Unspeakably Erotic

by D. L. King

  I don’t know if it was the night or the girl. It wasn’t as if I’d never had a girl laugh in my face before. But this time it lit a fuse somewhere deep inside. A fuse that burned so imperceptibly slowly it took me a few minutes to realize what had happened. I was on fire. This girl had set me on fire. When she laughed, she looked at me in this way that said, “Stay right here and watch me, you fucking asshole.” And I obeyed. I wanted to learn, and I knew she could teach me something. I stayed right there. I stood with my beer in my hand until it was too warm to be any good. I stood there with a wet cunt and a stupid look on my face, staring at the soft edges of her shoulder blades that moved under her shirt when she lifted her drink or pushed her hair behind one ear.

  She ignored the next butch who tried to buy her a drink. Didn’t even shrug her off and just sat there like she hadn’t heard the question. I’d seen that butch around. I knew her face but we’d never met. She wore a T-shirt that said SIT ON MY FACE in giant letters. I never saw her without some shirt like that, usually something crude about eating pussy like VAGITARIAN or something about taco night. A shirt that tells everyone you’re a big fucking dyke, as if there was any question. She gave me a look that said, Fuck this bitch, right? I didn’t take the bait. I gave her a blank look and went back to my reverent staring at this woman with her back turned to me. I was supposed to stay put. I felt sure of it. I was supposed to wait and watch. So I did. I watched. I watched as someone I would later come to know as JR got her attention.

  I’d seen JR come in that night. She was amazing. A bright and shining butch with unruly, closely cropped, gray hair that looked like she shaved herself without paying much attention. Her face was weather worn and a little sunburned with white crevices in the wrinkles around her eyes. She had a sparse row of coarse hair above her lip just dark enough to be noticeable. She was tall with a big ass and heavy thighs. Her belly hung over her belt. She had big tits and didn’t strap them down.

  JR came in and played pool with some of the younger butches, taking their money without much effort. I loved to watch her. JR didn’t give a shit. JR was too cool to try to look cool. I imagined myself in her boots with my own fat fingers wrapped around a pool cue as if I’d grown up with it. I pictured myself sinking one ball after another with a dirty grin on my face. JR won one game and then another, winning enough to buy a few beers later. She collected the dollars by pinching them between her fingers and smoothing them out before folding them up in her wallet. I lost track of her as the bar filled up that night. There were other girls to watch.

  I’d forgotten about JR even being there, forgotten about everything as I sat there staring at the girl who had laughed me off. Something broke inside me as I watched her look around the room, passing over each butch one at a time before landing on JR. Something broke in the best way. Broke down. Broke through. JR was perfect. Of course she wanted JR. Someone to pin her down completely, someone who wouldn’t worry about being too rough, someone who could do anything without ever thinking it over too much.

  JR played pinball with her back to us. A stack of quarters on the machine, her legs spread wide, her shoulders hunched. We watched her slap the glass, grab her quarters, and move over to the jukebox. The girl at the bar, the girl with her back to me, the girl I was bound together with now, stood up. “Hey,” I said, as if she were my date, as if she owed me an explanation, but shut my mouth fast and watched her go. I put my hand protectively on her bar stool and the warm vinyl made me shiver.

  I watched the tips of her fingers reach out and touch JR’s thick forearm. She smiled up at JR, saying something. She took a couple of dollars out of her back pocket and fed the jukebox. I watched them pick out songs together. They barely spoke, but JR followed her back to the bar. Knowing, but looking like the cat that ate the canary nonetheless.

  The girl looked at my hand on her seat and, without looking me in the face, waited for me to move and let her sit. She looked at my belt as she thanked me politely for saving her spot. I felt my cheeks burn red. JR pulled at her chin and nodded to me with a slow, wide smile. I bought myself another drink and stood there listening to them, hovering too close to be respectful. JR called her “Sherry.” I couldn’t tell if they knew each other already or if they had just met that night. JR looked at me but no one asked my name.

