“And then you start palming a breast. Usually the right one. I guess that’s because you’re right-handed.”
“He said, ‘Someday we’re going to go there and we’re going to find Ray Bradbury’s cities. The tall cities built by the tall Martians. Where rivers ran through the streets’.”
“You start out with gentle squeezes, and then you start rubbing it up and down with the flat of your palm. Very lightly. I made a note of that, you know. Have you noticed my tit-rubbing technique improving?”
“Then he said, ‘I wonder what fucking was like in those cities. Did they fuck at night? Did they fuck in the early morning? Did they fuck in their strange Martian beds? Did they fuck on the floor? Did they face each other, or were they like almost every other species we know of, and fucked from behind?’ ”
“After you’re done rubbing your tit, you pull back and kind of dig your fingers into it like the legs of a spider, but leaving the nipple untouched. Me, I’d go straight for the nipple. But you, you save it for last.”
“He held out his arms to me and said, ‘But one thing I know, my darling. However they fucked . . . they did it to the sound of the rivers. The rivers rushing by.’ ”
“I’ve always thought that was funny – how you sneak up on your nipples.”
“He started singing ‘Gather at the River.’ ‘Yes, we shall gather at the ri-ver, the beau-ti-ful, the beau-ti-ful, the ri-ver; yes, we shall gather at the ri-ver, that flows by the throne of God.’ ”
“You get the whole rest of your breast tight and humming first, and then you plot the assault on the citadel.”
“Only he sang a different version. He sang, ‘Yes, we shall gather at the river that flows by the cities of Mars.’ ”
“Like a ninja you sneak up on that nipple.”
“ ‘We’ll gather there, Laura,’ he told me.‘Someday.’ Then he pulled me onto his cock.”
“A nipple-ninja, that’s what you are. I wonder if that was a specialty. I wonder if the Shinobi had special Nipple Ninjas. I . . .”
“I can feel it, Dave. Like it was yesterday. Like he couldn’t possibly be . . .”
“Stop! Just stop. Okay?”
“Why?”
“Because! Rather than my naked . . .” (there’s still that other word underneath) “. . . brother, Laura, I’d prefer to think about your fingers creeping across your bra towards your nipple while Janet goes on about her adventures with aphids.”
“Okay. Fine. For now. Janet, by the way, does not talk about aphids. She talks about going to the co-op to buy tomato soup.”
“Your fingers crawl closer and into position.”
“Generally, it’s like, she can’t find her favorite brand of soup, so she compares the labels on the two other brands, but they both have fennel, and she’s allergic to fennel, so . . .”
“I always expect you to pounce like a tiger.”
“Uh, Dave? You’re no longer just ‘holding’ your cock. And it’s most certainly not lonely anymore.”
“But no. Your index and fuck-you fingers rise slowly into the air, stretch out, and then come together like chopsticks on your nipple . . .”
“Dave. You’re starting to weave.”
“You always give it one or two grinds and then you’ve got to get that bra out of the way.”
“Dave? I don’t think it’s working for you to drive and wank at the same time.”
“And I mean out of the way right now. You dig your tit out like it’s on fire.”
“Dave . . .”
“And then, oh God, you squeeze your nipple in those human chopsticks again and it pops out like a pomegranate aril – a little red jewel –”
“DAVE!”
“And all the while,” is the next thing he says, “you’re sitting there going ‘uh-huh, uh-huh’ to Janet like nothing was happening. As if you weren’t even remotely stimulating yourself to orgasm by twisting your jewels. How do you do it?”
“Maybe the same way you’re managing to ignore that we just wrecked the car. Crashed it.”
“I don’t really think we wrecked it, not in so many words. The car just needs to rest.”
“On its side? In the grass? With a window knocked out?”
“Yeah, right here in this pretty garden.”
“In this what?”
“Do you hear the river? The river breeze stirring the leaves?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I sure do, Dave. You bet. For Chrissakes, have you still got your cock in your hand?”
“Wanna dip it in the river?”
“By which you mean exactly what?”
“I don’t know . . . love?”
