Queermance Anthology, Volume 1

by Queermance Anthology- Volume 1 [MM-FF] (v5. 0) (epub)

  Before Adam could take a breath to bitch some more, I inserted the pointed tip of my tongue into the slightly furled skin of his foreskin until I touched the slick skin nestled within.

  ‘Oh god,’ Ad groaned. ‘If you stop now, Cullen, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.’

  Tentatively, I sucked the head of Adam’s cock into my mouth. The taste was a mix of spice and salt. Hmmm. I chased the flavour by rolling my tongue around and in and under and over the foreskin.

  Adam reached down and started stroking the lower part of his cock while I sucked its head. As he pulled the skin taut, the head of his cock emerged from the foreskin, allowing my tongue to explore the leaking slit.

  Adam’s pace increased as his litany of sex sounds started to deteriorate into Ohs and Unghs. I tried to match his rhythm but kept getting my nose punched by Adam’s knuckles as he fisted his cock ever faster. After a particularly violent blow brought tears to my eyes, I pulled off, stilling Adams’s frantic motions by grabbing his wrist.

  Adam responded with a high-pitched whimper and tried to take his cock in his hand again.

  ‘Jesus, Ad! Keep your hands OFF! Fuck me, I never thought sex would be this fucking complicated!’

  Before his questing hands could get in the way again, I took over the pumping while I lowered my mouth to engulf the now weeping tip of his cock. Within seconds, Adam’s thighs tightened. His cock stiffened then pulsed as the first shot of cum surged into my mouth. My attempt to swallow and suck and squeeze and jack all at the same time caused the next shot of cum to fire into my sinuses. Pulling off, I valiantly tried to finish Adam off, snorting cum out my nose at the same time. What was I supposed to do with the mouthful that sat on my tongue like a pre-chewed oyster? In the end, I decided I’d either have to swallow or start breathing through my ears. I tried not to notice the texture or taste as my throat worked convulsively in an attempt to expel what I’d just swallowed. I shuddered spasmodically. Christ! I wasn’t sure I’d ever grow to like that taste.

  Adam grabbed my wrist to still my hand, pulling me away from his now probably too-sensitive cock. His gentle tug encouraged me to crawl up his body until I was crouched on my hands and knees above him.

  He looked down between us. I could feel my painfully hard erection dripping onto the bed. Stretching down, Adam cradled my balls in his palm, giving them gentle squeezes until, with a silent cry, I came. Adam’s gaze flickered between my erupting cock and my face.

  Once he’d reduced me to a quivering, sated mess, Adam leaned up and, with a hand behind my neck, pulled me down into a kiss. ‘Don’t go, Ed,’ he murmured as he plucked at my lips with his.

  I stared at him from sex-blurred eyes. Meeting his gaze, I tried work out how he truly felt. Instead of love-filled doe-eyes like those I’d seen on Heather, I saw twinkling merriment.

  ‘You suck at sucking, mate. You need practice to perfect your technique, and I’m going to be generous enough to allow you to practise on me.’

  What more could one say but, ‘Give me a sec to catch my breath and I’ll get right to it, Ad.’

  Adam’s laugh rocked the bed as I eased down beside him.

  I sighed in contentment as I pulled Adam into my arms. Yeah, we sucked at the whole sex thing so far, but at least we were getting a chance to get it right.

  I BLAME THE CAT

  Alison Evans

  It’s too early to be awake, goddamnit. Should have gotten proper-drunk last night and sent some embarrassing texts to my ex instead. Would’ve been better than letting Simon drag me around all night, trying to help me ‘move on’ while he stuck his tongue down the throat of every boy he could find.

  He is a terrible best friend. He won’t let me wallow. He has to go.

  I can’t remember the girl’s name, I realise. Not that I really care, but it’d be nice to avoid some embarrassment.

  Groaning, I pull the doona over my head and try and trick myself into falling asleep again. That’s when I realise: she’s not here. The cat’s in her warm space instead. Thank Christ.

  Simon barges into the room. ‘Rise and shine, Lucy in the sky! Your guest is waiting for you.’ He prods my foot. ‘I made her breakfast.’

  ‘Fuck off.’ My voice is muted by the covers. ‘It’s the morning, Simon. The morning is not for talking. It’s for sitting in the dark, drinking disgusting coffee and regretting one’s choices.’

