“Yes, yes, that too!”
“Ya mean if he asks ya to cook him his food, clean his clothes, even flush the toilet for him, y’gotta do it.”
He takes anotha long draw from his cigarette an’ stares up an’ out through the winduh above the sink, as if he’s really interested in the new shingles on the Nachmann’s roof. Smoke’s curlin’ slowly outta his nose, like the little roots ya see when ya repot houseplants.
Then, he sighs an’ goes an’ says, “Yes.”
“Oh, ya poor farchadat dybbuk,” I says. “Do I know how bad a job that is!”
An’ once I’d said that, I got t’thinkin’.
My life’s a freakin’ shambles. Kurt – the putz – has sold his soul to the Devil an’ is gettin’ it on in Italy, of all places, with some bimbo named Gretchen an’ Gawd-knows-what-else.
But that’s not the worst of it. Now I’m even more alone than before ’cause I don’t go to the coven no more. Joyce an’ I had a little partin’ of the ways about a month before Kurt gave it up for the Devil. I – always the meshuggeneh – thought we could take turns bein’ the high priestess. Y’know, rotate it. My “sistah goddesses” ended up takin’ her side too. So I told ’em they could all rotate this an’ left. Which means now the only person I can talk to other than myself is a demon named Mr Mephistopheles.
Not that he ain’t nice an’ all. But he works for Kurt. So I goes an’ decides right there I need a demon of my own. Someone who’d do all the wifey crap I’d been doin’ for years an’ was sick to death of.
Hell, I think some more to myself, if Kurt can do it, why can’t I? I mean, I’m the witch in this fuckin’ madhouse. An’ I’m a few. I know I can finesse a way better deal outta the Devil than that clunkuh Kurt settled for.
So, the next Saturday night at midnight I’m settin’ up an altar in the kitchen. It’s a little cramped over in the breakfast nook by the table ’cause my altar’s three TV trays crammed with gawddessey tchotchkes an’ red candles an’ four or five of my spice racks with all my incenses an’ oils.
I was just gonna pick a few an’ mix ’em up in a bowl. The problem was I didn’t have a free bowl anywheres on the altar. So, I goes an’ turns t’get one off the kitchen table. That’s when my big, fat tuchis hits the trays an’ knocks everythin’ to the floor with a big crash.
The sound scares the shit outta me an’ I nearly ram the table through the swivel chairs an’ the half-wall where the side counter is. An’ I can feel all this heat behind me. The room’s gettin’ all smoky, quick. “Gawddamned freakin’ dammit,” I scream, smashin’ the bowl on the table. I turn expectin’ to see the wall on fire or somethin’. But instead, there’s this really butch dyke commando starin’ back at me.
She’s about an inch or two talluh than me. Y’know, like 5'5" or 5'6". Her hair’s black like mine but she’s cut hers real short. In a crewcut or somethin’. Actually, since my hair’s been down to my ass since I was 13, I put it up that night ’cause I didn’t want it t’get in the way. If only I coulda done the same thing with my ass.
Anyways, she’s got these fuckin’ beautiful, light brown eyes with dark eyelashes. An’ the most gloriously Semitic schnoz since Barbra’s. An’ this skin that’s as tanned as mine is pale, somewheres between the colour of a garlic-stuffed green olive an’ a perfect black Kalamata. Speakin’ of stuffed, she’s gotta this brick shithouse of a body that’s nearly burstin’ outta this dusty ol’ beige muscle T-shirt an’ these black-brown-an’-grey-spotted camouflage pants. I mean, we’re talkin’ fuckin’ killuh biceps an’ great breasts an’ this beautiful little belly – she was probably aroun’ a hundred pounds lightuh than me, about a 180 – an’ wide hips an’ monster thighs an’ thick calves that were laced up in a fierce pair of boots.
Sounds like I had the hots for her. I checked with my twat. We did.
Whoa, yer thinkin’, when did that happen? I thought ya said youse was gonna run for the door, like Mrs Scaduto, if yer women’s group asked ya to chow down on anotha of yer sistah gawddesses.
I did. That’s all true. If she’d’a grabbed me then an’ there an’ pushed my face into her crotch I probably woulda bolted. But I wasn’t that surprised by my attraction. Hell, I was 37. In my friggin’ sexual prime. Still am. An’ let me tell ya, that many hormones makes ya honest. I mean, I could admit I was curious. Christ, I’d thought about foolin’ aroun’ with other girls as far back as high school. An’ since I hit my 30s, I’d even gone to bed a few times an’ wanked off thinkin’ about doin’ it with a room full of hot women. So, like I said, it didn’t surprise me – t’think about it.
