Sometimes She Lets Me

by Tristan Taormino

  “You have no idea what you do to me,” I say, later and from a distance. Wide-eyed wonder across the telephone lines. “What? Tell me what. Go on, give me words.”

  I am a poor poet deprived of words, a tongue-tied Romeo—I am a woman struck speechless by desire and all the words I know to describe this loosening of muscle, this rhythmic tremolo—all these words are not enough. And these words are all I have.

  “Tell me.”

  All my years of pursuing the one who could take my defiant self and create a safe place for the bended knee I am desperate to offer—all those years of dark and mysterious places, actors so sure of their lines, carefully orchestrated scripts and now, here, this. Your voice. All right. I’ll try to tell you.

  What would I use to say the unspeakable, to tell you the things that lie heavy on my tongue? The things that I wish had not ever been said before and I want to make a new language, then. A language all ours, a set of sighs and murmurs and exultant shouts. Soft groans of deep surprise and loud, loud earsplitting shrieks of hearts torn wide open. I want a series of clicks and tooth chatters and gusts of breath that will tell you the particulars that are so particular. The peculiar and the personal and I do indeed believe that this can only be said by speaking in tongues. Strange language and insane gesticulation.

  In my dreams we have days and nights. Yes, long nights, hot like these I suffer through. In my dreams there are as many hours to the darkness as passion can create, and there is enough of it, of passion and all its attendant desire and hunger and need, enough to make for an eternity.

  You lie on a bed of fur, soft and caressing, dark beneath you. You lie on the skin of an animal and this reminds me of what I become for you. More than that—helps me remember what you need from me. Soft despite the hard wanting, the way my muscles tense and flex with needing you. You lie on a bed of fur and look at me, and there are myriad women gazing through eyes I watch go large and dark with the same fierce need that moves me. You are a playful, impetuous child, a young woman discovering what your body can do for you, a temptress who knows quite well what she does to me. That one, the one who taunts and provokes and most certainly dares me. And I am desperate to please them all.

  I can smell you from across the room. It’s the scent of metal and blood and deep, secret places. Salt of the ocean and tang of pine needles on an ancient forest floor. My teeth ache with it, my mouth waters, and something old behind my eyes drops down. I can smell you and the memory of everything pleasurable lies just beneath that scent. I close my eyes and pull molecules of you deeply into me, the way I long to be pulled into you. Let the capillaries in my chest pass this on to every blood cell and so to the very fibers of my body. This is the first sweet step toward losing track of the boundary between us, toward forgetting where I let off and you begin.

  Flooded, saturated, I open my eyes. The arch of your foot. The long curve of calf. The most succulent of all tender places resting beneath a gathering of your own fur. I need to see your belly rise and arch, need to feel your muscles tense and release. Already I can see your pulse lifting the intricacies of your veins closer to that skin, that smooth and supple skin I burn with the heat of, even here across the room.

  I need this more than you can possibly imagine. Like a starved thing, too long alone and unfed, and no matter how much you give me, I know this hunger will not be abated.

  I need this and I pray for self-control, for the presence of mind to treat you like a precious thing even as I lose my mind in animal ecstasy. Pray for strength and pray in thanksgiving and the words of the prayer fade away into gibberish when I reach you, when I reach down to you, kneel down before you and begin a long night of supplication and speaking in tongues.

  Where to begin? A kiss, just one kiss and the fullness of your lips, the taste of your breath are enough to make me shudder. I want to kiss you until your lips bleed, until you come up gasping for air—and even this only once I’ve had enough. There is danger in this wanting. The continually present danger of the bottomless hungers I suffer in your absence. The hungers that are only sharpened by your physical presence.

  A kiss, then. Or more like a thousand kisses in one extreme lingering. I want to feel you move for me. Feel the tip of your tongue and the smooth coolness of your teeth. I want to eat your mouth as though it were a fine, sweet fruit. Crush it and let the juices run down my chin. So easy to slip from mouth to cheek and follow that first downy caress to your ear. To that place which brings from you the shy turning of your head, the quick intake of breath.

