by Ily Goyanes
Now the stars were aligned such that my crush consummation was not only a real possibility, the cards seemed stacked quite beautifully in my favor.
I didn’t have to wait long at all. Nari and I hadn’t even been properly acquainted when she wrapped her palm around my hip. “Excuse me, darlin’,” attempting to squeeze past me in the narrow backstage hallway, she ended up squeezing me much longer than necessary. My back was to her, but I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was—I’d have recognized that voice anywhere—and those few words did something unmistakable to my body, butterflies dancing in my belly then lower still. Not to mention the effect of her hand on mi cadera. Spinning around like a whirlwind, I faltered in my heels. Conveniently enough, her hand was still hanging mid-air, ready to steady me, ever the gallant butch type that makes girls like me weak-kneed. I’ll admit I swooned at the feel of her firm forearm snaked around my waist. When our eyes locked, she pulled me in slightly, under the guise of catching me, sin duda.
In that split second, we had given consent with just a look, an energetic exchange, and there were no more hesitations. She took me by the hand and led me off to what I could only assume was a supply closet. It was so dark in there though that there was no telling. Which only served to heighten my already roused senses. Normally, I much prefer being able to see the person I’m with, but the pitch black allowed us to release what little was left of our reserve. My bra was dangling from my right arm before I even realized I was missing my dress. Only once she had me all but naked did we kiss. And, boy, did we kiss. Biting down on lips, sucking on tongues, there was nothing tender or sweet in that first kiss. Fue impulsado por la lujuria pura. We had tapped into something primal. Her hands roamed all over my body, exploring practically every inch...except the one place I needed them most.
“Such a bad girl. Going off with complete strangers. I think you need to be taught a lesson. Do you need to get spanked?” Never had someone requested consent in such a sexy way. Nari knew the answer, but being a chivalrous gent, she awaited my response.
“Yes. Yes, please.” The only words I could utter, the only words left floating in my head. My flesh already ablaze under her touch.
Or so I thought until the burning of her slaps set in, pitching heat to new heights. I didn’t know where the chair came from, nor did I care. My only cares were that she had me bent over her legs with my ass in the air as her palm met my sweetest of spots repeatedly. Nari didn’t bother to warm me up, but the sadistic force in each blow felt simultaneously both stingy and thuddy. Mi sensación favorita. The smell of her leather boots, the obvious strength in her calloused hands, and the sound of her strained breath were almost too much. I squirmed in her lap in an attempt to angle my clit against her knee, her belt buckle, hell, I would’ve settled for a sizable wrinkle in her denim at that point.
Caught up so thoroughly in my own need, I hadn’t been aware of any shouting—other than my own—until a voice resounded in the speakers. “Nari! Nari, you’re needed for a sound check!”
Talk about a buzz kill. Neither of us wanted to stop, but we’re professionals, or at the very least, performers who respect others’ time, so we quickly untangled ourselves. As I hitched my bra into place, she helped me locate my dress.
“I noticed you.” Desire clinging to each syllable, hidden meaning debajo las palabras. We stopped fidgeting with our clothing for a moment.
“Uh, I—I noticed you too.” I wasn’t exactly fibbing. A more truthful response would’ve been that I had been noticing her on and off for years, but I didn’t want to come off as a stalker. Or worse yet, a starfucker. Because my desire has nothing to do with celebrity—it’s purely based on physical, intellectual, and energetic attraction—but a butch-loving femme would’ve had to be living under a rock to not have come across her work at some point. It was the kind of thing that gets passed secretly among femmes, provoking everything from flushed cheeks to mascara-stained tears.
“I’d love see you later. Continue where we left off…” Nari cracked the door, light streaming in such that I caught the sideways grin and cocked eyebrow when she added, “But I know you’re in high demand, so if not tonight, then some other time?”