A course, I was still sorta in a bad mood from knockin’ every-thin’ over an’ a little shook up from havin’ yet anotha person appear in my kitchen outta nowheres. So, I kinda lit into her.
“Who the hell are you?” I says.
“Your mother, Ruth,” she says.
“Right, right. Sure y’are. My mutha always dresses like she’s chasin’ after Rommel.”
“No, really. I am your mother.”
“Great. I’m tryin’ t’get a devil of my own an’ instead I get some meshuggeneh dyke with maternal instincts.”
“Bubeleh, the name’s Lilith.”
“Oh, fuckin’ Christ Almighty. A course, I get Lilith the baby-killer!”
“Ruth Marie,” an’ she goes an’ grabs my face in her hands an’ says all serious, “I’m only going to say this once. OK?” I nod. “I’m no baby-killer and neither are you.”
An’ then I goes an’ starts t’cry an’ then she does an’ we’re huggin’ an’ bawlin’. Jeez, it was so freakin’ Lifetime. But, honest to Gawd, somethin’ did change right at that moment.
We talk for a few hours while I make us cups of coffee an’ we work our way through a Entenmann’s pecan ring. By the time we finish off the second box, I’ve told her as much as I’ve told youse so far.
“Oh, bubeleh,” she says, pushin’ away her plate, “he’s worse than the first one.”
“What? Y’think I’d do this a second time an’ pick him?” I says. “Trust me. Kurt’s my first an’ my last husband.”
“No, no,” she says. “The first man. Worse than Adam.”
“Listen to you. That a dyke like you should know from Adam.”
“Trust me, I do. I told you I’m Lilith. I was his first wife.”
“No shit. Ya really are her? Ya don’t look anythin’ like I imagined ya would.”
“Most deities don’t.”
“Oh,” I says. I mean, how the fuck do ya respond to that?
“I’ve changed my look some since the last time someone summoned me.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, it’s been a while. Congratulations.”
All I can do is shrug my shoulders an’ smile. What a schnook I am!
“This is also the shape I take in dreams nowadays. Do you remember any of them?”
“Huh? Ya mean we’ve met before?”
“Yes. I come in the night to women who dream of regaining their lost strengths. I show them just how they can do this. I also keep them warm while they sleep. Very warm.”
“Oh, really,” I says an’ my voices goes an’ squeaks. “But I read that all ya did was run aroun’ givin’ head. Great head. Come in the night an’ drink guys dry.”
“Our pasts have a lot in common.”
“No shit,” I says, noddin’ my head.
“Our futures have even more.”
Omigawd, I’m thinkin’, she’s makin’ a move on me. An’ what do I do? I blush. That’s it! My twat knows what’s in store an’ she’s sittin’ tight. Well, actually, she wasn’t tight at all.
So Lilith pushes away from the table an’ comes over t’me. She stretches out her arm. Y’know, invitin’ me to take her hand. My twat says, “Take it, ya schlemiel.” I do it. She pulls me up into her arms an’ gives me this fuckin’ tender, wet kiss. By the second one, I got my tongue in her.
Next thing I know, she leadin’ me upstairs to my bedr
oom, undoin’ my hair, strippin’ my dress an’ my bra an’ my soakin’ panties off of me between kisses, an’ then she pushin’ me back onto the bed where she licks her way down to my breasts an’ aroun’ an’ aroun’ my nipples, takin’ these little hurts-so-good bites into my high beams, an’ then she’s lickin’ her way over my big sighin’ gut an’ into my twat.
Fuckin’ A!
Even Kurt, when he loved me, was never this good. She sucks her way aroun’ my lips. She pushes that tongue of hers into me to drink up every drop of my juice. That tongue! Oy! Does she know how to use it. Even how to put just the right amount of pressure for just the right amount of time on my clit. Listen up, people. Too much an’ I’m gonna kickbox yer head away. Too little, an’ I’m gonna fall asleep with my thighs wrapped tight aroun’ ya. Gawd, I sound like freakin’ Goldilocks here, but it’s true. An’ all the squirmin’ in the world won’t wake me up once I gets a good snore goin’.
A course, none of that’s happenin’ with Lilith. Not on yer life. Goldilocks is takin’ her lickin’ ’cause it’s just right. An’ then, it gets even better. I have The Big O to end all Big Os. I’m shakin’ an’ screamin’ like a porn star. But I really mean it.
