As I pull my belt free, you impatiently push my hands out of your way, and yank my zipper open. Slipping one hand inside my fly, your other pushes my pants toward the floor. As they slide down my legs, I bend forward to pick them up and fold them so they won’t wrinkle. But you have other ideas, and won’t be denied. As your hands grasp my shoulders and push me upright, you slide down to your knees, tugging down my briefs as you descend. Before I have time to think about it, you have me in your mouth.
My knees go weak, and I lean back against the counter, trying not to fall over as I watch your lips sliding up and down the shaft of my cock. Apparently it makes no difference to you that it’s not made of real flesh and blood. It certainly feels real as you work your mouth up and down its length, making slurping and sucking sounds that are driving me crazy with desire. If I didn’t know better, I’d think sucking dyke cock is something you do all the time.
The base is pounding against my engorged clit as you slide my cock in and out of your mouth, and I know if I don’t stop you soon, I’m going to explode. As much as I would enjoy coming in your mouth, it’s not what I’m after at the moment. I pull your face away from my crotch as gently as I can, refraining from yanking you up by your hair. My world and yours are very different, and I don’t want to frighten you away before I’ve gotten what I came here to get from you. Or so I tell myself.
I’m bouncing up and down in front of your face, while trying to get you to wait. “Mindy, damn it, just hold on a second, okay?” I say. I grab you under the armpits and haul you upright, turning so you’re the one leaning against the counter. Holding you at arms’ length, I kick off my trousers. Pushing into you with my shoulder, I scoop them off the floor, folding them and laying them across the toilet seat.
I turn back to you, and your hands come up to my shoulders, sliding down to my chest. Your fingers start to unbutton my shirt as we try to get our breathing under control. Looking into my eyes, you work your way down the front of my shirt, while I reach behind you to unhook your bra. You pull my shirt off my shoulders as I draw the straps of your bra down and off your arms. I take my shirt from you and fold it across my pants. I drop your bra on top of it. I’m still wearing my undershirt, and you reach for the bottom to pull it up, but I stop you. “This stays on,” I say to you. You look at me as if to say something, and then seem to think better of it.
Pulling you against me, I kiss your lips, soft and swollen from giving me head. My hand glides across your belly, seeking the heat I can feel boring into my skin. I taste myself on your lips as I push into you, wanting you to feel me, hard and ready, against the now sopping-wet lips of your cunt. My fingers reach between your thighs, squishing and slipping across your inner landscape as I stroke you open. I trap your clit between thumb and forefinger, milking it like a tiny penis. With one hand you push against my chest as the other slides between our bodies, searching for me. I feel your fingers wrap around my shaft. Reluctantly, I pull my fingers from you as I take hold of your hips, lifting you up as you guide me to your entrance.
Whimpering in the back of your throat as the tip of my cock makes contact with your throbbing clit, you thrust your hips forward to meet me. I ease back, not yet ready to give you what you want. “Damn it, Shawn, fuck me,” you growl, your voice raw with need. My legs almost give way, hearing those words from you, of all women. As much as I want this to last, to savor the moment, I know we will be missed soon. I can’t wait any longer.
“Guide me in, Mindy,” I pant against your ear. Your hand still wrapped around my cock, you pull me toward your soaking-wet pussy as I ease my hips forward. You gasp as the tip pushes inside you, rocking your hips to meet me. My hands grab your ass and pull you onto my shaft, slow and steady, until I am all the way inside you, the heat of our bodies colliding as I pull you tighter to me.
I look up from watching my cock slide into you to see your head thrown back, your eyes closed in concentration. Your bare throat, looking so exposed and defenseless in this moment, trusting me with this, is the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen.
My left arm circles your waist, as the right travels up your spine, wrapping your glorious hair around my fist as I pull you toward me. My lips graze the side of your neck; my tongue lightly traces the path of your pounding pulse as my teeth nip at your skin. You groan and push your hips into me, demanding and urgent in your extremity. I slide my hand back down to your ass and guide your hips as I begin to move in and out of your cunt.
