The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 9

by Maxim Jakubowski

NATHAN: No, you’re a heroine to everyone everywhere. You stand for free speech, for free choice, for non-harming. You’re not just hot, you’re an international symbol. Everyone will want a piece of you. I see Playboy spreads. Chicklit novels based on you. I see a reality-TV show on Bravo. I see Eurovision song performances—

  DEBORAH: I see retiring and moving back to Florida before I turn 30.

  NATHAN: If that’s the way you want to play it.

  DEBORAH: Let me tell you something I’ve never told anyone. I met my husband Ted at the University of Fort Lauderdale. The Young Christians Club used to have these barbecues on the beach. Man, he was hot in his surf baggies. I was pretty hot in my Wicked Weasel thong too. We romped in the ocean together and fell in love. Back in church he told me all about the beauty of Oklahoma, and about how much money his family has, and about how exciting their business is. He got me all stirred up. Really. I just handed myself over to him. And where do I wind up? In a highway town in the middle of Nowheresville, married to a guy who repairs John Deere farm equipment for a living.

  NATHAN: It could be a good business if he got a website going.

  DEBORAH: It’s not where I want to be! I want margaritas. I want fish tacos. I want to go topless on the beach.

  NATHAN: So take my offer! It’s your ticket back to the good times!

  DEBORAH: Ted never even fucks me anymore. You know what I mean? He’s all about the diesel engines. He’d rather make small talk with farmers than spend five minutes getting me in the mood.

  NATHAN: The man has no appreciation for the finer things.

  DEBORAH: I’ve never spoken to anyone as frankly as this. Not even Brady. [Looks Nathan over] Do you even live on your own yet?

  NATHAN: I’ve got a lock on my door. I’m in charge of when I come and when I go.

  DEBORAH: And this door of yours is located where, exactly?

  NATHAN: In my parent’s basement.

  DEBORAH: Don’t tell me you drove over here in your mother’s car.

  NATHAN: [nods] I did.

  DEBORAH: How old are you anyway? God’s honest truth.

  NATHAN: Nineteen in two months – I swear!

  DEBORAH: That’s eighteen. A little old, but at least it’s legal.

  NATHAN: When you were telling me about that movie premise that got you all worked up? I noticed that you forgot to tell me about one part of that premise. You see, I’ve been following the progress of that movie like a hawk.

  DEBORAH: God, doesn’t it sound great? I keep reading that they’re encountering difficulties. I hope it gets made. I can’t wait to see it.

  NATHAN: In the real story they’re basing the movie on, the rich wife who wants to give her husband a videotape of her fucking a porn star? She likes the fucking she gets from Rocco Siffredi so much that she gives up her marriage and becomes a porno movie star herself.

  DEBORAH: Rocco, Jesus. Have you seen how that guy is hung?

  NATHAN: Epic.

  DEBORAH: And that bit about her liking it so much that—

  NATHAN: – she decides to go pro—

  DEBORAH: “Going pro.” God, that expression really does it for me. It got me hot six months ago and it’s getting me hot now. You know what it says to me? It says “Big time.” It says, “Far away from Oklahoma.” It says, “You’ve made it to the majors.”

  NATHAN: We can use that in the title of the amateur sex tape. De-bore-ah Goes Pro.

  DEBORAH: You know, as were talking here it’s coming back to me. I do remember you from my class, and not just as the plagiarist. I remember you as being kind of scrawny. You aren’t half bad looking these days.

  NATHAN: I’ve been hitting the weight room at Community College. Three times a week, triple sets of reps.

  DEBORAH: Nice work. Keep it up. You know, looking at you, really looking at you . . . That haircut . . . The black turtleneck . . . It’s making me think of some people.

  NATHAN: The haircut’s Tom Cruise circa Top Gun – made a big impression on me on DVD. Dude rocked! And the turtleneck’s Steve Jobs. Macs are for weenies but Jobs has got more sex appeal in his wire-rim glasses than Bill Gates does in his entire mansion. Man, does that dude know how to go bald.

  DEBORAH: You can say that again.

  NATHAN: [to audience] She pressed her hand against the Plexiglas. I could see she was impressed by how much bigger my hand was than hers. Her mood seemed softer. Her eye lids relaxed a bit. I was feeling stirred.

  DEBORAH: Did you really do your best to get into my Detention?