“If you define ‘love’ as ‘cock-and-ball-torture on a level that even the folks at Bound Gods couldn’t imagine,’ then yes. But if you’re talking about one of Lady Laura’s soft-mouth specials, then you can pretty much take that cock and shove it up your ass. Dry. Now help me get to my phone.”
“I love . . . I’ve always loved it when you talk rough.”
“Phone!”
“Okay, okay, I’ll play along. Are you going to call Janet?”
“Janet? Dave! We’re lying on our side in a freaking field!”
“Call Janet.”
“But the funeral! We’ve got to call your mother. We’ve got to tell her we’ll be late for Ryan’s funeral! My God, we might even miss it!”
“Call Janet.”
“What?”
“Janet. Call Janet. I want to watch you talk to Janet.”
“Dave, what are you . . .?”
“Don’t worry, I’m just opening your shirt.”
“You cannot . . . oh . . .”
“Show me those jewels. Those little red jewels. Oh, they’re trembling.”
“That’s because we just . . .”
“And cold. Here . . . let me”
“. . . Oh.”
“Yeah. Let me warm them. Just like you warm them with your own hands, when Janet’s been going on about tomato soup until you’re so bored you can’t stand it anymore. So bored you’re going crazy. So filled with nothingness that you see the abyss.”
“Dave . . . I’ve never heard you like this before . . .”
“Your fingers crawl across your breasts towards your nipples like pieces of your soul crawling away from fear.”
“Yes, something’s come over you. What happened to the spider legs? To the citadel? What happened to . . . heh . . . what happened to the Nipple Ninjas?”
“Stop that. Do you see me smiling? I don’t have time for that anymore, Laura, and neither do you. That’s from another world. I see it all differently now. Your fingers in my mind. Nails painted red. Each red fingernail opens like an eye. Not that Janet knows. Or cares. She keeps on droning. Petty droning that drowns out the river, or maybe it is the river, the dark side of the river, the dangerous side, not unruly but shallow. The sound of it is poison. The eyes in your fingers open wide and see the abyss.”
“Dave? Is this really you?”
“The abyss is real – but so is this. So is this, Laura. So is this flesh. So are these jewels. These rubies, I’ve never seen them so red. Your blood’s been racing.”
“Ryan! Ryan’s in the abyss. He saw it and he couldn’t get away from it. It came for him.”
“Let’s give him this.”
“What . . .”
“Open the red river, Laura. The Martian river, endlessly flowing. It’s not out there. It’s in here, it’s the heat-river from your jewels to your hole. Didn’t you tell me that once? That when I sucked your tit, you felt it all the way down to your hole?”
“Yes.”
“When I press my head to you, like this, I can hear it. That river inside. It never goes away. Open your legs. Open your legs for my hand. Let me feel where the river meets the world. Yes. Let me get my finger in the channel. Oh, it’s hot.”
“Yes.”
“Let me stick another finger in you. Let me get my thumb against your trigger. You like that? Yeah. See, you can’t
even answer me. Where’s my tough talker now? Hah. You’re riding down the river. I’ll tweak you up top here . . . see, I can get both your nipples in one hand, look, look at my wingspan, I’ve got ’em both, and I won’t let go. You can’t escape now. You can only go deeper into the river.”
“Where does it . . . where does it . . . where does it end? You with your new thoughts – tell me.”
“Unbuckle. Come down on me. That’s it, I’ve got you. Come on. There. Yes. Now what did you say back there? You said Ryan pulled you onto his cock?”
“He pulled me on and fucked me.”
“Do you want me to pull you on and fuck you?”
“. . . Yes.”
“Like this?”
“. . . Oh.”
“Like this?”
“The river! I can hear the river . . .”
“You are the river.”
“Ryan’s river. It’s always been around us, hasn’t it. I can’t remember a time when it wasn’t . . .”
“Do you feel me, baby?”
“Oh yes.”
“Do you really feel me?”
“Oh, I . . .”
“Is it hitting just the right spot? Is it gonna kick you over? Is it gonna spill you? Are you gonna flow? Drown me, Laura. Drown me. Drown me and I’ll meet you at the . . .”
