The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 12: Over 40 outstanding pieces of short erotic fiction (Mammoth Books)

by Jakubowski, Maxim

  She and Sven lie in a sticky tangle on her carpet afterwards. Martha asks him if he had a risqué youth.

  His youth was her childhood. He gives her a significant look. Martha tweaks his nipple. He says, “Does doing it in the back of a pickup count?” He pauses, hand stroking the rounded bit just below her navel. He adds, “It was a parade.”

  A lot of the time the funny things he says aren’t meant to be jokes, his mind just works that way. Martha loves that about him. Also how he looks when she finally gets him unbuttoned from his suits and ties.

  She imagines naked Sven humping some beauty queen of the Flyover Dairy Cows while the beauty queen tosses candy to a screaming crowd. Martha has a bizarre imagination. She pokes him in the stomach.

  “After the parade,” he explains. “Me and Karen Hazilik. Crêpe paper is nasty when it dries on you. Do people even decorate with crêpe paper any more?”

  “Let’s do it in a pickup,” Martha says. “Up at Steamy Point. We’ll pretend we’re teenagers, making out.” This is a test. She wants to know if he’s willing to play along with her weirder inspirations.

  “We can’t take all our clothes off. That’d be cheating,” he leers. “I’ll be your naughty teacher.”

  “Let’s go Friday. Wear a tight T-shirt.”

  Their trip to the Point works out really well and soon they are seeing each other several times a week. Sven comes over every Tuesday around seven so they have time for pizza and beer before Martha’s show comes on. Sven starts to like it, too, but he likes different characters: the fraternity brothers who are telepathic, but only with each other, because of a ritual and a lightning strike, and a family of cheerleader witches. They can see ghostly images of murder.

  Martha thinks the college guys are totally doing it, and tells him so while she’s getting his boxers off.

  “They are not!” Sven chokes out. Then he whimpers when she kisses the end of his cock.

  Martha points out, “Two men can’t have children, so you don’t have to worry about their mutant babies.” She doesn’t care if imaginary men have sex or not, but she’s curious what Sven thinks. He’s also adorable when he blushes. She licks the crease at the top of his leg and nuzzles around the base of his cock.

  Sven is breathing faster. “Are you . . . would you want to watch them fuck? Two men? Like men like watching two women.”

  Martha doesn’t have to think about that. “Definitely. They’re both hot.” She thinks about it a minute, then adds, “They could make a Knightley sandwich.”

  Sven blushes some more. “You know people write these stories. On the Internet.” He combs his fingers through her hair; it’s short and dark and curly, a bit like one of the guys on their show.

  Martha is fascinated with what he’s just revealed but she’s busy right now. She licks around the head of his cock in teasing circles and watches his face change. “We’ll Google when we’re done,” she suggests, and starts sucking his cock in earnest.

  Sven’s head falls against the back of the couch. “Oh, God, Martha, don’t stop.”

  She pumps his lower shaft with her hand and takes time to lick his balls, enjoying the soft buzz of furry skin against her tongue and the way his belly tightens and twitches. She smooths her free hand over his abs, which aren’t cut but are nice and solid.

  “Push down,” he begs.

  He likes it when she strokes and presses around his cock while she’s sucking him. She’s figured out that shifting the compression of her hand diverts sensation from his cock, and helps him to last longer. She loves experimenting with him to make him feel good. He’s been trying the same thing when he goes down on her, mostly using the heel of his hand or the ball of his thumb in unexpected places. She thinks of it as “pleasure pinball.”

  They never get around to Googling that night but on Saturday they find stories where the college buddies are doing it with Samantha, the show’s only female character. In one story, they’ve all been turned into vampires, and in another, they’re all writers living in Paris in the twenties. Sven bookmarks those. Then Martha finds the ones (there are lots) where the guys are doing it with each other, no girl in sight. Also a story where both guys do it with Knightley, which she bookmarks, and another one where Knightley makes them wear neon nylon dog collars and put lipstick on each other using only their mouths, and fuck each other with dildos and a bunch of other kinky things. The blond one cries a lot but it doesn’t stop him from having a giant woody the whole time. It turns out Knightley is doing it all because he’s pregnant from a magic spell and not allowed to have sex himself for eleven months.

