drink as his fingers drove me higher and tighter. He finished his beer and slid his hand free from my crotch, briefly tasted his fingers before brushing them across my mouth. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”

  He helped me off the bar stool and kept hold of my hand, protecting me from the mass of bodies filling the bar. When the elevator arrived, he drew me to the back and held me close. It was crowded and I was pressed tight against him, felt the heated bulge of his cock and the trembling anticipation in his big, hard body. His hand slid down over my skirt and between my legs, his longest finger penetrating me. I turned my face into his blue cambric shirt and bit down on the starched laundered cotton to stop myself from screaming as he pumped his finger back and forth.

  I walked off the elevator in a daze, my hand again in his, my mind somewhere else, somewhere hot and dark and wet and mindless…. When he stopped to find his key card, he picked me up and jammed my aching wetness against the bulging fly of his jeans. “You still want i
t, honey? Last chance to say no.”

  I wrapped my legs around his narrow hips and held on, heard him curse as he flung open the door and backed me onto the nearest bed. He undid his belt and shoved his Wranglers down.

  “You need a condom, buddy?”

  His blond roomie stood in the bathroom door, all damp and tousled from the shower and a towel wrapped around his hips. He threw a box of condoms onto the bed. I opened my legs and a second later I was filled by a big, hard cock. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and simply let myself be fucked. It was bliss. It was rough. It was both a celebration of freedom and a return to my roots. Something nudged my mouth. I opened my eyes to see the blond smiling down at me, his precome now coating my lips.

  “Any room for one more?”

  I stuck out my tongue and licked him clean.

  GOING BALD

  Craig J. Sorensen

  I linger at the sink and apply a coat of shaving cream to my cheeks, down to my Adam’s apple and around my razor-trimmed goatee. The light outside is suddenly vibrant; whispering snow continues to fall in the slanting orange sunrise. I scrape out the first path and begin a familiar solo dance until I hear a knock at the door.

  “Mind if I take a shower?”

  I’ve said a thousand times you can come in anytime you want; you never have. I strain a monotone reply. “Sure, babe.” I dare not turn. I watch casually in the mirror as you reach in the shower and start the water. It’s instantly hot. I just came from there. Perhaps that’s what attracts you like a deer, drawn to a lush backyard from the diminishing forest for the first time on this winter morning.

  I won’t make a spectacle of this, Eileen. I won’t call attention to you, the woman who only dresses in her walk-in closet and only makes love in the depth of night. I’ve gotten to know your nude body like a bat learns his range. Little by little, you’ve invited me farther, but never have I stared into the inkwell of your pupils to see reflections of the sun or a strategically placed lamp while deep inside you. I only know the shuddering braille of your violent, eerily silent orgasms. I’ve had to resort to imagination to take in all of you after I reluctantly pull the dense shades while you cling to the edge of your tightly buttoned blouse.

  So I savored the rim of your vagina with my tongue, my fingers, my nose, my chin. I drew the dew from you, pressed my fingers deep until I found that magical little nub that enticed you to let me go just a bit farther. I’ve enticed you to let me rest my head on your lush stomach, taking your scent as your sweat battered your Powder Fresh Secret into submission. I’ve coaxed deep releases from you and bathed my palm in that sweet, savory juice that you release when I touch you just so.

  So luscious.

  I still cannot believe it is happening. I press my hard cock tight to the vanity when you untie your robe. I can see the corner of your eye, your hesitation. I act casual as I take two more strokes with my razor, focus my eyes on the bottom of the sink. The robe falls away in my periphery. I swallow an excited gasp as I see your nude body in the light for the first time.

  Recently you’ve stepped a little from the shadows and given me delicious glimpses. I’ve savored each one, Eileen. But I dared not believe you might step so far, so suddenly.

  Are you sleepwalking now? Never wake a sleepwalker, they say. I slow my shaving and keep my peripheral vision tight to you as you enter the steamy shower, close the crystal-clear door and twirl your body to soak every inch. You pour a handful of lavender soap into your palm.

  It’s so beautiful, the rising of white lather atop your soft skin. I continue, but my divided attention makes me whack one corner of my goatee right off. Damn! It turns out to be a bit of a blessing, though, as it gives me something more to shave. All too soon, it’s gone. I suppose I could brush my teeth again.

  I continue to watch, casually, and rub my fingers through the hair I so carefully cultivate with Minoxidil.

  I squeeze out a huge handful of lather and coat my scalp, my eyes still upon you. You are absorbed in your showering. I continue to lather. The bright-red, lush V of pubic hair, brighter than the vibrant hair on your head, startles me.

  Shampoo absorbs into your long, wavy locks and your short, shapely legs part softly. Generous waves of lather peel down your full breasts and soft hips, that perfect pouch of a belly. A lather avalanche caves inside and down the middle of one thigh. My cock is starting to ache like that of a teenager who hasn’t jacked off in a month.

  I better breathe now.

