The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 7

by Maxim Jakubowski

  There’s an old dilapidated-looking bus in front of the hotel, and a small group of artsy-looking people standing around near it, and then there’s Cassidy, and you’re blinded by her light and can see nothing else. Her hair is in pigtails, little-girl style; she wears a short pink sundress and sandals that lace up to her knees. It’s an unusually warm September evening, so you’re pretty sure she’s wearing nothing else underneath and that one swift breeze would share her beauty with every man in sight.

  She hugs and kisses you, whispering, “We’re going where it’s dark enough to see the stars . . . but you’ll have to do everything I say.”

  The guy who seems to be in charge is waving some papers at you, but not smiling. “You’re either on the bus or off the bus,” this long-haired guy says to you, and you’re signing your name. Did he really say that, or did you summon it up from some sixties movie? But no matter what he said, you’re definitely on this bus.

  The long-haired guy is performing some weird poetry during the ride while somebody else strums a guitar, but there’s lots of pot floating around, and then you’re so busy making out in the back of the bus like teenagers that you have no idea what he says. After while he comes back and greets Cassidy and kisses her, long and hard – uh oh – and says something about her being a fountain of laughter in the shape of a girl. You think that you want to either kill him or thank him, but she catches your look and says, “Let it be,” and then goes back to kissing just you.

  When the bus stops and you finally get out, you can see the lights of Red Rocks Amphitheater in the distance below you, and nothing but trees and mountainsides rising all around you, and it flashes on you that this is it. You begin to remember – this is why you came to Colorado and this is why you imagined a more peaceful place, and this is why you were put here on this earth, to love and to kiss and to romp in the forest.

  Then it all begins. Lights, cameras, action. In your little clearing in the woods, the director says you’ll shoot two videos tonight – the first for fuckforforests, a scene with a little girl lost in the woods.

  Fuckforforests? Cassidy looks at your face and laughs. “Yes, there’s several groups – fuckforforests, shagthewhales, globalwarmingscrew – it’s what we call environmental porn. Every dollar we make – and we make a lot of money, 24/7 – goes to environmental causes.”

  You’re sure you’ve never seen this kind of porn at Miss Kitty’s Adult Emporium and you tell her so. “Oh, no,” she says, “that’s old-school. We go live on the Web – fuck locally, stream globally, that’s our motto.”

  Streaming – you like the idea, that somewhere amidst all that porn-crap on the Web, somebody’s fucking for the forests. And then there is a real stream, and you’re wading around it, and there you are, trying to be Brando-like, chasing a girl with red pigtails and sexy laced-up sandals who suddenly turns and becomes some kind of new-age-bushy-sweet-dominatrix, lifting her skirt and dancing over you, ready to hump you on a log, and you feel like there’s a log in your pants – no fluffers needed for me! you think wildly. You’re in the moment, you’ve never been so in the moment, you’re on the bus to never-imagined-land, you’re on the log, you’re stripped of your jeans and you’re a grown man lying in the forest with just a tight black T-shirt on and pigtailed, nude Cassidy Wheat-Thin is climbing up on top of you and sliding down, and there are fish jumping in the stream in the background and between her ohs and ahs and oh baby you’re like a redwood tree inside of me, save me, save me, she’s whispering to you – don’t come yet, not yet, think of the starving children in Africa . . .

  . . . and then you lose all thought, and you’ve pulled out and you’re coming exactly where she says to, all over her freckled butterfly chest. You had no idea you had so much come in you. You had no idea the things you could do.

  There’s a break, a lot of chit-chat and laughter, and amidst it all you know one thing that is true as you’re sitting there in the wilderness with bright stars above you, ecstatically riding your own kind of Rocky Mountain high. Just one thing you know is true, after all your years of searching around. You are absolutely sure that you have found your new career.

  This is it. Time for a new name, a new life. You could maybe be . . . Mr Nabisco? Yes, you’ll be Mr Nabisco and you’ll fuck Cassidy Wheat-Thin from here to eternity and save the earth at the same time. Why didn’t you think of this before in all your boring days and nights?