“Oh, here it goes Ah . . . Oh, I can’t even see, that was so hard . . . and I don’t even care. After one like that, all I need is just to lie here and listen to the river. Isn’t it funny I never noticed it before? Maybe there was just too much else going on. Maybe it took coming out here, where it’s so empty, the plains? The primeval riverbed? Green Mars? The strangest country there’s ever been. Where you can get off on tales of the co-op and come in a car wreck. Where the river rustles the leaves . . . do you hear it? That river air troubling the leaves? Yes, the leaves. Running its fingers through them . . . it sounds so sweet I just might forgive you for all of this. Now help me find my . . . help me find my phone. We really need to call . . . someone . . . someone . . . they have to hear the river . . . the beautiful river . . .
“. . . the beau-ti-ful, the beau-ti-ful, the ri-ver; yes, we shall gather at the river, that flows by the . . .
“Dave?
“Dave, why don’t you answer me?
“Dave? Dave . . . are we dreaming?
“Are we . . .
Baby, It’s Cold Outside
Marilyn Jaye Lewis
The Philadelphia Flyers had come into the new hockey season ranked down at the very bottom of the Eastern Conference, but Connor Moore, a die-hard Flyers fan, knew there was still plenty of time left in the season for them to get back on top. He was determined to get to the arena in plenty of time for today’s face-off – the Flyers were playing the NY Rangers at five o’clock. Another snowfall was heading toward Hellertown, but Connor was undeterred. They would make it to Philadelphia come hell or high water – or even more snow.
Kaylie Moore, Connor’s wife, was less than a die-hard hockey fan. She didn’t hate it; she simply didn’t love it. But she did love Connor and after three years of marriage and two years of steady dating, she’d gotten used to his devotion to the Flyers, to his love of the sport. She saw the home games as a way to spend time with her husband, if nothing else. Still, sometimes his fanaticism drove Kaylie a little nuts. Here they were, already getting into the car.
“Don’t you think that two o’clock is a little early to be leaving, Connor? The game doesn’t start until five. We’re only about an hour away.”
Connor slid into the driver’s seat and pulled closed the car door. “I’m leaving plenty of time for bad weather and – I thought I’d surprise you.”
This perked Kaylie’s interest. “Really? Surprise me how?” She fastened her seatbelt.
“We’re taking the scenic route. I thought I’d go 611 the whole way instead of the freeway. How does that sound? And we can stop at that old barn thing you like – that farmer’s market.”
It was a very nice surprise. Kaylie was amazed that he’d even thought of it – on a hockey day, no less. “I’ll bet 611 will be beautiful in this snow, but I don’t think the market is open in the winter time, Connor.”
“Sure they are.” Connor put the car in reverse and backed down the long graveled driveway to the semi-rural street they lived on, Fullerton Way. “There must be something farmers can sell in the winter. You know, stuff they ship in from California that we could buy cheaper just about anywhere else. It’s the ambiance we’re after here and I’m sure they’re well aware of it, even in winter. Farmers can be pretty shrewd.”
Kaylie smiled in spite of herself. “Pretty shrewd” was her husband’s pat way of describing anyone whose crafts, food, folk art, or furniture were packaged in just the right way to get Kaylie to part with her hard-earned money. The Amish, the Quakers, and now, apparently, the farmers were all “pretty shrewd.”
“You’re sweet,” she said. “Thank you for thinking of it.”
“I just wanted to make sure you knew that I wasn’t totally self-centered. I know I’ve seemed like it lately.”
“It’s not that, Connor. I don’t think of you as self-centered.”
“As what, then – afraid? Is that how you think of me?”
“Yes, maybe a little afraid.” She was quick to add, “But that’s okay.”
“It’s okay because I’m a man, you mean? We’re all afraid of having children?”
“No, I didn’t say that.”
“Then it’s not the children we’re afraid of, per se –” Connor drove east on Fullerton Way, past the old filling station that was now called Rosie’s Bar & Grille. “It’s the cost of children, the permanence, the un-ending responsibility of them; that’s what we men are afraid of, right?”