  I drank my whiskey fast. I felt it hit me deep in my chest the way booze opens you up and makes you bigger, thicker. My chest felt expansive. My head spun a little. I was drunk, more than a little. They flirted in front of me, JR leaning one elbow on the bar and cocking her head while they talked. All you need is a touch or two. Something simple. A finger pointing to a belt buckle strays and slides an inch or two across a belly. JR looked down at that pretty little hand, those sweet fingers. Something got said in a serious tone. Some question asked that had an unintended reaction. JR reached a thick hand to Sherry’s arm and gave it a squeeze before sliding those rough fingers up to her shoulder. There was a silence before they started to move toward the door. Sherry looked back at me, and then JR. I’d already started to follow. She whispered something in JR’s ear. JR looked back over her shoulder at me and didn’t answer, just grinned.

  It smelled like beer on the sidewalk. I can tell you a lot about that walk, the street, the garbage, stray dogs, the cigarette smoke, and giggling fags a couple of blocks over. I have a clear memory of that walk because I was paying close attention as if my life depended on remembering every detail. The way they walked together, JR with her hand riding just above Sherry’s hip, sliding a little toward her ass with each step. The clicks and the thuds of their shoes. Sherry bent over to adjust a heel and hung on to JR’s shoulder to keep steady. We walked past a car with sheets covering all the windows. I noticed the gum, the candy wrappers, and thought about how it used to be drug vials crunching under my boots just a few years ago. I didn’t know where we were going.

  It was JR who pulled out keys. JR’s apartment building we stood outside. JR’s living room we walked into that was tidied up in the hope of having company that night. I noticed the dirty rings on the coffee table where her drinks had been. JR pointed me toward the fridge. I pulled out three beers but by the time I turned around Sherry’s fingers were on JR’s buckle. My eyes traveled up JR’s gut to her face, glistening with sweat, staring straight at me. It was that look from a shitty teenage sex movie. That look that says, “You’re next, boy,” directed at the skinny nerd who will not be next, not yet, not until the end of the movie, maybe, if he’s lucky.

  I opened a beer. JR reached a hand out for it and nodded at Sherry to keep going. Sherry rubbed JR through her jeans. I could see the shape of the cock, her bulge. I opened a beer for myself. I needed something in my hand, something to do. I was here to watch JR be exactly who I wanted to be and do exactly what I wanted to be doing. I was here to watch JR take my place. JR’s belt was only half unbuckled. She took Sherry’s hand inside her own and rubbed it harder against the fly of her jeans. “Get it,” she grunted out and drained half the bottle of beer. I felt ridiculous. Perfect.

  They started fucking immediately. There was no slow make out; no long buildup. JR grunted orders at her, “Get it out. Get it wet.” She slapped her quick across the face when she didn’t drop to her knees fast enough. “Get it,” JR said under her breath a few more times sounding like a guy cheering his favorite football team on from the couch. “Get it,” I heard myself whisper, not even moving my lips, “Get it wet.” Sherry had her lips on JR’s jeans. Her hands were up by her forehead, undoing the buckle while her open mouth sucked on the bulge behind JR’s fly. She sucked that cock out of JR’s jeans. Drool dripped down her chin.

  JR bent her knees and shifted her weight. One hand moved down to Sherry’s face and pushed her hair back. “You look good,” she said and pushed Sherry’s mouth open with her thumb before sliding her cock deep inside. “I like a pretty girl on my cock,” JR said. I put my beer down and gripped the countertop to steady myself. I didn’t know where to look. My head
was fuzzy, too caught up in what was in front of me to name my own desire. I found myself watching JR’s throat. The way her veins bulged when she held her breath and grunted. Her voice sounded heavy now, her tongue thick in the back of her throat. She bit her lower lip. With my eyes on her neck, I saw her shoulders flex and hunch. She was loosening up. Relaxing.

  Sherry had her hands wrapped around JR’s thighs. Her mouth was filled, her cheeks sucked in. JR jerked her cock out and held it. “Keep your mouth open,” she said and rubbed the tip against Sherry’s lips, pushing her mouth open even wider, pushing her chin down. A thick rope of saliva slid over her lips and I stared, mesmerized, as it pooled on the floor. “Up,” JR said and grabbed her as she rose, turning her around to face me. JR wrapped an arm around her chest and held her tight with one hand while the other jerked her jeans open. I saw cream-colored, lace panties covering a dark shock of hair. JR’s fingers looked thick and calloused as they shoved inside those panties. She grinned and put her mouth to Sherry’s ear, “Did sucking my cock get your pussy all wet?” Sherry nodded and JR’s eyes flashed at mine, Want to see something?

