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Commentary
by Guillermo Bosch
bosch@guillermobosch.com
 ne of the reasons we keep Sauce*Box going is our conviction that most anyone can experience sex but not that many can write about it. It's even more unusual to find writers able to create sexual images that are unique, quirky, funny stimulating, revealing. Rarely do we find writers who can combine all of those qualities.
I cannot honestly say that all the writers in Sauce*Box are those rare writers who's words will leave a mark on literary history, but I can honestly say that I have enjoyed reading all of them and I find each one very special. Often, to tell the truth, I do speculate about who the writer really is, where they live, how they live, their sex... The truth is, with rare exceptions, I never know the answers to these questions, and never meet the writers. Many only write once and then disappear, their email addresses discontinued, their websites closed. That's the fun of the internet. They can be whoever they want to be, and the rest of us don't need to know in order to share their sexual visions.
This issue of Sauce*Box has many new contributors -- always a joy for me and I hope an equal pleasure for our readers. I know that I will never hear from some of them again. Others may become regulars. But whatever happens in the future, I can, for now, enjoy the way each writer fantasizes about sex, writes about sex and perhaps experiences sex. Their stories are a constant source of fascination.
I Don't Mean To Be Rude
by Landyss
ydubel@writing.com
 y fingertips brush the pink and blue page marker tabs jutting from the top of my books, which are spread across the table. A book on quantum physics and industry applications suggest a brilliant interaction between it and the collection of revolutionary women's poetry lounging alongside a compilation of clever feminine essays. This intellectual distraction is placed aside for a black spiral notebook and pen busily at work, driven, by long gazes out the window at my side, watching the rain ski smoothly down the invisible glass. A foggy sky frames the clear showery view of the garden. The sun is concealed, so it reveals nothing about the time of day, except that it’s not yet evening.
It occurs to me that I arrived at around 7:30am and surely it is at least three by now. I can tell this by the fact that the restaurant has cleared out. The morning has been spent discretely inspecting the way men ate as I read and enjoying my own decently past sunrise meal of scrambled eggs with tomato, mushrooms and a croissant. People have drifted in and out through breakfast and lunch, now only the two of us are left sitting in the library section next to the large stone fireplace. The polished toffee colored wood encloses the books and antique collectibles displayed on the shelves around us. The tables and chairs transport regular customers to a French countryside home.
Though I pretend to take no notice, I am well aware of the gentleman sitting at the table across from me reading the book on management. There is also a partially complete crossword puzzle sitting in front of him I observe, taking in his regal features. He is not model handsome, but eye-catching fellow patron handsome. The kind of guy one is likely to stumble upon on a good day and indulge in a chat. Interestingly, though I had seen him here several times before over the last two years we had never exchanged more than a greeting. I always made a point of making it evident that this is my time and intruders were not welcome. This was accomplished by never maintaining eye contact past the nod and silently mouthed greeting. I can feel him watching me now, but I keep my eyes out the window waiting for the next sentence to rise up through me like a hiccup pushing my pen to paper. Predictably it does, and I scribble to keep up with the words in my head.
"Excuse me. I don't mean to be rude, but what are you writing?"
The gallant dark haired man that had been sitting across from me now stood in front of me on the other side of the table looking down at me inquisitively. We had established a cordial, if less than familiar, report during our previous visits to Le Yves de mason. We were both regulars who routinely sat for hours past the usual hectic time, seeming to claim the restaurant as part of our personal space. "As I said, I don't mean to be rude, but I have seen you here so many times and wondered what you were writing that today I decided to just ask."
I giggle, as much at his approach as my own embarrassment. Did I dare tell this presumptuous, if good-looking, stranger the truth? I cleared my throat as I lowered my gaze to conceal the question that might be betrayed in my gape. Instinctively, I covered the page with one hand as I extended the other in greeting. "Hello, my name is Alreah."
He laughs and replies," Pardon my rudeness. Hello, my name is Walker."
"Would you like to sit down, Walker?" I ask as I reclaim my hand beginning to gather my books into a neat stack on one corner of the table.
"Ahhh, yes, thank you." He stumbles clearly surprised by the invitation. "Let me grab my stuff." I watch as he gracefully lunges toward his table without adjusting his footing. The movement is so fluid that it is a pleasure to witness. I wonder if he intentionally displaying his athleticism.
My eyes easily follow the strong lines of his body, emphasized by his expertly executed extension toward his table and then back to mine. For a moment the image of clutching his shoulders, moving luxuriously down his back, flood my mind. As he lowers into his seat across from me, I drift into a longing to see him sink beneath the table, my leg resting on his shoulder, his hand massaging the outer part of my thigh where it flows into my hip.
I quietly recall the way he sucked on his bottom lip when he worked on his puzzle in between bites of his croissant and scrambled eggs, his tongue jutting out slowly and sliding back inside its cavern. Never had I witnessed messy hasty consumption, always he labored opulently over his activities as if each were a part of some undisclosed ritual accidentally put to the fore for public display. As an erotic fog lifts ever so faintly, I look at his face again. It is clear that his patient silence is galvanized by his expectation of my retort. I am reminded of the deliciousness of foreplay as I offer my answer, "Recently I have been writing about the way men receive their sustenance and what it suggest about the manner in which they obtain satisfaction or give it. "
He leans toward me, elbows resting on the table with his hands folded out in front of him, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "And just what does that mean?" He inquires.
I could not stop the chuckle from popping out as I answer, "It means that I write about what I imagine is revealed about the way a man makes love by the way he eats and what he reads."
Walker leans back in his chair, seeming to ponder whether or not there is any truth in this blunt disclosure. He crosses his arms, tilts his head as his eyes hunt to ascertain my sincerity.
"Yes, I am serious." I say to reassure him that indeed I am for real. I want him to say something so that I can inconspicuously admire the flexible muscle hidden in his mouth guarded by luscious, if less than generously endowed, lips and faultless pallid teeth. The depth and focus of his look accentuate the potency of his agreeably angular face. I shift ever so perceptibly in my seat, clinching my thighs to stop the trembling I feel emerging there.
Leaning forward again, mentally preparing his follow up with care, I suspect his reply will be another question because of the slight raising of his dark eyebrows. Without thinking my hand is on the side of his face as if to anchor it in my direction. His grin grows into a full-fledged smile. We look quietly, but directly at each other. Slowly I withdraw my hand to pick up my cup of coffee spiked with Bailey’s and topped with whipped cream. I keep my eyes fixed on his as I lick the cream from my upper lip.
