“Same here.” I switched my tote into my other hand. “It’s okay. The work you do, me being here—”
“It’s not you. Well, not just you.”
I chuckled to myself. “Well, that makes me feel better.” “One of my protest leaders got arrested tonight, and I’m trying to raise his bail.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. How much?”
“Five thousand dollars. Our budget’s already depleted from the last round of arrests.” Gabby shook her head up at the sky. “It’s so hard to do this sometimes, but who else will?”
Compassion washed over me. The honest work she was doing while risking her livelihood—she had my admiration but deserved more. I dug inside my tote and took out my checkbook. Gabby touched my hand as I scribbled on the pad.
“You don’t have to do this.”
I ripped out the check and handed it to her. “I didn’t. This is only two thousand. Should be a start.”
Gabby’s eyes darted from the check in my hand and back to me with a cynical gaze. “Why?”
“Because I want to help. I also want you to know that I’m not here to infringe on Hansen Park. I’m black and I’m from the South Side so I understand what this must feel like for you and your community. I just love this area, so please . . . if there’s anything I can do to repay you for your work, please let me do it.”
Gabby gave a hint of a smile as she took the check, her fingers holding mine. My pussy clenched as our eyes met.
“We’re having a community meeting tomorrow night. Rec center. Seven o’clock.”
I licked my lips. “I’ll be there.”
She gave me a onceover, biting her lip as she tugged the check from my fingers. I watched her walk away before she turned to glance at me one last time. “Don’t be late,” she said over her shoulder before she disappeared around the corner.
I rushed home from work the next day, missing Gabby more than I’d intended. Her group hadn’t protested outside of my office building that afternoon so I worried the meeting would be cancelled. I changed out of my stuffy skirt suit and stood in front of my closet, deciding on what to wear. My eyes landed on a pair of leggings with faux leather stripes down the sides. I hadn’t worn the leggings since Donna and I broke up. She often commented about how sweet my ass looked in them, which never failed to bring a smile to my face. I slipped them on, happy they were still snug in all the right places, and paired them with a forest-green tank before heading to the rec center.
I eased my way through the crowd, waving politely at a few friendly neighborhood faces. It seemed like every age group—from millennials to boomers—was represented in the small meeting space. I scanned the room, spotting Gabby at a table by the makeshift stage. Her mane was gathered in a ponytail, giving me a better view of her face than I’d had the previous night. Her eyes sparkled, nestled under long lashes.
And her smile. It was a rare sight, and I wanted to implant it in my memory forever.
I realized I was staring and dropped my gaze before she caught on, finding a seat in the second row of folding chairs. Since there were a few minutes before the meeting was scheduled to begin, I pulled my cell out of my pocket to catch up on work emails and social media check-ins. As I touched the envelope icon, I felt someone sit beside me on my right but I didn’t look up.
“Looking very nice tonight, Miss Suzanne,” I heard her say before I turned to face her.
I smiled wider than I had intended. “Gabby. Thank you again for inviting me.”
“Thank you for coming,” she said, before pausing. “And thank you again for the donation. Was able to get my boy Carlos out today with it.” I followed her gaze to a young man in a Bulls jersey and denim jeans. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen.
“He’s a baby,” I said.
Gabby nodded. “Just turned eighteen two weeks ago. His family’s building was bought out by Wren, forcing them out of Hansen Park. A community his mother was raised in from birth.”
I swallowed, staring at my hands in my lap. “I understand why this is so important to you. Why I’m treated like an outsider. It’s for a good reason.”
Gabby squeezed my thigh, letting her touch linger long enough to warm me up. “But you came here tonight. That’s more important than the donation because . . . ”
I turned to her as her sentence trailed. “Because what?”
Her eyes drifted across my face. “Because I needed to see you.” Gabby’s hand slid up my thigh, and I leaned into her touch. “I really needed to see you.”
“I needed to see you, too,” I whispered back, the drone of the crowd drowning out the passion growing between us.
“Ayo, Gabby!”