  I didn’t need to respond before JR had Sherry’s shirt balled up in a fist, pulling it over her head. Her bra matched her panties. Creamy lace you could see the shadow of her nipples through. JR brought her hand up to her nose, “You have a sweet cunt,” she said and then shoved her wet fingers under the lacy bra. Sherry’s stomach quivered. I could see her coming undone with the feel of those rough hands on her soft skin. The gruffness of JR’s touch. I could feel it, both sides of it. JR’s scratchy fingers on my thighs. Sherry’s soft tits in my hands. I stood frozen near the kitchen counter. JR had her mouth on Sherry’s neck, sucking loud enough for me to hear.

  “Girl, I want these off!” JR said, and tugged at Sherry’s jeans. “Leave the panties,” she demanded, swatting Sherry’s ass as she bent over. She stood there between us in her bra and panties and for the first time I noticed the stark light in JR’s apartment. The overhead lights were too bright, with a bluish tint. Bright like a doctor’s office, but somehow the glare made everything more real, more intimate. Both of JR’s hands were on Sherry’s tits, rubbing her hard and squeezing her over and under the lace bra. “Do you feel my dick between your legs?” JR asked. “Come on.” JR shoved Sherry forward, toward me. I backed away and watched JR bend Sherry over the counter. JR leaned over her and positioned Sherry’s arms out in front of her on the counter. “Hold on,” JR said and I wasn’t sure which one of us she meant.

  Sherry’s face told me when JR’s cock was inside her. She never looked at me. Her eyes were closed or looking down at the countertop. JR fucked her hard, holding her hips in both hands. For a long time, JR just watched her cock pounding into Sherry. I pictured Sherry’s ass bouncing up and down, her panties tight around her thighs. I moved to the side when JR leaned over and pressed Sherry down against the counter with a forearm across her shoulder blades. Sherry’s hands pressed flat against the Formica, her eyes were squeezed shut. JR didn’t break. She fucked her long and hard. Sherry’s moaning sounded meditative. JR was huffing, sweating, red faced.

  They moved to the couch. JR sat back and Sherry climbed on top, hooking her hands around JR’s neck. JR held Sherry’s ass in her hands and lifted her like a doll. Her arms looked huge, her muscles bulging. Sherry bounced on and off. My eyes moved to her panties on the floor near JR’s boot. “I want to see you come,” JR said. Sherry left one hand on JR’s shoulder and moved the other to her clit. JR leaned forward and sucked on a tit. Sherry’s hips moved in circles on JR’s cock. JR lifted her hips off the couch, holding Sherry hard against her thighs, digging deep. JR looked over at me and jerked her head, calling me closer. I almost stumbled as I moved toward them. I stood watching them from the side of the couch.

  JR thought I wanted to watch Sherry come, but I couldn’t. I watched JR. I watched her eyes. The stupid grin on her face. Suddenly JR showed me everything—all her vulnerability, like a little kid. Innocent.

  I sat down in the corner and held my knees to my chest. I wasn’t hiding. I was trying to keep everything rushing through me held tight. I am never that grinning kid. I am never exposed and innocent. I’m on the outside looking in when I fuck. I see the whole room and how I’m positioned in it. I lay the tracks out in front of me one at a time as I go, but there are still tracks. I’m not free to roam. That look I saw on JR’s face is exactly what I crave. And I felt it there that night. I felt it and knew what I was missing, what I wanted. Watching them fuck, watching their freedom, the simplicity of it, I wanted out of my goddamn head. I wanted to feel alive, fully in the moment. Animal. Instinctive.

  Sherry came, groaning long and low. JR made her come again and then jerked off on top of her, coming hard and pounding the couch with her fist. I didn’t even watch at the end. I stayed in the corner, listening with a lump in my throat. Not crying, but feeling on the verge of tears. Feeling too turned on. Frustrated. Exhausted.

