She grinned at me, and mimed tipping a hat. ‘Why, thank you, ma’am. You’re not so bad yourself.’
We held each other for a while without speaking, our skin cooling, our sweat drying. She held me close.
I’m not the type of girl to start demanding exclusivity and all that jazz after one sexual encounter, but I couldn’t help thinking about how long I’d been lusting after Sabina, how much I’d wanted her, and how much it felt like an amazing stroke of luck that we’d finally gotten together. I wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted at that moment, except that I knew I didn’t want to get off that couch and out of Sabina’s arms any time soon.
‘Sabina?’
‘Yes, Bree dear?’
‘What else do you have to show me?’
She laughed, and kissed me.
Exquisite Corpse
His Feet
He finds his own feet a bit of a turn-on.
He doesn’t do anything special to them, not really. He’s seen other guys who paint their nails, rid themselves of all foot and toe hair. He thinks that looks nice enough, just as it does when women do it, but looking at the foot fetish websites has made him realise that he’s not interested in anyone else’s feet.
He’s not interested in other men. He’s not interested in other male body parts.
He’s never said anything outright to any of his lovers. One seemed to know, and would lean backwards and stroke his feet as she rode him. Never for very long though, as the position was sadly impractical from a comfort standpoint.
But he’s started doing yoga, and he’s pretty pleased with how well he’s progressing with the Baddha Konasana. It’s only a matter of time.
My Thigh
The threads of my fishnets form slightly different patterns this far up on my thigh. Not like the girls on the packaging where it stays pretty much the same all the way up. Past my knee, the holes in my fishnets transform into hundreds of tiny mouths, gasping, caught wide in a moment of some undefined emotion. Heading to the apex where they become fraught diamonds, the place where flesh threatens to spill through.
My right leg has won this particular battle, its victory two small, strategic snappings of thread. Flesh pouts out from it, a sensitive little mound all softness and nerve endings. I stroke it and tremble; it is like finding a new clit, so close to my old one that surely I’m being greedy.
All night I keep my hand under the table, skirt rucked up, and play with my new treasure. No one at the table of National Party MPs even notices.
Her Genitals
She has always found the things not quite said to be the most interesting. Her friends laugh at jokes about budgie-smugglers, sneer at guys with their singlets and shorts too tight in summer. The idea of the male body as a thing of beauty, to be displayed and looked over, fills them with revulsion.
She feels a little bit differently. In high school photography class, her appreciation of Max Dupain’s work was a little more furtive than everyone else’s. Discovering beefcake photography was like finding the holy grail. She ogles the tight swimming trunks, the skimpy little swimmers, the designer underwear. She traces over the pronounced bulges with her thumbnail, biting her lip, imagining the heat and silkiness that would be present in real life. Her favourite combination is white and wet, where the skin shows through, just a little, and contours are all the more sharp.
She likes the same look on herself. She puts on high-waisted white cotton knickers, the kind her friends would call granny knickers, and watches in the mirror as she pulls them up, up until they bunch and fold and cleave, her lips pouting through them. She rests her vibrator against the cotton gusset and focuses on the warming of fabric and flesh.
His Torso
If she could burrow her way into his chest and live there, she would. She doesn’t tell him this because she senses it would be a little weird to reveal her desire to be a parasite in his body.
His chest and stomach are muscle, enveloped in fat, coated thickly with hair. She understands what a bear is now; that special combination of softness and the power to tear flesh apart at the slightest whim. A fierce wild being popularly rewritten as a cuddly companion.
She wishes she could name every hair on his chest. She runs her fingers through the forest on his stomach, up to his nipples, and squeezes.
His Hands
His hands are just as big as they need to be.
People have given him shit for them all his life. His father was a proper burly blokey bloke who took up all the space and air in every room he walked into, with big rough dirty-nailed hands with which he made his living. He never quite got over his bemusement and offence at having such a girly-man for a son, smallness and soft skin and clean nails all adding up to the crime of limp-wristedness.
Many of his friends have been no better. His hands scream pampered desk job in a world that sees rugged outdoorsyness as a virtue. The world is divided about his hands; divided into camps of those who know what he can do with them and those who do not.
Now his hand is inside her, fist bunched tight. She has enveloped him, and he barely dares breathe, let alone move, as she writhes against the bed, there on the end of his arm. Her arousal flows around his hand, into the folds of his clenched fist, drips down to his wrist outside. She clenches and convulses around him, making sounds that in all his life he’s never heard before, and finally he understands.
His hands are just as big as they need to be.
My Head
My brain has basically been a custom porno theatre since I was twelve years old. A few things happened that year: I got The Talk, and I saw my first nudie magazine. Compared to some of what I hear kids watch on the internet these days, seeing a smiling, pretty young woman spreading her pussy lips with her fingers seems damned tame by comparison.
Moralists like to rant about gateways. Gateway drugs, gateways and stepping stones into various realms of vice. That magazine, pilfered from a friend’s older brother, was my gateway into sexual fantasy, and into porn.
They say your brain is your biggest sexual organ and my biggest sexual organ can encompass everyone and everything. In my mind I’ve fucked pretty much all of the guys working in porn today, a decent proportion of the women, as well as boyfriends of girlfriends, girlfriends of boyfriends, attractive people I see on the street and around everywhere, and particularly of note the guy who works night shift at my local 7/11; we’ve had some damned kinky cerebral good times.
I don’t see a raging pervert when I look in the mirror; I see a pretty ordinary twentysomething woman, albeit one with a knowing little smirk that never quite seems to get wiped away. Only the most trusted of lovers get to see inside to what’s really there, and only if I think they can handle it.
In the outside world I am meekpolitenicegood; all these characteristics ascribed to girls like me, I play them like a virtuoso. In my head I taste and fuck the world.
###
About the author
Aimee Nichols is an award-winning erotic fiction author and burlesque performer who lives in Melbourne, Australia. Her writing has appeared in anthologies and magazines including The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 6, Little Raven One, Ultimate Lesbian Erotica 2006, Under Her Thumb: Erotic Stories of Female Domination, Best Lesbian Erotica 2001, Eroticus, Blue Food, Voiceworks, and many more.
Connect with Aimee online:
Twitter: http://twitter.com/wordsandsequins
Facebook: http://facebook.com/Aimee-Nichols
Email: [email protected]
Website: http://www.aimee-nichols.com
Acknowledgements
Cover designed by Humble Nations
@humblenations
http://www.goonwrite.com
‘The Mercy of Strange Men’ was previously published in Sixteen of the Best and The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 6
‘Down in the Park’ was previously published in Ultimate Lesbian Erotica 2006
‘The Gospel of Sophie’ was previously published in Little Raven
Two
‘Lipstick’ was previously published in Best Lesbian Erotica 2001
‘All Eyes on Him’ was previously published in Under Her Thumb: Erotic Stories of Female Domination
‘The Window’ was previously published in Got a Minute?: Sixty Second Erotica
An earlier version of ‘Strap-On Sex is So Passé’ was published in First-Timers: True Stories of Lesbian Awakening
‘Exquisite Corpse’ was previously published in Little Raven One
The Mercy of Strange Men: Erotic Stories Page 7