“Feel better?” she says as she slides outta my twat an’ up my belly.
“Um-hum,” I muttuh. We kiss.
“But . . .?”
She’s like a friggin’ mind reada or somethin’.
“You haven’t been fucked in five years.”
“Six.”
“I think I can definitely help you out there.” She pulls this duffle bag outta the air an’ takes it into the bathroom.
Boy, do I start gettin’ excited all over again. I’m imaginin’ she’s gonna go an’ get Rick for me. Or maybe take his shape. Then she comes out with this harness strapped aroun’ her ass like she’s ready to climb a mountain or somethin’. An’ there’s this big, fat dildo wavin’ at me from where her twat used t’be.
I musta made a face. A pretty bad one too. Somethin’ that said, “Yer kiddin’, right?”
All I could think to say was, “Nothin’ personal. But I like boy bits for fuckin’. Y’know, real ones.”
“I know.”
“Oh, OK.” I was confused. “So, then, ya don’t mind, y’know, gettin’ me some or, um, maybe turnin’ yerself into . . .”
“I don’t do men any more.”
“Oh, sure, right.”
“I’d seen so much of that pillar of salt that the other goddesses used to call me ‘Lot’s Wife’.”
“Oh, o-ho, yeah, pillar of salt, that’s clevuh,” I says, stallin’, tryin’ to think of what to do. Then, I figures what the hell an’ goes for broke.
“But ya could turn yerself into one, right?”
“I’ve done it a few times. Parties mainly. But,” an’ she starts to walk towards the bed, her dick floppin’ ahead of her, an’ I’m slowly scootin’ on my ass back towards the headboard, “that’s not your fantasy.”
“Oh, it’s not,” I says all surprised ’cause I am.
“No,” she says. An’ she crawls up on the end of the bed an’ wades on her knees through the sheets an’ blankets an’ gets to my legs which I got drawn up against my chest an’ she pulls ’em down an’ then pushes ’em apart with her knees an’ rubs her dick up an’ down my twat’s fatter-an’-juicier-than-eva lips. “Not tonight.”
An’ was she right. What can I say? If ya get the right demon with the right dildo, anythin’s possible.
So, later, we’re snugglin’ in bed, talkin’ about my idea to make a deal with the Devil but keep my soul by bettin’ him I could give him the best blowjob he’s ever had. Lilith’s holdin’ me from behind in her big arms, just listenin’ t’me go on about what I’m gonna do when I win. Then, she kisses my neck an’ I forget what I’m sayin’.
“Bubeleh,” she says, “the devil’s dick is cold. Icy cold.”
Somewheres I remember someone else warnin’ me about this. Right. It was Auntie Teresa. She was the smartest of my dad’s sisters. I mean, she’s read Dante’s Inferno, for Chrissakes, an’ that’s how I learned the Devil lives on the ninth floor in Hell. An’ it’s freezin’ cold. Like an eternity of Januarys in Minnesota or somethin’.
“And,” she says loudly to catch my wanderin’ attention, “whatever you do, don’t let him stick it up your ass. That’s his favourite. You’ll never melt him that way.”
“So, I’ll just microwave him with my twat,” I says.
“It’s a hot one, I’ll grant you that. Lots of juice. But, it won’t be enough.”
“Get outta here.”
“Trust me. But I think I have just the plan to put the kibosh on him stealing your soul. We’ll have to tag team him . . .”
“We?” I can barely say the word. I’m gettin’ all farklempt here, an’ fast. Thirty seconds till I’m bawlin’ again. I mean, she’s bein’ so freakin’ sweet t’me an’ it’s been so long since anyone’s talked t’me like this. Not since my parents died. But I gotta know what her plan is. So I take a deep breath an’ stifle the waterworks for t’night.
“Won’t the Devil recognize ya?” I says.
“I doubt it. We travel in very different circles,” she says.
“Oh.”
“Hey. You want to hear my plan or what?”
“Sure. Let me have it.”
“You’re insatiable, Ruth Faust.” She kisses me an’ slips me her tongue an’ then – guess what? – we fuck for the second of thirteen times that night.
Hey! What’d I tell ya about the eyes? It’d been six long, dry years.
The 13th time was the craziest of all. She asks me, all nice an’ everythin’, to eat her out an’ I do. This from the woman who says she only likes boy bits. Well, like anotha crazy Jew once said, we’re all a bit polymorphously perverse.
