“Howdy, girls.” He smiled with crooked yellow teeth.
At the sound of his voice, two customers in the front room turned and peered at us. Both were bent over videos, with their collars turned up and hats pulled down over their eyes. Kim and I were the only two women in the store—perhaps the only women who had been there in a long time.
Kim took me on a tour of the narrow, low-ceilinged rooms, pointing to X-rated videos with titles like: The Penile Colony, Hannah Does Her Sisters, Astropussy Strikes Back, Public Enema Number One, Two, and Three.
“The booths are in the back.” Kim pointed to a man slipping behind a black plastic curtain. “You can rent your video, close the curtain, pop your video in the slot and jerk off—Lisa…Lisa!” She poked me.
I had frozen facing a wall of rubber penises and sundry other body parts, including hands and arms. I had never looked at a penis this way before. For the first time in my life, I could look at it without worrying about what the person attached to it thought of me. At the time I was too inexperienced to know that one never quite looks at penises the way one looks at dildos, propped up on shelves, strapped onto harnesses, or packaged in plastic, hanging from hooks on walls—like toys in Toys “R” Us, or meat in a butcher shop. Through my entire childhood, I had been looking at Ken dolls without penises. Suddenly I was looking at the opposite of Ken dolls: penises without bodies attached.
Given my deprivation, this wall of “anatomically correct” models—in black, brown, and beige, complete with rippling rubber veins—was an embarrassment of riches. Some of them, labeled “stints,” were hollow and attached to elastic straps. One even had leather straps. What were they for? Then I saw the flying-saucer-shaped “butt plug.” Why would anyone need that? Plugs were those things you put in sinks to stop the water from draining. Was a butt plug the opposite of an enema? I was used to things having practical purposes. This was the first time I’d encountered something intended strictly for sexual pleasure, and I just didn’t get it.
“Haven’t you ever seen a dildo before?” asked Kim.
“N-no,” I stammered.
“Check this out.” She pointed to a plastic package containing a foot-long rubber forearm with the hand clenched in a fist. I’d never seen anything like it, except those dismembered arms you find in Walgreens at Halloween.
“What do you think you’re supposed to do with this?” Kim asked. “Bonk somebody over the head?” I was pretty sure that wasn’t what you were supposed to do, but before I could say anything, she yanked the plastic package off the hook and bonked me over the head with the rubber forearm.
“Kim! Stop!”
She clasped her hands over her mouth and burst into giggles, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Customers in the store turned and stared.
“You’re going to get us kicked out of here!” I hissed.
“Shhh! Lower your voice!”
“Look. Here’s the description.” We huddled over the package and read the label in excited whispers:
12.5 inches long, 3 inches wide, 9 inches around
Size: Huge
Product Category: Anal stimulation
Color: Black
Made of: Rubber
For use in this part of the body: Anus
“It’s for the…the…anus?” I asked in disbelief.
“That’s the butt,” she whispered smugly.
“I know what an anus is, but I don’t see how it could fit.”
She shrugged. “Don’t ask me.”
“Do all these things go up your butt?” I gestured to the wall of dildos and butt plugs.
“They don’t go up my butt,” she giggled. “But you can put dildos up your vagina. Haven’t you ever put vegetables up there?”
“No. Have you?”
“Of course.”
“You’re kidding. What kind?”
“Cucumbers, carrots, and zucchini. When I was about twelve, I used to sneak them out of the vegetable drawer in the refrigerator and put them back when I was done.”
“Ew! Yuck!”
Kim hung the rubber arm back on its hook. “We’re not getting this,” she whispered. “Let’s get some dildos. Here’s a thin one. It’s eight ninety-nine.”
Kim handed me a package. I stared at the label: The Boss: Anatomically Correct Dong.
“Are you suggesting I buy this?”
“Why not? I’ll buy one too.”
“How do you know it’ll fit?”
“You just have to try your luck. You can’t try it on in a dressing room like a pair of jeans.”
I laughed nervously.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s move on to the videos. That’s what we came here for.”