Your hands push up my undershirt, circling my breasts, warming them in your palms. You take my aching nipples between your fingers, scraping your nails across their hardened tips, suddenly squeezing and twisting them savagely. Groaning from the pleasure and pain, my lips and teeth make a fiery path down your neck, and lower, as I take one of your nipples into my mouth, drawing hard and biting down. My tongue makes a wet trail across to the other, sucking and biting it as well. Releasing my nipples, you shudder against me, your hands sliding around to grip my back as we continue to move together.
My legs are shaking as I widen my stance to drive harder into your depths. Your fingernails dig into my back as you grip me tighter, meeting my thrusts with your own. Sweat pours off me and drips down your chest, like rainfall soaking parched earth. I lift you onto the counter. You wrap your legs around my waist, trying to pull me deeper still into the hungry core of your body.
I have waited so long for this, but I know that it will be over much too soon. I can feel how close you are, squeezing and releasing me with the slick, grasping walls of your pussy. My face is buried in the wet hair at the nape of your neck, as I grunt and pant, working us closer to the edge. Your need pushes me, and I am lost, falling into an abyss, dark, warm, sightless, soundless, as I drive frantically into you.
Stars explode inside my head as we blast over the edge together. You bite down on my shoulder, muffling the cries that tear themselves from your throat as you come, clamping down on me. I can vaguely feel your fingernails gouging my back, your orgasm washing over you, sweeping you away as you grab for any anchor. Your legs are trying to squeeze the breath from me, as I lift you clear off the counter, driving my cock as deeply as I can into your clenching pussy, grunting and groaning as my own pleasure courses through me.
Suddenly, you stiffen in my arms and push against my chest. I raise my head, blinking sweat from my eyes, as my ears register the knocking on the bathroom door. I freeze as I hear my brother’s voice.
“Shawn, are you in there?” comes quietly through the door, muffled both by the barrier between us, and the strain I can hear in Connor’s voice.
“Yes, Connor, I’m here. What do you want?” I say, struggling to make my voice sound normal.
“Have you seen Mindy? Roger’s looking for her,” he says, referring to your son. “He wants to go back to the house, but he drove her over for the funeral.”
I look at you. You nod and close your eyes, leaning your forehead against my chest.
“She’s in here with me, Connor. Tell Roger I’ll bring her along with me shortly.”
There is silence on the other side of the door, but I know my brother is still there. I can feel his anger and disapproval; I can feel him trying to master himself before he speaks. “Damn you, Shawn,” is all he says, then his steps retreat, back up the stairs to the main floor of the church.
I’m still buried deep inside you, but your legs have fallen from around my waist, and you gently push against my chest. I slip from you, squelching sounds audible as our bodies separate.
Awkward now, we run water in the sink and reach for paper towels, cleaning ourselves up as best we can. I help you into your dress, zipping you in as you turn, holding your hair up.
My hands pause for a moment when I reach the top, sliding across your shoulders as I bend my head to softly kiss your exposed neck. You shiver against me, one hand sliding down my thigh and gently squeezing. You drop your hair and turn to pick up my clothes, handing me my pants and briefs as you hold my shirt.
You lean against the counter, watching me as I step into my pants, pulling them up and reaching for my shirt.
I begin to tuck myself in, but your hands stop me. Stepping into me, you look into my eyes as your hands arrange my cock inside my briefs, lingering before you slowly let it go. Moving up to button my shirt for me, you never break eye contact and I am powerless to look away.
As your fingers lightly brush my neck while straightening my collar, your eyes smolder, a promise that we are not finished, a silent demand for the fulfillment of what we have begun. My stomach churns with the unspent desire that still rages through my veins. I can’t imagine, seeing the way you look at me, that you are faring any better.
Allowing me to tuck my shirt in and zip up, you turn to the mirror to repair what can be repaired, to hide the evidence of our tryst.
