The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 1

by Maxim Jakubowski

  “Girl–girl what fest?” She saw right through me. I shook my head and smiled dumbly. Shade said, “Okay, you fembot, who are you and what have you done with Rachel?”

  “She went out for a quart of milk this morning, I haven’t seen her since.”

  “And back in Miami I couldn’t even get you to go to that stripper movie.”

  “You and your Hollywood porn.”

  “You know me, I’m a high-concept kind of girl.”

  I bit the inside of my lip, wishing for a bit of Silver Ray. She would know how to spin the situation, just as Alexis had twisted our conversation this afternoon. The best I could do was empty the rest of the wine into two glasses and sit down next to Shade on the couch. We laughed, bantering about the weather, the strike, other freelance possibilities, and just about everyone we knew. I would have forgotten how frustrated I’d been by her unexpected visit had I not found myself mesmerized by her pupils, the centre of her gaze enlarged, encased in gold marbles; and her nose, her cheeks, her thick, fleshy lips jumped out at me, animated, as if they’d been properly lit for the first time.

  Shade smiled, half-laughing. I folded my right leg further into my body and pulled my hair back. I would have sworn she was staring, too, although I was operating under the influence of pornography. They should put warning labels on those boxes. Like cigarettes. Caution: Viewing may result in excessive fantasizing and skew sexual perceptions.

  “All right,” I ventured. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was trying to be mad at you. You’re never around the picket line, so I’m stuck with the rest of those goombahs, and then you don’t call me for three days, not even a message . . . you can’t do that, Slivowitz. Nothing’s stable anymore, I feel disconnected, like I’m all alone out here.”

  “What about Tina?” I said and immediately wished I hadn’t. Saying her name out loud gave her too much importance.

  “Oh, I can’t talk to her. She’s not about that.” She stared at me so deeply that for the second time that day I felt as if I’d been stripped naked by the gaze of another woman. As much as I tried to look away, I kept coming back to her, smiling too much. Shade was so beautiful. Of course I’d always known that, but it had been more of a two-dimensional, fashion model sort of beauty. I felt as if in all the years we’d known each other I’d never really looked at her until now.

  “You’re making me nervous,” she said. “The way you’re looking at me, stop doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  “You know what.” She rested her elbow on the couch and leaned her head against it. Our faces were almost touching.

  “Are you really trying to seduce me, Slivowitz?”

  “Yes,” I said. Then, as if in slow motion, I watched myself bring my right hand to Shade’s face. My fingertips burned against her chin. She shut her eyes, grazed her teeth against my fingers. I couldn’t breathe, felt the world flash by in song lyrics. Birds do it, bees do it. Between the devil and the deep blue sea. Like a virgin.

  I brought my lips to hers and we kissed a slow, soft kiss. My arms fell around her body and we were making out on my couch. The words reverberated in my head: Shade and I are making out on my couch! She twisted her hips slightly and pulled her head back. My lips slipped down to her neck. I kissed it. Still holding me, she whispered, “We can’t do this.”

  “Yes, we can,” I said, but I didn’t want to talk. I kissed her again. This time, she grabbed a tight fist of my hair and pulled me close, kissing me longingly, lusciously. Her tongue travelled over my teeth, her lips riveting mine as if her own survival depended on it, and I remembered that Mark and Tessa hadn’t kissed much. They were slamming and bamming like nobody’s business, but without kisses? No wonder Tessa didn’t come. At that moment I would have given anything to spend the rest of my life with Shade’s tongue in my mouth.

  But she pushed me away, stopping midscene. I had a newfound respect for Mark’s frustration. This flicking on and off of desire was maddening.

  I covered my face. My eyes felt dry, but I was afraid if I blinked I might start bawling. “I’m sorry,” Shade said. She clasped her hands around mine and brought them to her lips. I remembered where my fingers had been earlier. Could she smell me? Taste me?

  Without letting go, Shade brought our hands down to the couch. “Listen, we can’t just kiss each other like that.” I kept staring at our fingers, criss-crossed like a backgammon board. Connected. “Slivowitz, look at me.” She lifted my chin. “I have real feelings here, this is no joke.”

  “I’m not joking, Shade.”