I followed her back into the front room, where we rifled through hundreds of video boxes and decided on two orgy movies: Farm Family Free for All and Group Grope 9.
Growing up in the ’70s and ’80s, I had become familiar with the made-for-TV Roman orgy—where toga-clad patricians get it on with priestesses of Isis in the Roman baths (made to look like contemporary Jacuzzis). My parents allowed me to watch these programs due to their so-called historical significance. Hence much of my early sex education came from I, Claudius, and the head of a penis still reminds me of a Roman centurion’s helmet. When you watch orgy scenes in historical dramas, perhaps you are supposed to think, My god, how decadent, and believe rampant orgies caused the fall of Rome. Modern libertines should learn from history and beware! But I watched the orgies and wondered, Why don’t people do that anymore? I thought Roman orgies, like Egyptian mummies, were ancient history. Farm Family Free for All and Group Grope 9 were my first signs that the orgy lived on, at least in contemporary porn.
After nearly an hour of X-rated shopping, Kim and I finally carried our lurid wares to the cashier and spread them out on the counter. The beady-eyed man winked at us.
“You want some K-Y Jelly for those dongs?”
“That’s not a bad idea,” said Kim. “We’ll take some.” Outside, dusk had fallen, and the neon signs flickered on in orange, pink, and green. We crossed the street. Kim’s mother’s car was still intact. As we drove back to her house, I shivered when a cop car whizzed by. What if they pulled us over and found the porn videos and dildos? I pictured our mug shots on the front page with photos of The Boss underneath.
When we finally made it back to Kim’s, we emptied our bags onto the living-room rug and tore open our dildo packages.
“Hey, this isn’t very realistic. It doesn’t have balls!”
The Boss, as I mentioned earlier, had no balls. Instead, the penis-shaped shaft ended in a handle and cross-guard, like a toy sword. I looked down at the dildo in my hands.
“Darn. I really wanted to see what balls look like.”
“You’ll see them in the movies,” said Kim. “En garde!” She held the dildo by the handle and brandished it like the sword Excalibur, but the rubber weenie just flopped around.
I giggled. “That’s one lame weapon.”
“Oh well. Let’s watch the videos.” Kim switched on the TV and took the videos out of their plastic boxes.
“What do you want to watch first, Farm Family Free for All or Group Grope 9?”
“How about Farm Family Free for All?” We unzipped our sleeping bags and curled up side by side, propping our heads up on pillows so we could see the TV. Punching buttons on the remote control, Kim fast-forwarded to the opening scene, where a well-endowed hottie, looking much like Heidi with a blonde mullet and cleavage, skipped through a cornfield in an astonishingly low-cut blue gingham dress. The scene changed to the inside of a barn, where two men in plaid flannel shirts and overalls were milking cows. The younger man stood up and stretched.
“Gee, Paw,” he drawled. “Ah wish Sissy would git here with those vittles. Ah need a break.”
Outside, the blonde in blue gingham peeked through a crack in the barn door. Seeing the men, she slipped one hand up her gingham skirt and opened the door.
“Did Ah hear y�
��all say yuh need some refreshments?”
The men turned and gaped as she stepped into the barn, toting a straw basket in the crook of her arm and fondling her breasts.
I shook my head. “God, Kim! Can you believe these accents? Nobody talks like that.”
“Watch this.” Kim pointed the remote control at the TV. The video flew into fast-forward. Three more people in plaid flannel, calico, and gingham speed-walked into the barn, where they all tore off each other’s clothes, sprawled on the hay, and plugged themselves into each other’s orifices, fucking and sucking as fast as an assembly line.