  Martha reads the last story aloud while Sven rolls on the carpet, moaning, begging her to stop because it’s so awful, a thousand times worse than any student paper he’s ever read, even in his introductory classes. It’s true the dialogue is terrible, and there’s too much repetitive description, but Martha thinks it’s hilarious, and every time she puts on Knightley’s English accent giving commands, Sven laughs so hard he can’t breathe and bangs his head on the floor.

  Martha finally takes pity on him and stops. She decides to go back later to see if she can find some better threesome ones where Knightley is not magically pregnant. Then Sven streams some gay porn for her, which Martha thinks is really hot. She picks out which guys in the movie look most like the telepathic guys. Sven eventually gets into it a little bit because she likes it, even though he says all the naked men make him think of locker rooms instead of sex. Also, he can’t believe their cocks are really that big. Maybe it’s the camera angles.

  They make out on and off through the whole thing, and Martha decides tonight is the night she wants to try anal sex together. That needs the bed, so they switch off the porn and find the lube.

  It turns out Sven hasn’t done anal before. Martha gets a thrill out of that and takes over as teacher. Sven’s a little scared and cautious, so they spend a long time on foreplay. Sven massages her from shoulders to feet before he starts working on her ass.

  She convinces him to rim her – she’s never had anyone do that for her before, so it seems fair as well as unspeakably hot – and he figures out the best techniques on his own, sliding his hand between her legs while he tongues her hole. The sensations are delicate and fluttery and prickly all at once. She forgets everything except how good it feels. After she comes, pulsing hard around Sven’s fingers, she murmurs, “Prep time.”

  Sven points out that the guys in the movie just went right to it. She reaches into a drawer and brandishes one of her dildos. “You want to try it?”

  Sven gets a funny look on his face. “Maybe?”

  That’s intriguing. Martha squirts lube onto his fingers. “Tonight I want you to fuck me.”

  She flinches after he slips a fingertip into her, because she’s so sensitive from the rimming. Sven jerks back. “No, no,” she says. “It’s OK. I’m just twitchy.”

  He makes her turn over and look at him. “You’re sure.” He doesn’t sound nervous any more, probably because of the way he just made her come, wailing, and Martha gets a little thrill because he’s hardly ever like this in bed, in charge, unless they’re playing a game like naughty teacher.

  “Do it,” she says. “I want your cock in my hole.”

  His eyes get even darker at the way she says it, and he shoves her back onto her stomach. She probably shouldn’t be getting him this excited when anal needs patience, but she’s eager and this isn’t her first time. She’s sure she can take him comfortably.

  Martha relaxes into his delicate massage as he works in more fingers one at a time, getting her ready for his cock. She breathes deep, relaxing, shivering at how good it feels when he shifts the position of his fingers. Finally, she says she’s ready. Actually, she looks over her shoulder and says, “Take me, Knightley!”

  Sven swats her ass. He’s hard as a rock. “Condom,” he demands. Martha grins and puts it on him with her mouth. Then he takes her from behind, not at all tentative, his cock a steady stretch, sho
ving the breath out of her in a long moan. Sven gets partway inside her and stops, panting. “I still don’t believe they’re doing it,” he says, and thrusts home.

  Martha is laughing, which moves his cock inside her in ways that make her shake and clench. “I’ll show you evidence next week,” she gasps out. “Now fuck me.”

  Sven doesn’t last all that long but neither does she. It’s messy and sweaty and feels sensational. Afterwards, they cuddle up, sticky as they are, and talk quietly in the weird yellow light of a street lamp outside Martha’s window.

  Sven says a couple of the other soccer players on his college team were gay; they were together, but always said they weren’t a couple. Once in a while they’d tell him how incredible gay sex was and let him know that if he was ever curious, he could stop by their place and get educated. They were kidding, sort of. But if he’d ever stopped by, he thinks they would have done what they said. Sometimes he wonders what would have happened. It would never happen in real life. They finally admitted they were in love, moved to Toronto, and got married. He says, softer than before, that he thinks about them sometimes when he masturbates.