"What do you do with your analysis?" he asks.
"Well, Walker, I craft erotic short fiction."
His eyes widen, but the smile doesn't evaporate, it deepens. "And what do you do with your short fiction?"
"Sell it mostly." I say as I continue sipping my coffee drink and pull out a cigarette. Le Yves de mason is one the few refuges for us smokers. I feel grateful not to have to beg permission or apologize for lighting up. An unexpected patriotic moment, I feel glad to be an American and wonder if anti-smoker nazis realize how un-American there lobbying results actually are. My right to carry a gun is worth respecting, but not smoke a cigarette in a restaurant I patronize? I snap myself out of this internalized debate to notice Walker’s attempt at a poker face. He is clearly surprised by my counter.
"To publishers?" he asks, his tone of voice animating the question marks jumping around looking for a place to land.
"Sometimes, but usually personal clients." I keep searching for the lighter in my skirt pocket. Gently he leans over the table towards me offering the fire to ignite my murky russet clove cigarette. I welcome the gentlemanly gesture.
"Clients?" he asks tenderly as he flicks the lighter closed.
"People, men, who appreciate erotica and the voice I bring to it. Some want manuscripts and others prefer audio recordings of me reading the stories. Several clients request serials that about imaginary tales of an affair with me."
"How do you find these clients?"
"They find me." I offer as I turn my head, without shifting my body, toward the window to exhale a cloud of smoke.
"How?" he asks placing the lighter in the center of the table and moving the ashtray next to it.
"The same way you did."
"Wow." he mutters leaning his head into his hands. He looks up tentatively. " Would you do me the honor of letting me read some of it?"
"No," I pause wondering how much explaining I really want to do, "this is my product and I wouldn't have a business if I gave it away."
"Oh, you are hardcore business. I can appreciate that", he says. I think I hear respect and a sense of humor in his acknowledgement.
"But what I will do is give a preview of the service I provide for my clients. I will make up a story about you, here with me. That will tell you what you want to know about what I write. "
"OK. That is very munificent of you, not to mention astute marketing."
"Thanks. Are you ready?" I ask lowering my voice at the end.
I begin to tell a story that starts with the meeting that has just taken place between us. Only when I get to this moment the story has my hand reaching under the table into his lap, leisurely moving from his knee up to his zipper. My hand finds his member ready for the discrete introduction to my capable appendage. I continue smoking with my other hand. The one at his zipper door is gingerly stroking him underneath the table, not taking my eyes from his. As he grows harder my strokes get longer and lighter. Touching him through the fabric of his indigo khakis and underwear, my fingers are knowingly motioning "Come here" as if he were across the room. When he has risen high and hard enough to nearly touch the underside of the table that supports our drinks, my small stack of books, our cigarettes, and shared ashtray, I wrap my hand around his hidden feature. I ash my cigarette into the ashtray at the same time that I notice his un-smoked lit cigarette resting between his finger. His hand resting on the table not noticing the long curved ash hanging limply next to it, the pace of my under the table massage quickens slightly. His spare hand is gripping the edge of the table, the flexed veins and muscles of his hand, arm, and neck show the tell tale signs of a man in excruciating ecstasy. Taking this cue, I increase the tempo briefly and then I resume my leisurely exploratory pace before pausing to free him from his constraining garments.
Skin to skin contact produces an involuntary shiver from his delighted solider saluting in the privacy offered by the table and isolated seating arrangement. The sound he lets out hints of impending satiation. At first I deny full advantage of my hand using only one expert finger at a time to call him to maintain full attention. Then one by one fingers are added on either side as the rhythm builds up to an expecting crescendo, transitioning from a vague beckoning to a bursting invitation. I take the last drag of my cigarette preparing to extinguish it when I feel his hand on mine.
Sensing my question, Walker offers, " I hope you don't mind, but I'm an old fashioned kind of guy. Ladies first." He exudes a brilliant smile as the words ladies first float into the air toward me. More than willing to accept his suggestion, I remove my hand and allow him to reposition himself and his clothing. "Are you wearing underwear?" he asks not hiding his suspicion. "I don't think you are," he whispers leaning toward me beaming with anticipation.
"You are correct." My eyes intently focus on his. He scans the area promptly to verify that no one has taken a seat in our section of the eatery. Then he slides underneath the slab of elegant wood. I feel the softness of my skirt shifting as it is lifted and then the heat of his breath and hand moving up my leg, and then parting them. The contact of skin with fabric is preceded by breeze like kisses and juice producing caresses.
Thank God he didn't just dive into my crotch I think to myself as I relax into the knowledge that I might really enjoy this. His tongue is marking his path now, punctuated by tasting kisses. Instinctively my hand wants to cuddle the side of his head ----- moving between hair and jaw line. My pelvic region rocks back forth, lifting from my chair to give the full benefits of this instinctive circular motion. Like a spreading spark this alarm alerts me that my breasts need tactile attention. I want nothing more right now than to offer them to his willful mouth. Suddenly both my hands are cradling Walkers head and guiding him underneath my blouse. A few buttons at the bottom fly off and hit the window loudly. Once in the vicinity Walker notices my breast erection immediately and needs no further instruction from me. He lavishes his attention upon my breasts as if they were starving children and his mouth their only hope of nourishment. One leg wraps around his back just under his arm and the other drapes over his shoulder as waves of rapture instigate my persistent undulations. I surrender to the knowing that I cannot limit the stirring, my whole body is answering his call to order. I find peace in this acceptance of unadulterated elation. Without deciding to do so, I explore the way his chest can be employed to generate the needed friction in this intimate leg embrace.
Just when I am certain my breasts are going to gush into his mouth, Walker again immerses himself beneath the liberal crinkled material of my skirt. A low moan escapes him, a signal of his satisfaction as his tongue languidly laps the secret milk flowing like an offering to him. His tongue is steamy as it traces the perimeter of my inner lips, unhurriedly seeking the enchanted button. One hand is now adding another dimension to his oral treat while the other is reaching around to hold me from behind.
"So what do you think?" I ask stopping the story abruptly. From his face I can tell he is still paying attention. My smile combines with the propensity of my body to say " I know I got you hard."
Another muffled "Wow," escapes his lips as he nods as if to say, "yeah, you're good."
Instead he says," So how does this work? What is required to get the rest of that story?" He looks down a little self-conscious and humbled, then back up at me waiting.
"Just ask for what you want and I will tell you what it will cost."
"I want to hear you telling me that story only next time I want the whole thing. Did you really just make that up?"