  “Okay, wait . . . look at it this way, I come in here and you’re talking all of this sex talk and watching porno, and really, how do I know it’s me you want? I could be anybody walking through that door.”

  “Oh, yeah, it was either you or the Dominos man. Luckily you showed up first.”

  “Don’t start with your sarcasm, not with me.”

  I huffed, averting my eyes, thinking how much Shade reminded me of Alexis, both of them lecturing me, talking down to me. How was it that everyone but me seemed to know everything about my desire? If only I had some sense of what was going on behind Shade’s stony face, beyond those eyes, which despite their discomfiting scrutiny made me want to hold her tight enough to cut off her circulation. Was I supposed to tell her about the porn? Tell her that, yes, just before she’d come, I was hot, I was horny, I was the phantom Silver Ray ready for anything and anyone, but in my Rachel Silver reality I wanted only Shade. I could tell her that I’d been thinking of her throughout X-posure, but I wasn’t sure how she’d take it. If it were a compliment or an insult.

  “This is too crazy,” she said. And we carefully avoided each other’s stares as we spoke a litany of innocuous little phrases until she angled over my shoulders to grab her jacket. I was flooded by waves of sadness and desolation; that left-alone-on-a-dark-desert-road feeling.

  She stood up in front of me. I leaned back against the couch, hugging my knees into my chest. The lower corner of my left eye twitched.

  “You’re really leaving?”

  “I can’t stay, I’m scared.”

  “So am I.”

  “Please.” She held out her hand. Begrudgingly, I took it and followed her to the door, more anxious than Tessa the porn star before her boy–girl debut. Whoever said sex was less pressured with women ought to have a lobotomy.

  In the doorway, Shade put her arms around my shoulders, hugging me in the Alexis Calyx role. I moved in closer, slipping my hands inside her jacket, folding myself into her body, feeling through her sweater her shoulder blades, her ribs, the rough bumps of her spine, the hook of her hips. And her fingers were stroking me, her body on mine, our legs intertwined and breasts swept up against each other. How could she touch me like that and then leave?

  “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” she whispered, almost directly in my ear. I wanted to say don’t go, but couldn’t. Honestly, I wasn’t sure which was more frightening: her rejecting me or changing her mind.

  She pivoted on the lush carpet. I watched her glide down the hall, this electrified figure in my hospital-clean corridor. I wanted to run up behind her and take her to the ground in a girl–girl version of the From Here to Eternity wrestling scene. I wanted to say something important. But even more than that, I wanted her to come back here and tell me everything was going to be all right.

  At the elevator bank, she turned and smiled. “By the way, you kiss good.”

  “Watch your language.”

  “The neighbours?”

  “No, the grammar. You mean, well.”

  “No, I mean, good.” The elevator rang and Shade stepped inside. The doors whisked shut behind her. I felt dizzy, off-balance, and slid down against the moulding in my doorway.

  I’m not sure how long I was sitting there when I felt Freddy push her nose up against my face, meowing. She smelled like candle wax. Her face, I discovered, was covered with it: my little waxed pussy. What was it they said about y
ou and curiosity, my furry friend? It hardly mattered, for I knew what they never said, that whatever doesn’t kill you leaves you a complete and total mess.

  New York, NY by way of Taos, NM

  M. Christian

  Vi called it “spaghetti western weather” – a cinematic weather pattern highlighted by periods of near-cliché: dust-devils spinning against a too-blue sky; a solitary mesquite bush; tumbleweeds chasing each other down cracked streets; screen doors knocking open-shut, open-shut in a rhythmic, lazy hot breeze – followed by gusts laced with eye-stinging dust, dirt, and crisped leaves.

  “All it needs –” Vi would say, part of a ritual worked up in the year they’d lived in the tiny trailer, “– is a dog looking for somewhere to die.”

  For a couple only three years together, they had a lot of rituals. In more thoughtful moods, Clarette would expound in a tired voice, about how the desert was perfect for such things – beads on a wire of routine that made the heat, the dust, the boredom, tolerable for just one more day. When she was in a less thoughtful mood, she didn’t say anything – she’d just sprawl on their mattress in an old T-shirt and threadbare panties and try to think of anything except for heat, dust, and the boredom.

