by Carol Queen
“He’d be embarrassed and wouldn’t know how to react.”
She smirked. “I’d whisper in his ear and ask him if he wanted me to leave him alone.”
“And if he said no?”
“Then I’d sit on his lap, or back into him while we were dancing, rub my ass against him, feel him getting hard …”
“You’d torture that poor kid until he exploded,” Doc said, his fingers fluttering on the insides of her thighs.
“Oh, you know I would,” she grinned, squirming under him, demonstrating how she would grind her ass into her quarry.
He held her gaze for a moment, then reached between her legs, found her cunt slick and wet, dipped his fingers in and then brought them up and pushed them into her open mouth. She sucked on them, still watching his face.
“Seems like you want it pretty bad,” he said.
She nodded. This was the point in the Game at which he began to describe the things she would like to do, and she would agree to each interrogatory and add her own embellishments. But tonight the Game took a different course, a new course.
“I think you should do it.”
She inhaled sharply and her stomach quivered. They had done things with others before, had talked about different possibilities, but always together. This time she would be flying solo.
“I don’t know, now I’m nervous.” “Nervous or scared?”
“Nervous.”
“That’s good, it means you’re expanding your comfort zone. Do you remember when I said I was going to take you to a party blindfolded and make you do things? You were really nervous then, too, but you enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
“Yes. You were very naughty and you still won’t tell me who anyone was.”
He laughed. “I want you to be brave again.” His hand kneaded her back from her hip to just below the shoulder blade. “But you know if I let the tiger out of the cage, there will be a price.” She nodded again.
He pushed her face down into the bed and bent close to her ear. “You have three days to do it. But you pay the price either way.”
***
Nate’s brain was scattered in small, irregular pieces over an area at least two miles in diameter.
Each morning the sun drove him from his tent, and he rode his bike out into a lunar landscape filled with fragments of dreams he’d never had. He ate pancakes while listening to classic rock anthems, bounced on trampolines, dodged dust devils, danced like John Travolta. Once someone came out from their camp to feed him a grilled cheese sandwich; another time he was asked to joust against a man-sized inflated monkey. All day he wandered aimlessly, like a tuft of marabou some thoughtless raver had set loose on the wind. Each evening he would return under a dusky pastel sky, having left more of himself behind.
After sunset he was back out on the playa, now an astronomical fairyland, swimming through a vast darkness coronated with lights and flames and mysteries. Each night he stayed out until the fire faded from his blood and the horizon was just an endless line of unreachable glowing beads in the dark, unknown pleasures taunting him, and then crawled home, exhausted, to the cold, dusty refuge of his tent.
There were other women. Women with larger breasts. Tiny pixie girls with smudged faces and butterfly wings. Six-foot goddesses who wore their sexuality like a strap-on battering ram. Filthy hippie girls with bright smiles behind their matted hair. Fresh scrubbed virgin girls in khaki shorts, eyes like hungry pools.
But he realized that what attracted him to each of these women, endlessly different as they were, was the same thing: each of them reminded him of Treasure in some way. They had her haircut, her feistiness, her bold sexuality, her freely-displayed figure, her inventive costume sense. They were unstoppable—they could do anything they wanted, the playa wasn’t dry to them, it was the world’s wettest oyster and it was all theirs.
He wanted to talk to these dazzling, exotic creatures, but he felt as inadequate as he was giftless. His sporadic conversations were friendly but stilted and abrupt. What could he say to them that could possibly be of interest? His stories were all about fucking off in Ohio, killing time between classes, dreading the day he had to look for a job. He had no conception of a world that could contain wonders like this.
But it did.
He didn’t see Treasure again until the evening of the third day. She waited for him by his tent, in a fishnet bodystocking that somehow accentuated every curve of her body into hyper-real relief, as if she were the only truly three-dimensional thing in sight.
“Is your tent comfortable?” “Yeah.”
“Show me.”
Inside, she zipped the flap and put one palm on his rapidly- beating heart. He was afraid to ask, but he had to know.
“What about … isn’t Doctor Awesome your boyfriend, or something?”
“Yes, and thanks for asking. We have an … open-minded relationship. He knows about this, and he’s okay with it.”
This was not the answer Nate was expecting, but she seemed perfectly calm as she made eye contact.
“This is a one-time thing. You can’t turn into a puppy dog and follow me around the rest of the week, because I’m not going to come home with you, no matter what. Understand?”
He nodded. This stung, but he knew what was being offered was already way beyond what he’d allowed himself to hope for.
“You mean … what happens on the playa stays on the playa?” “Not exactly. I tell him everything, remember.” She repeated the word “everything” and he tried not to imagine how detailed she got. “He doesn’t mind? He doesn’t get jealous?” This did not compute. “He knows he’s the most important person in my life, just like I know he feels the same way about me. If you really love and trust someone, wouldn’t you want them to enjoy all the possibilities life has to offer? Why would you want to deprive them of an adventure, or something that feels good?”
Put this way it sounded eminently reasonable, but his brain still objected. He felt like he was talking to one of his professors back at school. One of the good ones.