"Indeed. I have seen you here before and I find you quite inspiring."
"Do you have a package deal?" Walker inquires as he shakes his head mumbling," I can’t believe I am saying this."
"Walker, I don't mind if you don't. This is what I do and I love it. And yes, I do have a package rate." Grinning I light another cigarette as I add," Now I don't mean to be rude, but my work doesn't come cheap."
Two Tales of the Crimson Succubus
by Carmine
carmine@cybermesa.com
Art Abides
 blind sculptor approached Crimson Succubus, his arms outstretched. Trembling fingers dared to tease her outline, and once upon her countenance, flesh sealed flesh.
Neck thrown back, eyes shut, and mouth open, Crimson Succubus succumbed to his fervent touch. Delicate, burning fingertips moved from her neck to her shoulders, stripping away the curtains of her soul. In their wake she was clothed in vulnerability, sudden gooseflesh lining scarlet muscle.
There would be no still-life this evening, nor a statue in her honor. Instead, he would use his hands to carve another body "forever his" from the essence of her being.
Internal Immolation
 riting a sermon late at night, Father Warden closed his eyes and eased into the overstuffed chair. From deep inside he burned. At first the furor manifested itself upon his brow, and as sweat trickled down his face, he could see a scarlet-fleshed demon dancing just beyond his vision. The internal immolation became so great that he relinquished possession of his soul and released, allowing cool fluid to coat tender loins.
Looking about, he whispered the she-devil's name, but she was nowhere to be seen. There were only his four fingers and thumb, all of them dripping with bitter broth.
Angel Fish
by Tara Alton
taraalton@hotmail.com
ne night, my friend Nikki and I went to a male strip club in Windsor, Canada that promised totally nude entertainment with more than 30 hot men. She had recently bought this seamless push up bra that gave her this amazing cleavage, and with her deep scoop neck dress, she was a knockout. To most people, we didn't look like we should be friends at all. Nikki was petite, sassy and sexy Asian who loved to be the center of attention. In contrast, I was a tall, serious looking, willowy blond, who almost never got noticed. Even tonight, I didn't look like much next to her in my jersey-knit wrap around dress, but I had worn my black leather shoes with the buckles and ankle straps.
The club was as loud, noisy and smoky as I had imagined, but after two margaritas I was beginning to relax. Nikki dragged me up to the stage when this one dancer called Dominic came out. I only let her because he chose 80's music for his routine. Dominic wasn't much of a dancer, but he didn't have to be. His sheer physique captivated every girl in the room, including me. He wasn't too tall, but he was magnificently built with a broad chest, beefy arms and a bubble butt. I thought his shaved head was a nice contrast to his smooth honey colored skin, and he had a devilish grin. He looked as if he could seriously kick some ass as well, unlike some of the other pretty boys who worked here.
What I really liked about him was that he didn't have that I’ve-been-ogled-by-a–million-women look. Rather, it seemed as if he had just finished working on his Harley and decided to take of his clothes for the ladies. He stalked the stage, taking his time to approach each woman, her eyes gleaming with expectation.
Instead of rolling up a dollar bill and holding it between her teeth, Nikki did the loony trick with him. The Canadian dollar coin had a rendition of a loon bird, and she put the coin in her cleavage and let him take it out with his teeth. I didn't know what was more fascinating, the fact that Nikki had this undiscovered cleavage or that he was so cute. For a moment, instead of staring at him, I was transfixed by her cleavage. He caught me.
I blushed, praying no one else had noticed. As he walked over to a fawning woman who was wearing a too tight black velvet mini dress, I saw him glance over his shoulder at me.
Trying to smother a nervous smile, I wondered who would have ever thought that two months ago I'd be in a strip club. When I broke up with Randall, I thought maybe I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. Randall had been so controlling that I hardly knew what to do without him, but I knew I had to do something before I disappeared completely. That was why I had gotten the little angel fish tattooed on my hip. To declare my independence from him. To prove I wasn't a wash out and I could still be myself. He had hated the tattoo with a passion. Then when I suggested we do something more than the missionary position in bed because maybe it wasn't satisfying me after all these years, he called me a whore. I felt like instead being of a twenty-five-year-old woman, I was a middle-aged man who was perpetually having a mid life crisis.
The first thing I bought after I left him wasn't a new bed or sofa. I bought the black leather shoes I was wearing tonight because I knew he would hate them and I would love them.
After Dominic’s set, Nikki called him over for a table dance. For ten dollars, we could ogle him up close, but no touching. I kept trying to guess how old he was, but his smile was disarming so it was hard. He kept looking at me. I could tell Nikki was starting to get mad. But the more I kept looking at him, the more I couldn't look away. This nervous heat in my stomach was starting to stir, a feeling I hadn't had in years. For a moment, I thought maybe I was getting sick, but I realized I was aroused.
"You like looking at your friend’s breasts," he whispered in my ear. Good lord, could his voice be any deeper.
I blushed again and took a long sip of my margarita.
"You're just saying that to give yourself a boner," I said. "For the ladies."
He put his hand on the back of my chair. Gooseflesh rose on my neck.
"No. I'm doing it for you and to see that sexy blush," he said.
The moment he left our table, I felt like the air had cleared and I could breathe, despite the cigarette smoke, and yet I still sensed this huge loss. It couldn't be that I was missing him. I didn't even know him. Nikki beckoned to another dancer for a table dance. As she squealed and clapped her hands as he gyrated his ass in her face, I glanced around the room for Dominic.
He was back within the half hour, and I found myself grinning like an idiot. Instead of table dancing though, he knelt by my side of the table and started asking me all sorts of questions about myself like he was really interested. I told him I shared a two-bedroom ranch with a girlfriend in Hamtramack, and if I could only stay away from the Polish pastries, I would be OK. I didn't tell him if Randall had his way, I'd be working at the collectible gift shop the rest of my life, trapped amongst the Snow Babies and Italian hand blown ornaments, but I did tell him I was going to school at night to get my real estate license. He seemed impressed.
If I wasn't mistaken I could have sworn he was hitting on me.
"I think we’re kindred spirits," he said.
"What?" I asked.
"Remember strippers see and know all," he said. "Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?"
He slipped me his phone number and told me my shoes were hot. After he left, Nikki wanted to know what we had been talking about. The music had been so loud she hadn't heard. How could I tell her without confessing that I'd been looking at her breasts? I didn't tell her.