  The electric clock over the stove made a gentle hum, loud if you tuned your ear to it – as Clarette did: a gentle reminder to herself that Vi would be home in just a few minutes. The hum was another of those Indian beads on a wire, a little ritual she did without thinking.

  Sometimes, when she did think about it – the hum of the clock, the sun being just so close to the horizon, the obnoxious newscaster on their little B&W TV who always said “we’ll be right back”, all the things that happened just before the truck pulled up, the door opened, the jingle of Vi’s keys in her denim pockets – she called it her ticket.

  Because when Vi came home, it was a chance to leave the dry outskirts of Taos, New Mexico – at least for a little while.

  The sun was gone, the movie over. A curtain of deep night – as only the desert can make it – was over everything. The moon was gone, new – so the sky was only lit by hard points of starlight. It was a warm night, and for that Clarette was grateful: she didn’t like the desert cold, the way it seemed to cut through her.

  Next to her, in their big bed, Vi was radiating sensual heat – her big breasts soft against her back, her strong legs casually draped over hers.

  They stayed that way, curled around each other, for quite a while. Finally, her breath growing even warmer as she spoke, Vi said, “Where do you want to go tonight?”

  Clarette was quiet for a time, letting the earth spin through her mind. The day, the Sergio Leone weather, made her think of the movies and one thing, and one thing only, came to mind when she thought of places that seemed to only exist on their little television.

  “New York,” she whispered, taking Vi’s hand and pulling it around herself tightly.

  “On the subway, late at night,” Vi said, her voice low and theatrical. “The city that never sleeps is dozing, so it’s just you and me sitting on the hard plastic seats, watching stations flash by through the graffiti-painted windows. Sometimes the train comes up from the tunnels and travels through the night-time city – buildings mixing bright windows with dim stars, blocking out the clouds high overhead. Brilliant signs as big as . . . well, as big as anything you’ve ever seen: all the colours of the rainbow, spelling out big company names. There’s a liveness to the air, like there’s electricity running through it. There’s so much to see, so much that your eyes can’t take it all in.

  “On the subway, late at night,” Vi said, her voice low and theatrical. “The city that never sleeps is dozing, so it’s just you and me sitting on the hard plastic seats, watching stations flash by through the graffiti-painted windows. Sometimes the train comes up from the tunnels and travels through the night-time city – buildings mixing bright windows with dim stars, blocking out the clouds high overhead. Brilliant signs as big as . . . well, as big as anything you’ve ever seen: all the colours of the rainbow, spelling out big company names. There’s a liveness to the air, like there’s electricity running through it. There’s so much to see, so much that your eyes can’t take it all in.

  “Yeah, we’re on that train, travelling through it – together, holding each other. We’re feeling the rumble of the rails, the sway as the car bends through the steel and concrete canyons.”

  Vi’s hand moved, softly, gently, till she cupped Clarette’s just-right-sized breast. “We’re alone, travelling through the greatest city on earth. You’re wrapped around me, your head resting on my shoulder, my hair tickling your cheek. My tits are heavy against your arms.

  “You look up and see the names you’re always heard of on the Transit maps: Broadway, Lexington, Manhattan, the Bronx, Queens, Greenwich Village, Wall Street. They roll past the dirty windows, flashing by as we clack and click down the tracks.”

  Vi’s voice grew deeper, huskier as she gently squeezed Clarette’s breast, cupping the conical shape. “I kiss you on the subway, breaths mixing as we roll. As I do, you feel my nipples harden, even through my sweater . . . did I mention I’m wearing a sweater? Well, anyway, you feel me get nice and hard – you know how I do –”

  Clarette giggled, pulling Vi closer, feeling her own nipples respond.

  “I unwrap you and push you back into the hard seat, kissing you hard. You feel my breath coming into your mouth, my breathing matching for a moment the sway, the rumble of the subway car. My tongue touches, then pushes hard against your own – and everything, all of you, gets that much warmer, hotter.

