by Sacchi Green
My imagination was already working overtime. I told her I’d give it a go.
“Great. Well, I better get going, but let’s meet here this time next week. Bring some drawings and I can take you back to my flat to go through them, it’s only down the road.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan. But I’m a bit rusty, you have been warned!”
“Janice,” she said, turning to look me square in the face, “I bet you’re amazing.”
Slowly, she stroked a stray hair that had fallen across my cheek, and tucked it back behind my ear. For a moment I thought she was going to kiss me. Instead she jumped up, blew me a kiss, and was off out the door, a whirlwind of colorful geekiness, leaving me wanting and waiting.
As I walked into the comic shop the following Saturday, with a sketchpad under my arm and freshly-colored hair, my heart started to beat in a way that I had not experienced for quite some time. Then it positively leapt into my mouth when I saw that this week, she had arrived before me.
“Janice, hi!” She was at the till, paying for her comics and waving at me. I waved back awkwardly, desperately trying not to drop my sketchpad. She finished paying and then jogged over to me.
“Right, ready to go?”
“Sure,” I said, not actually feeling ready at all, but suddenly rather sick. It had been a very long time since I’d been alone with a girl I liked. As we walked she grabbed my hand to lead the way and talked nonstop about comics. I was starting to think I’d found someone who was even more obsessed than me and how lucky I was, just as her chatter turned inevitably to the one thing I can’t stand.
“There’s just something about them, you know? The strength, the secret identities, the timeless fight of good against evil. How could anyone not love superheroes?”
“Beats me,” I shrugged, hoping to come across as authentically baffled. I couldn’t bring myself to expand on my deceit.
Luckily, she saved me from further moral shame by announcing that the small but pleasant-looking block of flats in front of us was where she lived.
“Step into my abode,” she said with a flourish.
I felt nervous as I first stepped inside, but quickly began to feel at home. It was comfortably messy and filled with personality; anime girl statues stared down at me from bookshelves and there were several framed, vintage comic covers on the wall. The many bookcases were positively groaning with colorful trade paperbacks and stacks of single issues encased lovingly in protective bags.
“A little over the top, I know.” Beth laughed. “But when you’ve got your own place, you may as well make the most of it.”
“I am so jealous.”
“You wouldn’t be jealous of the bills, though. Anyway.” Beth dragged a large coffee table in front of the sofa and cleared it of assorted paperwork and chocolate wrappers. “Let’s get down to business.”
I placed my sketchpad on the table and settled myself on the sofa, wondering what Beth would make of what she was about to see.
“So I thought about what you said, about your main character being irresistible, and I sort of went from there, really.”
She looked at me inquisitively before flipping to the first page of the pad. Then her expression changed to a mix of surprise and amusement.
“You certainly did, didn’t you?”
I had spent the last week perfecting drawings of females in various stages of undress and engaged in various stages of fucking.
“I started off by trying to visualize your main character”—I gestured to the first few drawings, showing a lithe woman with impressive breasts in a cape with her hands on her hips, hair blowing in the wind—“then I thought it was important to get to grips with anatomy, if she’s going to be doing a lot of seducing.”
I let Beth flip through the rest of the pad, the drawings getting progressively raunchier as she went along.
“Well, Janice,” she finally said as she flipped over the last page, “these are quite something. Either you have a magnificent imagination or are a formidably experienced lover.”
“Perhaps a little of both.” I smirked.
“Care to put that to the test?”
I didn’t have time to think of a witty response before she launched herself at me, pinning me back in the sofa and pressing her mouth to mine. She was wild and earnest, massaging my breasts through my top as our tongues danced.
My body met hers with equal ferocity as the weeks of pent-up lust finally found a release. I hooked my fingers inside her waistband and gasped a little as she tweaked my nipples cruelly.
“I’ve been wanting to do this since I first saw you,” she said.
“Oh god, me too.”
Talking became obsolete as we delighted in finding more and more ways that our bodies could fit together: breast to breast, arm to waist, mouth to stomach, ever flowing and all with a frantic urgency.
