When She Was Good

by Tristan Taormino

  “You want a show, Spade?” Ellie asks coquettishly.

  “What kind you got?” perks Spade.

  “Barn-raising burlesque,” says Ellie. So then we dance around and tongue-kiss and tease Spade and he rubs the bottle of Jack on his conjured boner. She grabs my hand when she notices I’m getting too friendly with her Amish comrade and says, “Tomorrow’s the early shift.” She knocks her knuckles on Spade’s and says, “Keep the Glaawe, Bu.”

  Half a mile away, Ellie throws me down between the tracks so hard I get rocks and tiny bits of coal in my teeth. She bends over my face. “Are you starting to want an Amish boi?” she asks. She holds the back of my neck. There is a strange low breeze building between the parallel lines. Her breath is jagged. Ellie yanks my head back by my hair. “You think an Amish girl can’t fuck you hard enough?” She is agitated. She pulls a beer bottle out of her pocket that she was saving to recycle and shoves it under the side of my underpants. She straddles me, her knees on the ground, and fucks me with the bottle from behind. It’s so rough that I can’t stop myself from reacting. My hips pull toward her, suckling on the glass. The more I pull, the more nasty she gets, riding her own hand that’s pushing the bottle into me. “You’re my best friend, English,” she says as she hammers the glass in. “You’d better give it up for me. Stop playing chicken on the tracks.”

  I’m about to cum when I hear the unmistakable rattle awakening like cold bones. Ellie doesn’t stop until we see the light screaming toward us. I start to poke her belly, slap her arms, and push her off. I grab her by the neck and shove her backward. We roll onto the bank and she is coughing when the train passes. The quiet cargo slides by and moonlight stutters through the gaps. “Ellie, I love you more than anyone,” I say sincerely, and then we melt into hot kissing and I start fingering her wet hole. “I’m so in love with you.” I hear the beer bottle crunching under the weight of steel as I slide my fingers into her and listen to her squeal.

  I’m still intrigued by Spade’s gargoyle eyebrows. I get dizzy looking at him, like I’m staring up at spires. Ellie keeps a proprietary arm over his shoulder. The other boi we met, Clyde, was in the Army. He came up with the idea of an Amish pinup girl tattoo and asked Ellie if she would pose for him. He put some rouge on her cheeks and had her bend over an old butter churn wearing full Amish garb. After he sketched Ellie, he got the image inked on his calf. Three months later, Clyde came back with his legs blown off just above the knees, and went to college to become a meteorologist. The tattoo had been blown off too but he was glad to be out of the Army. Ellie had a phantom limb yearning for the tattoo. “Do you think my old life will turn into that,” she asked me once. “Some blasted comic strip?”

  The Wooly Mammoth asks me to look in Ellie’s face, with my wrists tied to the reading sconces. I watch the meteor shower going on in her eyes, which should be dead but Ellie and I like new adventures. He pulls off my panties and asks Ellie to lick me out. He is polite, a public-service-announcement bear. He strokes his dick while she goes down on me. “We have to put the casting stuff on now,” I tell him and he nods. I watch Ellie’s fragile hands, little stick-dolls, making an imprint of his cock. I stroke my clit and moan because she looks so pretty. The next day, Clyde returns from college. He tells Ellie he has joined the Ohio Storm Chasers. I look at her glittery eyes and realize she couldn’t care less about my yearning for Spade. Clyde likes her without a cartoon self.

  We sing “Happy Birthday” and give Spade the lopsided-looking gift. We can’t wait to hear his reaction. “Oh my god,” says Spade. “You girls are perfect.”

  The sky looks like globs of clay and Ellie is malleably moody. “I hope it doesn’t hit the farms,” she says worriedly, gazing toward Amish country. This storm system has come with deadly warnings but our apartment building doesn’t have a basement anyway, so we may as well ride with Clyde. Clyde is ebullient, pulling up in the van. It is amazing how prepositions shift around so fast: someone is under a car, or a tree has gone through a wall, the innocents are all grown up. Ellie scratches the scars on her arms. “We’re so literally under the weather,” says Ellie. “And it feels amazing.”