  Martha tells him what it was like growing up with her three brothers. She always wished she was a boy, too. She didn’t understand girls and why they liked dresses and Disney princesses when she liked Star Wars and lightsaber fights. All her friends at school were boys. When they hit puberty, suddenly all her friends wanted to be her boyfriend. That weirded her out because she thought she was one of them, not one of those girls that sneak off into hallways to let a boy stick his tongue in her mouth. That’s when she got curious for the first time about what boys could do together. She went to the bookstore and read a bunch of gay erotica. It was the first time she’d read anything sexy like that.

  Sven asks her if she ever imagines she’s a man while she’s fantasizing, and she says yes. She tells him one or two scenarios. Then she sits up and rests her hand in the middle of his chest, right over his heart. She tells him that she didn’t do that while he was rimming her, or while he was fucking her. Then, she was just Martha and Sven was fucking her. She can be herself with him. That’s why she loves him.

  Sven tells her, like it’s a secret, that he loves her.

  The next Tuesday, they cuddle up on the couch under a big comforter. It’s fall sweeps on TV, and the temperature outside dropped unexpectedly yesterday. Martha likes fondling Sven’s thigh underneath the blanket; it feels dirtier than doing it out in the open like usual. Whenever the college buddies come on screen, she points out to Sven how close they’re standing.

  “They’re standing really close to Samantha, too,” he points out.

  “They’re not looking at her,” she says. “Look how Jamie touches Ben all the time.”

  “They’re friends.” Sven kisses her neck. “Besides, Knightley’s always touching Ben, too.”

  “Ben is the fuck bunny on this show,” Martha says.

  Sven starts laughing into her neck. He nips her behind her ear, where she likes it, and she slides her hand higher up on his thigh. He says, “Do you want me as much as you want Knightley?”

  “You wouldn’t mind, would you?” she says. “If he came over. We could have a threesome. I wouldn’t make you touch his dick if you didn’t want to.” She kisses his cheek, a big smacking one. “You know you’re my Knightley.”

  They end up wrestling for possession of Sven’s cock under the comforter, and getting all tangled in it, so they almost miss the big scene where Samantha kisses Jamie, and Jamie rejects her.

  “Shit!” Martha says. “I was right! He is doing Ben! How else could he ignore those knockers?!”

  “Let’s go to bed,” Sven says, in a faint voice, because Martha is still stroking his cock with both hands and he’s hard as a rock.

  “Let’s do it doggie style, so we can both watch. There’s another half-hour left.”

  It’s actually really hard to watch TV and have sex at the same time, even if you’re enthusiastic. Martha keeps making Sven stop when there’s important dialogue and start up again when there’s a fight scene. He bitches and groans but he does it, because he’s watching, too. The starting and stopping turns out to be really hot.

  Samantha, it turns out, might be possessed by a demon. Or might not. It’s hard to tell. Martha wonders if the demon gave her better cleavage than she’d had in the previous week’s episode.

  Knightley does spells while Samantha’s tied up, and there’s a lot of writhing and moaning. Sven asks Martha if she’s possessed because she makes those moaning noises all the time. He asks if he can tie her up and do some spells. She can’t smack him because he’s behind her, his cock in her cunt.

  A commercial blasts on but Martha can’t reach the remote. “Fuck me, fuck me!” she yells, and Sven fucks her so fast her eyes cross. They both come by the time the commercial break is over which is a good thing, because the scene has shifted and the story is back with Jamie and Ben.

  “Pay attention, it’s your guys,” she says. She takes the condom off him and throws it away, then sits on the back of the couch with her feet on Sven’s chest. He’s taking up all the room.

  Sven groans. “Was that an earthquake?”

  On the TV, Jamie and Ben are doing a ritual. Both of them have to contribute blood to the ingredients. Martha pokes Sven with her foot and points out how tenderly they cut each other, which wakes Sven up enough to roll on his side and watch.

  “Jamie licked him,” he says. “I’m not sure if that’s hot or not.”