  NATHAN: [to Deborah] I did everything I could.

  DEBORAH: I’m sorry I didn’t take better note of your feelings.

  NATHAN: It’s OK. I was pretty unappealing at fifteen, to be honest.

  DEBORAH: But it matters that you cared, and that you wanted me.

  NATHAN: Like nothing else.

  DEBORAH: How did you imagine things would go?

  NATHAN: [to audience] As she talked, she took off her ugly prison-issue glasses and unzipped her orange jail uniform a bit. It didn’t look ugly anymore. It looked classy. Classy-sexy. I glanced around. There was only the one guard in the corner, and shed fallen asleep. The gossip magazine was on the floor between her legs. When I looked back at Deborah, shed pulled down one of the shoulders of her jump suit. Underneath, she was wearing the kind of lacy bra I saw through her blouses back in English class. [to Deborah] Nice.

  DEBORAH: A girl’s got to keep up some standards, even in jail.

  NATHAN: [to Deborah] I would imagine you and me alone in detention together, De-bore-aaah.

  DEBORAH: You will call me Ms. Kibbel.

  NATHAN: Yes, Ms Kibbel. [to audience] It was like her words were sending me into some kind of trance.

  DEBORAH: You don’t even pronounce your own name right.

  NATHAN: I don’t?

  DEBORAH: It shouldn’t be pronounced “Nathan.” It ought to be pronounced Nah-thahn.

  NATHAN: Nah-thahn.

  DEBORAH: Now, Nah-thahn, I want you to hold the handset between your ear and your shoulder. I want you to unzip your pants and take your cock out.

  NATHAN: Are we in Detention together?

  DEBORAH: It’s 4:15, and everyone’s gone home from school. It’s only you and me. You’re the only student who’s been bad today. I’ve called your mother. She can’t believe it. She raised you to be a good Christian member of her church. But she’s got counseling duties and isn’t going to be able to pick you up for an hour.

  NATHAN: You look at me with annoyance, then walk to the classroom door and close it.

  DEBORAH: You’re sitting in your chair, sullen. Teen boys think they’re tough, but they’re basically children. They can’t resist pouting when they’ve done something wrong. I love that youthful anger. The stupid bravado. The childishness.

  I walk over to where you’re sitting. I put my finger under your chin. I bring your face up to look at mine.

  You are staring at me in confusion. Because I’m starting to do a slow strip in front of you. What do you think? What’s going through your mind?

  NATHAN: [to audience] De-bore-ah knew how to play on my imagination, that’s for sure. I could almost see what she was talking about. The old detention classroom. The stupid chalkboard. In front of me the school’s hottest teacher showing me her tits. But I was also sitting here in the jail visitation room too, stroking my cock and facing this woman through Plexiglas.

  She had her jumpsuit down and her bra straps off her shoulders. Fuck, but her tits were beautiful. Heavy and wobbly. No silicone there.

  She was pinching a nipple with one hand. I once read in Maxim that women with big tits often need their nipples treated really rough in order to feel anything at all. Well, De-bore-ah was really giving that one nipple a mauling.

  Oh, it was hot. She’d slid down in the chair, and though I couldn’t see what she was doing beneath the level of the Plexiglas I could still tell that her other hand was hard at work at her crotch.

  My head was swimming. It
was like those ads when they dissolve from one image through another and then through another. She was stripping for me in detention. We were whacking off here in jail.

  [to Deborah] “It’s all so real, so real,” I said. What are you doing to me? What’s happening?

  DEBORAH: I’m in Detention with you, Nah-thahn. I’m turning around so you can see the way my ass is packed into my tight black skirt.

  NATHAN: Oh, Christ yes, that skirt. The one with the slit.

  DEBORAH: I’m no teenager with a bony ass. I’m a woman with real flesh and real feelings.

  NATHAN: And you pull the . . . the . . . what do you call it?

  DEBORAH: The hem?

  NATHAN: Right! You pull the hem of your skirt up. I can’t believe it. I’m looking at your ass, and there seems to be nothing covering it. But I know something is, because I’ve looked up between your legs as you sat on the edge of your desk telling us about those awful women’s novels, and your pussy was always covered. Which means that you’re now wearing a g-string.

  DEBORAH: You studied my crotch more than you did any of the books I assigned in class. What’s America’s youth coming to?