  I poke my head out of the covers to look at his disgustingly cheery face. ‘Why’d you take me out last night? Now I have to talk to her.’

  ‘I just thought you could take a break from seeing Rosie Palms every night.’

  ‘Rosie Pa - oh.’ I stick my middle finger up at him, the asshole. ‘As if you can talk. I hear you every night, wanking your tits off. You have scarred me for life.’

  ‘I have-‘

  ‘For life!’

  He clears his throat. ‘I have found you a wife, Lucy Rojas, and this is how you repay me.’

  ‘Wife!’ I shriek. ‘You’re worse than my mother. Get out!’

  I get up, thankfully not naked, and push him out the door. He whispers me the girl’s name as I almost trip over my cat who obviously heard the word breakfast. Simon gives me a shit-eating grin as I slam the door in his face. Next time the door’s gonna hit his stupid big nose.

  The cleanest clothes I can find are shorts and a blank t shirt, I pull them on and go out to the kitchen. And of course, Simon isn’t there. Just ‘Emily’ - sitting there, spreading avocado onto her toast. I stare at her from the doorway and she stares back.

  ‘Hi,’ I say eventually.

  ‘Your housemate said he had to go to work,’ she says.

  ‘Course he fuckin’ did,’ I mutter as I take a seat at the table. I grab some toast from the middle of the table - Simon’s put out quite a spread - and dump beans, bacon, mushrooms on it. I bite down and acknowledge that my housemate isn’t all bad: he makes good food and is probably the reason I don’t live off packet noodles.

  ‘You want me to leave, don’t you?’ she says. She puts her elbows on the table, leans towards me. She’s got an odd kind of smile, half crooked, eyes scrunched up. I search her face, trying to figure out what that smile means, but come up blank.

  ‘Can you read minds?’ I ask, then shovel some food into my face.

  ‘Unfortunately, no.’

  ‘Psychologist?’ I dated a psych student once. She’d always tried to read my body language, but she was pretty terrible at it.

  Emily shakes her head as she leans back in her seat. ‘But you are.’

  I stare at her. ‘Not technically,’ I say, putting down my cutlery. ‘Studying.’

  Actually, let’s be honest, I’ve slept with a lot of pysch students. ‘How did you-?’

  ‘The books in your room.’

  She’s good, I think.

  ‘And you told me last night.’ She grins.

  ‘Oh.’

  Maybe I should keep this girl around. For a little while, at least. I try and think of something to say, but my mind trips over itself and every time I think of something, I know it’s not clever enough to impress her.

  ‘I don’t know your surname,’ I say. It doesn’t bother me at all; I’ve fucked plenty of girls without knowing their first names let alone their last.

  ‘Lin.’

  I used to try and tell myself that I couldn’t be that shallow, but I really am. I like pretty girls. Emily isn’t necessarily pretty, though, there’s something different that makes me want to reach out and touch her, make sure she’s real. The way she rests her elbow on the very edge of the table, or the way one of her eyebrows is almost permanently half-raised, maybe.

  I try not to cringe as I struggle to remember how conversation works. Emily’s still looking at me with that smile of hers and goddamnit, I’m going to ask her to leave because I’ve had enough of girls.

  ‘Do you want a shower or something?’ I say instead.

  So she’s in the shower when I decide I can’t be in the house anymore. Wh
y did I let her in the bathroom? Fucking Christ. I make sure I’ve got everything - wallet, keys, phone - and knock on the door.

  ‘I have to go, sorry!’ I yell at her through the door and there’s a reply, but I can’t hear her over the shower.

  I run out of the house, feeling ridiculous and sixteen years old. By the time I get home, she’s gone. It’d be weird if she was still here, but I kinda wish she was. Then I frown and Simon comes in, sees me and grins.

  ‘I am so not talking to you,’ I tell him.

  ‘Fair enough,’ he pouts. ‘Though, I would’ve killed you.’

  ‘I haven’t decided not to, yet. You’re on thin ice, boyo.’ I shrug off my jacket, ignore the dishes in the sink, make myself a coffee and settle into bed to watch a movie on my laptop.

  I shouldn’t have left, I tell myself as I swill the dregs of the coffee around. It was probably a shitty thing to do.