As you step away from the mirror, you square your shoulders and set your jaw. Taking a deep breath you turn to me. “Shall we?” you ask, and I unlock the door, holding it open for you to precede me. As you come abreast of me you pause, reaching to smooth the hair that has fallen into my eyes. Your fingers brush my cheek. You give me that slow lazy smile I so well remember as you turn from me.
We drive to your house, silence gathering between us. When we arrive, we sit in the car, listening to the ticking engine as it cools. You reach for the door handle. I grab your wrist, pulling you back. You turn and place your fingers over my lips, preventing me from speaking. You step out of the car. I follow you into the house where our family is gathered, mourning your mother and waiting for us.
The rest of the day is a blur of family conversations, casseroles and cakes, the accoutrements of death, birth, tragedy and triumph. I watch you move in this world you know so well. I have become a stranger here, by choice and circumstance, but you move with fluid ease through it.
I wait, stealing glimpses of you while you are busy with mundane things. Occasionally I catch you stealing glances at me, and smile, biding my time.
At last, the house is empty. I’m staying with Connor and his family but linger to help you clean up. You have been distant all these hours. I have no idea what you are thinking; I’ve never seen you like this before. I tell you I should be going, let you get some rest, and you turn to me.
“Mom left something for you, Shawn. You should look at it before you go. Let me go get it.”
I move into the living room, wandering around as I wait for you, touching family photographs and other familiar objects.
You return carrying a box. Placing it on the coffee table, you sit down on the sofa, patting the cushion next to you. I sit down and look at the box. My name is written across the top in your mother’s hand. You have brought a pair of scissors with you. Handing them to me, you lean back and watch me open the box.
I am stunned as I begin to remove the contents. Every book I’ve written, every article I’ve published, seems to be nestled in there. There is also a sealed envelope with my name on it.
I stare at you, uncomprehending. “How did she get these, Mindy?” I ask.
“She knew there was more, Shawn. Did you really think she was that naïve?” you replied. “She wanted all of you, Shawn, not just the parts you thought she would approve of. Sometimes I think she loved you more than she loved me,” you add with a wry grin, taking the sting out your words.
I pick up the envelope. It’s a letter, of course, written in my aunt’s fine, bold hand, addressed to me: My Dearest Shawn,
Please forgive an old woman her subterfuge. Although I know you are not ashamed of the life you have made for yourself, or the literature you have written, I am wise enough to know that you wouldn’t want to present all of it to me.
But I wanted it all, my dear. I needed to see the world through your eyes if I were ever to truly know you. I can’t say that I wasn’t shocked at times.
But more than anything, I was moved by your words. I never knew the things you thought and felt, growing up in this very small world. You hid them from me well. Oh, I could see how you burned to be away, how the slow passing of days and years here chafed at your soul. You were always too impatient for the steady march of time in this place.
When you came home, bringing the gift of words that you would have me see, I always felt your restlessness. And as much as you came home for me, I knew that you came home for someone else, though you tried to hide it from everyone, including yourself.
I selfishly kept you from the one thing your heart needed, more than anything else, to make you whole. She is my only child, Shawn. I couldn’t bear to see her follow you away from here. I struggled with the morality of your close kinship, though the law of the land states there is nothing wrong with that. And I struggled with the morality of two people of the same sex loving each other.
Of all the people I have treasured in my life, there are none as dear to my heart as you and Mindy. I would never say or do anything to hurt you. Yet I hurt you with my silence.
Please find it in your heart to forgive me, Shawn. You always gave me the best parts of yourself, and I’ve always wished the best for you. Now take the best I have to offer you in return.
Take care of each other now. Find whatever happiness you can. Know that I loved you both with every fiber of my being, though my words on this page may make you doubt that.
Your loving aunt,
Rachel
Tears streaming down my face, I hand you the letter.
Hunched forward, face buried in my hands, I feel you shift beside me, feel your arms encircle me. Gently you pull me with you as you lean back into the cushions of the sofa.
