The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 5

by Maxim Jakubowski

  I tried to pacify her with a couple quick pets and hoped she would go away. I was not going to do it front of her. Rolling over onto my other side for some privacy, I accidentally knocked her off the bed. The sensitive little snot head shot under the bed like I had struck her with a broom.

  That was when Michael came home and found me trying to coax her out.

  “Why is Kitty under the bed?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe a breeze blew on her and she took it the wrong way.”

  Sizing me up on the bed, he raised and an eyebrow. “You look sexy lying there,” he said. He took off his shirt, his signal that he wanted to do it. He’s never been big on foreplay. It’s more like “let’s kiss” and “let’s do it.” But since I was already sort of warmed up, I nodded.

  I did feel a little guilty about the masturbating thing so to make up for it I initiated butt play with a dildo. This was something he wanted to do to me for a long time. Thank goodness, he didn’t ask me, “why now.” Then I would have to explain I needed the details for another story.

  It was a little uncomfortable at first, but toward the end, I got into it, good enough to have a mind-blowing orgasm and then pass out.

  When I woke up, I couldn’t find the dildo. The little pink plastic butt fucker was gone.

  Please don’t let Kitty be using it as a cat toy, I thought. Michael was still sleeping. Quietly, I got out of bed and bent over to look for it on the floor when suddenly I farted. The dildo shot out of my ass.

  Young Women

  After I recovered from the dildo incident, an editor called me. He couldn’t use the story I had submitted to him, but he liked my style of writing. He wanted to me to write these 200 word blurbs for beneath some photos for another one of his magazines. I happily agreed.

  The photos came by overnight mail. I pulled them out their envelope and raised an eyebrow. These young women looked very young, maybe a day or two past eighteen at the most. I kept thinking about myself at that age. Did I want horny men looking at my crotch?

  I had the worst time making up the scenarios, but I did the best I could and sent them off. The editor didn’t like them. He said I tried to cram too much story into a small space. He wanted a single scene.

  Michael once said he had read a lot of these magazines when he was younger. Wanting his advice, I visited him in the bathroom as he was taking a shower. I sat on the toilet seat, explaining my frustration.

  “What’s the deal with these girls?” he asked.

  “Well one girl is a babysitter who finds a pair of naughty panties and whacks off with them. The other girl is trying to seduce older men at a pool.”

  “So say this,” Michael said.

  And he launched into the raunchiest word festival I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth. Maybe the hot water was doing something to his brain. I hadn’t expected him to come up with something this quick. I had a pencil tucked behind my ear, but no paper, so I used the inside of a tampon box.

  Watching him in the shower, I thought he looked sexy right now. I should hop inside the shower with him, but I wanted to get these words down. I ran to my desk, but I felt like I was leaving something important behind.

  Deadlines

  My computer locked up this morning. Michael had already left for work. I told the editor I would have the scenarios to him by this morning. Since I can’t email them to him, I decided to fax them from work.

  At work though, under the fluorescent lights, I was concerned my copy wasn’t dark enough for our crappy fax machine, so I made a darker copy first. Thank god, it went through the fax the first time, but as I got back to my desk, I realized the last page of my original draft was missing. Of course, it was the page with the big orgasm scene with the babysitter.

  Panicking, I ran back to the copy machine to find it gone. I glanced down. It was in the trashcan, ripped neatly in half. Oh no. Someone found it. Looking around the room for the culprit, I realized my boss was staring at me by the postage machine, an eyebrow raised. I swallowed.

  “Oh my Lord,” I said. “Who would write such filthy disgusting stuff? I’m so glad someone ripped it up.”

  With that said, I headed back to my desk, feeling like I had betrayed myself.

  Constance Again

  After work, I came home to find Constance’s car in the driveway. What was she doing here? I went inside and heard voices coming from the kitchen. At first, it looked like a normal scene. One of my girlfriends had stopped by for a visit and my boyfriend was sitting at the kitchen counter talking to her, but then I saw Michael’s face. It was drained of color. What on earth could make him look like this? Had something happened to Kitty?

  “Your girlfriend wants to do a three way,” he announced.

  “What?” I asked, stunned.

  “Your girlfriend came over here, and she said she wants to have sex with me and you, because she has a crush on you, and it might be easier if I was there. Apparently in some story you posted online you communicated to her that you felt that way too.”

  “I didn’t post it. It was published,” I said.

  Michael rolled his eyes.

  “What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

  “Are you crazy?” I asked her.

  Acting embarrassed, Constance crossed her arms over her chest and looked at the floor.

  “So, Penny, what happened in a lingerie dressing room?” Michael asked.

  “That was a couple months ago. Remember when I brought home the rubber ducky nightshirt.”

  “You went to a lingerie store and came home with that?”

  A color was coming back to his face. It was red.

  “Constance,” I said to her, like a parent might to a naughty child. “I told you that was a story. It’s not real life. I just put a lost dildo up the ass in a gay story, and I’m not a gay man.”

  “You put the dildo up the butt thing into a story?” Michael asked. “That was personal.”

  “But Jen said you were really into three ways,” she said.

  Oh, God.

  “When did she say this?” I asked.