  I shave strip after strip, wasting one razor blade to nothing after a few passes. Good thing I just bought fresh blades. I’ll need more tomorrow.

  You’re more likely to believe in jolly Saint Nick or the Easter Bunny than my very un-American taste for the Rubenesque. Or have you had a revelation? Your body slowly rotates and your full bottom comes into view. I worry my cock will pull the sink from the wall. I even try to make it happen. Yeah, I saw it lift, Eileen. Did you?

  Gobs of lather slap the bottom of the bathtub like a snare drum amongst the spring rain hiss of spraying water.

  In one quick motion, the water stops and the clear shower door opens. I turn my eyes back to my shaving.

  “Good god, Ken, what are you doing?”

  “Uh, shaving.”

  “Your head?” I’ve never heard that tone from you before. Stunned, bemused, your brow lifts high, that beautiful, teeth-parted smile, almost a laugh. Then you’re dead serious, and you grab up your robe. Did you just wake? Did you just realize? Please don’t take it away. “Um…I better—” You put one sleeve on.

  I grab the robe, and I open my mouth over yours. Lord, how you love a good kiss. I give you my best, and I feel that little twitch in your shoulders and your lips parting slightly. A moan escapes your cautious guard. My tongue widens your teeth, and I draw figures in the beads of water on your shoulder when I pull you tight. I deepen into you, then ease back. “Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?”

  You just look in my eyes.

  “You’re perfect.” You grip the robe in earnest. I press into another kiss and begin to explore your back, cup your full butt in my hands. “Want to make love to a bald man in the bright morning light?”

  Long, effervescent silence.

  “Please, Eileen?” I whisper.

  You release the robe and it falls, then you twitch like you’ll cover. But you remain and take a deep breath. I see a bit of mischief in your eyes, then you grab the side of the towel around my waist. I nod and you pull the towel away. My cock jumps free. You trace my stiffness in your warm soft hands.

  Your voice is as soft as the snow falling outside. “Oh, god, yes.”

  CONTINUING EDUCATION

  Anya Levin

  And in such a case, as is easy to see…”

  I squeezed my thighs together and enjoyed the shiver that went up my spine in response.

  After so many classes that I’d sat through to earn my necessary continuing ed credits, it seemed like with this Late American History class, the universe had finally realized that it owed me something. That something was Professor Richard Lumley. (His fellow lecturers called him Rick, but I liked Richard.)

  Tall, slim and bookishly handsome though he was, I might have passed him over if I hadn’t heard his voice: dark, full, perfect. I heard it and I got wet. The class had been delicious torture from the moment he opened his mouth.

  I loved it.

  “So they carried on,” Richard said.

  I imagined seeing Richard loosening his tie and coming up next to me, saying wicked, dirty things to me and touching himself, maybe even pulling his penis out of his neatly creased pants and rubbing himself, while he lectured—privately.

  I shifted in my seat, ground my cunt against the plastic of the chair. I wondered if I was leaving a wet spot on my skirt. I certainly felt like I was overflowing with fluids—fluids and desire and wanton, desperate need.

  My fingers stole from their clutch on my clothing to under the short skirt’s hem, slid up my thigh and f
inally got to where I burned. Oh, yeah, there had to be a spot. My underwear was soaked through—common enough for Richard’s class—and I almost shuddered as I touched the flesh beneath.

  I knew I should stop, that I should pull my hand back and pick up my pen and take notes and pretend to be the respectable woman that I was supposed to be, at least before going to the car and frantically fingering myself to orgasm. But I didn’t want to, not this time. This was the last class, and this time I was determined that I was going to enjoy the lecture… fully.

  I spread my knees wider; slid a second finger against the slick, hot silk of my panties and brushed my clit as I listened to Richard explain post-WWI socioeconomic fluctuations. He strode from one side of the room to the other, his voice echoing as he moved. I watched the flex of muscles beneath his pants, the tightness of his ass as he turned to face the opposite direction, the grace of his fingers as he touched his mouth in a brief, thinking pause.

  I wondered if he could see me, all the way in the back, my thighs spread, my hand beneath my skirt, my cunt wet and dripping. Sweat broke out on the back of my neck as I imagined his eyes finding me, watching me, and I moaned.

  I was not loud enough to disturb the two fortysomething women in front of me who had been chatting through every class, up front that they didn’t want to be here in the first place, but apparently my moan was enough to draw Richard’s attention.

  His gaze sought me even as he continued to speak. He stared for a moment with a slight crinkle between his eyes, as if he couldn’t quite understand what I was doing, and my heart tripped in my throat when he paused oh-so-briefly and swallowed hard before snatching up the thread of his monologue.

  His attention made me daring. I paused in the slow rubbing of my clit and moved my fingers, letting him see the lilac silk of my panties. Then I pulled the silk aside and felt the naked, hot flesh of my labia. I parted my lips slowly with one finger, the excitement nearly unbearable, and his eyes followed every movement. My fingertip slid in easily, and I nearly groaned at the sensation.