We cling tightly to each other, whispering and crying.
“Have you read all the stories she kept in that box, Mindy?” I ask you.
“Who do you think found them for her, Shawn?” you reply, breaking into gales of laughter at the shocked expression on my face.
Yes, I’ll be taking you with me.
HE - SHE ON THE TRAIN
Maggie Veness
You see party girls everywhere. It’s my cousin Mel’s funeral tomorrow and I’m taking the overnight train. Mel was a party girl. Everyone expected she’d overdose. I find the expected boring. I prefer unanticipated things, disquieting and startling things. And strange people. These things excite me.
I think this journey is going to be exciting.
There is a man-woman across the aisle from me with a masculine, short, sharp haircut and cylindrical breasts. Bigger breasts than mine. He-she is wearing a loose gray singlet and baggy Levi’s cinched in at the waist with a yellow scarf. Two bunches of fine silver chain earrings hang down and brush his-her shoulders. I watch them sway their metronome beat as the train rocks us along its tracks.
I decide to give the man-woman a name: strong yet soft, yin yet yang. I settle on Adriana. I think Adriana already knows I’m fascinated. I hope he-she likes my pin-striped suit and vermillion patent leather stilettos.
Adriana disappears into the ladies’ toilet at the end of our carriage. I try to imagine how a man-woman might pee, decide they must compromise—a half squat perhaps, with feet astride the bowl, holding labia apart (if there are significant labia) so as not to impair flow from beneath an oversized clit. Could I ask? I wonder—if I did ask, would Adriana offer a demonstration? Punch my face?
Adriana chose the ladies’ toilet, which infers he-she was born female.
Captivated, I watch her snake back toward her seat. I try to relax by releasing my thighs from their pleasure squeeze. I realize Adriana can’t be expected to answer peeing questions from a perfect stranger. There should be small talk first: the weather; our destinations; our preferred peeing positions.
I break my Cadbury’s chocolate into squares, my outstretched arm making a sweet offering on silver foil across the isle. Adriana slips her hand under mine, and her fingers form a vise around my wrist. She brings her face toward my sweaty palm, and parting her lips, licks a square into her mouth with a lizard tongue. I want the world to freeze while I�
��m trapped in Adriana’s grasp, while her charcoal eyes are burning deep into my psyche. I know the freezing thing’s a long shot so I bargain with God, promise my prayers and devotion for the remainder of my natural life if Adriana would also find me fascinating. (Although I expect God will remember previous empty promises and decide to ignore me.)
Adriana releases my wrist and says nothing, only holds up a deck of playing cards and shrugs. I nod a yes. She slides in beside me and shuffles the deck. My lust surges at the first whiff of her fresh perspiration. She is raw. We play several hands. Adriana wins every one because I’m concentrating less on the cards and more on whether she’s going to want another square. We still haven’t spoken.
After a while Adriana packs the cards up and rests her head back. I take a chance—offer another square. She nods a yes and opens her mouth. I deliver. And for a few delicious seconds she sucks on my index finger before closing her eyes. Adriana knows she has lassoed me, that I’m sliding in my seat, but I think we both enjoyed my finger being sucked.
With her eyes closed I can gawk freely. My mind undresses her. She has skin like white quartz, so iridescent that blue trees of veins show through. I imagine grasping the tail of one metronome chain earring, using it to pull her earlobe forward so I can run my tongue along the crease behind her ear, taste her. I want to slowly exhale my warm breath over her neck until she wakes and begs to suck my index finger again.
She sleeps. I suck my finger.
Eventually daydreams fall into night-dreams. Hours later, I wake with the announcement for breakfast booming over the intercom. Adriana and her cards and bag are gone. I’m shattered. Then I feel it—the bunch of silver chains swaying like a metronome from my left earlobe. I will treasure it and wear it to the funeral. I will treasure it. I will.
LIVES OF THE SAINTS
Holly Farris
Best Lesbian Erotica 2010 Page 6