Nice Girls, Naughty Sex

by Jordan LaRousse

  I kneel down and unbutton the bottom few buttons of her crisp white shirt and curve my head beneath the fabric. All I see is white from the cotton pressed close to me. Her breasts are small, slipping easily into my mouth. I suck hardest on her right tit because it has always been my favorite direction.

  As I suck, she starts unbuttoning my pants. She twirls my pubic hairs between her chipped-nail-polish covered fingers. She pulls on them to elicit a wince from my mouth. Her palm pushes against my cunt, forcing pressure and heat to form. I bite hard on her nipple, and she pushes several fingers inside me, as though offering them up to me. I squeeze my vaginal muscles to hold on to her. She pushes further.

  I LIED. THE LETTER wasn’t exactly open or unsigned. Kathleen didn’t write her name. Instead, she wrote a time, address, and date. A chance to complete the stories, the words. To act. 4:30 PM, 938 16th Street, tomorrow.

  I didn’t go because then it would have been no different from any other time. A random fuck in a bar bathroom, a quick handjob on the subway when no one is looking, a newspaper hiding her fingers. I loved the letters. The mystery of how fast she would have been, how hard, how deep.

  When I started to tell this story, I didn’t expect the outcome. The need created by the letter’s description. How sexy sex can be when written, rather than acted upon. I didn’t know what it would do to Selah. She always appeared straight or uninterested or, well, unaffected. I didn’t expect that my mouth would meet her nipples, that her fingers would find my cunt. I certainly didn’t expect to get a free haircut out of it. At least now I wouldn’t have to wait another six months to see her again.

  DRAGON LADY

  Kristina Wright

  They called her the Dragon Lady. That was a misnomer, because there was nothing ladylike about her. Actually, that’s not entirely true. She was petite and small-boned, several inches shorter than me, but that was where her feminine qualities ended. Her hair was cut short, leaving just a couple inches of black fuzz spiked on top, which seemed perfectly suited to her lean, powerful body. She wore men’s wife beater T-shirts and basketball shorts, and her angular face seemed to be set in a perpetual snarl.

  The nickname came from her tattoo: an elaborate, Japanesestyle dragon whose large head covered one well-defined shoulder, with the body stretching across her back, and the barbed tail finishing in a swirl around the muscular bicep on the other arm. It was impressive, at least what I had seen of it, which was only the parts revealed by her T-shirt. I wanted to see all of it; I wanted to lick and kiss every inky flourish, but there was one small problem. The Dragon Lady didn’t even know I existed.

  I had seen her at the gym two or three times, and she piqued my curiosity because she so obviously didn’t fit in. Neither did I, to be honest, but it was the closest gym to my apartment. If the Dragon Lady were a sleek little Lamborghini, I’d be a Rolls-Royce—built for comfort, not for speed. Still, even a girl with an hourglass shape and an ass that has more padding than a push-up bra needs to maintain her figure. I was committed to my thrice-weekly gym workouts the same way I was committed to my waist-length red hair: I hate the maintenance, but I love the end result.

  The Dragon Lady was always leaving the gym when I was coming (although I didn’t truly “come” until I got home and let my overheated imagination wander over a delicious mental image of her). She never so much as flicked a glance my way as she strode by on her way to the locker room, sweat glistening and muscles pumped.

  When I finally got up the nerve to ask about my walking wet dream, the girl at the front desk told me the Dragon Lady was an amateur boxer, bantamweight hoping to turn pro, and her regular gym had burned down a month ago. I vaguely remembered the story in the newspaper; it was some little hole-in-the-wall gym that had turned out three or four of the best boxers in the region, male and female. I didn’t much care about boxing, but this fantasy of mine had taken on a life of its own. I wanted to get close to my Dragon Lady, and now I knew she was using my gym only until her trainer could work out other arrangements.