“Dammit, Kim! I’m never going to see genitals this way!” I grabbed the remote control and pushed “play.” My jaw dropped. Two tanned, tight-bodied girls, locked in a 69, were licking each other. With identical big boobs and blonde mullets, they looked like twins. In fact, they were twins. This was Farm Family Free for All. My heart beat faster. I’d never seen two girls having sex, even on screen. Out of the corner of my eye, I peered at Kim. Did she know this was going to be in the video? I knew orgies meant sex scenes with more than one man, more than one woman, or several of both. Somehow it hadn’t dawned on me that girls would be getting it on with each other. I gaped at the screen transfixed, crotch tingling under the covers. I crossed my legs and squeezed my thighs together. Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I slipped my hands between my thighs. Kim’s elbow brushed against mine, so the tiny hairs on our arms stood on end. She was doing the same thing I was, but I didn’t dare look at her. I wondered if the people at school would be able to tell we’d watched lesbian porn. Would they see it in our eyes?
In English class earlier that year we had been talking about Virginia Woolf. The class was sitting in a semicircle around the edge of the room, facing our teacher, Mrs. Byrd. My mind was wandering, when someone mentioned the word lesbians. Patty raised her hand.
“Have there ever been any lesbians in our school?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Byrd. “We’ve had some.”
“How can you tell?”
“Sometimes two girls are…closer than normal.”
“Does the school do anything about it?” asked Patty.
“We try to split them up,” said Mrs. Byrd. “Sometimes we tell their parents.”
A hush fell over the room, as we all exchanged nervous glances. I looked at Kim, who sat across the room from me doodling. She didn’t look up.
If they found out, would they separate us? Tell our parents?
Meanwhile, on Farm Family Free for All, the rest of the family joined the girls with mullets. The scene turned into a more traditional orgy with writhing bodies—a monster with multiple arms and legs. I circled my clit with my fingertip, less interested in the family scene, but barely admitting—even to myself—the girl-on-girl porn had turned me on.
Kim grunted next to me. She was snoring.
“Come on—I know you’re not really asleep.”
No answer.
“Kim?” I put my hand on her shoulder.
She was really asleep. I thought about waking her up, then changed my mind and circled my clit faster, feeling lucky and slightly out of control. My back tensed and my heart quickened, as I tried not to make any noise or move anything except my hand. I had played this game before—many times. The goal was to come without waking the other person. Sometimes, no doubt, the other person woke up and just pretended she was still sleeping. I had faked sleep myself when someone was masturbating beside me.
On screen the camera zoomed in on the girls. A man fucked one of them from behind, while she licked her sister’s pussy. Next to me, Kim was breathing slack-jawed—either sound asleep or damn good at pretending. Her legs twitched under the covers. Reaching my arm outside the blankets, I groped around on the icy hardwood floor. My hand landed on the dildo—cold, hard, and ribbed with veins. I dragged it into the sleeping bag and pushed its cold head against the wet lips of my cunt. With a deep breath, I tried to ease the rubber cock inside me. It didn’t fit. I pushed, took another breath, and pushed again. Still no go. Suddenly I remembered the K-Y Jelly. I ran my hand over the floor and found the K-Y. It looked like a tube of toothpaste. I squeezed a glob of clear lube into my palm. I couldn’t believe how cold it was. I thought of Kim’s refrigerated cucumbers. I didn’t want anything that cold near my pussy, but if I wanted The Boss inside me, I knew I had to get the lube in there first.
I soaked the head of The Boss in K-Y, then—wincing—squeezed the cold lube directly into my cunt. It spilled onto the sleeping bag, spreading out in a puddle under my butt. Shivering, I glanced at Kim. Her eyelids fluttered. She was dreaming. With several deep breaths, I shoved The Boss inside me. My whole body shook—my cunt was so full, it almost burned. I looked at Kim again. What would it be like to kiss her? I brushed my lips against her cheek. Mustering all my courage, I stretched out the tip of my tongue and licked her hair.
Kim stirred and turned over on her side. I froze. Was she awake? I listened for her breath. I was sure she was awake, but I couldn’t stop now. I eased the dildo in and out of my cunt. The woman on the screen came like a swimmer gasping for air. The man squeezed his cock and squirted white jizz on her tits. I came with them, melting into the scene. The cock inside me was his cock. My sounds shot out of her mouth. My wave of pleasure rocked her body on the screen. My cunt contracted and spit out the dildo—wet between my thighs. Warmth spread through my belly, heart, and limbs. I sank into the floor—and yet I was floating.