Over the next two weeks, she was still mad at me because I wouldn't confess. Since we worked together at the collectible store, it made it even more uncomfortable. She punished me by bringing me no extra Vietnamese cold spring rolls with spicy peanut butter sauce for lunch and taking another employee into the storeroom to gossip about our manager’s new hair color. I could have sworn she was acting just like Randall when he was mad at me, and I felt that nervous flip flop in my stomach to avoid the conflict and give in.
Not this time, I told myself. She could be as childish as she wanted to be. I had my thoughts about Dominic to keep me warm. I hadn't this bad a crush on someone since high school, and every night before I went to sleep, I was having a late night fantasy about him with my index finger.
Unable to take it any longer, I found his phone number in bottom of my evening bag. Would he remember me?
Never in my life had I did anything so daring. My hand was trembling as I dialed the phone. Thank goodness, he remembered me right away. He asked me to meet him that night at a barbecue restaurant in Windsor after his shift. I said yes, hoping that I didn't sound too eager, even though it meant driving to Canada by myself after midnight.
For once, I decided to dress all out sexy. I chose a pencil-thin shape skirt with a sharp slit, front and center with a hidden back zip. On top, I opted for a stretch silk sweater with a knotted keyhole and sweetheart neckline. And just in case things got sexy, I slipped on a satin demi cup bra with matching hipsters panties. Everything was in black to match my leather shoes.
I arrived at the restaurant first. He told me he would be coming on his Harley, but I didn't see one in the parking lot. I decided to go inside, surprised by the contrast of the clientele. Everyone seemed to be there from locals to truck drivers to yuppies to casino workers to women decked out in gold jewelry and furs.
Nursing a diet cola, I wondered if Dominic would look that much different with his clothes on. I felt my face flush. It was weird, already knowing what he looked like naked. Halfway through my drink, I spotted him coming into the restaurant. I was a little taken aback. He looked rougher than I had remembered. Maybe it was his clothing. He wore black leather pants, a white tank, kick ass boots and a professional motorcycle jacket with blue stripes.
He kissed me on the cheek, which I thought was awfully sweet, and I caught a whiff of his skin. He smelled clean, like soap. On him, it was as good as a sexy cologne. Remember who you are with, I told myself. He charms loonies off women for a living.
Glancing at my feet, he noticed my shoes. A low whistle escaped his mouth. Without the distraction of the strip club and the fluorescent lighting, I noticed his front tooth was chipped, and his eyes weren't as dark as I first thought, more of a light brown. His knuckles were raw as if he had been working on an engine.
Over our orders of ribs with hot/sweet sauce, crinkle cut fries and coleslaw, I learned he was in his early thirties, and he had everything from working on an oil rig for a year to working as a bouncer in New York City. He was a bit of an adrenalin junkie, but he said he was a massive reader as well. If he was hooked on a book, he would stay up all night reading it. His dream was to own a high performance garage, making his own bikes. He had been only stripping for the last month to help with some bills. I had been right.
Not wasting any more time, he asked if I had a boyfriend. I told him about the demise of my relationship with Randall.
"My last girlfriend ditched me because I wanted to do things without her," he said. It's not that I didn't like her. She just didn't understand I had my own interests and dreams. You know what I mean?"
I nodded.
"It's like you can’t have a life outside of them or they go into his huge panic," I said. And then they feel the need to punish you. I just broke up with Randall, and now I'm having the same problems with my friend, Nikki. The one who was with me at the club the night we met. She's having a fit because I won’t tell her what we were talking about."
"It's none of her business," he said. I've seen her before at the club. She likes being the center of attention, doesn't she?"
I nodded.
"Was this Randall the same way?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Same person. Different package," he said. You're being drawn to the same qualities in the people you're choosing to be close to."
"But Nikki’s a girl," I said.
"It doesn't matter. You've got to change inside. Get some self confidence and then you'll start to meet the right sort of people for you. It's worked for me. You'll see."
He dug back into his food. I could barely stop watching his fingers as he ate. It was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. With Randall, I could barely tolerate watching him hover his corn flakes off his spoon in the morning, or with Nikki, watching her quest for multiple condiments on things like pizza. Now I was praying this plate of ribs would be endless and the cows in the world wouldn't mind.
"There's only one thing I like better than ribs," he said.
There was a sexy twinkle in his eye. I raised an eyebrow.
"My grandmother’s angel food cake. She made the best."
I relaxed. That was so sweet.
With a lot of loonies, he paid our bill. I tried to shake it out of my mind, all that cleavage he must have seen tonight.
In the parking lot, I was hoping he might say he wanted to see me again, but except for that low whistle, there had really been no flirting between us. Maybe I had scared him off talking about Randall too soon.
Putting my leftovers in my car, I turned to say goodbye, when suddenly he was right in front of me. He kissed me. I loved the way his hands held my head and how his lips mashed against mine. I melted. He sucked my tongue into his mouth, like he was pulling me deep inside him.
When we broke apart, I forgot where I was for a moment. Trying to get my bearings, I heard him ask me if I wanted to go for a ride on his bike and perhaps go back to his place. I nodded.
Getting on the back of the seat wasn't easy with this straight skirt. I had to hike it up to my thighs, and I saw him glance down at my legs. As he climbed on ahead of me, I contemplated not hanging onto him to show him I was cool, but how could I not? I wrapped my arms around his chest. He gave my hand a squeeze and we were off.
Moments later, we were at his place. He lived in a house that reminded me of one of those big, old rambling houses in Ann Arbor that had been divided up into student housing. As I climbed the stairs to his room, I noticed old paperbacks were stacked along the walls like musty bricks. In his room, there wasn't much, just a bed, a sofa, a fridge, a microwave and various motorcycle paraphernalia
He offered me a beer. I accepted it, taking a long sip, not knowing what to do next. It was so awfully quiet in here. How do you seduce a stripper? Ask him for a free a lap dance? I wanted him to give me another one of those kisses.
Too afraid to ask him, I sat on the sofa.
"You know those are some awesome shoes," he said.
"Thanks."
He knelt at my feet and slowly unbuckled one of the straps. At his touch, a prickle of excitement ran up my leg.
"Why are you taking them off me if you like them so much?" I asked.
"Something to do," he said.
With my shoe off, he started massaging my foot. His hands were so strong and warm. He went for the spot beneath the ball of my foot, pressing in with his thumbs. The sensation went right up my body to the back of my neck. I gasped. Watching my face, he worked the rest of my foot. I was relaxing so much I was nearly horizontal on the sofa. All these little knots of tension inside me were disappearing beneath his callused hands.
Then he grabbed the tips of my toes and let my foot hang in the air. My toes stretched out.
Bliss.