“As much as I want to make this last all day,” she whispered between nibbles of my earlobe, “I just don’t think I can wait.”
In a flash her top was off and hurled to the floor, swiftly followed by her bra. She went to take off the glasses but I stopped her.
“You can leave those on.” I smiled.
Her breasts looked pert and delicious but she wouldn’t let me get hold of them until she’d got me topless, too.
“Janice, you are so fucking hot.”
She traced a line of wet kisses from my mouth, down my neck to my nipples, which she then set about grazing with her teeth and lips.
“Oh . . . fuck . . . ” I couldn’t manage anything more coherent and my groans grew louder as she unzipped my jeans and found my slick pussy. Her hand strummed my swollen clit, her tongue flicked at my nipple like a woman possessed, and my body was unable to resist.
The orgasm came quickly and overpowered me completely. My whole body flooded with warmth and after the sharp peak of ecstasy, I was left with a divine afterglow.
“That was delicious.” I kissed Beth and tugged on her lower lip with my teeth, maneuvering her so that she lay beneath me. “Now it’s your turn.”
My postorgasm movements were slow and languid and I delighted in the way she writhed and kicked her legs to hurry me along as I peeled her jeans off. I now had this beautiful woman completely naked beneath me and it didn’t take long for my body to follow its natural instinct and give her just as much pleasure as she’d given me. My thumbs found her nipples and my mouth latched on to her sweet clit.
“Yes! Oh yes, don’t stop. Oh!” Beth grabbed my head, making me giggle and smear her juices all round my mouth. As her moans grew louder, I duly moved my tongue faster across her clit until I could tell she was reaching the point of no return, when I switched to sucking on her wildly.
“Oh fuck!” She grabbed a handful of my hair as she came, which was painful, but in a good way.
As she settled back down to earth, she pulled me down into a sweaty hug.
“Come here,” she said, and mashed her lips onto mine so that her juices mingled between us. “That was so yummy. I think I’d like to keep you, if that’s okay.”
It was more than okay. I couldn’t think of anything better, in fact. There was just one tiny confession I had to make first.
“Beth, I really have to tell you something.”
“Bloody hell, don’t tell me you have a girlfriend?”
“Worse, I’m afraid. I . . . fucking hate superheroes.”
“Oh, that? Yeah, I know.”
“What?”
“Sweetheart, you left my superhero book at Comicool after I lent it to you last week. Josh handed it back to me this morning.” She laughed at my incredulous expression. “I can smell a superhero fan a mile off and honey, you are not one of us.”
“Thank god for that.” I smiled. “I was so worried about telling you!”
“Oh Janice,” she sighed, pulling my face back toward hers, “there was no need to worry; you’re all the super I need.”
SILENT PASSION
Rose de Fer
&
nbsp; Terry closed her eyes, listening to the rattle of film through the projector as the credits scrolled by in their iconic jagged font. It almost seemed a shame to play the soundtrack, as the nostalgic noise was evocative by itself. But she liked this new score, a strange, unearthly blend of music and sound design, all trippy synth and theremin. It suited the dreamy world of Caligari perfectly.
It was the first silent movie she had ever seen. She’d been too young to read the translated intertitles, so her dad had told the story for her in a dramatic German accent that made her laugh, but which was also kind of scary.
The wicked Dr. Caligari was more frightening than Cesare, the poor Somnambulist who was forced to kill at his master’s command. But it wasn’t either of the main characters who haunted her dreams that night. It was Jane, the beautiful girl beloved by two men, Francis and Alan. There was something so otherworldly about her. Terry had been captivated from her very first appearance.
In the opening scene, Francis was sitting on a park bench with an old man who was telling a mournful tale of being haunted. Then Jane wandered into the frame, her eyes wide with wonder as she gazed at something only she could see.
SPIRITS SURROUND US ON EVERY SIDE.