  And once my lips have made that journey, once I have mouthed a trail of desire across the delicate bones and bitten more gently than is imaginable, then I exhale. Allow the deepest of sighs to escape my lips and enter the echo chamber of your ear. Imagine the hot, wet wind before a storm, imagine the force of murmured words—“Jesus god I want you”—able to course the distance to a place I long to be but will not go for a long, long while.

  Instead, I caress the delicate contours with my tongue, the ridges and folds and the astounding contradiction of soft skin over cartilage. Between my teeth a fragile thing. Instead I burrow into a small indentation, an almost secret tender place, and drink deeply.

  There is a shift, then. The last vestiges of control shatter, and my hands are creatures unto themselves. My hands that knew their way across your body from the very beginning. I want to cup the weight of your head in my palm, push my fingers through the fineness of your hair. Want to place the full grip of my desire on either of your strong and freckled shoulders, pushing into you all my want and need. Here I can feel the first soft surrendering, the first relaxation of your muscles. The giving in and letting go. If I close my eyes, I see you naked in the cool reflection of water, see the way you could float on the surface, with your body this loose, and I will myself to be the ocean, to be the steady beat of waves on a roundly pebbled shore.

  Trace your collarbones with trembling fingers, run my palms over the plane of your chest, the mound of your belly, the long smooth glide of your sides and across the curve of your breasts. Undone, I am undone and there is no restraint, now. I am beyond lingering, beyond savoring, and the time has come for abandon, for high winds and torrential downpour.

  BUTCHES DON’T

  D. Alexandria

  Butches don’t do this. Butches DO NOT do this. I kept repeating this in my head as my girl, Sonja, knocked on the door. She flashed me a wicked grin as she leaned back, pressing her ass into my crotch.

  “You packed,” she murmured, grinding against me.

  “Of course,” I replied, momentarily allowing myself to enjoy the feel of her.

  “It feels different…” she began, but the door swung open and her friend, Lani, greeted us with her trademark Kool-Aid smile.

  “Girl, you look great!” Lani cried as she and Sonja hugged. Then she turned to me, gave me the once-over, and smirked. “Sonja, you’re lucky I got a woman of my own, ’cause you best believe I couldn’t let a butch this fine go past me without trying something.”

  Sonja rolled her eyes in amusement as Lani showed us into the living room. “Better not let your woman hear you. You ready?”

  “Almost, have a seat.” Lani rushed out of the room as Sonja and I sat on the sofa. I removed my jacket, since I was staying.

  “You sure you’re okay with this?” she asked me softly.

  No. “Yeah, I’ll be chill.”

  She kissed my cheek sweetly. “Thank you for doing this.”

  You are so not going to be thanking me later. “Of course, baby.” I kissed her back.

  I was full of shit. I wasn’t chill and I certainly wasn’t going to be okay. While Sonja and Lani were going to have dinner with some friends of theirs, Sonja thought it would be great for me to hang with Lani’s girlfriend, Vicki. Lani, who relocated to California five years ago, had temporarily moved back for a couple of months for a job, and she and Sonja were enjoying getting reacquainted. But of course, as girls do, Sonja felt that since Vicki d
idn’t know anyone, it made sense for the two of us to become friends; she and Lani felt we had a lot in common.

  Little did they know.

  “I’m ready.” Lani finally walked out of her bedroom, sporting a very little black dress. She struck a model pose as she stepped into the center of the room.

  “We’re going out to dinner, not the club,” Sonja commented as she got to her feet, but she whistled as she eyed the outfit.

  “That’s what I said.”

  I turned to see Vicki emerging from the bedroom, her arms crossed in front of her as she gave her girlfriend a half-disapproving look. “There’s no reason for that. Look at your girl, she’s covered.” Which was true. Sonja was wearing black slacks and a semisheer blouse that still looked classy. But that was Sonja’s style; always a bit conservative.

  “Sonja’s always been the sugar…” Lani began.