  By the time they’re ready for the second shoot you’re hard as a rock again. This time she’s let her gorgeous red hair down and they’ve painted her body like a tiger. Several others are being painted to match her. Tigers, someone tells you, are an endangered species. You wonder if this is true – surely nobody eats tigers? “No,” Cassidy chimes in. “It’s trophy hunting, tiger rugs, tiger coats – and then some people think that tiger genitalia is a kind of aphrodisiac, so they poach for that.”

  Maybe you’re glad you’re not going to be a tiger after all. You can still feel like a tiger. But then they tell you to put your black jeans back on and hand you a whip. You’re going to be the villain – Snidely Bush.

  “No!” you cry out in your newly found activist voice. “No, I can’t hurt an animal!” But Cassidy’s cuddling up next to you and telling you to do it for her – and hey, it’s just acting, and it will still raise money to save the world.

  There’s a rope cage, and you have to capture Cassidy’s naked tiger body while she twists and turns and masturbates herself – wait, would a tiger do that? no wonder they’re endangered – and then the long-haired director/auteur gets to jump in with his own tiger makeup on to save her. He ties you up with your own whip and leaves you in the dirt to watch.

  The tigers rejoice. Snidely Bush has been vanquished, and they begin to pet each other. There’s four of them, and they’re all petting each other, growling, jumping around, batting at each other, rolling in the dirt, and you can’t even move. The long-haired tiger-guy is on Cassidy, from behind, holding her long red hair back like a rein, riding her hard, facing her directly at you, and at the camera, and it’s real and it’s hot and you’re insanely jealous in your meat-brain but still, she’s looking right at you and she makes you smile, and in between her growls and whimpers she’s whispering – the tigers, the zoo, notice the color blue – or at least that’s what you think she’s saying, and then she’s coming and the other tigers are joining in and they’re all tiger-daisy chaining and licking and fucking and pouncing – it’s like a tiger orgy, do tigers have orgies? – and then they humbly let you go free if you promise to never be snidely to the animals again. You’re a convert right there in front of the camera, and then four tiger girls and boys are undressing you and licking your cock like it’s a hunk of meat, and when Cassidy dances down over your face and plants her luscious tiger bush on your lips, you put every single part of yourself into eating her like she was the last meal on earth.

  V. And You Shake It All About

  Three weeks later you haven’t heard or seen Ms Wheat-Thin, nor can you find the enviro-porn guys anywhere. You can’t have imagined the whole thing. You could look it up – and you do. Some of the sites she mentioned do indeed exist, and some don’t. You search, and search, and even admit to yourself some days that you’re searching for your own dick on the Web, but you never find your scenes. You’ve joined the few enviro-porn sites you can find as a full-fledged member, and there are some hot natural girls, but no Cassidy. You’ve sent emails to everyone possible. None of the sites has much detail – the servers are all offshore, of course, in more enlightened lands.

  It’s all 50/50 in your spinning mind – your meat-brain half says she’s on to her next convert and she just used you, left you to die sexually without her, not to mention to star somewhere in cyberspace as a villain with a whip trying to kill tigers. Your vegan/new age/good guy brain keeps shouting that maybe you forgot something, maybe she gave you something to do, maybe you were so drunk on sex that night in the forest that you’ve forgotten – was ther
e a card? a script? a hint? Pay attention. Pay attention.

  The zoo. She said something about the zoo. What did it mean? Meet her at the zoo? Donate to the zoo? Free the tigers at the zoo? You go there – the tigers look okay to you, they’re roaming freely around a wilderness-space area, not doing much. You can’t free them, where would you put them?

  You find out there is no Butterfly Bar in Denver. You place a permanent folded note on your door for her in case she comes by and you’re not there. You wonder if you should place a personal ad somewhere – “Mr Nabisco desperately seeking porn-cracker.”

  Walking down Colfax by the park for the millionth time, peering around trash bins for dancers like a crazy man, it suddenly hits you. You have to take some real action. That’s what an activist does – acts. And then, you could also do something besides think about yourself all the time. It’s a concept.