We both turned toward the voice of Carlos as Gabby’s hand slipped from my thigh. She stood. “I better get up there.”
I nodded, missing her touch instantly. “Good luck.” “Hang back after this is all done,” she said with a smirk. “We need to finish our talk.”
My lips parted to respond, but the locked eyes between us said more than words could ever express.
Watching her onstage was more exhilarating than watching her on the street below my office building. Her simplest movements were sensual; they amazed me. My gaze softened as I watched her—her ponytail bobbing when she made a fierce rebuttal, the force of her yell and the sweetness of her tears. Gabby was a force, a force I soon realized was too strong to ever find someone soft-spoken like me attractive. Sure, I felt the signs of mutual physical attraction between us. Nonetheless, I’d never be able to keep her longer than a night.
Gabby offered to walk me back to my building after the meeting. I kept a short yet comfortable distance between our arms as we made a slow stroll past a coffee shop, the smell of nighttime java tickling my nose. “So, what’s next for the Hansen Park Revolution?”
She gave a short laugh. “ ‘Hansen Park Revolution,’ huh?”
“I think it has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” I said as we approached my building. “Well, here’s my stop.”
Gabby pushed a tendril behind her ear. “Suzanne, thanks again for everything you’ve done for our group. Didn’t think you’d show tonight but, um . . . ” She closed the space between us. “I’m really glad you did . . . for the revolution and all, you know.”
My arousal grew intensely as I took in the scent of her coconut oil–infused hair. “Well, you take such good care of the community, I figured I could take care of you.”
I weaved my fingers with hers, leading her down the steps to my basement apartment. The stairwell was darkened, tucked away from the traffic and evening pedestrians. I pulled Gabby into me, taking her warm mouth with my own. The kiss grew ravenous as Gabby moaned into me. Her lips traced down my cheek, her teeth leaving nips of pleasure along the nape of my neck.
“Let’s go inside,” I whined, reaching in my pocket for the silver key separating me from having Gabby Santos in my bed.
She released my neck, the dark shrouding her face. “I want you right here. Outside.”
My back pressed against the brick near my door as Gabby’s hands slid inside my tank top, circling my rock-hard nipples with her thumbs.
“You move into my town, shaking that sweet ass of yours up and down the street.” Gabby gave my lower lip a short nip. “And all I could think was, Damn, I need to taste her.”
I writhed against the brick wall, feeling my left nipple swirling in her mouth. “Then why were you so mean to me?” I moaned out.
Gabby released my nipple. “Because I wanted you too much.” She gave my nipple a lick before taking in the right nub.
I reached for her ponytail, pulling out the elastic so the tresses I loved fell down her shoulders. As I guided my knee between the warmth of Gabby’s thighs, I knew the heat between us had been angry and passionate. Affairs of the political and the sensual were crashing around us as Gabby fell to her knees, taking my leggings down with her.
The sting of scratches she left behind after yanking down my botto
ms was quickly forgotten the moment her tongue grazed my clit. The cry left my mouth faster than I could stop it, forcing me to check to make sure no one could see us. The furry paws of a golden retriever and the sneakers of his human passed above us as Gabby slipped two fingers in my pussy. I buried my hands in her hair, guiding her skilled mouth against my mound.
The light of a lamppost shone down on Gabby’s face; the pools of her chocolate-brown eyes staring up at me as she feasted sent me over the edge. An approaching police car’s siren sounded in the distance, growing louder as my climax gained momentum. I screamed with the siren as I came, rocking my hips against Gabby’s face as the city’s sounds drowned out our passion.
Gabby stood as the street returned to silence. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m glad you infiltrated my neighborhood.”
“Is that right?” I smiled as I wiped my juices from the corner of her mouth.
Gabby nodded. “Yeah, but you gotta pull your weight in Hansen Park, just like the rest of us.”
I unlocked the door and took Gabby’s hand in mine, pulling her inside. “Well, I better get to work then.”