Someone nudged me.
“Stop it.”
“Wake up.”
“What? What time is it?”
“Five-thirty.”
“What the fuck?” I glanced around the dark, unfamiliar room.
“Wake up.” Kim’s shadowy form bent over me.
I suddenly remembered where I was—sprawled out on Kim’s living-room floor. I must have dozed off after I came.
“Lisa, listen to me. We have to get rid of these now.”
“Get rid of what?”
“These.” She bumped me on the cheek with something rubber. I winced, as the overhead lights blinked on. What was she talking about? Then it dawned on me. Jesus, what did I do last night? I remembered the wall of dildos, The Boss, and licking Kim’s hair—shit! Was she awake when I did that? What did she think of me?
“Lisa!” Kim repeated, bonking me on the head. “We’ve got to get rid of these things before my parents get home. They’ll be back early this morning.”
“We can’t just throw them away. They weren’t cheap.”
“Do you want to take them home with you?”
“Shit.” I peered at the dildos as my eyes adjusted to the light. “I don’t think I can.”
“What should we do with them then? We can’t just throw them in the trash, or bury them in the backyard. The dogs’ll get at them.”
“Can we burn them?”
“God, no! They’d stink.”
“Well then, let’s just walk a few blocks down the street and throw them in someone else’s trash.”
“Good idea. We can take the car and drive a little ways away. We’ll take the videos back to the store too.” She put the VCR on rewind.
It was still dark outside. The crickets were chirping as we stepped out into the cold, wet air. Kim drove. I dozed in the passenger seat with the dildos in my lap wrapped in newspaper. The car screeched to a stop.
“Where are we?” The sky had turned dark blue. I rolled down my window, tasting the salt air.
“We’re at Fells Point. I was thinking we could throw them in the water,” said Kim. We climbed out of the car. I followed her to the edge of the pier. Water was lapping at the dock, and the seabirds called out, flapping their wings. One swooped within inches of the water, a white ghost.
Holding the dildos wrapped in newspaper, I peered down into the black water.
“It’s a shame to let these sink to the bottom of the harbor.”
“I know! Let’s float them out to sea on one of those bo
ards over there.” Kim darted away and came back seconds later, dragging a dismantled bookcase. She pulled off the top shelf and dislodged several long rusty nails.
“We’ll put the dildos on a raft. That way, someone might find them.
We lowered the board into the water. Kim tore off a sheet of newspaper and wrote:S.O.S.
FREE TO A GOOD HOME.
I leaned over and placed the dildos side by side. Wrapped in newsprint, they looked like twins in swaddling clothes. I thought of Romulus and Remus—the twins abandoned to the elements, who washed up on shore and founded Rome. Who knew what great fortune or conquest lay in store for our dildos? Would they be suckled by she-wolves? I watched them float away, convinced that some lonely soul, who desperately needed dildos, would find them.
Breathing Water
Bethany Harvey
“Look.” May reached out from where she sat on the rain-slick log, feet swinging over the water, to scoop two handfuls of soft clay from the riverbank. “This is you.” She showed me one hand, then the other. “And this is me.” And she took the two lumps and pressed them together, squeezing until the soft, slick mud oozed between her fingers. “And this is what I want to do.” She opened her hands to show me the single lump, double-sized, with ridges marking where her fingers had been.
Her mud-caked hands and something in her voice stirred deep in my belly. We weren’t even touching, but it was as if she’d just kissed me, long and hard. I stood in the river, leaning against the log, with the water tugging at my legs. My jeans were wet up to the crotch. The river was shallow here and rain-cool, and the color of the water was weak iced tea. In the deeper places, by the undercut banks, it was garnet-red as though something other than cypress roots were bleeding into it. In this humid Florida spring, the air was half water, my skin coated always with a glaze of sweat. I wore the loosest, lightest clothes I could find and it was still too much. Watching May I felt even warmer, but it was a welcome warmth, spreading through my core and turning my legs liquid.
Best Lesbian Erotica 2004 Page 2