The moment he let go, I plunked my other foot across his lap. By the time the performance was repeated, I was a pile of goo. Suddenly, he licked my foot from heel to toe. That got my attention. I was trying to become vertical again when he kissed me. The second kiss was better than the first, because now I knew what to expect and I responded the same. He tasted salty from my skin.
Onto the floor, he pulled me. I tumbled against him. We were both kneeling. Chest to chest. I was breathing so hard that I could feel the rapid rise of my breasts against him. He took off his shirt. His skin looked even more amazing than it had at the club. It was my turn now. He helped me off with my top. Another low whistle escaped his mouth when he saw my bra. I blushed as he peeled it off and exposed my breasts, my nipples hard.
With those amazing arms, he embraced me and crushed me to his chest where he kissed my neck. I caressed his shoulders, my fingers tracing the contours of his muscles. He was so solid, like nothing could blow him away.
Suddenly, I felt so brazenly aggressive. I licked and bit his nipples, hearing his surprise in his throat. Down his chest, I ran my hand to his flat stomach and even lower, until I met the bulge in his pants where I gave it a squeeze. Through his buttery leather pants, I felt his erection from top to bottom. He had a major boner. I knew he was big from the club, but under my hand it felt even more amazing.
I slipped my tongue into his mouth and I felt him going weak. A smile played across my lips. Who knew I had such power?
I stood up to get my skirt off. He helped me, licking my belly button as he tugged the fabric down along with my panties. The moment they hit the floor, he saw my angel fish. I paused, terrified that he would hate it and we would stop, but he gave it a long, lingering kiss and took off his pants.
When I felt him enter me, I was so excited that my entire body was trembling. I felt dazed, almost like I was on a drug. Having sex with other men was like kindergarten compared to this. I loved the substantial, crushing weight of him on me, the way he stroked him inside of me, as if he was trying to get to my inner being, my inner core.
I bit his shaved head and licked behind his ear. I squeezed his ass, urging him to fuck me harder. Suddenly, a chill swept over me. My body went to jelly. I could barely keep my legs around him. I was on a sensory overload. I tried to focus my awareness on my clit, but it was simply stoned with pleasure.
"Tell me when you're coming," he breathed in my ear.
I panicked. This was the fuck of my life, and I wasn't going to come. If this had been Randall, I would have nodded and faked it, but not this time. No more lies.
"I can’t," I said. I'm too excited."
Dominic stopped, his breath in my ear. Sweat ran down his forehead and stung my eyes. I blinked it back. I wasn't going to cry.
"Now That’s what I want to hear," he said.
"That I can’t come?"
"That you're too excited," he said.
He pulled out, got off me and lay beside me. A huge rush of air filled my lungs. I hadn't realized how shallow my breaths had been. I felt so stupid, like a little girl who couldn't handle a big man.
"How come you didn't do the looney trick with me at the club?" he asked.
"My breasts are too far apart," I said.
Turning me on my side, he held my breasts together with one hand.
"All you need is the right bra," he said. "It would be amazing."
I got a weird tugging sensation in my stomach. I rolled over to my other side and he nuzzled up behind me. Gently, he stroked my hips, my butt, his hand slowly navigating the curves until he came to the inside of my thigh. I swallowed, my mouth dry. I knew what he wanted.
"I don't do it from behind," I said.
The day before I broke up with Randall, he had yanked down my skirt in the garage and fucked me from behind on the car, yelling at me was this what I wanted? I wasn't ready. I was dry. It had been a nightmare.
"How come?" Dominic asked.
I hesitated. "Let's just say I had a bad experience."
With no warning, he flipped me onto my stomach.
"You've never had it like this princess."
I hadn't. It happened so fast I didn't have time to tell him to stop. Suddenly, I was on all fours and he was fucking me from behind and it was heavenly. He was holding onto my hips and pounding into me. Somewhere in the distance, I heard a noise and I realized it was us. The headboard banging was on the wall.
With his hand on my crotch, he let his fingers dance on my clit. That loose feeling came over me again. I had it wrong. I wasn't too excited. I was letting go. There was no going back. I was coming.
For a second it flashed in my mind that I couldn't wait to tell Nikki tomorrow, but no. I wasn't going to go there. I didn't have to tell her everything. I had my own life. My own mind.
One of my hands left the bed to grab him from behind me and it occurred to me. I had already met the right type of person. Him. And then I saw it and gasped. My angel fish looked as if it was swimming on my hip.
By Your Love Enveloped
by Terrie Leigh Relf
tlrelf@cox.net
 saved your letters
even though the writing is a bit difficult
to decipher
stationary isn't all that absorbant.
perhaps it was only intended for ink
I memorized the best parts
explored them in my diary
like "I want to envelop you with my love"
and "you consume me with passion"
but my favorite
"I love being inside you, and wish that you could
feel what it's like to be inside me"
I still appreciate
your straightforwardness
so clear about what you wanted
you asked nicely, too
I wish more humans were like that
it took awhile to plan
as I wanted it to be just right
and it was
an exquisite night
imagine a blue moon--how perfect
champagne and strawberries
chocolate souffle
a lovely gorgonzola
each caress
each kiss
opened delirious dimensions
I tied you to the bed
offered more champagne
laced with a unique herb
from my planet
you're even more adorable
when asleep
I remember thinking
these are the eyes and heart
that opened to me
so I saved them as mementos
before slitting you open
removing what lay beneath
now enveloped
by your skin
and your love
I realize how right you were
it is exquisite to be here
laying my eggs inside you
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Amanda And The Elf
by Jean Roberta
jean.hillabold@uregina.ca
t was Christmas Eve, and Amanda was exhausted. Finally, the house looked tidy enough for tomorrow’s dinner guests. Enticingly-wrapped presents for Jason and Jennifer nestled beneath the tree so that they wouldn't think Santa had forgotten them. "Psst!"
"Who's there?" asked Amanda. She suspected her drunken ex-husband, overwhelmed with self-pity and a brief, seasonal attack of love for the children.
"It's me, baby." The voice was loud enough, and deep enough, but Amanda couldn't see where it was coming from. "Duh," the voice persisted. "Look down, not up." Almost hidden behind the lower branches of the tree was a little man, about three feet tall, dressed in a tight green suit. He pulled off his stocking cap to reveal a head full of messy red hair.
Amanda was tickled. "Aww. How did you get in here, little man?" She couldn't help thinking that all men should be that lightweight, harmless and cute.