WORDS WITH BENEFITS
Tamara Lush
“Dude, this is literally, actually, the new way to meet guys.” Rebecca’s hand was like a slingshot projectile from her iced coffee to my phone. I went to snatch it, but within a flash she was typing and swiping and tapping in a flurry of purple-tipped fingers and thumbs.
“Give it back. And stop with the dude and literally and actually. You fucking millennials and your filler words.” “Whatever, Gen X Jennifer. Language is a living thing. Isn’t that what you tell your students?”
She rolled her eyes and, after a few swipes, set the phone in front of me.
Rebecca and I were both English professors at a sprawling commuter university in Florida. Despite my grumbling, her ironic use of inane words, and our twenty-year age difference, I loved her. When she’d gotten tenure, the school paired us in a formal mentor relationship. Three years later, our conversations revolved around books, knitting bawdy toys with artisan wool, and department politics.
Since my divorce, we’d added a fourth topic: men. Specifically, why I hadn’t fucked more of them.
“By the way, Jenny, you’re killing it on Instagram with your knitting pics.”
“Oh, if dudes see my Instagram, that’ll sure reel ’em in.”
“It might! Those little bondage bears were awesome. Every hipster on campus bought them at the department craft fair. You’re cooler than people half your age. Jesus. You’re fifty, not ninety-seven. Get out there and enjoy life.” She sucked at her iced mocha and smacked her lips. “A smokin’ hot fifty, with excellent hair.”
My hair was long and thick and perfectly pewter. I flipped it behind me and slid on pink, cat-eye reading glasses.
“Fifty-two, thank you very much. What’s this?” I grimaced at the phone. “Words with Benefits?”
“Officially, it’s a game. Unofficially . . . bow-chicka-bow-bow.” She did a sexy little dance in her chair.
“Hell. No.”
“You can do this under the guise of showing off your impressive vocabulary. You might not meet Mr. Right, but there’s a good chance you’ll meet Mr. Correct Grammar Who’s DTF.”
I glanced over my glasses. “DTF?”
“Down to fuck.”
“Is this where you found the gem who used the word gifted as a verb in conversation?”
She sighed. “That was a different app. And yeah, it made my vagina as dry as the Gobi desert.”
I pantomimed a gag.
“Right now I’m playing a bunch of smart guys, faculty, a guy in financial aid. One game even ended in some dick pics. Wanna see?” She turned to her purse.
I shook my head, laughing.
Modern dating was so fucking absurd and complex. In the twenty years since I’d married, raised two children, and divorced, the language and landscape of courtship had shifted. Back in the Mesozoic era, when I was young, getting laid was as simple as rolling on lip gloss and breathing.
Now? Dating meant endless texts, unfortunate photos of genitalia, tepid coffee dates, ghosting. Tedious bullshit that I didn’t have the patience for.
Never mind explaining to a new man that I was the mom of adult children, divorced, and curious about all the kinky sex I’d missed out on while married.
Later that night, after I’d graded papers, showered, and poured myself a glass of wine, I slipped on a silk robe and flopped onto the bed. The steamy Florida spring breeze scented with jasmine wafted through my open window.
That was one good thing my ex had done: trained the night-blooming jasmine to crawl up the side fence so I’d smell it in bed. But even that came with a tainted memory; he’d planted the vine shortly after I’d wanted to explore being sexually submissive. Soon after that, he began his affair with a grad student.
Bored, I tapped on my phone and found Words with Benefits. It didn’t take long to be matched with potential challengers from my social media contacts: a woman from my yoga class, a teacher from the kids’ elementary school days, and a guy named Dylan who had been a classmate of my son’s.
The cell pinged with a message.
I shouldn’t play against you, Mrs. S, because I know you’ll kick my butt, but here goes . . .
I’ll go easy on you.
And I’m no longer a Mrs., I wanted to add. He kicked off the game with a three-letter word. BED. I guffawed.
It had been two years since I’d seen Dylan. He had that floppy, silky hair that all guys their age seemed to have, and coltish limbs. A quick tap to his profile revealed he was twenty. Within a couple of choice five-letter words, I beat him handily.