Kaylie looked away from him and made sure not to sigh. Sighing usually made Connor feel guilty and then this never-changing discussion they seemed to have almost daily now would morph into an argument and Kaylie didn’t want that, least of all today when he was trying so hard to be a good egg about everything.
“You’re allowed to respond, you know, Kaylie; you don’t have to sit there and just stare out the window. We can talk about this, can’t we, without getting into a fight?”
It was such a loaded topic that Kaylie couldn’t help herself now, she sighed.
“What?” he said, sounding exasperated already. “I know you want to have a baby.”
She looked at him. “We want to have one.”
“Right. We want to have one. Just not –” Connor caught himself before he said it but it was too late.
“Just not now.” Kaylie finished his thought for him.
“I didn’t say that.”
“What are you saying then, Connor? Just tell me.”
“I’m thinking about it. That’s all.”
Kaylie thought this was either very promising news; that he was seriously thinking about it, about being agreeable, finally, and trying to make a baby with her. Or it was merely another stall tactic. She decided to think positive and leave well enough alone for now. No reason to push him if he was indeed trying to be agreeable. “Thanks, Connor,” she said. And she thought it would be best to change the subject for a while. “So how are the NY Rangers ranked right now?”
“Third.”
“Wow. This should be a good game.”
“It sure will,” Connor agreed. “I’m excited.” At the flashing yellow traffic light, he veered left, toward 611 and the Delaware River; it would be the river and trees and then pastoral foothills from here on out, and all of it, except the madly rushing river, was frosted with a light layer of still-white, two-day-old snow.
Kaylie loved snow, and she loved taking the scenic route anywhere. She hated freeways. She especially loved taking 611, following the bends in the river. In the early days of their marriage, she and Connor used to take a lot of drives along the Delaware, stopping for picnics or to take hikes along the old canal. They hadn’t done anything like that in a long w
hile. Now, seeing it all dusted with snow made Kaylie’s heart happy; her perspective freshened on everything. And it brought back memories, to boot.
“Remember that time—” she began.
Connor cut her off. “Yes,” he said, smiling. “I do.”
She smiled back at him. She was feeling her hormones stirring but she didn’t want to say anything about it. She was ovulating; it would be sure to lead to a huge argument as soon as he found out. Better to change the subject again, but she didn’t feel like talking about hockey. She wanted to have a baby. In all honesty, it was all she thought about anymore.
Not privy to his wife’s thought processes Connor was still on the topic of memories. “We were pretty bold that day, weren’t we? I mean, even for us.”
“I guess so,” Kaylie replied distractedly.
“You guess so? Jesus, Kay, that’s understating it. You know, I think about that day from time to time and I still get off on it.”
This took her aback; she thought she’d been alone in that secret pleasure. “You do?”
“Yeah, I do. That was so hot, don’t you think? I get a lot of mileage out of that memory. You were such a wild little girl that day. Not that you aren’t all the time,” he added playfully. “You just outdid yourself that time – and in public, no less.”
“It was hardly ‘in public’,” she said, suddenly feeling shy about it. “We were simply outside.”
Connor reached over and squeezed her hand. “Hey, you’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
“Yes, you are.”
The simple touch of his hand on hers gave Kaylie that spark; it ignited somewhere between her heart and her belly, and the sudden clarity of the memory overwhelmed her in its intimate detail. They’d been walking along the tow path of the old canal that day; it was late spring, warm enough to be walking without jackets for the first time that season. The sky had been that perfect shade of blue; the clouds, puffy and bright white. The air was filled with the scent of the first May blossoms and the river itself had smelled of spring; a thing alive and fresh and full of new promises. It had made Kaylie feel hungry for life – insatiable for it, in fact. One minute, she’d been kissing Connor; the next, she’d felt ravenous for his tongue. They were really kissing then – passionately, right there on the old tow path, out in the open. She was clinging to Connor’s neck and his hand was up under her T-shirt. The feel of his fingertips grazing her nipple, even through the lace of her bra, had set her on fire. She’d practically dragged him to the ranger station – a very small, very old clapboard house just off the main path – and thrown him down onto the grass behind the building.
The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 9 Page 46