by Carol Queen
digits, his blanks on my gauge to recover. Dizzy into
fellows. It’s difficult to say, the possibilities of measure
seem so numerous. To please my baritone drop that
speed-o.
///
Hold on tight. X marks the spot! I’ll have to let
go now and then I twist with my teeth. Let’s say we pack
my satchel while you draw my page. I kneel at the torture
in my mouth, the dirty flinch. And we feel lost as my
hand fits, trembly, around her terrible mounds. Yet I
know where to go, instantly.
Let’s together sit nude on the king-sized duvet, your
hair put up in a white towel.
///
Whether it’s so soon along, or
full-fledged we handle her ass, sweet lady
your labia in labia: a continent inside, alias,
tease me. Euphoric at the fact that with a single
stroke, you find the exact key.
… ajar, the doors. Half asphyxiated, stumble out
out of the bedroom, onto the balcony of starlit
nights like these.
///
I want through a broken window to watch
you dine inside me. The bridge of your nose slightly
wrinkled, project expansion. Another golden gate.
Sun on cunt.
Just to let in a single ray. Balmy. Perfect origami. If
I should barely dangle it between index and thumb,
ivory translucence spins. Pretty in the afternoon.
Yes, I want
a long dress made from this.
///
You’re reading. Honeysuckle in the gentle
breeze, the bees and wild calls of a jay. You’re sitting
in a chair, out on the lawn, in a country frock, taking
some leisure, legs crossed, barefoot.
My shirt’s undone. You unbuckle your polity.
It’s getting pretty warm on the Cape
this summer I’ll dampen your lust
my shades in satins once you dawn
… just to cool down above mid-thigh at lift-off
As you slink up your dress I sneak a look, note, on
this morning, unshowered beneath you have no
gin spilled. Over my Ray Bans, I do declare, until, finally
she takes notice. Who’s there in the foyer? To glance
at the hemline up your mini—nanny, feline—
as we smile.
///
The puff of your femininity, coiffed. Piss titty clit
pretty girl. A woman like you can change the course
of history, make a day sway chipper that much more.
Damage in carnage, the arrangement off our garage
my mouth a mass of dick and balls
twister, a dapper hurricane.
///
My garlic tongue inside your candy stench.
One never knows who might pick up the phone
at your house. Everything sparkles, startling
in the rainy fronds. The luckiest plucks flunky
in memory. I recall a day when we all with delight
twilled pistols little in your sticky honesty, a lonely
trick. Wound in twine, particulars—
happily pink, darkling lavender. Simile major
I ponder stripes, quit. Pond grant.
///
Your center-fold innocent of hair,
your lower-most terrain in the same hue as those
purply layers of gush. A fascination in wonder curves.
You flower out, wafting. Watch me change color.
My pool of languid grace on increase at the hearth of
warmth. Astounding, every time!
Astonish me, mister. Tonight, your grace
positions make way to the flattering sway
of our astronomy.
She sprays he spray by the she sore. Tempt
me. Sit on my gash and face the wilds out of me,
darlin’. My lick slitty slut. Let me stack your ginger
digs on in. Paper-thin lips, flower petals to petit mille-
fois. Cum blossom.
///
The lark-grey the philatelists flew in. Piano planets.
I travel the sides—recto and verso—
with a pout-y attraction to take to her. She’d swoon
on and on and from time-to-time rip, ferocious as far
as she could go nether this chemistry, upward.
This lullaby lulling us, behind her lush
streams these busy, busy men.
Rock candy, flamingos aflame. Stamp tango.
///
… and thought of you, thought of how you
wouldn’t, if you were here, clench your mandate
when I do like that; how you would open slender
instead; how you would with both hands render my
squad car, my sad marquee
as we ease along your parkside blvd.
In a show of force, shove my head
between milestones that I may lap at your pecker
shaker, spillage of spun drip I drink you into morning
on this date, rippling, sucking. I’m throbbing.
///
The plump fruit
I swamp
at the icebox
door, unhinge
your rigid
gooseflesh
Forgive us.
///
I want with these keys to tap out a poem on the softest
part of your English. I want to sup until the words
disappear, to write with a brush dipped
in cherry juice hollows and sperm spree
instead of hallowed ink. Let’s memorize
your address and never speak again. The wells of
your salts, all the way to the lower surge. Your buttery
sauces, engorging
peek just outside, molten as she moves in
your midst, fold after fold.
To part the separation with her tongue, seeking
the panther cave, vanishes. King me.