Good game, Mrs. S!
Thanks! Feeling ridiculous, I added a smiley face.
A fantasy popped into my head. What if I asked Dylan over for some inane pretense—the lawn does need mowing—and tugged those gray sweatpants he always wore down to his ankles? Then I’d sink to my knees and give him the best head of his life.
My thumb hovered over the letters. Was I that desperate? I laughed out loud at the absurdity. I didn’t even like younger men. There were too many of them in my classes and they all seemed pink and unformed to me.
Plus, I hated the word cougar. It always struck me as desperate, as if older women hid in dark lairs, waiting to pounce and drag away youthful prey—because they couldn’t attract anything in the light of day. I wanted to be pursued, not pitied. And, in my fantasies, enthusiastically dominated.
I played a few more games, all with women. Apparently Rebecca had been wrong about the magical hookup powers of the app. Or maybe there were more word-loving women than men. I snorted aloud. That was probably it. I tossed the cell on the bed and picked up my wine, taking a big slug.
My phone pinged, indicating a new match.
Gabriel C. wants to play!
I frowned. I didn’t know anyone by that name. I tapped on his profile. We had dozens of mutual friends. Wait—Gabriel Chandler? He was a longtime European history professor at my university, known by students for his detailed lectures and tough exams.
I’d seen him around over the years, most recently at a holiday party back when I was married. There were several things I knew about Gabriel Chandler: he had bright blue eyes framed by black glasses, a shock of longish, thick silver hair that curled over both his forehead and collar, and he sported a matching trimmed beard.
When I’d last talked to him, he’d flashed a wicked smile that revealed straight, white teeth. A quick flick of the tongue to the corner of his mouth set me aflame. I’d immediately imagined him flicking that tongue around my clit. Later, as my husband rolled over to sleep another sexless night away, I fantasized about Gabriel Chandler fucking me in all sorts of ways.
I tapped on the words ACCEPT GAME. I was first up, and I cracked my knuckles in mock preparation and then grinned at my silliness. Scanning my tiles, I wrangled a high scoring word.
THRUST.
Gabriel’s tiles flew on the screen.
THROB.
“Ooh,” I said out loud. “Smart and hilariously inappropriate.”
The game quickly turned less bawdy and more competitive.
QIS, I played for twelve points.
JEST, he followed, for thirteen.
Two moves later, we were tied. I flicked the virtual letters into play. LIBIDO.
A yellow winner symbol flashed on the screen. Then, a message.
Impressive, Professor Stein. Your vocabulary is as attractive as your profile photo.
Ahh, so he knew who I was. My nipples hardened from the compliment. It took so little to turn me on these days. Some women said menopause left them with no interest in sex. Me? It was like I was in puberty again, but with drier skin.
Thank you. You’re pretty impressive yourself, Professor Chandler.
We played five more games, pausing only when I needed a second glass of pinot noir. I won three rounds, and he was a formidable opponent.
Playing the word ONANISM is enough to make a woman swoon. One more game?
That’s the sexiest compliment I’ve had in years. I’ll play on one condition.
What’s that?
If I lose, I buy drinks on Saturday night.
Flirting with Gabriel made my skin tingle with an anticipation I hadn’t felt in a long time. I bit my bottom lip as I tapped out a response.
And if I lose?
I’ll still buy drinks.
* * *
Maybe it was the candlelight on the patio of the Bayview Bistro, or perhaps it was my nervousness over my first date in decades, but I was shaking. As Gabriel and I sat, I felt like my heart could pound right out of my chest and flop, twitching, on the hardwood tabletop.
It also probably had something to do with the fact that Gabriel was so damned handsome. His silver hair was longer than when I’d last seen him, wavy and just a touch feminine. It was an arresting look, given that he had a thick, gray beard, broad shoulders, and wore heavy, black-framed glasses. While his face looked distinguished and etched with time, he had the body of a man ten, even twenty, years younger.
I tried not to stare. I failed.
Best Women's Erotica of the Year, Volume 4 Page 15