  When I finally shut my laptop, the only light in my room comes from the streetlamp outside. I hear a tram rattle off and I get under the sheets, sigh into the pillow and run my hands up the mattress. My fingers close on a piece of paper under the pillow and I pull out a note. I turn my lamp on to read it: there’s a name and number in small, loopy writing.

  By the third date, I’ve decided I could very well be in love with this girl some day. She’s smart and her tongue is quicker than anything. She’s an English major, no idea what she’s going to do and she doesn’t give a fuck. And you’d think she’d be loud, but she’s quiet, subtle. She’s gotten under my skin and she’s hooked me; I know she has because I haven’t run away yet even though I want to.

  ‘Here you are, girls,’ the waiter says as he brings over our coffees. I see her face crunch but she doesn’t say anything until after he leaves.

  ‘Fucking Christ,’ she spits out quietly, stirring a sugar packet into her latte. ‘Girls. Do we look twelve?’

  I nod, want her to keep talking. She’s gearing up for a rant, I hope.

  ‘And I’m not even a girl, asshole.’ When she looks at me, there’s an openness there. Her breath comes quick and her hands flutter as she speaks.

  ‘I’m genderqueer,’ she tells me. The words spill out onto the table. ‘Do you know what that means?’ Her muscles have stopped, she’s only a pair of lungs, accelerating.

  I remember my Google searches when I first saw the term on the internet: ‘Not subscribing to the gender binary’. I nod and smile, because she looks nervous. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I don’t mind what pronouns,’ she says. ‘I mostly use female, anyway.’

  And then she starts to relax when I don’t bother her with questions. We skip to opinions on TV shows and she’s loose again, laughing.

  ‘You have a third nipple,’ Emily says as we’re sitting on the couch. She’s got her hand up my shirt, her fingers tracing around something.

  ‘That’s a freckle,’ I tell her.

  She shakes her head and lifts up my top, pointing to it. ‘That’s a third nipple.’

  ‘Whaaaat.’

  It’s brown, like the other freckles on my torso. This one’s a little raised, and it’s kind got these grooves on it-

  ‘Holy shit, it is!’

  ‘Yeah,’ she nods, and keeps watching the TV. She’s completely unperturbed by the fact that she’s just changed my life forever. ‘One of my old boyfriends had one, too,’ she adds.

  ‘Oh my god,’ I say, prodding it. ‘Third nipple.’

  Emily yawns, showing her teeth, and closes her eyes. Her hair falls, covering most of her face but I see her smile. ‘You thought it would be freakier, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah. The words sound weird together. Third. Nipple. Weird.’

  ‘But not really.’ She kisses my cheek, and something shifts in her and she’s nuzzling at my neck, feeling for my pulse with her tongue.

  She puts her hand on mine and she kisses me, hard, but not fierce. She’s not a fierce person. She’s strong, but quietly. People underestimate her, but she can cut them down with a word. She whispers something in my ear, in Mandarin, and I don’t understand but she grips the back of my neck before making her way into my skirt. I part my legs and draw her in with my arms, feel her pulse beat through her body.

  Her dress rides up as she moves on top of me. I kiss her neck and up her jaw, feeling her pulse quicken, getting harder. She finds her way into my underwear and grins when she finds me. Fingertip slowly tracing. She’s slow, soft.

  I won’t be outdone, though, and the grin plastered on her face makes me unzip the back of her dress, to find her skin supple and warm.

  She lets me go and raises her arms so I can pull of her dress as she giggles. I throw it to the floor. She’s not wearing a bra.

  I bring my lips to her jaw, her collarbone, and her back arches and brings her closer. Her back muscles move under my fingers. She’s got her fingers on the back of my top, and I comply.

  She takes me in, like she’s never seen me before, and I take the moment to get her nipple in my mouth. She giggles and puts a hand on the back of my head, her fingers running through my hair. Should have kept it longer, given her something to grab onto.

  ‘Lucy,’ she says, and there’s a smile in her voice.

  I find her cunt and trace her clit in circles.

  And then she says something too quiet for me to catch, but I feel her hot breath against my cheek.

  She grips my hair tighter as I slide a finger in, she moans my name. She’s seeing colour everywhere, it’s pouring from her lips. Her hips start back and forth and I give her another finger, thumb rubbing circles.