“Most definitely.” I knew I was blushing, my sudden timidez seemingly out of place, yet I pushed through it to meet her eyes. “I’m Kiki, by the way.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I know,” she gave me a look of appreciation and a kiss on the cheek that, with its linger, could’ve pierced the hearts of a thousand femmes, then turned to leave. “I’ve been looking forward to hearing you. Your stories have, uh, served me quite well in the past.”
At that she was gone, gracias a diosa, as I must’ve flushed fifty shades of red. I savored the sensation for a minute, then adjusted my dress, ditched my panties, and set off in search of a new pair. When I reached my bag, I found a note sticking out from the top.
On this eve of Valentine
I desire to make you mine
Just one night of carnal bliss
Shall we kick it off with a kiss?
The perfect valentine. The only thing was that it wasn’t signed. Whoever penned that little stanza knew my tastes well. Never one to get all mushy over Valentine’s Day, I’m the type who prefers the hedonistic celebrations of Lupercalia, conveniently falling on the same day. An ancient holiday that invoked fertility, incited orgies, and glorified the use of bloodied knives and whips is much more my speed. So as to honor my kindred feriado, I found a little space to set up a makeshift altar and dug mis ofrendas out of my bag. I placed a small knife, red maca root, and a leather strap in front of a candle, whispering blessings of gratitude as I lit it, wondering who had left me that note. Then I read it one last time, setting its lines to memory, and lifted its edge to the flame. A final oblation.
I was torn. Nari clearly wanted to spend the night en mi cama and some less than subtle commentary from Quinn lead me to believe that they coveted that time with me as well. I got the impression that the two had had a conversation about it, and I was relieved to not be picking up on any contention between them (not that there’s anything wrong with a little healthy competition—I simply fancy myself a prize without there having to be any contest). It seemed that sometime in between sound checks, sidelong glances and lighting cues, they had worked out some sort of gentleman’s agreement: Lady’s choice. I could be brazen and request a threesome, but for some reason that didn’t appeal to me so much as experiencing each butch’s spark individually. Longing to explore how our attraction would unfurl one-on-one as each of their energies intertwined with mine, I knew I had to make a decision. And they seemed intent to make it hard on me.
Shortly before call time, I found myself lying in bed with Quinn, not quite as licentiously as it sounds. We had been chatting innocently enough, facing one another while lying in opposite directions, diagonally across the bed, both of us propped up on an elbow. The conversation turned in an instant, however, and un coqueteo sparked in their eye, the chemistry crackling between us. My fingers reached out to tug flirtatiously on theirs and quicker than I was expecting, they were going in for our first kiss. I hadn’t had time to even lick my upper lip and so it stuck to the fleshy bit of their lower lip in what would’ve been an awkward moment, had it not been so fleeting as we tore into one another. The kiss deepened and we struggled to keep our tongues engaged as my body sought out theirs. I needed to be pressed up against Quinn as firmly and thoroughly as possible, within the obvious limitations of us still being fully clothed.
In between me biting their shoulder and them sucking on my clavicle, we shed bits of clothing like an art form. We were loath to break away even momentarily, so the process was quite drawn out, teasing out our desire all the more. I straddled Quinn, delighted to discover they were packing, and thrust mi lengua back into their mouth. Their moan traveled down the back of my throat, reverberating inside my chest. I lowered myself, grinding against their cock, wetness seeping through my panties and undoubtedly leaving
the front of their jeans quite damp. Eventually the jeans came off and I tugged on the leather straps of their harness while they pressed their cock up against my cunt. Quinn balled their fist around the hair at the nape of my neck, yanking my head back, and I clawed at their flesh. They ran their hands down my back, then grabbed me by the hips, forcing me down harder as I pressed my palms into their biceps, a feigned resistance. The constant push and pull contrasting beautifully while intensifying the tension between us. Our electricity was undeniable, indescribable, and utterly ethereal.
And then it was gone.
“Call time,” Quinn stated matter-of-factly, pulling their jeans back on.
“But...I want...” I began to plead as they were already buckling their belt.