  A batting of gray clouds hovers above us. I can feel the rises and falls of barometric pressure like the heart-in-throat of a roller coaster. “Not in Kansas my ass,” says Spade, jumping into the van. “Ohio is so tornado alley today.” As we ride, Spade proudly strokes his bulge and Ellie chats with Clyde in the front. I want to get inside of Spade’s zipper and nuzzle close to him but Clyde soon points out a funnel cloud touching down. “Oh my god,” says Ellie, holding Clyde’s video camera to the window. It’s incredible. The big swirling beast is chewing up the ground. Clyde works the hand controls to accelerate and Ellie suctions against the window like a goldfish. We watch the vortex rip through someone’s shed as mangled wood gathers into the swirl.

  I’ve got my face pressed close to Spade’s face and I start to cry a little from fear and he kisses my cheeks and forehead, and then he starts kissing me deep on the mouth. Ellie squeaks in this terrified voice, “It’s coming.” I lift my head and see the cyclone rushing in our direction as Clyde barrels toward an overpass where we can shelter the van. He parks on the edge of its concrete and we hurry him down into his wheelchair and then tumble into a low-lying ditch. Spade throws his whole body over me and the ground smells like straw. Clyde is not afraid: he has been to war. He has his video camera running the whole time. I hear a roaring sound and feel Spade’s cock pressing against my leg and his heartbeat pounding into mine.

  We are shaken afterward, and we stop at this steak house. “I’ll put it all on Visa,” says Clyde. We eat baked potatoes and iceberg lettuce dripping with too-sweet dressing and Ellie touches his thigh. The steak house adjoins a motel and we decide to crash there for the night since it’s not safe for any of us to go back to our cheap housing anyway. Ellie wheels Clyde over the threshold and helps transfer him onto the bed and the next thing we know she’s moaning as his hands rake her hair. Spade asks me if I want to go outside. We head under a stairwell beside some soda machines. I count in my head, one one thousand, two one thousand, waiting for the thunder to crack after the lightning flashes in the distance. “Come here,” Spade says roughly, yanking me by the arm and flinging me against the wall. He feels up my tits and kisses me, but then a violent rain starts coming down, “Many hands make light work,” says Spade. “Should we help Clyde with the Amish girl?” I rub his cock for a second. “Yeah,” I reply.

  Ellie is kneeling on the bed wearing only panties. Clyde gets in his chair and wheels over to talk with Spade in the bathroom, so I start kissing Ellie and squeezing her tits in my palms. She looks exquisitely gutted and fresh. “God you’re gorgeous,” I tell her. When the bois come out they are stroking the bulges in their pants. “We’ve got a pressure front moving in,” says Clyde. Spade is gentle with Clyde, helping him out of his wheelchair and laying him on the bed with his flaccid trouser legs and huge cock jutting out. Ellie goes over to him and starts rubbing his cock but Spade says, “No, let English have a snack,” and pushes me toward the bed. “Go on, suck my brother off,” says Spade. Ellie tucks her legs under her butt as I undo Clyde’s zipper and tentatively take the cock out. I’ve never sucked a boi-cock before. I bend down to kiss it and wrap my mouth around it as Spade grabs me from behind and starts pressing his bulge into my ass. “That’s it, baby,” Spade says. “Help out a veteran.”

  The TV is on behind us, talking about the storm. I hear the sound of breaking glass and human distress. Clyde shoves my head down on his cock and I feel it ramming the back of my throat and I am trying not to gag. The bedcovers have that odd, neutral, over-trodden smell. Ellie slides her hand down the back of my pants to feel if I am wet. Then Clyde pulls me off and says, “Get your girlfriend’s panties off. I miss my tattoo.” So I yank Ellie’s panties off roughly, and watch her climb on top of Clyde and start sliding her pussy down his cock. I flick her clit a little with my fingers, and then get up to ge
t her vibrator from my bag and plug it in. Then I pinch Ellie’s nipples hard until she is bouncing up and down on Clyde and Spade pulls at my arm. My pussy is dripping from sucking Clyde’s dick and watching Ellie ride. She moans and grabs Clyde’s shoulders as he holds her cheek. Spade throws me facedown on the bed next to Clyde, pulls my hips back, and shoves a couple of pillows under my tummy. Then he starts working his cock into my pussy. “Go on, Bu,” says Ellie. “Hammer her.” Spade holds my shirt hem in his fist and grinds the heel of his hand against my nipple, grunting.