"I have my ways," he smirked. "You have no idea what I can do, Amanda. I work for the fat man himself, you know. I'm Puck the Elf. Rhymes with Fuck."
The little man's expression reminded Amanda of the face of a horny boy in the throes of puberty, full of energy and mischief. Something about him seemed familiar. "Have we ever met before?"
A man-sized guffaw burst out of Puck like a cork from a bottle. "Remember when you were thirteen? Someone told you about candles and the necks of pop bottles, so you tried them, remember? I loved watching you. You couldn't wait to get it from a real guy."
Amanda turned bright red. "Yeah, well," she remarked. "There's a saying: be careful what you wish for." She found the little man strangely attractive, and wished her desires were more logical. "That was a long time ago," she reminded him. "Why are you here now?"
He grinned. "I'm your present, babe. You've been working hard all year. The big guy notices these things, and you made it to his Good Girl list. He sent me to play with you. I signed up for it."
Amanda, who really did love children (when they were not throwing tantrums) sat on the sofa and gestured for him to sit on her lap. He swaggered closer and flexed a little arm until a hard bicep popped up on it like a hazelnut.
"Wanta see?" he offered. He unzipped his pants (which, on closer inspection, looked like deerskin) to reveal a tightly-rolled organ that looked like a wet red tongue. It unrolled to a length of about nine inches and touched Amanda’s lips. They were open, as though to make a sound.
"Ohh," she sighed. The little man tore the clothes off his arms and legs and stood before her with the light bouncing off the muscles of his chest. His skin glowed, and he smelled like warm cinnamon.
"Remember now?" he asked her softly. He answered her unspoken invitation by hopping onto her lap. His muscular butt pressed comfortingly into her thighs. He was heavier than he looked.
Amanda held him in place, and her blonde hair hung around him like a veil. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she tried to blink them away. "I didn't think you were real," she admitted. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
Puck looked smug. "Hello, ‘Manda, who kicked me to the curb? You got a real boyfriend and said you didn't need me any more. How was it, by the way?"
"Teenage romance is overrated," she complained. "And marriage is worse." She pushed him off her lap and stood, raising her crotch to his eye-level. "I grew up," she told him. "I have some things to show you too." She unbuttoned her blouse and wiggled out of her jeans. As he licked his lips, she unhooked her bra and threw it aside, then slid her panties down her legs. Her skin was pearly pink, and her light-brown bush was thicker and curlier than he remembered.
Two small, hard hands reached for the hair between Amanda’s legs which already glistened with moisture. Two fingers neatly grasped a sensitive button of flesh and rolled it, making it swell. More fingers slid into a wet tunnel. Amanda sank to her knees and closed her eyes.
"No, watch," he told her. "And if you don't make enough noise, Ill stop." His mouth closed around one of her stiff pink nipples. A tongue to match the organ lower down flicked and licked her, and a set of sharp teeth nibbled her.
"Uh," gasped the woman. "The kids will wake up."
Puck pulled on her nipples until they were twice their usual size. He left them wet. "No they won’t," he told her. "I sprinkled them with Elf Powder Number 24, so they'll sleep until you've had your second cup of morning coffee. It won’t hurt them. You can scream as loud as they do."
"But can you – will this --?" she asked anxiously.
"Naw," grinned her eager suitor. "I can’t give you an elf baby. Interspecies reproduction doesn't work, no matter what the ancient Greeks thought. You ever seen a centaur? Or a human bitch with puppies? Ever wonder why not?"
Amanda felt reassured, since her life was already complicated enough. She stretched herself out on her newly vacuumed carpet, feeling the prickly acrylic fibers against her back. She spread her legs. The little man lay on her, pressing his head against her beating heart.
Puck’s long, flexible organ sank into a hot cunt until it filled her completely. Amanda encouraged him with pushes and squeezes as his organ changed shape and size to stroke every fold and crevice. She moaned and squealed until she popped like a Christmas cracker. Puck seemed happy to oblige her, which seemed only natural. It was his mission.
"You come faster than you used to," Puck remarked, his head between her breasts. She could feel the vibrations of his surprisingly manly voice, as though he were actually strumming her heart like a musical instrument.
"More practice," she answered. "Less time."
"Do you want more pressure?" pondered the little man. His organ seemed to grow as hard as rock and grew little nubs or fingers that scratched Amanda’s inner walls.
"Ohh," she moaned. "Not yet, Puck."
"Too much for you?" he bragged. "Baby, you're really tight for a mother of two. I want to stretch you out a bit before the night is over."
"They do Caesarians a lot these days," the woman informed him. "And you didn't even notice the scars. Could you stretch me little by little? I want to feel, you, Puck. I want to remember you later. But I mean, you know, there are limits."
"Sure, babe," he purred. "Anything you want. Just ask me. I might make you beg, but whatever you want you'll get, and get, and get." The elf’s organ, still longer and thicker than that of Amanda’s ex-husband (as she couldn't help noticing) pumped steadily into her very wet and sensitive pussy.
As the woman's breathing speeded up, a long, sly, elfin finger slid under her. "Do you still like it in the ass?" he asked. This question alone almost sent her over the edge.
"Uh, I—" gasped Amanda.
"That means yes," chuckled her little suitor. His finger, slippery with some kind of magical coating, slid into her anus and continued pushing deeper and deeper. Amanda turned red as her muscles automatically squeezed to discourage the invader. The resulting tingles seemed to rush immediately into her clit.
"Oh!" exhaled the tormented woman.
Puck shivered all over with the satisfaction of a job well done. "Louder, girl," he prompted. "Come on, I want to hear you."
With all the intensity of a woman whose voice has been silenced for years, Amanda howled like a wolf and wailed like a banshee. She sang, cooed, hummed and growled as her companion pushed her, teased her, dared her and praised her.
When Puck told her to lie face-down on a cushion from the sofa, Amanda arranged herself in the desired position with a self-conscious wiggle, looking back at the elf who was studying her ivory ass-cheeks as though wondering what sort of attention they needed. The first slap of his hard little hand brought the blood to her skin and a sigh to her lips, but she didn't object. "Oh yes," she remarked. He spanked her so well that she knew she would remember him while sitting at her dining-room table for Christmas dinner.
Amanda vaguely wondered whether the little man who had volunteered to please her might be pleasing himself by paying her back for her long neglect. If so, she thought philosophically, so be it. She hadn't realized before how much a mother could need a spanking.
The dry heat in Amanda’s firm behind (of which she was still vain) was soothed by long, wet strokes of Puck’s hot tongue, which found its way between her legs to her excited clit. This time, Amanda was really alarmed by her extreme reactions to his touch, and asked him to stop. Puck was not convinced of her sincerity, so he held her in place until her next explosion brought her a few moments of sweet relief.