But Francis wasn’t listening to the old man. He was staring at the girl as she drifted past him in a filmy white dress, as though she might be a ghost. Terry identified with Francis instantly. In that moment, she had fallen in love. With Jane, with the movie, with the entire exotic world of silent cinema.
There was no other name she would have chosen when, thirty years later, she finally realized her dream of owning her own vintage cinema. The Caligari had been a true labor of love, a reclamation project that had taken her the better part of two years to renovate and restore to its former glory. But it had been worth it. Now the small Art Deco theater, originally the City Lights Picture Palace, belonged to Terry and was the only dedicated silent film theater in the state.
If only the general public could appreciate what a gem it was.
It was with dismay that she heard people chattering excitedly about the latest blockbusters showing over at the multiplex even while buying tickets to see the classics of a bygone age at the Caligari. They were more dazzled by special effects, 3D, and surround sound than the simplicity of what to them was an ancient, outdated art form, something cheesy and trite. Sure, they laughed at the antics of Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd, but they had no real appreciation for the elaborate orchestration behind such stunts.
Even worse was the inappropriate laughter at things just because they were dated. Although, in fairness, that wasn’t unique to her audiences; anything older than about ten years seemed a target for ridicule. It was annoying to hear people guffawing over the sight of a rotary dial telephone or a bouncy old jalopy, and more annoying still to see them making fun of the theatrical style of acting of the period. Why couldn’t they appreciate these movies for what they were—precious glimpses into the past? Someday their state-of-the-art smartphone might be just as laughable to a future society that had colonized Mars.
And what was up with vampires? Once upon a time they had been monsters. Now they were all moody, broody teens. Terry preferred them when they were scary. And was there ever a scarier vampire than Max Schreck in Nosferatu?
More than anything, Terry resented being made to feel old. She wasn’t even forty yet, but her inner voice was capable of making her sound like some bitter old lady, yelling at kids to get off her damn lawn.
With a laugh at herself, she shook her head and went to the window in the booth to peer down into the auditorium. Caligari was exhorting Cesare to awaken from his dark night, to tell the fortunes of the people who had come to see him.
She watched the iconic moment as Cesare slowly opened his eyes, staring straight into the lens, into the eyes of everyone watching him. Oh, how that had scared her as a child! What must it have been like for a 1920s audience?
Francis’s friend Alan chose a grim question to ask:
HOW LONG WILL I LIVE?
The weird spiky font of the intertitles rendered Cesare’s response even more ominous.
TILL DAWN.
The moment had always given her a pleasing little frisson of fear.
Terry looked down into the stalls. It was a slow day. A very slow day. But at least her one reliable customer had come. Her favorite customer. Terry had never screwed up the courage to approach her, only gazed from afar like some pining lover in a silent melodrama. Like Francis in the opening scene.
The girl was around Terry’s age, and she clearly had a fascination for the period. Her black hair was cut in a flapper’s chic bob and her slim, boyish figure would have looked perfect in a fringed dress. Or better still—in nothing at all. She could be the reincarnation of Louise Brooks, and Terry had secretly named her “Lulu.”
She’d first seen Lulu at a screening of Brooks’s most famous film, Pandora’s Box. That day the girl had been wearing red. Red dress, red cloche hat, red lipstick, and a string of pearls. Terry could hardly believe her eyes. She was like a vision straight from her wildest dreams. And she’d taken center stage in Terry’s fantasies ever since.
That night Terry had imagined her wearing nothing but the cloche hat and pearls. Lulu had teased and danced and flirted before finally splaying herself on the bed, open and offering.
Terry’s fingers tingled as she lost herself in the fantasy once more, imagining how it would feel to stroke the girl’s velvety skin, to kiss her rosebud lips, to press her own breasts against Lulu’s. The warm softness of their bodies was intoxicating, belying the fierce urgency of Terry’s movements as she ground her hips against her lover’s.
Terry slipped the rope of pearls over Lulu’s slender neck and teased her naked body with them, drawing them along her spread limbs, over her taut belly, and finally, down between her legs.