  We move together and her breath gets harder across my cheek, my neck, my chest. She makes to take off my bra but then I pick up the pace, and her breath hitches, changes; and she’s swearing.

  Then she puts both hands on my head, our eyes are locked and she kisses me hard, her breath pouring into my mouth and filling my lungs. I don’t look away from her and she doesn’t blink. She grips my hair tight, I feel strands break and then Lucy rips from her tongue and she’s slowing, laughing. My fingers slip from her and she kisses my neck.

  ‘You’re outdoing yourself,’ she says, still breathing heavy. She lets her head rest on my shoulder, her hair falls from around her face and tickles my breasts.

  She kisses my cheek, lips warm, and then gets off me, off the couch, and kneels in front. Her hands have force when they need to, and she parts my legs, kisses and sucks her way up my thighs.

  Now it’s my turn to grip hair, clench teeth, mutter names. She takes my hands on hers and I hold onto her like she’s giving me life, my fingers ball into fists around hers and my thighs close in around her head. She lets one hand go and fingers me as she uses her tongue, faster, I can’t breathe, my throat is raw and I fall apart.

  She emerges and grins, kisses me on the lips and I taste the salt.

  Melbourne is an attractive city. A sexy beast. I may be a little drunk, but I would totally bang Melbourne. It’s White Night, the night of twelve hours of art across the CBD and there are people everywhere, clutching each other, slamming past because their business is just so much more important.

  The tram here was fuckin’ awful, I swear I could barely breathe. Of course, no one had the sense to open a damn window and I couldn’t reach. Simon kept singing and I kept almost vomiting, mostly from the jolts but a little from the booze.

  And now my phone doesn’t have any reception and I’d said to Emily, ‘Oh yeah, we’ll meet at Fed Square,’ like it was no biggie.

  Of course, that was damn stupid and now I’m standing on the steps looking over at the train station. Which is what every other single person looking for someone is doing; and I’m not really that tall, so I can’t see a lot.

  I sway on my feet a little, maybe getting drunk prior wasn’t the best idea, but Simon can be very persuasive and he was buying, anyway. Maybe he was stealing, who can be sure in this morally bankrupt society, anyway, right?

  I close my eyes for a second and feel the music
pumping in my bones, travelling up my limbs and bursting out through my mouth. I know maybe half of the words, and when I open my eyes a couple of people are staring.

  Where the hell did Simon go, anyway?

  Will, that’s right. They found each other again. Dunno how that’s gonna go, Simon’s good at breaking hearts, but we’ll see. Like I can talk, anyway. But not Emily; she is, like, endgame.

  I blink. Was that the rum or did I think that? Best not to dwell.

  There are people dancing in bright colours and it’s like they are the music, the way they move. Boom, boom, boom. The bass in my collar bone.

  It’s been ages, anyway, and I’ve got no idea where she is. Emily likes books. I bet she’s gone to the State Library. Half the time when we meet in the city, it’s on the steps of the library, so maybe she’s gone there. There might even be fewer people there.

  Anyway, I can see straight now, so I follow the flow of people away from Fed Square and up Swanston Street. All the buildings are lit with projectors and the colours shift and sway, I look up and there are people everywhere taking photos on their phones. I grin and keep walking, past the lovers wall, past overpriced food stalls.

  I only see one puddle of vomit on my way. Wow, Melbourne, well done. But, the night is still young. It’s only eleven and this thing goes til seven AM.

  There’s a busker duo in the middle of the road, I chuck a couple of coins at them. As I walk past, a group of girls sing at the top of their lungs, clutching each other and giggling. They continue in the opposite direction, but they make me smile.

  ‘Lucy!’ I hear, but the voice is far away and there’s probably a million Lucys in this crowd. They call out again and then someone grabs my shoulder. It’s Simon and his idiot-grinning face; Will and his round cheerful one that is drunker than mine; and Emily, who gives a short wave.

  ‘You found me,’ I say, trying to hug them all at once. I go to kiss Emily but get Will’s shoulder instead.

  She pats me on the head and takes my hand.

  ‘We’re gonna go home,’ Simon says, and Will grins at me.

  ‘I won’t be home for a while,’ I tell them, ‘if that’s what you’re getting at.’