By the time Christmas morning spread its pale yellow light over the eastern horizon, Amanda had been fucked in all her openings, including both ears. She had been on her back, on her hands and knees, and curled spoon-fashion on her side. She had tasted Puck’s peppermint-flavored cum.
Amanda’s movements became as languid as those of an underwater swimmer. Her eyelids flickered and drooped.
The elf remained as bouncy and springy as ever. "Merry Christmas, baby," he crooned in her ear.
"Merry Christmas, little stud," she snickered back. She yawned. "I need to sleep. My parents will be coming over for turkey dinner."
Puck pulled a stray strand of tinsel out of her hair. The charm of toys and magical beings tickled her to the core, but her mortal limitations could not be ignored. He was not of her world.
He seemed to read her mind. "I’ll be back next year," he grinned. "If you're good."
"If I'm here," she promised. She crawled off to her bed, where she sank into dreams of cranberry sauce on torn wrapping paper and miniature boot-prints on new-fallen snow. She had had enough satisfaction to give her sweet dreams for all twelve nights of an old-fashioned Christmas.
RETURN TO TOP
Irish Love Letter
For Patricia Ni Murcu
by Sean Farragher
sfarragher@nj.rr.com
http://www.seanfarragher.com
n the mirror
I see our breath
skin to skin.
We melt on the gravel
on the sea cliff--
Beyond Rosses Point
we follow sailing ships
Within this rubble,
fallen masts, falcon,
and shattered glass--
the rain blessed
Lean grass stalks lead
water to our flesh;
the glass leaf reflects
her shawl--her hand bent,
dress over knees
crimson skin on rocks covers
our bodies with human beaks;
blood wets this bed,
mixed to the sea's rain
As I drink her thighs
with blood's cream,
talons as a talisman
moor us to the dock, --
the tarred timbers squawk,
and I see us in the sheets
in that grand hotel
on College Green
I see us in the morning
with tea, cake and a tray.
I see our wet, our breasts, our hands.
We follow children home,
first milk,
we drag our fingers to our spines
(sea salt and sea bird feathers)
As we dance off the sea
and the sun wakes the pier,
wild tulips on the table.
Our back churn,
our eyes blind--
my spit swears oaths
to a winding stair.
I wait with her,
her hair on my arms,
sleep marks on our cheeks
Scum on our breasts
At twilight we walk down Grafton Street,
Dublin ablaze; next morning we worship at sailing ships
vending fish before dawn,
for her I am air, first light, fire
seed and good knife
I see galleons scull our sea
I see our mirror, our flesh breathes.
RETURN TO TOP
Three Poems
By Ken Blasko
canhebe@mindspring.com
Slip Away
 alloon on a string,
a slip-knot on your finger.
Bound to slip away.
Desert
 mooth from a distance,
made of hot and textured sand.
Dry and cold below.
Replay
was tuned to your touch,
soft whispers and whimpers.
And now how I dance when
I replay the sweet-singing sound
of your breath as
I eased it out of you.
A night, so long ago
and far away, two alone,
connected together
in a moment of human harmony.
RETURN TO TOP
Night Dream Scenes
by Jeff Waters
technicalsupport@apollonpc.com
 rive along the endless dark ribbon of highway in front of you because you and a friend have decided to go out of town for just some fun away from all the pressures and people you know. Things have been pretty stressful lately as work and everyone keeps adding more and more chaos to both your lives.
You have been driving for a few hours just chatting about anything and everything that come into your minds. All of a sudden somewhere in the conversation the topic of what you both used to do for fun has come up. Your friend tells you that he used to go spooking for fun and that it was a riot most of the time. You ask what spooking means. He goes into detail telling you about going into graveyards, old houses and scary places just to look around and how most of the time it was just an adrenaline rush.
As time flies by with the chatting. The chilly night air races along with the quickening blackness of the approaching midnight sky. Neither of you has seen or heard a sound but the rumble of the engine and the stars and moon that shines ever so brightly on this night. The only other thing of interest that you both have seen are some of the local road sign billboards that are doing the advertising for the local tourist traps and special historical sites as you pass them by.
Even though it is late your friend is not sleepy, but you are getting still and beginning to nod behind the wheel. Just then a road sign of special interest pops into view for your friend. And he gets an idea for you both. He tells you it will wake and excite you. As he reads the billboard ahead. "Civil war cemetery and memorial just ahead 5 miles." He really has to persuade you for a while before you agree to do this at this late hour so far from home. Just as you both agree you see the sign for the cemetery "next exit. " You turn and you can feel the excitement rising as you head off to your new adventure. Off the expressway now to a narrower two lane road. It is smooth for a mile or so before turning into one of those roads you could churn butter on with all the potholes.
You friend strikes his head and say damn I forgot to do something is there anyway I can use your cell phone for just one minute. You reach into your tan worn hem purse and produce the cell phone. He makes a call. You try not to listen but hear him say we will be running a little late we are doing some things before we get there. You wonder if he is calling ahead to make sure your rooms are still waiting after this unexpected side trip. He hands you the cell phone back and says whew I am glad I remembered to call and let them know we were running late or they would have forgotten about us. You say the hotel. You friend says, yeah.
As you drive along you notice a sign on the side of the road. It is hand painted on what looks like old fencing material. It is telling you to turn left here. You do so. The road finally smooths out as you move for the pavement to an older gravel road. The night air chills you as you drive along. The trees seem to block out the moonlight as they stretch the long moss covered branches above the road. You take a look in your rear view mirror but all you see is the dust your car has kicked up form the tires. As it fills the night air with a cloudy thick dusty cloak.
You see the gate approaching in your headlight. It is like a scene from some horror movie. The gates seem to grow taller and taller the nearer you get. They are old rusty wrought iron that has been twisted and weathered with ages of being exposed on nights just like this one. You stop the car. Your friend grabs you and startles you as you peer between the gate and says lets go this is going to be so much fun.
He grabs your keys and opens the trunk. He pulls out a coat for you and two flashlights. He turns his on and does the cliché muahhh! face in the light trying to frighten you. He grabs hold of your hand and leads you up to the gate. You squeeze through the small opening, as there is a heavy padlock and chain on the gate. You feel as though something is weird about it as it is locked from the inside instead of the outside but you say nothing and proceed on in to the courtyard area.