Lulu pressed her thighs together, trapping the pearls there. Her eyes blazed with passion as she writhed on the bed, a silent show just for Terry. Then she gasped and cried out, clutching the bedposts as Terry thrust her hand between Lulu’s legs, parting them and plunging her fingers deep inside her hot, wet sex. The pearls were next.
Slowly and gently, Terry pushed the smooth beads inside her, two by two. Lulu bit her lip, moaning in ecstasy. Terry stirred the pearls inside her, swirling her finger against them. The sensation was exquisite. At last, she looped her finger around the strand of pearls and drew them out with excruciating deliberation. Lulu tossed her head from side to side, wordlessly begging her for more.
A sudden discordant note on the soundtrack jolted Terry from her fantasy before it could reach its conclusion. She shook her head, remembering where she was. Her face burned and she smiled to herself as she looked down into the stalls for Lulu.
But the auditorium was completely empty. Strange. Terry was sure she’d seen her come in. Perhaps she’d just gone to the restroom. She’d be back in time for the most famous scene, where Cesare is too smitten by Jane to kill her and kidnaps her instead, carrying her through the expressionist wonderland of zigzagging streets and twisted buildings.
Terry indulged herself in a little more of the fantasy, gently rubbing her fingers together as she imagined the sensation of withdrawing the pearls, their hot sticky wetness. They would taste of Lulu, salty and warm.
She must have zoned out completely because the next time she looked, Cesare was sleepwalking through the town toward Jane’s house. Lulu was still nowhere to be seen. Terry’s heart sank.
Then a figure emerged from the right side of the screen, just in front of it.
The Somnambulist crept along, feeling his way with his right arm raised high and pressed against the wall, as though listening to a voice inside it only he could hear. And as he did, the figure did the same. Terry’s breath caught in her throat. It was her. And Terry’s eyes went wide as she realized that Lulu was completely naked.
The film played over the canvas of the girl’s bare skin, clothing her i
n light. Her movements were catlike and graceful as she crept along, mirroring the Somnambulist’s languid pace. When Cesare reached the edge of the wall and turned the corner, Lulu turned as well, facing into the screen. She could go no farther. The image was distorted across the slender lines of her body, the eerie blue light picking out and highlighting her exquisite shape.
She stopped there, in perfect position for the next scene. Jane’s sleeping face shone across the girl’s back as Cesare crept slowly toward her, toward them both, from across the room. The suspenseful moment intensified the heat that was spreading through Terry’s body. Her sex was pulsing along with the otherworldly music. She was trans-fixed, frozen to the spot. She could only watch, helpless, as Cesare raised the knife and leaned down toward the sleeping Jane, the naked Lulu.
Then Cesare froze, every bit as transfixed as Terry was. The moment stretched, the music on the soundtrack vibrating as he stared at Jane, unable to follow his master’s evil command. He dropped the knife and reached out for her instead. Slowly. So agonizingly slowly.
But when he touched her, she screamed and struggled and at last Terry shook off her paralysis. She left the stuffy little booth and hurried down the stairs to the auditorium, half fearing that Lulu would be gone, carried off by Cesare.
But he was only carrying Jane, dragging her up the sharply angled street. Lulu stood safely below. Waiting.
Terry approached slowly, as Cesare had done. As she drew near she could see the playful smile on the other girl’s face. Terry opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. She imagined an intertitle conveying her words instead.
YOU’RE SO BEAUTIFUL.
Lulu dipped her head as though she had heard Terry’s thought. Then she moved toward her, arms outstretched. For a moment Terry thought she meant to hug her, but Lulu’s fingers went straight to the buttons of Terry’s shirt instead. Slowly the girl undressed her while Terry stood still, obeying the silent instruction not to move.
Once the cool air kissed her bare flesh, however, her hands fluttered self-consciously to her breasts. She glanced around, but they were quite alone. Lulu peered at her, eyes gleaming in the darkened auditorium. The blue-tinted scene behind them gave her the appearance of a ghost.