  “…and Lani’s always been the spice,” Sonja finished, before they erupted in a fit of giggles, looking like teenagers again instead of the thirtysomethings they actually were.

  “Baby, I told you, no worries.” Lani gave Vicki a very deep kiss that forced Sonja and me to look away. “We’ll be back around midnight and…” I turned in time to see her whisper the rest of her statement in Vicki’s ear, making Vicki blush.

  “C’mon, heifer, before we’re late.” Sonja gave me a gentler kiss, before giving me the “try to have fun” look. After a few more rushed comments and reminders, they were gone.

  And then it was just me and Vicki.

  She still hadn’t moved away from the bedroom doorway and from my position on the sofa, I was giving her an uneasy look. Why am I here?

  “Did you bring the beer?” she asked.

  “Uh, yeah.” I had completely forgotten the six-pack at my feet. “You want it in the fridge?”

  “I’ll do it.” She picked up the beer and headed for the kitchen. “Lani made all this snack shit, you hungry?”

  “What you got?” I asked, as I tried to calm myself.

  “Come look, fool, this ain’t no restaurant.”

  Dammit. Reluctantly, I got to my feet and went into their kitchen. It was entirely too small, barely room enough for the stove, fridge and sink, let alone the meager cabinet space and their tinyass table. On the table was a spread of rolls, sandwich meats, chips and potato salad. Vicki was making herself a sandwich, and for a moment I forgot myself and just watched her. Vicki was your stereotypical Californian: body conscious and into just about any kind of physical fitness you could imagine. Dressed in a tank and jeans, you could see how toned she was as she simply fixed herself some food, her muscles moving beneath the skin of her arms in a rhythm that made me bite my lip.

  “You gonna just stand there or make something?”

  My eyes rose. “Huh? Oh, yeah…sandwich.”

  She gave me a questioning look before finishing up and squeezed by me on her way out. As soon as I was alone, I started mentally kicking my own ass. Why was I here? Why hadn’t I just told Sonja that this wasn’t a good idea? Well, because then she’d want to know why. And there was no explanation I could give that she’d be satisfied with, short of my claiming to be sick—which wouldn’t fly since Sonja was a nurse. And, of course, telling her the truth would be suicide, so I had no choice but to come.

  As I made a couple of sandwiches, I kept telling myself I’d have to be cool. But that was pointless, because deep in my gut I knew what was going to happen…and I still wasn’t sure if I wanted it to happen or not. Butches didn’t do shit like this. At least not any butch that I knew. But despite feeling like I couldn’t do it, I also couldn’t ignore what had been happening. The lingering looks, the nervousness in each other’s presence, the accidental touches that always ignited sparks…and that fucking kissing episode.

  Yes, yes, yes, you heard right. I couldn’t replay it exactly; all I remembered was Vicki and me meeting before having to hook up with the girls for a late dinner, sharing some beer and before I knew it we were kissing. Never in my life had I even looked at another butch in a sexual way, but from the first moment I saw Vicki…something was there. Her look, the way she carried herself, damn even the fact that she shaved her head completely bald. And if that alone didn’t freak me out, the revelation of her attraction to me sure did. But for the couple months we were around each other, despite the situation, we were able to deal.

  “There’s no game on, wanna watch a movie?” Vicki called from the other room.

  “Depends on the movie,” I answered as I finished up. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and walked back into the living room. It was also small, so there was only the sofa to sit on. Vicki was on one end and I took the other, setting my bottle and plate on the coffee table before me. Vicki was flipping through TV channels, and of course there was nothing we found interesting. She started listing all the DVDs they had, but nothing caught my interest.

  I occasionally glanced at Vicki, wondering if she was thinking what I was thinking. I knew all the searching for movies and the small talk was just a way to ease the tension. We both knew what could happen tonight. We had never acknowledged the attraction we had for each other, never talked about the kiss, but every time we saw each other, I could see that her eyes mirrored mine. We both wanted to know what could happen, given the chance.