  “We’ve been seeing each other. Meeting for shopping and lunch.”

  “You guys hate each other.”

  Constance shrugged. I tried to compose myself, but I couldn’t believe they were seeing each other behind my back.

  “Why does Jen think you’re into three ways?” Michael asked me.

  “She did one the other weekend and she was telling me the details at La Shish Kabob. We were kicked out for inappropriate conversation.”

  “That’s why no baklava,” he announced, like a private detective figuring out a twist in the crime.

  I looked at Constance.

  “Look, Constance,” I said as gently as possible. “I like you as one of my friends, but I do not want to have a three way with you or any other way, as a matter of fact.”

  “Nor do I,” Michael said.

  “I never want to see either of you again, as long as I live,” she shouted.

  In a torrent of tears, she ran from the kitchen. A moment later, we heard the front door slam.

  Michael leveled his gaze on me. It was so cold it gave me a chill.

  “I got an invitation to go out tonight with the guys, and I wasn’t going to go because I wanted to spend time with you,” he said. “But I think I’m going now.”

  Once he was gone, I sat there fuming, desperately needing a bowl of my no name sugar pops to calm myself down, but since I didn’t have them, I ate two Snickers Bars and drank two cans of Coke. Then I left Jen a message, thanking her for destroying my relationship with Constance and maybe my relationship with Michael as well. I finished with “Don’t bother calling me again.”

  House Parties

  Michael had never been this mad at me before. There had been no cuddles, kisses, or jokes all week. That weekend, we were invited to a barbecue at Josh’s house. He was Michael’s best friend. I wasn’t sure if I should go or not.

  “Do
you still want me to go?” I asked, the day of the party.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” he asked.

  I was a little worried about how he would act, but as soon as we got there, he started acting like himself again. I started to relax for the first time in days.

  All the other girls went into the kitchen to check on the food, but I stayed by Michael. He was in such a good mood I didn’t want to leave him. Besides, I didn’t click with these girls. All they talked about what was an acceptable carat size for an engagement ring. After listening to them for the past half hour, I actually missed Jen and Constance.

  We were in Josh’s sports room, or what I liked to call the Male Bonding Room. There were a lot of sports memorabilia, an actual bar and a huge sectional sofa. Plus, Josh collected celebrity autographs.

  The guys started talking about all the stupid stunts they’ve pulled over the years. Then the conversation led to the times when they used to visit strip clubs. I didn’t mind. They’ve talked about stuff like this before in front of me because they know I write porn.

  Suddenly, I realized they weren’t talking about the far away past. They were talking about the other night, and how this stripper sucked this gum out of one their mouths, chewed it and spit it back in. Michael was cracking up and blushing, saying how after it happened he’d accidentally swallowed the gum.

  I got a chill. That’s where he went the other night when he was mad at me. My boyfriend was sharing gum with a half-naked girl. I felt nauseous.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” I asked.

  I tried to control the tone of voice, but it came out like cold water on barking dogs. Everyone froze. His smile faded.

  “I told you I went out,” he said.

  “You didn’t tell me this,” I shrieked.

  Immediately, everyone filed out of the room but us.

  “I would never cheat on you,” I said. “How would you like it if I got it on with Josh?”

  He looked pale.

  “Well, you stop writing porn, and I’ll stop the strippers,” he said.

  “Michael, you knew I wrote porn when you met me. You’re like a girl who hooks up with a guy who races bikes and yet the moment they are together, she wants him to get rid of the bikes.”

  “But I’m so sick of your exploiting our personal business,” he said. “Sometimes you just don’t think.”

  I hesitated.

  “Think about it, Penny,” he said. “A lot of this shit happens because you don’t use your head.”

  I opened my mouth to say something more, but he interrupted me.

  “Think,” he said.

  So, I thought about it. Could I avoid some of these perils of writing porn if I used my head? My sister probably wouldn’t be mad at me if she hadn’t opened my Christmas cards. Michael would have gotten his baklava if I had monitored my conversation with Jen in front of those kids at La Shish Kabob. Constance wouldn’t have wanted to do a three way if I hadn’t sent her the link to that story.

  “I think you might be right,” I said. “I do need to start using my head when I write porn.”

  As soon as I said it, all this fog in my brain started to clear. It was like all the porn neurons were confusing my common sense neurons.

  Michael looked relieved.

  “I’m sorry, too, for everything,” he said.

  To show me he meant it, he gave me a sweet, tender, probing kiss like he had the first time he kissed me, the kind that took my breath away and made me fall in love with him, but immediately I started categorizing the details. This kiss would be perfect for this new story idea. The way his mouth was pressed against mine, the way his tongue traced my teeth.

  Stop it, Penny, I told myself. If Michael didn’t want me to use our personal details in stories than I wouldn’t.

  Breaking the kiss, I let him lift me up in his arms to give me a big squeeze. That’s when I saw it. Over his shoulder. A newly framed autographed photo on the wall. The picture was from a strip club with all the guys, including Michael, and sitting on his lap was the headliner.

  And guess who she was? Camel Toe Girl.

  I was definitely putting this kiss in a story.