  NATHAN: [to audience] Sitting opposite each other like this, it was better than phone sex, it was better than Yahoo Instant Messenger. We couldn’t touch, yet we were touching. It wasn’t her real voice I was hearing, it was some electronic something coming through the telephone. There was the glass between us. It was like the best web cam sex ever. She was just sitting there on the other side of the divider. But in my imagination she was in class holding her breasts out for me to see.

  DEBORAH: Nah-than, Nah-than, Nah-than . . .

  NATHAN: [to Deborah] I’m sliding a finger through your hot, wet pussy—

  DEBORAH: Yes, there, slower, using the flat of two fingers. Make slow, little circles. Don’t speed up. Make me beg you for more, and then don’t give it to me. Don’t you dare! That’s right, like that.

  NATHAN: It feels so good. I had no idea.

  DEBORAH: Not enough people know what sex can really be like.

  NATHAN: [to audience] I looked up from my open pants and my stiff, purple, oozing cock. And it was the weirdest thing.

  DEBORAH: You and I are in a bedroom.

  NATHAN: [to audience] And we were! I mean, I knew I was opposite her in the visitors’ room at the jail. But it was as though we really were in a bedroom together. I don’t know how, but I knew it was hers. Maybe it was the stack of Oprah Winfrey books on her bedside table.

  DEBORAH: I’m on my knees, on my bed, bending over in front of you.

  NATHAN: [to Deborah] I pull aside your g-string. Your pussy is like a pomegranate, some exotic fruit, glistening in the sunset . . . [to audience] I don’t know where the words were coming from. I never spoke like this before in my life.

  DEBORAH: You run your tongue up my slit—

  NATHAN: My tongue buries itself in your asshole. And it is so sweet.

  DEBORAH: Oh, that feels so good. I’m opening up to you in so many ways. I run my finger over and over my swollen slippery clit as you sink your tongue inside me.

  NATHAN: I’m plunging into the molten core of your being.

  DEBORAH: You’re turning me into a sea anemone on a Florida beach . . .

  NATHAN: [to audience] I knew she was going to say that! I was with her, I was really with her! I’d read about things like this, where two people are breathing each others breath—

  DEBORAH: [still in rapture] Your blood is circulating through my veins, I’m feeling your sensations, you’re thinking my thoughts—

  NATHAN: That’s it exactly! [to audience] I don’t know if this makes any sense. But it was like we were one organism, fucking itself and being fucked by itself. And we were also part of some larger organism that was fucking it all into some kind of giant super-existence!

  DEBORAH: Don’t let me scream, Nah-thahn. That would be very bad. My triplets are in the next room sleeping and we mustn’t wake them up.

  NATHAN: [to audience] That did it for me. Enough with the pussyeating. I hauled her womanly ass higher and steered my raging stallion into her red-hot stable. It was like coming home, if “home” means heaven and hell both. The head of my cock was a tender explorer, and the shaft of my rod a piston. [to Deborah] De-bore-aaah, De-bore-aaah, De-bore-aaah, your ass is in my hands, waist high.

  DEBORAH: My ass shudders and wobbles with every one of your rock hard thrusts.

  NATHAN: Your head is down on the bed, and your blonde hair is a wet tangle around it.

  DEBORAH: With one hand I stretch and reach between my legs and underneath. I hold you by the balls and guide your rhythm. Fuck me, Nah-thahn.

  NATHAN: You say it over and over.

  DEBORAH: Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!

  NATHAN: Oh yeah, baby.

  DEBORAH: You’re turning into a man, aren’t you?

  NATHAN: Oh fuck, yeah.

  DEBORAH: My fingernails feel sharp and dangerous as they close around your balls. Yet the danger is exciting beyond belief.

  NATHAN: I’m both in control and out of control as you thrash through wave after wave of contractions, impaling yourself ever more deeply on me. Finally you slip off.

  DEBORAH: [gasps] I’m not done.

  NATHAN: Women really do get a lot more out of sex than guys!

  DEBORAH: Of course we do. Anyway, I’ve been so frustrated in this god-forsaken prison that I need to come some more. You know what you could do for me now?

  NATHAN: Fuck you again?

  DEBORAH: I want you to spank me with one of the Oprah Winfrey books.