  We settled on watching some music videos as we ate, barely talking, only commenting on whatever video was on. But when 50 Cent’s P.I.M.P. came on, Vicki grinned.

  “I love this video,” she announced. “That scene with the chick pimp and the two girls on the leash is hot.”

  “Hell, yeah,” I agreed, watching the video with anticipation.

  Even though I had seen the video countless times, that one scene was worth seeing any time. And as soon as it came on, we both whistled.

  “That shit always turns me on,” she said.

  “Oh yeah?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I got no shame in admitting I get freaky and shit. That’s why I dig Lani. She’s up for anything.”

  I turned in my seat to face her. “She be letting you tie her up and shit?”

  Vicki grinned. “That and more. Believe me, man, much more.”

  “What else?” Even though Lani was my girl’s friend and all, I couldn’t deny the fact that she was hot and her doing the shit Vicki was suggesting was something I definitely wanted to hear more about.

  Vicki shrugged. “I’ve tied her up, blindfolded her, spanked her, flogged her—you know, shit like that.”

  Unconsciously, I was groping my dick through my jeans, feeling it press against my clit. “Damn. I can’t believe Lani’s into that shit. Sonja’s open and all, but I don’t think she’s that open. Although it would be cool to find out.”

  Vicki was staring at me intensely, as if she was measuring me. “There’s something I got you may want to see.”

  “What?”

  “Hold up.” She got up and disappeared into the bedroom. A few moments later, she was back with a DVD in hand, walking over to the entertainment system. I watched her load the movie and sit back on the sofa, remote ready.

  I was finished with my food, and now held a second beer in my hand as I watched the screen. It was black and then the title, The Black & the Bound, appeared. My eyebrow rose as the title faded and the screen was lit up with a dark-skinned sista on a table. She was on her stomach, naked and spread-eagle, her ankles and wrists tied with rope. As soon as I took that shit in, my nipples tightened and I let out a measured breath.

  Vicki had just played her hand.

  At first, the girl on the screen was still, just lying on the table—and no lie, that alone was arousing to see. But then we could hear loud footsteps offscreen, causing the girl to writhe against her restraints. After a few seconds, we saw another sista approach the table. Sporting a PVC catsuit and extreme killer heels, she was holding a wooden paddle in one hand, while her other began caressing the naked girl’s body.

  “I’m not really into dominatrixes all dressed up
like this,” Vicki said suddenly. “But it’s all good.”

  Apparently it was. Out the corner of my eye I could see her groping herself like I had been doing myself earlier. My eyes went back to the screen just in time to see the dominatrix swing the paddle and it landed a blow on the girl’s ass with such a loud smack, the sound echoed throughout the room. The girl on the table cried out, but got no time to relax as the paddle quickly came down on her ass again. The dominatrix was pretty relentless, wielding the paddle with finesse as she decorated the girl’s ass with hit after hit, and even through the dark skin, we could see the discoloration beginning to appear.

  As much as I had some interest in that S&M shit, I had never seen an actual video, so I was watching in semishock. But that was nothing to the shock I felt when I turned to say something to Vicki and found her slumped beside me, her hand shoved down her unzipped jeans. Damn, I’d been so into the porn, I hadn’t even heard her unzip.

  She looked over at me and just smirked before turning back to the TV. My eyes went back to the screen, but I was thinking that not even two feet away, Vicki was getting herself off. I couldn’t believe she was doing it with me in the room. I had never seen another butch get herself off. It was one of those things you just did on your own. But as I sat there, feeling the sofa jiggle with Vicki’s movements, and now watching the dominatrix switch to a flogger, it was as if my dick was screaming at me to touch it. All I had to do was unzip and slide my hand inside. All I had to do was grab my shit and just stroke it, feeling the base of the dick press into my clit. I’ve mastered jacking off that way and could reach a climax within five minutes if necessary, and not touching myself was too much to bear with all the sexual energy in the room. But I was feeling rather embarrassed about it. I didn’t know any other butch who masturbated using her dick that way. And I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to handle the possible ridicule.