  Sherry got up, collected her things, and went to wash up. JR stayed on the couch when Sherry walked to the door. “I don’t like it when a butch tries too hard,” she said with her back to us. We both knew she was talking to me. JR laughed. I could still hear her heels in the hall when JR leaned back and muttered, “You gotta go now, too.” I made my way to the door.

  That night in bed I pressed my face into the mattress, barely able to breathe while I jerked off. I came again and again. I came until I ached. I needed to move on. I wanted to force it. But it only made me sore.

  THE LAST KINK

  Cecilia Duvalle

  Camilla watched the two women on the corner from her fifth-story terrace. They went through the same ritual every week, and, though she couldn’t hear them from this distance, she knew exactly what they were saying.

  A tall blonde wrapped her arms around Mora. “Are you sure you need to do this?”

  “Yes,” Mora said. She squeezed the other woman’s shoulders as she slipped out of her embrace.

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Mora, as always, kissed the other woman on the lips, turned toward Camilla’s apartment building, and hobbled her way through the throngs overflowing the crosswalk, her knuckles white against her cane. Camilla watched until she was safely on her side of the street before waving to the blonde who had watched Mora’s progress as well. The blonde touched her open palm to her lips and dropped it in her direction. Camilla signed back “welcome” with a delicate flourish and watched the other woman settle onto a bench and pull out a book. Last week’s had been something thick and heavy with an orange background and white letters. This week it was something dark and thin with an invisible font from this distance.

  If things were different, Camilla thought she might have liked this woman. Even be friends. As it was, she didn’t even know her name. A twinge of jealousy sent her back inside. The blonde loved Mora enough to bring her to Camilla week after week. That was enough.

  Camilla made a few last-minute adjustments to the items she’d set out for their session as she waited for the doorbell to ring. She’d had a removable perch custom-made to use with her St. Andrew’s cross. She double-checked to make sure she’d attached it securely.

  “Well, look at you,” Camilla said as she opened the door and ushered her in. “You look fabulous today.”

  Mora flushed and looked down at her shoes. “Thank you, Mistress.”

  She took her by the arm to lead her into the living room. “How are you feeling today? I want to make sure we can continue with our plan.”

  Mora met Camilla’s eyes briefly before turning her attention to the cross. “Oh, Mistress, you got it. You did this for me?” She had moved faster than Camilla had seen her do in months and placed her hand on the small bit of wood. “It’s perfect.”

  Camilla reached out and grasped Mora’s shoulders, squeezed. “I couldn’t have you falling, now could I? Not on my watch, my sweet.”

  Mora placed a hand over one of Camilla’s. “Thank you, thank
you so much. I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  Camilla leaned in and kissed her gently on the neck, released her, and stepped back. “You don’t have to say anything. But, I do think it is time for you to get naked.”

  Mora spun around on her good foot and handed Camilla her cane. “Yes, Ma’am.” Her eyes were bright with tears and expectation.

  Mora lifted the turtleneck over her head. Her wig came off with it and she caught it as it tumbled down-ward. “Damn. I didn’t want you to see that,” she hissed as she fumbled to get it straight on her head.

  Camilla hadn’t been aware that she’d lost her hair. How long had she hidden that from her?

  “I bet you shaved your head in the nineties, just to show it could be done. You have a nicely shaped head, Mora.” Camilla’s own head looked horrible shaved. She’d done it once for a cancer awareness gig ten years prior. Hers was lumpy and was stained with a birthmark she had never known about. Never again.

  “Please, Mistress. Pretend I have all my hair. You’ll allow me that won’t you?” Her hands shook a little as she removed the lacy bra she wore beneath to release her breasts.

  “Of course” Camilla could easily give her that.

  Mora shoved her jeans and underwear down to her ankles. She threatened to topple over with the effort to get them off, but Camilla steadied her as she stepped out of them.

  “Beautiful, as always,” Camilla cooed at the now-naked woman. Thinner. Much thinner.

  Mora laughed. Giggled really. “Oh, Mistress. You should have seen me when I was twenty.”

  I did see you when you were twenty. Have you really forgotten? “I see you now.”

  There was no need to lie. The woman was still gorgeous. Even with the lines on her face and her slightly sagging breasts, she had a glow about her. A glow that comes from within and radiates out into the world. Camilla always felt a profound sense of calm when in Mora’s presence.