  You quit your job the next day. Maybe that’s what she wants you to do. You’ll start a new enviro-porn group. Maybe that’s what you really want to do. You want to live in this world wrapped in a cocoon of sexuality and laughter and caring. That’s all there is.

  You throw away all your boxers and stuffy ties, saving just a few for the headboard. You register a couple of Web site names – dicksfordecency; endangeredorgasms; spankforafrica – if you build them you’re sure she will come, and then you will come, and then . . . no, back to saving the world – you’re an investments kind of guy, you know how to make money. You’ll expand the concept to Miss Kitty’s Adult Emporium – they’ll carry Cassidy Comes for Charity right next to Debbie Does Dallas. People will understand, people will become fans and speak out. Enviro-porn will not only save the environment, but change the rest of the world too. Pick a cause – porn will save it, because what are the best feelings in the world, what does everyone truly want in the dark of night? To get laid, and to do some good. Maybe you can expand this idea all the way to Walmart with a hard R-rated version – red state folks will shift toward blue, a purple haze of freedom will frolic through the land – all of this makes you giddy, even without Cassidy, and you think, my God, no wonder she’s so happy.

  And then you’re walking down the street early one morning in your new permanent uniform of sexy black T-shirt and jeans, and you hear that thin, that wild mercury sound. It’s metallic and bright gold – it might be just the sound of the street, that ethereal morning light, or maybe the light at the end of your tunnel. It’s the sound of bells and distant railroad trains and arguments in apartments and lovers making up and the clinking of silverware, and you know that if you can keep walking straight through this crazy world right inside this sound, any minute you will turn yourself around and Cassidy Wheat-Thin will be twirling into your arms and telling you, yes, this is exactly what it’s all about.

  Sharing the Perfect Cock

  Rachel Kramer Bussel

  My boyfriend, Kyle, has the perfect cock. Really – if there were cock models, the way there are hand and feet models, I bet he’d be making a fortune off his pecker. It’s tall and poised and beautiful, sleek and strong, with light brown hairs curling at the base, as if proud statue were rising from a vineyard. The first time I saw it I almost wept, but I resisted – and quickly got down on my knees. I’ve worshipped his dick, literally, since day (or rather, night) one and am just as smitten with the member as the man even ten years down the road. Don’t worry, he’s equally as enthralled with my pussy, and together we’ve had countless sexual adventures. But lately, I’ve come to the conclusion that his package really is too perfect not to share. I mean, what kind of selfish, spoiled brat would I be if I kept such a gorgeous cock all to myself?

  Okay, you’ve got me. I’m the consummate selfish, spoiled brat, and I want to share his dick because I want to watch. I’ve been going wild picturing another girl’s lips wrapped around that luscious fat head, her saliva dripping down his dick as she opens wide and takes him inside while he looks on proudly, brushing her hair from her face. I want to see everything I don’t get to see when I’m lying on my stomach, ass in the air, taking a pounding from him as his cock smoothly dives inside me, my G-spot rushing toward him, my hips undulating beneath him, my body his for the taking; everything I don’t get to see when his cock’s all the way down my throat and I’m in blow-job heaven. Just thinking about his cock makes me horny, but usually I have it buried inside me, somewhere, swelling to fit my entire mouth, cunt or ass, his hard length leaving me little room to think or look, I must simply feel him grinding against my sensitive flesh until he wrings me dry – or wet.

  I haven’t told him yet, but I’ve been on a mission, a hunt. Every hot girl who passes my way, whether it’s the waitress at our local vegetarian joint, with her long braided pigtails and ripped denim skirt and camouflage shirt that just hints at the curves underneath, or my boss’s slamming secretary who I swear could make a killing as a stripper. She has flaming red hair, perfectly pink lips that she keeps natural or just hinting of gloss, and she wears these business suits that manage to be sexier than a bikini, her tits and ass practically popping out of their pinstripes. She gets away with her wild collection of stockings, in various hues with patterns and designs that could make even this confirmed straight girl lean down and worship my way from her feet on up. One time she even came back from a trip to England with black tights emblazoned with the Fab Four on them. Thankfully, our ad agency is pretty open to experimental dressers. She’s never been anything but efficient and friendly, yet sometimes I detect a glimmer of something deeper, a womanly, sensual swirl to her hips; a gleam in her eyes that tells me she’d be perfect splayed across our bed with Kyle’s cock spearing her over and over. But I know how badly that could go, so I move on.