  Lonesome Little Blue

  O’Neil De Noux

  [For Debb]

  Sitting in a high-back chair in the lobby of the Klamath Hotel, Sam Hyde waited for a woman he hadn’t seen in seventeen years. His eyes were focused on the front door, so he could see her the moment she arrived. He crossed his left leg and involuntarily ran his fingers down the crease of his gray dress pants. He fidgeted with the knot of the wide flowered tie he’d picked up in New Orleans a month ago, in anticipation of this very moment, or was it Hong Kong? For some reason he couldn’t remember.

  He glanced at the Rolex on his right wrist. It was four minutes until six. Looking back at the front door, he noticed how dark it was outside. Beyond the door, a man in a gray sweat suit was scraping snow off the sidewalk, piling it on the curb. Although it seemed cool in the quiet lobby, Sam felt perspiration working its way down his back. Tiny beads of sweat also collected along his forehead. He wiped his brow with his fingers and let out a nervous sigh.

  He promised himself he wouldn’t be nervous. He’d planned on being in control, being cool when she stepped in and their eyes met. He wanted to be the successful man he’d become since leaving Grayville seventeen years ago. He reminded himself of his successes in business and with women, but it was no use. This was the woman he’d never forgotten. In fact, he had trouble thinking of any of the other women.

  Since the first crush he’d felt for her in junior high, she’d never left his mind for more than a few days. No matter where he’d traveled, his mind always returned to the flatland of his youth, to the small Kansas town nestled between the Big Blue and Little Blue Rivers just south of the Nebraska border, to stuffy classrooms and the memory of her skirt bouncing against the back of her thighs as she walked down the hall in front of him.

  Checking the time again, he saw it was one minute until six now. He focused on the door and tried to swallow, only his throat was desert dry. He readjusted himself in his seat and had to pull his feet quickly out of the way of an elderly man in a large bear overcoat who almost stepped on Sam. The old man didn’t even seem to see him, as he shuffled across the lobby.

  “Old age is hell,” Sam thought.

  Tyler Sproul rounded the corner at that very moment and walked around the man shoveling snow off the sidewalk. Moving purposefully in her high heels over the slick sidewalk, she sucked in a deep breath of brisk air as she approached the front door of the old Klamath Hotel. She wondered what Sam would look like at thirty-five. She wondered what he’d think of her now.

  Entering through the revolving door, Tyler stopped just inside the doorway and looked around. The old hotel smelled musty, stuffy from forced-air heat. Tyler felt her face flush in the sudden warmth just as she saw Sam. He smiled at her as he rose from his chair. She felt her breath catch as she recognized that same smile from high school, the smile he’d flashed her way after winning the state swimming title, all those years ago.

  She noticed a streak of silver along the temples of Sam’s dark hair, and a deep tan on his exquisite face, and those light blue eyes that looked like the morning sky on a bright summer day. He still had his swimmer’s physique, tall and lean. He also had a moustache now.

  Sam studied her as he crossed the lobby on legs that felt suddenly weak. Her hair was shorter but still reddish brown, parted down the center now. She was still slender, with her legs still long and shapely. She was wearing a burgundy dress and a gold topcoat that she removed as he arrived.

  Stopping in front of her, Sam looked into her green eyes. He saw something in them that made him smile even wider. His most vivid memory of Tyler was the liveliness of her green eyes, the youthful sparkle in them. He realized he had been most worried about her eyes, rather than what she looked like now as a woman. He wanted her eyes to be lively, more than anything.

&n
bsp; Tyler felt a swell of emotion crawling up her throat, felt a stiffness in her back, a salty wetness in her eyes. She blinked. She thought he was about to say something, but when he opened his mouth his lips began to shake, so he closed it and just stared at her with those warm blue eyes.

  He found himself studying every detail of her face. It was still the face from his dreams; only there were lines now, on her cheeks where she smiled and smaller lines next to her eyes. She still had that triangular face, the pointy chin, the nearly perfect nose, those well-formed lips he’d never tasted. He found himself staring at her lower lip, which was fuller than her upper lip.

  Tyler always loved the small cleft in the center of Sam’s chin. She found herself looking at his moustache, his wide dark mustache that looked so soft. And when she looked up at his eyes, she saw they were now damp.

  No longer a girl, Tyler had become a truly beautiful woman. And when she smiled it was the same smile of that young girl from the halls of his dreams. Tyler had the warmest, nicest, most beautiful smile Sam had ever seen . . . ever. He could see the wetness in her eyes now. She blinked again at him.

  They both let out a nervous sigh. Sam reached his hand out, and she took it and squeezed it.

  The palm of his hand felt moist.

  “How about that steak I promised?” His voice was scratchy and he cleared his throat immediately and smiled again.

  She nodded, biting her lower lip, blinking her eyes once more to keep the wetness from rolling down her cheeks.

  She ached for him to touch her. All evening she wanted to feel his touch on her skin. Now, in his hotel room, on the second floor of the old Klamath, two days before Christmas of her thirty-fifth year, with the plates from their steak dinner still sitting on the small table against the window, Tyler felt Sam’s arms wrapping around her. She pulled herself to him. She let out an involuntary sigh and tightly shut her eyes.