  Once I realized my days in which to make my move were numbered, I got a little more aggressive. The Dragon Lady was always leaving around five thirty, when I was coming straight from work. I wasn’t ready to take a precious personal day to time my visit to the gym to match hers, but I figured she probably worked out on the weekend as well. So bright and early Saturday morning, I downed a venti latte and parked my ass at the treadmill closest to the door. I walked while I waited, counting on my boxer girl to also be an early bird. Sure enough, she showed up within the hour, a bounce in her step as if coming to the gym on a Saturday morning was her idea of a good time. I groaned. I had nothing in common with this athletic phenom—what was I thinking?

  I hadn’t really thought about this moment beyond the point of being at the gym when she showed up, so I was at a loss for what to do next. I watched her make the circuit of the weight machines, then she ran a couple miles on the treadmill farthest from me. I had to finally take a break from walking because the gym was getting crowded and a couple of guys were eyeing me and the clock on the wall. I sighed in frustration and, with a pointed look at the oblivious Dragon Lady, I hit the showers. I decided I would try to work up the nerve to say something to her on my way out. What, I didn’t know. But . . . something. Just so I wouldn’t have any regrets, I told myself.

  “’Tis better to have loved and lost,” I muttered under my breath as I stripped down.

  The locker room was empty, and I had the showers to myself. I stood under the spray, mentally undressing the Dragon Lady while kicking myself for being too chicken to talk to her, when suddenly there was a voice in my ear.

  “You’ve been watching me.”

  I jerked around, slinging water out of my eyes, to see the Dragon Lady standing in the shower. Naked. My fantasy in the flesh. She was stunning—and a little intimidating this close, especially in the nude. I took a step back, and then another, until I bumped against the tile wall. I felt more naked than ever because my mane of hair, my protective curtain, was in a high ponytail, safe from the shower spray.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, though I wasn’t.

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t mean to stare.” I regained some of my composure, or as much as I could while standing dripping wet and naked in the shower with the object of my masturbatory daydreams. “I like your tattoo and wondered what the rest of it looked like.”

  She sized me up as if she were a jungle cat and I were a particularly delectable rodent. “You want to see my tattoo?”

  I nodded.

  The Dragon Lady turned around and showed me what I had only dreamed about. The reality was so much sweeter, and I stared, in awe. The head and tail of the dragon were impressive, but my imagination didn’t do the full picture justice. In unrelenting black, the dragon stretched across the breadth of her finely muscled back. The dragon’s body twisted as if in flight, with wings stretching in opposite directions, one reaching up between her shoulder blades, the other dipping down low to the cleft of her ass. It was incredible—and then she flexed, and the dragon seemed to come alive and writhe on her skin. I couldn’t help it; I gasped.

  Amazingly, the Dragon Lady chuckled. “Cool, isn’t she?”

  “Oh, hell yeah,” I said. “Fucking incredible.”

  “Thanks.” The Dragon Lady faced me again, her dark nipples pebbled up hard on her all-but-nonexistent breasts. “Is that all you wanted?”

  Her fierce, direct stare unnerved me. Her eyes were nearly as dark as her buzz-cut hair, with the pupils blending into the irises, and it felt like she was staring through me.

  “Uh, yes, thanks,” I mumbled, desperate to get out of the shower and away from her.

  Quick, quicker than I could blink, her hand was cupping my crotch. Hard. “Really? You don’t want to fuck me?”

  Her fingers dug into my labia, her callused thumb pressed to my clit. The sensation was nearly painful, but my poor, neglected cunt didn’t seem to care. I was instantl
y aroused and soaking wet from more than the shower.

  “Yeah,” I breathed. I felt like I was going to pass out.

  Just as suddenly as she grabbed me, she let me go. Then she laughed. “Get out of here, you little dyke. I’m not going to fuck you in the gym shower.”

  I stumbled out of the stall, grabbing for a towel, and all but ran to my locker. I could hear her laughter bouncing off the tiled walls, and my cheeks flushed hotly. I was vowing never to come back to this gym, at least not until I knew she was gone, when I saw the business card sticking out of the vent on my locker. It was for the gym that had been burned down. She had scrawled an address on the back side and the words: 9 PM. Tonight!

  I looked back over my shoulder at the showers, tempted to ask her what the hell kind of game she was playing. The memory of her fingers gripping my cunt kept me quiet. If the Dragon Lady wanted to see me tonight, I’d see her tonight.