  “My hands are on your tits –” and they were, cupping her, squeezing her hard nipples between long fingers “– kneading them, working them. You moan – in that delightful way you do – and arch your back into the hard plastic. I get down off my own seat, and kneel between your legs, push them apart. You’re wearing jeans, tight jeans, and you can feel your cunt get all warm and wet at just the thought of me being there.”

  Vi’s hand slowly smoothed her hip, a slow caress that started at the gentle rises of her ribs and ended at the fullness of Clarette’s hips.

  “Take me,” Clarette said softly, pushing herself back against Vi, mixing their warmth.

  Vi kissed her shoulder, then pulled her till she was lying on her back. “I will,” she said, kissing around the tiny rosebud of her right nipple. “I promise.”

  A light suck, a gentle draw of nipple into mouth. Clarette sighed: a heavy, wind-gust sound.

  Vi looked up, for no reason, and saw the alarm clock’s harsh red glow – and the little statue. “We’re outside now, and it’s cold. The sky looks busy, filled with more than just stars: it’s full of the mad glow from those famous streets. The wind is gusting around us, pushing our coats around.”

  Clarette spread her legs, a loving, practised motion, and Vi slipped a finger up between her very wet lips, feeling them part ever so slightly. When she got to the top, the hard, throbbing bead of her clit she stopped, feeling Clarette’s furnace, the gentle heat from her cunt.

  “Behind us, waves lap heavily on rocks, kicked up from the big ships coming home after months at sea. Like I said, it’s cold, but we’re not cold. We’re hot, lover – we’re very hot.”

  Vi rested her hand there for a moment, a heavy heartbeat, then kissed Clarette on her gently rising/falling belly.

  “Where are we?” Clarette giggled, spreading her legs wide and snaking a thin hand down to flick casually at a momentary tangle of long pubic hairs.

  Vi smiled, nodded to the little statue next to the glowering alarm clock. “She’s there, huge and powerful, above us. Lit by brilliant lights. She’s a Goddess, Clare – as green as new grass. Her face is almost invisible, lost against the dark sky, but we can see her, Clare – we can see her smiling out to sea, looking out across the world.”

  Vi breathed in, slowly, savouring her own excitement, the wetness she felt in her own cunt. Covertly, so as not to detract from her story, she
brought down her other hand and relished in her own wetness, the hard point of her clit. She moaned, ever so slightly, and – reflexively – clamped her thighs down around her fingers.

  Back to Clarette – a few deft strokes to open her up, to make her ready: downwards, from the little forest of curly hairs to the wet lips beneath. Clarette hissed, a primal sound of love and welcoming, and spread her legs even wider.

  “We’re looking at her face, on her island, in the middle of the bay. It’s cold, but we’re hot, sexy – so damned fucking hot. You’re wearing this beautiful leather coat, like smooth darkness, and it feels so good wrapped around you.”

  Another sweet hiss as Vi’s fingers dipped in, pushing gently till plump outer lips met second joints. She stayed there, moving with slow in-and-outs that made Clarette’s hips gently rock and clench around them.

  “We’re there, beautiful –” another nod at the cheap little Liberty trinket by the clock “– we’ve made it that far and even farther. We’re standing at her feet, looking up at her.

  “I put my arms around you, pull you close against me. You feel my tits pressing into your back. I kiss the back of your neck, a butterfly graze that makes your skin dance with goose bumps, and your nipples get even harder. One of my hands drops down and takes hold of one of your tits, squeezes it through the coat. It feels like someone else, like a great leather hand grabbing you. You breathe heavy and you feel your cunt get real wet.”

  Vi stroked faster, harder – fucking Clarette’s hot cunt with her fingers. Then she changed the pattern, allowing her own excitement, her own wetness and fire to guide her fingers: Up and down, small circles around her clit, back down past warm, wet lips, and in – to tease the tight ring of muscles, then back up again.

  Vi bent, took a hard nipple into her mouth, and nibbled – adding a new tone to Clarette’s sounds. Between gentle sucks – just the way she liked it – Vi whispered, adding to the scene:

  “My hands rise to your face, stroking your cheeks. You kiss my fingers, suck them in – tasting my cunt on them. Holding you, I’d had my fingers down between my legs, feeling my own lips, my own hard clit, getting myself all wet and hot – for you.