So, I push Lilith off of me. I chew aroun’ on her neck some more an’ do a bit a nippin’ an’ tuckin’, if y’know what I mean, on her breasts. Hey, great tits are great tits! No shit. I’ve always gotten kinda warm when I spot an awesome rack. But my twat knows I should be pokin’ my tongue somewheres else an’ she drags me down to Lilith’s dick. I deep throat it on the first go – I told ya I have no gag reflex! – an’ give it my high school special. A heavy suction swirlie. I grip the dick really firm between my lips – no teeth – an’ every time I get to the head I let my tongue go wild. A few bobs on a teenage boy an’ he’s creamin’. Shit, the last time I did “Fat Ruth’s Special” on a guy, Kurt was a teenage boy.
I’m startin’ t’get nostalgic here, so I stop before I bite her dildo in half.
I pull it outta my mouth an’ help her get it off. Boy, fuckin’ a girl ten or eleven times in one night can make ya ripe. She smelled like a big, hairy wild animal an’ dirt ya just dug up in yer garden after a really light rain. It was makin’ me wild. It was makin’ me wanna dig.
I look up at her an’ grin. “L’chayim,” I says an’ she laughs. Then I press my mouth, my tongue, my nose – hell, my whole gawddamned face – into her shakin’, steamin’ twat an’ go to town.
Despite all my enthusiam, I gotta admit I didn’t do so hot. The first time. I didn’t suck neither, mind ya. Na, wait. I did suck. A lot. But I fumbled here an’ there. I kept gettin’ all shy with her clit. I mean, I know what I like. I just never done it from that angle before. But I got better. Lilith’s a fuckin’ amazin’ teachuh. Oy, my tongue got so strong an’ so fuckin’ suave, if it was possible an’ it wouldn’ta hurt like hell, I coulda gone back in time to that night an’ tied a knot in her clit just like a cherry stem. Yeah, I was that good. Actually, I’m even better now.
Remember that, OK? It’s important. ‘Cause eatin’ twat is the key to Lilith’s plan.
Next Wednesday, it’s gettin’ close to about four. The usual time that Mr Mephistopheles an’ I get t’gether for coffee an’ cake. Lilith thinks he might recognize her an’ blow everythin’. So, she takes off to visit a few of her musician friends. I’m puttin’ the
pecan ring out on the table when I can smell him comin’. I take in a deep breath. The room’s startin’ to smell like pecan ring, cigarettes, an’ Jean Naté. I’m feelin’ better already.
After our second slice, anotha cup of coffee, an’ a cigarette for us both, I’m finally feelin’ relaxed enough to go for broke.
“So, Mr Mephistopheles,” I says while I exhale, “ya remember when ya asked me if I wanted to sell my soul to the Devil?”
He’s mid-drag so all he can do is arch his eye-brow an’ grin.
“Well, I’m ready. T’day. Ya ready to write up my deal?” I stub out my cigarette. Next thing I know, his silvuh holduh’s cigarette-down in the ashtray an’ he’s pullin’ the laptop outta his sleeve.
“I’m ready, Your Majesty,” he says.
So, I goes an’ tells him what I want an’ he types it all into his computuh.
Basically, I want all Kurt got. But I wanna live t’be 300 years ol’ an’ I wanna be in my sexual prime – y’know, 35, for the rest of my life. An’ when I kick off, it’s gonna be all peaceful like. In my sleep. With all my great-great-great grandchildren aroun’ me.
An’ when he’s done typin’ all that I says, “There’s somethin’ else but I gotta tell it directly to The Man.”
“Oh, my, Your Majesty. I would advise you against that. I promise you I can arrange all the details of a soul transfer. Not to boast, but I am quite good at it. Legendary, if I might add.”
“I believe ya, Mr Mephistopheles. It’s nothin’ against ya. It’s just that I don’t wanna give the Devil my soul.”
“Oh, dear me. He’s not going to like this. No, not one bit.”
“I wanna make a wayjuh. If I lose, he gets my soul. If I win, he gives me all I asks for an’ that’s that.”
“I see. And what kind of wager is Your Majesty making? A contest of wills, bodies, minds, appetites, depravities . .?”
“Alla that. It’s sex for Chri – ” an’ he starts to scrunch up his shoulders an’ quiver so I stop myself. “For Satan’s sake. I’m bettin’ I can make the Devil come.”
“Oh, Your Majesty, that will never do.”
“Whadda ya mean?” I says all nervous now. He has to agree to my wayjuh or I’m royally screwed.
The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 2 Page 51