  “He didn’t have to lick that blood,” Martha says. “Do you think he got turned into a vampire when he was missing last week?”

  The background music is swelling. Ben’s crouched over his middle, rocking back and forth. Jamie has his hand on Ben’s head, petting his hair, and they’re both panting. It’s unclear if they’re trying to save Samantha from the demon, or destroy the demon and Samantha both, or if this has nothing to do with Samantha at all; they could be seeing a vision of a murder. The one from earlier in the episode that might have been committed by a possessed Samantha? Is Ben possessed? Regardless, Sven looks at Martha and says, “You were right. They’re totally doing it.”

  There’s a big flash on the screen. The scene cuts to Knightley. His eyes are glowing and he has his hands on Samantha, but he keeps repeating Ben’s name.

  “Uh-oh,” Martha says. Knightley shrieks, and the credits roll. Cliffhanger. “Fuck!” Martha yells.

  Sven wraps his hand around her ankle and hugs it. “I hope nobody gets killed off.”

  “They can’t kill anyone off yet, it’s too early in the season,” Martha says. “Jamie and Ben haven’t even kissed yet. They have a long way to go.”

  Sven drags her down on top of him and cuddles her. In a Knightley-accent he says, “So do we, love. So do we.”

  We Are Not What You Think We Are

  Nachito

  As told to Michael Hemmingson

  Was rooming in a cheap hotel with Paola, one of the prettiest transsexuals in Tijuana, and whoring myself out for anything between ten and fifty bucks an hour. Told Paola not to worry her pretty head; we’d find a nicer place just as soon as we got back on our feet. Home sweet home had a bed and a window two floors up in the Hotel California.

  We worried about money and the next bottle of Vicodin. Every pharmacy tech on Avenida Revolucíon knew my face.

  “Hey Nachito,” they’d say, “back for the usual?”

  You build a tolerance. I can remember taking seven pills every four hours. Odd and funny dreams flowed seamlessly from night to day.

  Tijuana presented itself as the edge of the unknown where the lines of a new history were being rearranged. The contours of ordinary objects appeared dismembered, like the paintings you see in museums, and I was holding certain delusions about the world. Thought I could unlock doors without keys, predict the future, things like that.

  I am born of reasonably affluent parents, you understand. They’re still married; s
till go to garage sales on Saturdays and church on Christmas. Someday I should write an essay about how I wound up living among the whores of Tijuana.

  The front desk clerk required our names for the hotel’s records. Paola took a ballpoint pen and put hers next to mine.

  Nacho y Paola, it read.

  We then dug a few crumpled bills from our pockets and laid them on the desk. The clerk took our money and gave us a plastic sack with clean towels, soap, and a fresh roll of toilet paper. The words WELCOME TO THE HOTEL CALIFORNIA were stenciled in the window just like the lyrics to the Eagles’ song.

  On the street below, donkeys were painted black and white like zebras. They’re called Zonkies. Tourists could put on sombreros and have their picture taken with the Zonkies. That was the idea. I thought it was funny when a Zonkie pooped because it made the little kids scream and shout, “Look! He’s making caca in the street!”

  Paola preferred to hustle at the bar downstairs of our hotel. The El Paso bar was a long, narrow affair that catered primarily to gay American men who drank Coronas and eyed the round-faced Mexican boys. These men regarded me too but that wasn’t my deal. They bought me beers and I’d be friendly, drink the beer.

  “See dat tranny there?” I’d say, nodding at Paola. “Ain’t she purdy? How’d jew like to haf y’self a good ol’ time wit her?”

  Problem with drinking too much, my Texas twang comes out and I sound like a cartoon.

  That worked about one out of every four tries. The other three times I had to be a total dick. “I’m no fag, buddy,” I said, walking with a macho sway up the stairs with my free beer.

  Sought my clients on Craigslist. Usually I received emails from husbands, straight or otherwise, wanting me to bang their wives. For a good month, I was regularly doing a flight attendant from Kentucky whose husband, an airline pilot, watched us from the loveseat. In the darkness I saw the red dot of his video camera.