  NATHAN: [to audience] It sounds crazy, I know, but it made perfect sense to me. Like I say, at that moment we were one. I reached over to her bedside table and picked out a novel by this dude, Wally Lamb, with that gold “Oprah’s Book Club” foil stamp on it. I tried to muster up as much authority as I could. It wasn’t easy, as in this virtual-reality fantasy I was myself, only at fifteen. De-bore-ah lay face down on the bed.

  DEBORAH: Slap it against my ass and tell me I’ve been bad.

  NATHAN: [to audience] It felt good to let her be in charge. I did as she said. I spanked her hard with the book, over and over again. I spanked her until I began to worry maybe I should stop, but she gave me a look of hatred and need, so I went back to spanking her. Her ass was pink with streaks. I could see something moving down there.

  DEBORAH: I’m fingering my cunt as you spank me. [Has orgasm]

  NATHAN: She came. I continued whacking her.

  DEBORAH: [Orgasm, includes:] Oh, Nah-thahn!

  NATHAN: And she came again. Then she uncoiled like a cat. She was on her back on the bed looking up at me with glowing, hungry eyes. I threw the Wally Lamb novel aside.

  DEBORAH: You’ve done well, Nah-thahn. You know what I think you’ve deserved?

  NATHAN: A gold star from Oprah?

  DEBORAH: A blowjob.

  NATHAN: Oh, wow.

  DEBORAH: I want you to fuck my mouth. I don’t want you worrying about my feelings, or whether I’m liking it, or whether I’m finding it exciting. This isn’t about me. It’s about you feeling free to fuck my face as long and as hard as you need to. Use me. I want you to fuck my mouth until you shoot your come so deep into the back of my throat that I’m choking on it, and I have no choice but to swallow every last hot drop.

  NATHAN: [to audience] Oh, man, that was it. There was no holding back any longer. As the fantasy and the reality swirled in tandem around me, my stomach and thighs gave giant squeezes, my nuts pulsed like never before, and my hot white load shot up onto the Plexiglas between us. Three, four, five big spasms worth, and then a couple of small ones. And I was still boiling over.

  As I quivered like a Spielberg special effect and pumped the last squirts out of my angry rod, De-bore-ah leaned forward and gave the Plexiglas a long, slow lick from the other side.

  DEBORAH: I hope you have a big wet stain on the front of your pants.

  NATHAN: [to audience] Of course
she was right. Jerking off is always a messy thing, at least in my experience.

  I mopped as much up with the tail of my turtleneck as I could, then slipped my hands into my pants pockets and wiped them off on the cloth there. Deborah hiked her bra straps and jumpsuit back up. There was slick sweat on her brow. We gazed lazily and hungrily into each other’s eyes.

  DEBORAH: You know, as I sit here, I can’t imagine why I shouldn’t get a 60–40 split on our little deal.

  NATHAN: [to Deborah] Agreed. But it all hinges on that video.

  DEBORAH: My husband may get in touch with you about it. Not that it really exists, but he may know something about it anyway.

  NATHAN: So you really did make the video for him? For the good of your marriage? I knew it!

  DEBORAH: No comment. Officially, anyway. But let me tell you something you’re going to need to learn someday. When you get to be my age, when you get to be twenty-six and you’ve been married for a long, long time, like four years, sex doesn’t just happen anymore. It isn’t like what you and I just had. You have to work at it. You can’t neglect it. Because if you do, it dies.

  NATHAN: [to audience] De-bore-ah and I touched hands through the Plexiglas one last time, then I called for the guard.

  I jingled my car keys as I walked to my mom’s Taurus in the big, mostly empty parking lot. I paused as I slipped them into the car door. Endless blue sky streaked by fair-weather clouds arched above me. Oceans of green prairie grass extended in all directions from the razor-wire fence around the women’s pen. My semen was beginning to dry up on my pubic hair and jockey shorts, pulling my package a little tight. I was on my way to the big time. God was indeed good.

  Nah-thahn, she’d called me as she came. Nah-thahn Moffitt. Nah-thahn Moffitt Productions.

  I liked it. I was going to go global with it.

  Fucking Ugly

  Mike Kimera

  I’m sitting alone at the bar in Paddy O’Reilly’s on a Saturday night, waiting for him to arrive and trying to pretend I’m not anxious.

  This is not normal for me. The anxiety I mean. Bars are my natural habitat. I’m a hard working woman who travels too much. I need someplace where I can just relax and be me, so in every new city, I find a bar and make it my own.