[go to top]
“Sex is something most adults humans have done or have thought about doing and so it’s a common, even banal, space from which to write. But to do it well one has to make it particular. Has to find it’s meaning. Sex is always deeply intimate, even if the characters aren’t involved in an intimate relationship. It’s bodies going inside other bodies, it’s laying the self bare and it’s also a performance. It seems to me that to write sex well one has to know the characters intimately … even if they don’t know each other intimately. One had to know their fears, their hopes for themselves and the other person—even the hopes and fears that they don’t know. You have to figure out how much of the character’s sex is performance and how much is unfiltered and why—even when the characters don’t. And of course, this is what you need to know about your characters even if they’re not fucking. Writing sex might be a kind of exercise for creating character in any context.”
- Tiphanie Yanique
Erin M.
Bio
I have always been inspired by the erotic impulse, such as being enthralled as a young adult by scenes in movies or discovering a simpatico with erotic writing like that of Anais Nin. I grew sexually of age while Madonna rose to the top and once ran around my country town in a bra. As I grew older, the path of unashamed passionate sexual exploration and counter-culture has been an integral part of my life. Attending the Erotic Reading Circle gave me an outlet to make my own erotica.
Mini-Interview
How did you start writing about sex? Ever since I was a teenager I enjoyed reading erotica anthologies. They were informative and inspiring to me. I started dabbling, writing erotica here and there in notebooks, not thinking that I could write—that somehow I needed some special training. When I found the Erotic Reading Circle and got feedback, it
encouraged me to write for real. Also with the Internet and blogging, I found more ways to put myself out there as a writer.
How does it differ from non-erotic writing? You have to worry more about the stigma of what you write about with sex, whether or not to have a pseudonym and how people will see you if you share that you write about sex. You can’t share it with your parents. Well, you could …
How is the Erotic Reading Circle part of your writing process? The Erotic Reading Circle is a safe place to bring your work, whether it’s something you want to publish or a relationship or sexual experience/ desire cleverly disguised as “fiction.” Reading my writing at ERC helps me keep writing since I know people enjoy what I’ve put together. I went to a regular writing group for a stint and it felt like they didn’t get the kinky themes in my work.
What’s the inside scoop on your story? I started writing this story on a quiet holiday when I had made no plans with anyone and instead of feeling sorry for myself I decided to get creative. One of the characters was based on a real guy I had an encounter with around that time. It was healing for me to write him into the story. It also involves something very sexy: anal sex.
Back in the Saddle
Erin M.
“So here’s the deal: I’ll fuck your ass if you fuck mine. You want it bad enough.”
“I know you would rather be fucked by me and be a little slut bottom boy, but tough, you have to fuck me in the ass.”
Even though I was giving the hard line, my lips parted to kiss Nick on the mouth while I roughly grabbed his balls through his cotton slacks. Nick kissed me back hard and I could feel the space in-between my legs start to get hot.
“You know I love to fuck you, but please … I need you to give it to me, I’ve been a very bad boy.” He was unbuttoning my blueish calico dress and exposing my black bra and leather harness, already ready for the scene. Nick got down on his knees, pushed the harness away (I hadn’t put in the cock yet; needless to say, you can’t go out to dinner like that, all jutting out), and started tonguing my pussy.
“Oh yes … like that, oh that’s it.” I looked down at my sandy- haired lover craning his neck to get around the harness. “Oh yeah, be a good boy for me, keep doing that. Oh yeah …”
Nick had become a total ass slut. Ever since we tried me fucking him with a dildo, he couldn’t get enough. He was driving me crazy. What happened to my man I could rely on to fuck me, over and over, anytime, any place? Where did our sex life go? He still got me off—mostly, just like he was doing right now—just so he could get me turned on enough to fuck his round white ass.
“You are a little fag, that is what you are,” I told him. “Willing to bend it over and take it.” Work had been tough and this new game made him feel better. He agreed with me that he had become quite a bottom in the bedroom. What about me and my ass fucking? I like to be penetrated, too. Where did my friend, the real cock, go?
“Why don’t you just get it over with and go down to The Stud or wherever, find some pretty boy and get fucked in the ass?” I knew he thought about it. He confided that this was his go-to at-work space out fantasy.
“But you are pretty and you smell good. And, I want you to fuck me,” Nick replied, meekness hiding his inner clarity while staring up at me with his big blue eyes. I sighed and stroked the silicone cock. We were sitting in the breakfast nook last Sunday discussing his obsession.
He came over to my chair and I could smell the coffee we had just drunk on his breath. He knelt down, parted my legs and pulled me forward by grabbing the purple silicone. I scooted my butt forward and let him part my pussy lips under the harness mound. “You are wet,” he said, stroking up and down and exploring inside me.
“Wet? What are you talking about? Boys don’t get wet, they get hard.” I pushed his head towards my cock, inviting him to suck it. Nick looked up at me, a greedy, hungry boy waiting for more encouragement. I grabbed the back of his head and pushed him onto my dick, letting him suck it for all he was worth. Needless to say, he was lubed up soon after that.