  I WAS A NERVOUS WRECK by the time I pulled up at the address she’d given me. It was an old part of town, warehouses and storage buildings standing sentry up and down the deserted street. The building she’d sent me to was a garage of some sort, advertising auto bodywork in garish purple and green letters. The metal-rolled garage door was open, with bare overhead bulbs illuminating a multihued muscle car. I didn’t see the Dragon Lady, or anyone else for that matter, and I had a moment of wanting to turn tail and run. But even though I didn’t know what the hell I was getting myself into, I knew I would always wonder if I didn’t go in. So, taking a deep breath, I got out of my car and walked to the open door, trying to pretend I belonged there even though the only grease that ever got under my nails was from the french fries at my favorite burger joint.

  “Hello?” I said, my voice sounding uneven, even to my own ears. “Anyone here?” I realized I didn’t even know the Dragon Lady’s real name, and it seemed silly to call her by her nickname.

  “Back here,” I heard her call. “I lost track of time.”

  I followed her voice to a small alcove in the corner of the garage. The Dragon Lady was there, in her ubiquitous white T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, washing her hands in an industrial-size sink. I watched her for a minute, waiting for her to say something, but she seemed pretty intent on getting clean. I flashed back to an image of her naked in the shower and what I would have done if I’d had the nerve. I felt as nervous as a naughty Catholic schoolgirl at confession, and probably looked the part, too. The garage smelled like paint and motor oil and sweat. She seemed perfectly at home here, and I was glad I’d gone with my instincts and dressed down.

  “Do you work here?”

  She didn’t mock my obvious question. “Yeah. Custom painting, detail work, stuff like that.”

  “Oh.” I stood there with my hands in my jeans pockets. “Cool.”

  She turned, drying her hands on a shop rag. I could see why it had taken her so long to clean up; the front of her T-shirt was streaked with blue and yellow paint and what looked like grease. She studied me while she dried her hands, and I felt as naked as I had in the shower.

  “I didn’t think you’d show,” she said. She passed through into another room in the cavernous garage, flipping a light on as she went. “Come on back.”

  The room had been converted into a boxing gym. A heavy bag hung in one corner, with a speed bag next to it. The center of the room was marked off like a boxing ring, with blue painters’ tape demarcating the floor. Waist-high white nylon ropes stretched the larger length of the room, connected by eye hooks in the Sheetrock walls. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but this wasn’t it.

  “Wow.”

  She looked at me, and for the first time, the Dragon Lady smiled. “Yeah, the guy I work for is letting me borrow the space because I have a couple big matches coming up.”

  “Cool.” I was starting to feel like an idiot with my monosyllabic responses. “I’m impressed.”

  She spun on me, quick as she’d been that morning in the shower. “Are you? Ever been in the ring?”

  I shook my head. “Boxing’s not my sport,” I said.

  “Don’t like contact sports, huh?” Her grin let me know she wasn’t talking about boxing. “Too bad.”

  “I like some sports, just not boxing.”

  “Too violent for a sweetheart like you, I bet,” she said, circling me. “Good form, but a little soft. Wanna go a round?”

  This definitely wasn’t what I had in mind. “I don’t think so.”

  “C’mon,” she coaxed. She pulled two sets of boxing gloves and headgear off the shelf by the door. “I’ll go easy on you, powder puff.”

  I found my pride. Propping a hand on my hip, I attempted to stare her down. “I may look soft, but I work out, too. I’m strong.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  I had come this far; I couldn’t bolt now. Trying to get in the spirit of things, I asked, “What’s in it for me?”

  She tossed a set of gear at me. “Go a round with me, and I’ll show you my tattoo again.”

  Even if I chose to read between the lines on that comment, I wasn’t sure I wanted to get knocked on my ass by the Dragon Lady just for a romp in the sack afterward. “How long’s a round?”

  “Three minutes.”

  Three minutes didn’t seem too long, and I wasn’t the weakling she was making me out to be. “Deal.”