“You don’t mind if he … if he’s with other girls?” Even though he wasn’t talking about himself, he felt a surge of anxiety—and under it, something like excitement.
She grinned. “I like watching him fuck other women. I like helping him. I like fucking women, too, you know.”
Nate’s mind spun. Sarah and Justin had warned him that things could get wild out here, and his imagination had gone crazy places with that, but never had he imagined something like this. His dream hedonists … well, they didn’t seem to know each other, he realized. Which was why they were imaginary, and this was real.
“I like you Nate. I chose you, because I want to give you something special. You understand?”
He took a deep breath and nodded. “I won’t be a puppy dog.” “Good. Now come on and show me what you got, champ.”
He was so nervous he was soft, but she knelt before him, sucked him into her warm wet mouth, and he stiffened almost immediately. He’d been with girls back in school, but they were nearly as awkward and unsure as he was. This was different.
“Relax,” she said. “Just pay attention to what we’re doing and how it feels, so you can remember it all later.”
She shrugged herself out of the bodystocking, peeling it down her lean body. Her breasts were small and round, with a silver ring in her left nipple. He’d never seen one up close before—he’d always associated that kind of thing with biker chicks. He reached out a hand, stopped.
“It’s okay,” she said. “It feels good to play with it, just be gentle.” “Did it hurt?”
She smiled. “Oh, yes. But I was on E, so it was a good hurt.”
She pushed him onto his back and straddled him, then walked her knees up his body until her pussy was right over his face. He finally got a good look at what he’d been too shy to look directly at before: her pubic hair was dyed the same magenta as her hair streak and shaved into the shape of a heart.
He licked, he
stroked, he listened. Every gentle direction came with a compliment.
He remembered a crucial mantra hammered into his head during sex ed class, braced himself for an awkward intermission. “So, uh, I have condoms in my bag somewhere …”
She rolled off of him, produced a condom from thin air, unwrapped it with her teeth, and then took his cock in her hands, gave it another long suck, then stroked it gently with both hands as she worked the sheer condom down over his whole length. She shot him a reassuring smile. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
She crouched over him again, reached between her legs, then leaned forward, and he could see a flash of white teeth and the dark halo of hair around her head as she guided him into her. He felt pressure on the head of his cock, a moment of resistance, and then the pressure became a tightness around the head, soft and firm at the same time.
She sat back, driving herself down on him, and he felt a shiver of disbelief in his lower belly as he saw his shaft disappear inside her and then she was fucking him, rising up above before thrusting back down over him, riding his cock, her face bobbing before him. Slowly at first, all the way up and all the way back down, a delicious all-encompassing squeeze of her body as it embraced his cock, the tickle of her pubic hair as she pressed herself all the way to the base of him. A low guttural moan building to a ragged rhythmic gasp as she accelerated slowly, leaning forward to put weight on her arms, her hips rising and falling, faster and then faster. He concentrated on matching her rhythm, rocking his hips along with hers, thrusting up into her.
He could smell her sweat, feel her hips grow damp under his hands, the muscles of her ass clenching and relaxing as she rode him. He reached up, found the ring in her nipple, thumbed it, let it brush back and forth against his knuckles.
She found her groove and fucked him in a rapid steady cadence, breath choppy, muscles taut, head low in the space over his right shoulder, damp hair brushing his face. The air was rich with fuck sweat, pussy juice, and the unmistakable funk of latex.
He could feel the fire gathering in his belly, somehow hot and cold at the same time, felt his legs clench in anticipation, his balls tighten, and then: he grunted as the white fire shot down his cock and up his spine and out the top of his head, but she kept going, almost anxious now, a whimper, and then she tightened, went rigid, clamped him between her knees and dug her fingers deep into his arms as she groaned in his ear, shuddering to a halt. She held perfectly still for a long moment, frozen in place.
He felt himself softening inside her, and then her whole body seemed to turned liquid and she let out her breath and collapsed next to him.
“Thank you,” she murmured in his ear and a moment later he managed to reply, “No, thank you. That was …”
That was as far as his brain could take him, and he lay there, sweat cooling on his skin, limbs still entangled, and he squeezed her hand tightly, felt her squeezing back, heard her giggle as she relaxed.
Outside he heard the percussive shout of a propane flamethrower, saw the momentary orange glow light up the rainfly before the dragon or firetruck or apocalyptic war machine drove on. Somewhere a conductor or ship’s mate was chanting the last call for the Lahontan Limited, bound for destiny, Pike’s Peak and points beyond.
He felt two very different things at the same time: the glow of gratitude, an electric sizzle that lingered in his skin; and the ache of knowledge that the party was over, the magic was gone, the color already fading away.
When he awoke, he was alone in the dark tent.
***
“How can I repay you, sir?”
Treasure had completed the telling of her encounter with Nate and knelt at the foot of the bed, head bowed.
Doctor Awesome smiled. “I will entertain … suggestions.”
“Well … I’ve seen you talking to that cute blonde girl from the Camp of the Roger Jollies.”
“She is cute.”
“She is very cute. I was thinking I could offer to wash her hair and give her a sponge bath—she must be very dusty now. So I’d undress her slowly while you watched, and wipe her down with baby wipes, all over.”