We lay in bed after we fucked and he had shot buckets all over himself instead of inside of me. I had grabbed my Gigi vibe and came hard after pulling off the harness and pressing the vibe into my groin, anxious for release. Nick had collapsed on the bed in la la land, just like a girl, and I wasn’t about to wait around.
“So do you think this is like some weird penis envy thing, leftover from your childhood? You couldn’t play with the big boys so now you’re into cock?” I stared at the ceiling, slightly exhausted from pumping into him. Nick had started to be alert again after cuming and finally reached for me.
“No,” he replied, all of sudden getting quiet. Being girlish again, I thought. He won’t just spit out what’s going on. He grabbed me and drew me to him and we spooned, falling asleep for awhile.
This had been going for two months now, the me fucking him. It was right about the time there was that work party. Nick had just been promoted to project supervisor and the new guy, Matt, had taken his old job. I talked with Matt at the party. He was a tech cutie with nerdy glasses and broad shoulders. Nick made the rounds, chatting everyone up, so I entertained myself. Matt was fun to talk to. He was telling me about how traveling around the world made him get out of corporate and into non-profit.
After awhile Matt suggested we sneak outside and get stoned. Nick was chatting with the board of directors, so I followed Matt outside and around the side of the building. He had a little brown pipe prepared for the occasion. We both took a hit and stared at each other across the alley. He said that smoking pot almost always made him horny and it was a shame that he was at a work function. I stared at the ground and then looked up and accidentally stared at his crotch. The sun was hot on my arms and face. I wondered what Nick would think about Matt and I getting stoned at the work party. All of a sudden I felt nervous. I looked at Matt’s thighs, noticing how muscular they were. “One time, while I was in Thailand, I met this German girl with long brown hair just like yours. All we did for a week was get high on Thai weed and then she would fuck me with a cock that she carried around in her backpack.”
I started thinking why was he telling me all this and maybe I should get back inside, when Nick popped his head out the rusty-colored door, saw me and smiled, and then frowned when he saw Matt and how glossy his eyes were.
Later, at home after the party was over, Nick grilled me about what was so interesting about Matt, not thrilled about sharing turf.
“I don’t know, we were just talking, no big deal. I guess he likes it up the ass.”
“He what?” Nick asked, turning around to look me in the face: kind of smiling, kind of not.
“He told me he spent a week in Thailand once, smoking pot and hanging out with some German girl and her dildo.”
“He told you this, while at the party? Well, he quickly passed the appropriate work conversation boundary.”
“He told me that her hair was like mine, long and brown”.
“He did? What the hell, he’s into my project and now he’s into you. What the fuck?” Nick just scowled off into the other room, but I knew in the following weeks, things had become more tense at work then they needed to be.
I came home one day and Nick was sitting on the couch in the front room, his laptop on the table, his pants unzipped, his cock out and in hand. His body jolted slightly and he let go of his penis when he saw me come in. “I thought you weren’t going to be home till nine.”
“The class was canceled, so I did some shopping downtown and came home. What are you watching, porn? You dirty bastard.”
He reached for the computer and I grabbed it. “What are you watching, baby? Maybe I’ll like it.”
I was faster than him because I didn’t have my pants down. I looked at the pictures splattered across the screen. Women in tight clothing and high heels fucking grown men in the ass with plastic dicks.
“Since when have you been into this?”
“I don’t know, I ju
st think it might feel good,” Nick replied, taking the computer from me and setting it back down on the coffee table. He walked over to the closet and pulled out a bag.
“I was actually hoping you might lend me a hand.” He gave me the bag and I looked inside. There was a harness and not one, but three dildos, all different sizes. We had used some toys on me during oral sex and sometimes I put a finger in his ass, but we had never discussed pegging. Nick always told me he loved fucking me, being on top, pulling up my leg on his shoulder and seeing his cock slide in and out of my pussy. He loved cuming inside and collapsing on my body and then kissing me after he came. We had talked about hot threesome fantasies but he made it very clear he was the fucker. So this came as a bit of surprise.
Fast forward two months and this is where we are now. I am not going to fuck him in the ass unless he does the same to me. Nick had gotten so into being bent over on the couch or on the bed, I wondered if his ass was getting stretched out. I was getting a back problem. At first it was fun. It was different, novelty. I liked gently easing all the way into his ass and fucking him slowly while I put my whole weight on his back and reached around to touch his nipples. Nick’s nipples were so sensitive and I swear he would almost cum right then and there when I twisted them. I’d move down to his cock and stroke him while my hips pumped away against his.
I had gotten more stingy, though, and he had gotten more sissy. I asked my girlfriends if they were fucking their boyfriends. None of them were; in fact, some of them weren’t having sex at all. If they were it was like sweet, go-to-sleep sex.