  Then we all hear a thundering crack of lightning that is a little too close, striking down: the kind that leaves an imprint of light in the eyes and flickers the lights and makes the heart skip a beat. When it happens, Spade pushes into me so deep my lower lip slides up the sheet as I moan. I grapple for the vibrator and Spade puts the edge of the vibe on her clit. “Come on, Ellie, a group effort,” says Spade. “A barn raising. Let’s hear you hum like artificial light.” First she makes little whimpers that knit us all closer. Clyde coaxes her with his fingers circling the button-burns down to her hole. “Who’s got the button,” Clyde teases, as Spade pulls the vibe away to squeeze Ellie’s clit in his fingers and I grab her nipples. Then we get rough with the Amish girl, pinching harder while Spade buzzes her clit again and Clyde digs his hands into her ass. She squirms and moans and finally her face just breaks open, thunderclap-angry and cumulus-soft, and she starts gasping “Oh! Oh my god,” while we swirl collectively into a spinning mass of vertiginous lust. I start to cum when I hear Ellie cum, then Spade grunts and grabs the base of his dick and shakes it into me. We want to make Ellie so dirty she can’t go back.

  The TV keeps replaying the roaring cyclone, the sounds of shattered structures ripped asunder by winds. Tomorrow the Amish will be the first responders as they always are in tornado alley: helping the English rebuild roofs and pick up glass. But prepositions have shifted. What the Amish call the outside will be their charity recipients for now. What’s inside of Ellie belongs to outsiders now. We each keep a finger or two on or inside of her, and she’s still whimpering with pleasure as we ride her fits and storms. We all feel so perfect cloistered in the spun winds of her sweet noises. “Gelassenheit to the storm,” says Spade. “Submission to the storm.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  VALERIE ALEXANDER is a freelance writer who divides her time between California and Arizona. She is currently at work on her second novel.

  D. ALEXANDRIA (d-alexandria.com), “Boughetto Princess,” a Jamaican descendant, hails from Boston, has been published in Best Lesbian Erotica (2005, 2006, 2007), Ultimate Lesbian Erotica 2006 and under the pseudonym Glitter, published in Queer Ramblings Magazine, Gay Black Female Magazine and Kuma2.net. She is currently penning her first novel and a collection of black lesbian erotica.

  JACQUELINE APPLEBEE is a black British woman who enjoys writing erotica at inopportune moments. She is a library assistant by day, but has also earned a living making sex toys and silver jewelry. One of her fondest memories is of serving tea at S/M Pride, to an admiring crowd. Jacqueline has appeared in Clean Sheets, Iridescence: Sensuous Shades of Lesbian Erotica and Travelrotica 2. “Shine” is dedicated to a sweet chubby boi-dyke named Jad.

  A. LIZBETH BABCOCK lives in Toronto and has done extensive work in the queer community, including counseling queer youth in an alternative school setting, and managing a supportive housing program for people with HIV/AIDS. She likes peach pie and is a chronic daydreamer with a slant toward the perverse and bizarre. Her writing appears in Best Lesbian Erotica 2007, Best Lesbian Bondage Erotica and The Queer & Catholic Anthology.

  L. ELISE BLAND (lelisebland.com) never travels without her diary. Dominatrix, stripper, pervy actress—she’s done it all and has lived to write about it in both fact and fiction. Her most recent publications include Secret Slaves: Erotic Stories of Bondage (The Fetish Chest), Naughty Spanking Stories from A to Z: 2 (Pretty Things Press), The Best American Erotica 2006 (Fireside/Touchstone) and First-Timers: True Stories of Lesbian Awakening (Alyson).

  When not writing smutty stories about desert girls, BETTY BLUE spends her spare time raising a teenage son, editing corporate web copy, and learning Russian. Her stories can be found in Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica, Best Lesbian Love Stories, Tough Girls, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best of Best Lesbian Erotica, Hot Lesbian Erotica, and Blood Sisters: Lesbian Vampire Stories. Betty lives in San Francisco with her partner, writer Jack Random.

  RACHEL KRAMER BUSSEL (rachelkramerbussel.com) is senior editor at Penthouse Variations and hosts NYC’s In the Flesh Erotic Reading Series. Her anthologies include Up All Night; Glamour Girls: Femme/Femme Erotica (both Lammy finalists); First-Timers; He’s on Top; She’s on Top; Yes, Sir; Yes, Ma’am; Caught Looking; Hide and Seek; Crossdressing; Ultimate Undies; Sexiest Soles; Sex and Candy; Naughty Spanking Stories from A to Z: 1 and 2 and Best Sex Writing 2008.

  CHANDRA S. CLARK lives in Chicago. This is her first fiction publication.