  I figured out the headgear, and she helped me with the gloves, then walked to the center of the room. The whole thing seemed like a little too much work just to get laid. I caught a glimpse of my dubious expression in the mirror. The distinction between our images—her olive complexion, black buzz cut, and lean body contrasting with my pale skin, long red hair, and curves made for a yin-yang effect. I had to admit that by standing in the makeshift rink with my fantasy dyke and a wall of mirrors reflecting our every move, I was getting a little turned on. Okay, more turned on than I’d already been.

  “Any pointers?” I asked, as if it would help. I was going to get the shit knocked out of me by the Dragon Lady, and I was going to do it willingly. Lust is a dangerous thing.

  “Keep your hands up, protect your face, don’t be afraid to hit me, and try to stay on your feet.”

  I took a deep breath. “Anything else?”

  She grinned. “Yeah. Try not to cry like a girl.”

  Before I had a chance to mull over that comment, she tapped my gloves with her own and took a stance. I mimicked her motions, intent on not getting killed. I wondered if this was payback for staring at her at the gym. If so, I was going to have to quit the gym and take up knitting.

  “C’mon, sweetheart, it won’t hurt . . . much,” she taunted.

  Something about her tone pissed me off. “Don’t worry about me,” I said through gritted teeth. “Give it your best shot.”

  Not the smartest thing to say, given the circumstances.

  The next thing I knew, I was taking a punch to the ribs. I gasped, staggered, but didn’t fall down. I counted that as a success. The next punch caught me in the shoulder, but I saw it coming and twisted my body enough to deflect it. The third punch was another rib punch, and it hurt. I had managed to keep my gloves up to protect my face, but the rest of me was taking a beating while I hadn’t yet landed a punch.

  She danced around me, watching me—probably for signs of tears. “C’mon, hit me,” she growled. “Don’t be a pansy.”

  I swung then. It wasn’t very graceful or even very accurate, but it was quick. I caught her off guard, and I saw the glimpse of pleasant surprise in her eyes before my punch caught her in the chest. She let out a little ooof and took two quick steps back. I had a fleeting moment of satisfaction before she stomach-punched me twice in quick succession. I sucked in air and saw spots, but I refused to go down.

  I swung, wildly and openly, and was rewarded for my efforts by connecting with the Dragon Lady’s tight midriff. The moment was all too brief, because she landed a solid punch to my unprotected jaw, and I went down. Hard.

  She didn’t give
me any sympathy. “On your feet, sweetheart. I’m not through with you yet.”

  Idiot that I was, I hauled myself off the floor and put up my gloves. I was pissed. I couldn’t imagine what I had seen in her in the first place. “Asshole,” I hissed.

  She laughed, and I took that moment of inattention to land a punch square in her face. She didn’t go down, but it was close. I had put everything I had behind that punch, and the fact that I outweighed her by twenty or thirty pounds was enough to stagger her. My pleasure was quickly overridden by remorse, followed immediately by astonishment as she punched me one-two-three in the stomach and doubled me over. I shuffled backward, lost my footing, and landed on my ass.

  The Dragon Lady stood over me, grinning. “Not bad, sweetheart. You’re not crying yet.”

  Boxing might not have been my sport, but I’d done some martial arts. Just as fast as she’d punched me, I swept her feet out from under her. It wasn’t a legal move in boxing, but I was done with this game. “Not bad yourself, Dragon Lady.”

  We lay there on the floor, I panting harder than she, laughing our asses off. The headgear made me claustrophobic. I yanked it off and let my hair down, feeling suddenly free.

  She rolled over on her side, taking her headgear off as she did. “You should train with me. I could teach you a few things.”

  Emboldened and empowered by my first—and hopefully only—boxing lesson, I hooked one gloved hand behind her head and pulled her down to me. Her mouth was soft and wet and receptive, and I kissed her until we were both breathless from something other than sparring.

  She pulled away and got to her knees. “Or maybe you’ll teach me a few things,” she said, stripping off her gloves a lot quicker than I was able to get mine off.

  “Do you want to take this someplace else?” she asked, her voice rough. “This floor is a little hard for what I want to do to you.”

  “I can take it if you can.”