“It’s good for a girl to want things,” Quinn interrupted with a fiendish grin over their shoulder as they exited the room, leaving my desire that hung in the balance all the more wantonly delectable.
After my all too brief encounter with Quinn, my choice was clear. Our chemistry was off the charts—something I was dying to explore more thoroughly—so how could I not spend this one precious night with them? I slipped quietly into the seat directly across from them just before the show began. Tenía un plan brillante.
Just as the MC began to read Quinn’s bio, I leaned forward, tilting my chin down slightly to hold their gaze through my mascaraed lashes. “Would you like to spend the night with me?”
I sensed their cock jump under the table at the offer. “I’d really like that.” Then I saw the wheels turning in their head. “But...”
Nipping that thought in the bud, I leaned in even closer, brushing my lips briefly across their cheek before whispering in their ear, “I’ve been wanting you for way too long.”
For once it was me making someone else blush and I’ll admit I was quite pleased with myself. It hadn’t thrown them off their game—Quinn was perfectly composed in front of that mic—but I could see evidence of mi desvergüenza all across their face. I wondered if anyone else noticed the subtly darker spot on the front of Quinn’s jeans as they stood in the spotlight. Certainly such a telltale tell wouldn’t be lost on the other cock-worshipping femmes in that sea of queers. And there was something devious I enjoyed in that—having marked my territory for the evening.
The crowd ate Quinn up and as their story wound down, I prepared to take the stage next. Drawing in a deep breath to ground myself, I invoked the essence of Lupercalia, channeling the spirits of both those who had done the whipping and the ones who had taken the lashes. The audience would be my orgy. Drunk on that bit of moxie I had hit Quinn with before they read, I was sovereignty embodied as I made my way up the few stairs and into the spotlight. My nerves were delayed, only hitting me once I looked out. Palpable and pulsing in time with the vitality of the room, quite apropos to the sanguine festival I had conjured, I was called to harness the force of my heartbeat. So I took a moment, cerrando los ojos, breathing in the energy of this wanton holiday, of all the audience had to offer, of what was to come afterward, and I exhaled, standing taller in my power.
There’s something so ineffably sexy about being on stage. I don’t particularly enjoy it—I’ve been lovingly dubbed a reluctant starlet because of my lack of love for the limelight—but I can never stay away for too long. That night I realized it was the power exchange that had always drawn me in. Yes, I was gifting the audience with my most libidinous turnings of phrase, but they gave back in equal measure, allowing themselves to be consumed by my words. I told them tales of my most lascivious exploits, dishing out details I’d normally be too shy to even share with lovers, spiraling into a vortex of lechery and fire. They hung on every word, hungry for more, my ardor filling the room. They devoured my desire. Entre la multitud, two sets of eyes in particular undressed me as I owned that stage, doing all kinds of questionable acts to my body throughout my performance. And I won’t deny that I relished every last drop of their attentions.
Just as I was finishing up my set, I turned my head and a painfully bright ray of light blinded me momentarily. I was damning the spotlight for breaking my attention when I realized it was actually sunlight. My enchanting apparition shattered in an instant as Quinn, Nari, and the rest of the audience faded into the ethers. But the sensation we had conjured remained. Reality began to seep in that it had been a dream. And still I couldn’t shake the smile from my face. Because although I would be over the moon to revel in such revelry, I’m told it’s good for a girl to want things. Besides, who wouldn’t want to leave a little uncharted fantasía dangling out there in the cosmos? My reality just got a little more dreamy. And I had awoken hungrier than ever.
No, Tell Me How You Really Feel
Ily Goyanes
I sit by my tree every day and watch them walk by. Tall and with an easy confidence I would never have, they look like they were created in a lab or something. Definitely not your average human beings.
Especially the captain. She was just under six feet tall, with long, wavy brown hair that she kept in a ponytail almost 24/7, but I had seen it loose once when she was trying to bring up attendance at the volleyball games. The plan, apparently, was to walk around campus “engaging” the student body. Retch. She had come over to my tree that day and I, pretending not to notice her seventy inches looming over me, just kept sketching in my black Moleskin.