  ISA COFFEY (aka, elizabeth): It’s dark. I’m driving fast; way up high. With you, baby, always with you. History: thirty years under my belt, still helping young, middle and ancient women/men discover the mystery-power of our sexuality. Recent history: growing wild, native medicinal herbs; healing my post-surgical wild brain. And to Gerry Gomez Pearlberg, especially: keeping bees. They’re making honey; piercing our feet; fanning the heat from their hive.

  SHANNA GERMAIN (shannagermain.com) is a connoisseur of anything that can be put into her mouth: chocolate, beer, coffee, various body parts, silky fabrics and nasturtiums. You can read more of her work in books like Best American Erotica 2007, Best Bondage Erotica 2, Best Gay Romance 2008 and The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica, as well as on her website.

  ALICIA E. GORANSON (alicia-goranson.com) wrote a Lambda Literary Award finalist novel called Supervillainz that has hot trannyguy sex in it. And superheroes. And serious dyke drama over this little sublet in Jamaica Plain. And a girl sells out her girlfriend’s roommate for a PDA. And it ends in a big old queer rally where shit totally goes down. It won the first Project QueerLit award, too. She has more messed-up stuff on her website.

  ROXY KATT (roxykatt.com) lives in Canada. She got started composing erotic stories in the genre of “VHF” (Vaudevillian Humiliation Fetishism) because of being traumatized by certain supposedly normal cartoons as a child. Damn that Popeye and the hapless Olive Oyl! Within her troubled soul resides the never-ending battle between good and evil (or, as she likes to put it, the war between Batgirl and Catwoman).

  D. L. KING (dlkingerotica.com) lives somewhere between the Big Wheel at Coney Island and the Chrysler Building and has a passion for roasted chestnuts sold on the street. She edits a literary erotica book review website, Erotica Revealed, and has written two novels, The Melinoe Project and The Art of Melinoe, both published by Renaissance E Books.

  TAMAI KOBAYASHI is the author of Quixotic Erotic (Arsenal Pulp Press). She lives in Toronto.

  MISSY LEACH (missy.com) is passionate about dolls, lip gloss, books, missy.com, photography, antiques, cotton candy and the Oxford comma. She will spare you biographical details on pets, partners and cities of residence. “And the Stars Never Rise” marks her first time being published, and she is quite pleased to be here.

  CATHERINE LUNDOFF is a computer geek who lives in Minneapolis with her fabulous partner. She is the author of two collections of lesbian erotica: Crave: Tales of Lust, Love and Longing (Lethe Press, 2007) and Night’s Kiss (Torquere Press, 2005). Her short stories have appeared in such anthologies as Caught Looking, The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 6, Garden of the Perverse, Amazons, Best Fantastic Erotica Vol. 1, Lust for Life and Best Lesbian Erotica 2006.

  PEGGY MUNSON (peggymunson.com) is the author of the Project QueerLit–winning, Lambda Literary Award finalist novel Origami Striptease. Her erotica has been published in numerous publications including Best American Erotica (2006 and 2007), On Our Backs and Best Lesbian Erotica (19
98–2007). Peggy’s first book of poetry, Pathogenesis, is forthcoming in early 2008 from Switchback Books.

  AIMEE PEARL is the nom de plume of a kinky bisexual femme who resides in sex-positive San Francisco. She is deeply in love with her girlfriend—and heavily in lust with a couple of other people. She and her partner have a delightful, committed open relationship, so she is able to explore her desire for others, like the one who inspired her story. Like the third sentence says, every word in it is true.

  RADCLYFFE is the author of numerous lesbian novels and anthologies including the Lambda and GCLS Literary Award–winners Erotic Interludes 2 and 4, edited with Stacia Seaman; Distant Shores, Silent Thunder and Promising Hearts. She has selections in Best Lesbian Erotica (2006 and 2007), A Is for Amour, Caught Looking: Erotic Tales of Voyeurs and Exhibitionists and Ultimate Undies: Erotic Stories about Lingerie and Underwear, among others. She is also the president of Bold Strokes Books, an independent LGBT publishing company.

  NAN ROGUE considers her sense of humor and vulgarity her best features, and is thrilled to have the opportunity to share both with a wider audience. Nan currently resides with her hot musician girlfriend and their large, spoiled iguana in coastal North Carolina, where she works as a bartender/in-house therapist in a predominantly queer pub. This is her first published work.