  In the end, Carrie, the girl who will grant me a front-row seat at my very own private sex show starring my boyfriend’s dick and a beautiful babe, finds me. We meet at the gym, where she beckons me over so I can help her lift those last five pounds of a monstrous weight that I’m shocked her tiny body can handle. When she gets up, panting and exerted, instead of sticking out her hand for me to shake, she flexes her bicep, showing me just how strong – and sexy – she really is. Then she grants me a dazzling grin, showing off not just perfect even white teeth, but that the feeling is genuine, lighting up her whole face. I’d follow her anywhere if she’d give me another smile like that, and I know Kyle would too. We spend the rest of our workout time in close proximity, and I grunt extra hard as I push the weights with my legs, in part because my pussy is throbbing from my thinking about her sliding all over my boyfriend, brushing her breasts against his chest, her pussy hovering over his cock or his mouth, teasing him until he begs for mercy.

  I know it might sound weird to you, but I don’t want a threesome. While fun for other people, they’ve always seemed to me like too much work without enough reward – exciting, but not nearly as much so as watching this gorgeous woman devour every inch of Kyle. I want to watch him as I’ve never gotten to see him, his cock standing tall, his body at its most vulnerable as he strains toward her. I don’t waste much time before bringing up the topic – unlike the rest of the gym-goers, who huddle around the juice bar for a dark green kale-filled smoothie, we head to a real bar, and over massive margaritas, I start to gush about my sexy man. I even whip out my favorite photo of him wearing just shorts on the beach in Hawaii, his skin tan and gleaming, his erection faintly visible, if you’re looking. She licks the salt around the rim of her glass, then brings her tiny tongue back into her mouth and sucks. “He’s quite the hunk – you’re a lucky girl, Sarah,” she says.

  “You know, you could be lucky too,” I say, taking a big sip from the light green slush.

  “I don’t seem to meet guys like that, no matter how hard I try,” she replies, her voice slightly wistful as her eyes focus on something far away, or far behind.

  “No, I mean . . .” I trail off, putting one hand on her leg, lightly, as the words come to me. “You can share his cock with me.” I look away for a minut
e, my cheeks burning even as I’m determined to share my fantasy with her. “I have this thing where I want to watch him with another girl. He’s the hottest guy I’ve ever been with, and I just feel like his dick is too perfect to keep all to myself. We’ve been together, and faithful, for ten years. Believe me, he doesn’t even know about this naughty little fantasy of mine, though I’m pretty sure he’ll agree to it in a snap – especially if you’re involved. What’s not to like? He’ll get to fuck a beautiful girl, you’ll get to enjoy what truly is the finest cock I’ve ever seen, and I’ll get . . . well, I’ll get to watch.” I say “watch” like I’m winning the lottery or diving into an ocean of chocolate, like watching her and him together will be the pinnacle of my life thus far – and I mean it.

  She drains her glass, her eyes seeking mine, making sure I’m for real. “But . . . why?” she asks, more confused than disdainful.

  “I don’t even really know. It’s not like it just occurred to me today. I’ve been having dreams where I’m lying in bed and he’s on his back and some beautiful girl is moving all around him, exactly the same way I do. I start telling her how he likes his dick sucked, but then I realize she’s got it under control.” I pause, searching her face. “I know, most women would die of jealousy if their guy so much as kissed another girl, but I’m freaky like that. You can’t have him, but I’d love it if you borrowed him for a night,” I finish, not sure what she’ll say.

  “Can I see it?” she asks finally, after a silence during which I try to look anywhere but at her. The bartender refreshes our glasses, and I fill my mouth with the icy drink before replying.

  “His cock? Sure – I’ll email you a photo when I get home.” I lean in close, pushing her hair back as I let my lips brush lightly against her ear, getting a bit of a shock as I do so. “Your mouth’s going to water when you see it, I promise.”