“Excuse me? I hate to bother you...”
I looked up at her from under my charcoal-lidded eyes. “Then why are you?”
She turned red and stood there for what seemed like a full minute. “Um...” She started to say something then thought better of it and walked away, mumbling an apology.
That’s right. Walk away, cretin. Don’t you know that jocks don’t talk to emo art-school girls?
After that incident, she kind of tried to avoid me, but I would see her checking me out when she thought I wasn’t looking. But I was. I always watched her, especially at the games. I know what you’re thinking, an emo art-school chick attending a college volleyball game? Don’t be so closed-minded. Brace yourself—I also watch the Super Bowl and the NBA championships. Don’t let my sullen attitude and heavy black eyeliner fool you—I have school spirit.
I sit high up in the bleachers waiting for the game to start, dressed in tight jeans, sneakers, and a hoodie emblazoned with the school’s crest pulled up over my head, obscuring my face. Yes, I have school spirit, but no one has to know about it. So, once a week during volleyball season, I don my “average person” disguise so I can attend the games without ruining my reputation with the coffee-house crowd.
The announcer starts calling out the names over the loudspeaker. This is my favorite part. “Number Twenty-Three and captain of the Lady Blue Jays, Julianne Murphy!”
She trots out of the hallway and into the gym/auditorium and stands there looking around. The bleachers are half empty, which is an improvement from previous games. I guess her efforts to engage the student body are working. She looks happy and I want to slap her. Doesn’t she realize that there is more to life than sports? More to life than just refining your, admittedly hot, body? What about cultivating your brain? I shake my head. Jocks don’t have brains, I remind myself. She dominates the court, spikes the ball into the faces of our enemies, and brings home the win. I go home and rub my clit raw thinking about how much she annoys me.
***
She’s eating lunch alone today. What a fucking miracle. Besides being stupid, jocks travel in herds. Especially Captain Murphy. There is always a group of sycophants around her, hemming and hawing, practically tripping over themselves to get closer to the golden girl.
She’s sitting on a huge rock about ten paces from my tree and eating a wrap or some other trendy, pseudo-healthy lunch. Just looking at her makes me want to vomit. She looks my way several times pretending she’s looking at something in the distance. What, Cap’n? Looking at the gym/auditorium to see if it changes color? I told you. Jocks are dumb.
I start sketching her. At firs
t my strokes are sharp and deep, but then I lose myself in the sketch. I hear only pencil on paper—the entire school has disappeared. It is just me, my Moleskin, my pencil and my tree. She starts to take shape beautifully, almost as beautiful as she is in real life. I start shading when I hear someone clear her throat. Uh-oh. Captain Murphy must want to die.
“Is that me? I mean, the drawing, is that, um, a drawing of me?”
“Yes,” I answer her. I am mortified, but I recover. “We’re doing a project in one of my art classes and we’re supposed to draw still lifes.”
She seems to relax a bit, probably relieved that I didn’t stab her foot with my pencil. Then something dawns on her, “But aren’t still lifes...”
“Yes,” I say acidly. “Exactly.”
She turns red again, and if I hadn’t known any better, I would have sworn that tears welled up in her eyes.
***
After the still life incident, I didn’t see her around for a week. The Cap’n and her cronies must have taken a detour to the gym/auditorium every day, because I caught neither hide nor hair of her. We won the game that weekend. Murphy was on fire, she was a woman possessed. Not a single ball got past her the entire game and when she went up to serve, I could see the other team cringe collectively. Our enemies did not score a single point. Go team.
The following week, the jocks were back to their regularly scheduled programming. There was a new development as well. A new girl, one I had never seen on campus before, was being very touchy-feely with my Murphy, touching her biceps, stroking her hair, and making slut faces at her. Being the dumb jock she is, Murphy was basking in the attention. Although I did notice her looking over at my tree several times....