She crawled atop him on the bed.
“And then I’d kiss her, and bite her lip, and work my way down her neck, and I’d suck on those beautiful breasts …” She pulled one of his nipples into her mouth, released it with a pop. “They’re very … pert. And then I’d lick her pussy, I know how much you like that.” She ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip and flashed an eyebrow at him.
“I know how much you like that.” She grinned.
“And then,” she slid down his body, “I’d suck your cock until you were hard enough to fuck her.” She paused to demonstrate, eyes on his. “Does that sound like something you’d like to do?”
“Yes … but it also sounds like something you’d really like to do.
What I’d like to do is …”
***
Much later, curled into him, she murmured, “Now that you’ve let the tiger out of the cage, are you sure you can handle her?” “I only let you out to let you know I control the gate.”
She turned to put a cool palm to his cheek, searched his eyes. The Game was over now.
“You’re sure it was okay?”
“You did great.” He smiled. “I’m glad you told me everything.”
She inhaled deeply, pulling herself against him fiercely, face pressed into his chest, then looked up at him with her big dark eyes glittering.
“I’m your Treasure.”
***
Nate saw Treasure the next day, wearing nothing but six-inch platform boots and a leather collar around her neck with a big ring dangling from the front of it. A leather leash was clipped to the ring, the other end around her wrist. She waved and walked away across the playa, long strides with her platform heels. He watched her shadow chase her, the natural sway of her ass teasing him as she departed. Desire and futility burned inside him. He knew that he would not touch her again, and yet he clung to the bittersweet sting of memory.
He knew he didn’t need to avoid Doctor Awesome, but he did it anyway, not trusting himself.
But something had changed. It was as if he had broken through some kind of membrane, and on the other side … something that felt almost, but not quite, like home. One afternoon he found himself lost in conversation with a girl in a field of pillows, both of them discovering they were theater nerds, trading stories of narrowly averted disasters and epic shows. Here it was.
Then Nate looked up from his map one morning just as Doctor Awesome was carrying a plate of eggs and three cups back to his van and found himself locking eyes with the man.
The bastard smiled and winked at him.
[go to top]
“Asking why someone would write about sex is rather like asking why anyone would eat at a five-star French restaurant. The inherent pleasure of the activity in question seems rather obvious to me. As a pornographer, I am in the same position as the restaurant critic. I get to do something I love while being paid for it. Why would I ever stop writing about sex?”
- Patrick Califia
Jeff Jacobson
Bio
Jeff Jacobson is a professional coach, novelist, and an occasional writer of erotica. Whenever he tries to write really hot porn, it becomes humorous. He’s okay with that. He lives in Shanghai and Los Angeles. www.theboywhocouldntflystraight.com
Mini-Interview
How did you start writing about sex? I wrote my very first erotic anything in the late nineties, a poem about how my sperm smelled sweet. Then I went to a local artists’ group where I read it, even though I was terrified. When I finished reading, the audience responded with laughter and applause. I was hooked.
When I write erotica, I have to fight a constant inner Catholic voice that says, “You shouldn’t write about that. It’s dirty!” When I write non-fiction, I have to fight a constant inner grammarian voice that says, “That was the worst use of a comma in the history of the a
lphabet!” The same war, but a different battle.
How is the Erotic Reading Circle part of your writing process? In 2006 I saw an ad for the Erotic Reading Circle at the Center for Sex and Culture. I threw together a fictional tryst with too much backstory and not enough sex, gathered my courage, went, and read it. I became a regular, because I couldn’t get enough of the support and encouragement from Jen, Carol, and the other writers there, people who had the guts to write stories about putting hoo-hoos and wee-wees and whatnots together in a frictional way. If you’ve never read at, or at least gone to, an erotic writing group, just go, for god’s sake. It’ll rock your world.
Ricky Dumb Ass
Jeff Jacobson
Now that my dad is working with a lame ass executive coach for his job, he keeps making all these stupid announcements: Last week, he told my mom and me that we all needed to lose weight. I don’t really know what this means, but I assume a lot of push-ups and gluten-free diets are headed our way.
This week he told me that he and I were going camping over the weekend.
“For some much needed father/son bonding time,” he said, giving me a fake one-two punch in the ribs. “Jason, you just finished your freshman year here at State. We have so much to catch up on.”
“The fuck?” I wanted to say to him. The last thing I wanted to do was share a tent with my gassy, blabbermouth dad. But he was footing the bill for college; plus, my mom and I had learned long ago that when my dad got an idea, the best we could hope for was that he’d forget about it.
Well, he didn’t forget about it, so my mom took me shopping for camping gear.
“You’ll have fun,” she’d said as she looked for a parking spot at the mall. Since when had my mom’s voice turned from sincere to autopilot? Maybe a long time ago.
So I find myself sitting in my bedroom, my parents out on a date together (another development from my dad’s coach), new duffel bags strewn about on my floor and packages of white socks unopened in a plastic bag near my feet.
My ex-friend Ricky had texted me twenty minutes ago. “U free?”