You both shine your lights around like piercing swords in the night looking at all the shiny granite stones. This area seems to be where the newer burials have been. The grass perfumes the midnight air letting you know it has been cut recently.
Your friend calls your name and tells you to come there as he motions for you. Come here see what I have found. You go over to him. He shows you some headstones of granite shaped like angles and a few more of gargoyles. He is excited as he leads you further down the clean trimmed path. There is a newly dug grave there. You see it’s empty as he tells you it is probably for tomorrow.
He shines his light towards the back of the cemetery where the older graves are and beckons for you to come on and go with him. As you walk through the older walkway it begins to fade away to nothing but a dirt path. As you approach the end of the row of headstones you hear your friend tell you to get down and turn your light off quick as he pulls you down. He tells you to look over there as he points to some unseen thing in the distance. You both see a faint light flickering. He ask you if you want to go investigate you say no but he is intent on seeing what is causing it and your not being left alone so you follow him.
As you approach where the light is you notice the ground getting more and more unstable. The trees have begun to thicken here. Old dilapidated trees dead bark and the odd shapes they take on the deeper you go. The night air grows colder as the fog begins to roll in. It consumes the ground like a rushing flood the deeper into the woods you go. You hear the creatures of the night begin their serenade. The owl with its unusual hoots and the crickets&Mac226; chirp wildly as you approach. At one point the noises of the night stop suddenly as the night air is filled with a different symphony. The chanting of some coven.
You stop behind an earthen mound, as you are close enough to observe and listen to them. They chat loudly in some unknown language. You look at them as they dance wildly around the fire in a rhythmic fashion. You are starting to feel the tension rise as you tell your friend we need to leave. He agrees.
He starts to move away from the mound and starts slipping down its side. You reach out to help but it is to late. You shine you light down to see where he has fallen. You both scream as you both realize this is the bottom of a freshly opened grave. You turn quickly as you hear the chanter running towards you. You friend yells at you to run get help don't worry he will be right behind you. He yells at you more frantically now, as you stand there almost paralyzed with fear and tells you run and run now before they get near. You do, but as you turn to run you drop the light.
You run frantically back the way you came but you have become lost as the thicket of bushes and midnight fog plays tricks on your sense of direction. You run further into the woods. As you run across the blanketed earth the tree roots seem to rise up and grab at you feet as you flee. You look behind you as you hear the voices closing in on you from all directions and the lights from their torches getting brighter in all directions around you. Your heart feels as though it could explode form the exhausting running and stumbling you done. Your sides ache from the sudden increase in breathing. You look anxiously around for somewhere to hide so this nightmare will end.
Just then you notice in front of you an old vine covered gray weathered mausoleum. You run up to it. The door is gone, but it is dark inside. You run inside and hide in the thick blackness of the shadows. You hope they will pass you by as you hear them outside the door. You let out a great bloody scream as you feel a hand reach out and touch your shoulder. The world begins spinning as it fades to the never-ending blackness as you faint on the spot.
As you awaken you hear the faint chanting outside. You look around to find your bearings. Fear clutches at your throat when you try to move but cannot. A thick heavy woven rope binds you wrist and ankles. You struggle for freedom in vain. You look around and you are inside some sort of cave. You are in the center of it. You feel the bitter cold of the marble slab that you are draped across. Your movement is very limited. You cannot even scream. There is a black velvet gag in your mouth that is tied rather snug around you. To your right you see heavy black and gray marble steps leading up to a heavily arched doorway with a thick wooden door with black heavy iron straps to hold it.
You move your head around as to see the rest of the room. The walls are covered with thin green running vines from the floor to ceiling as they run in and out of the placement stalls of the great room. It reminds you somewhat of what a morgue looks like where they store their bodies except for being of ornate stone and no coverings on the stalls.
You see the lights flickering from the huge freestanding candelabras that are about the massive as the wind whistles through. As you now look up you still notice lights dance across the vine and web covered walls as they lead up to a skylight in the open stone roof. You can barely make out the moon and some stars as they reflect their mystical wisdom down upon you. You begin to feel the tingle of the cold marble against you back now, as the night air turns from chilled to cold.
You hear the creaking of the door as it opens you look and see two hooded figures walking down the long heavy marble stairs. As they approach you not a word is said. One stands at your feet as the other stands beside your head. You hear the deep voice of a man tell you to relax as he puts a knife to your throat. He tells you that your not going to make a sound. You shake your head no you won’t as your muffled voice pierces the eerie silence.
He loosens the gag as he moves it up to your eyes and re-tightens it there. You can see nothing but blackness and the blindfold. Your senses are going crazy from the anticipation of what might happen. Your mind races as your heart speeds like never before. You hear the man say be quiet now or you know what will happen to you. You shake your head.
You feel the second stranger running hands across your legs and grabbing at the waist of your long rose patterned skirt as they pull themselves up and on top of you. You hear the man say here you go. As you feel the cold steel of the knife against you neck. The stranger drags it across you satiny white flesh and begins pulling against the spaghetti straps of your pink tank top. The stranger cuts one. Moves the knife slowly as if teasing you with it across you chest just below the collarbone. The stranger then lifts and cuts the other one. Now sliding it across and down between your heaving breasts. Your chest arches up and down from your labored breathing. Down deeper with the knife now so that it catches you bra. You hear the tearing and ripping of the fabric as the knife is pulled upward. Now you top slides down your sides exposing your firm ripe breasts.
The chill of the night has caused goose bumps all over your body. Your hair begins to stand on end as you nipples begin to harden. You feel the cold thick steel dragging up one of your breast with firm pressure. Up and up it goes till it stops on top of your hardening nipple and pokes at it a moment. You bite down on your lip as not to make a sound.
You feel the knife pull away from you as the stranger leans in and bites at on of your erect nipples. Dragging the teeth across just the tip and giving it a firm bite. You feel the stranger raise up just a bit and scoot down on you.
Now dragging the knife down across your ribcage and belly. You feel the pressure from the cold steel tip. Now you feel your skirt being tugged hard against you causing you to arch your back from the tension. You hear and feel the silver clad buttons as they are cut off one by one from your skirt. Finally they all are gone and the skirt is ripped away.
The stranger runs the knife across you moist panties as the stranger traces your pussy. Now sliding the cold exploring blade across your inner thigh. With the free hand you feel the stranger begin to pussy spank your clit as you let out a small moan.
Now the knife passes your knee, now your calf and proceeds to turn and make its way back up the outside of your leg now. On your outer thigh and under the edge of your panties as they begin moistening more. You jerk a little as the stranger cuts the side of you panty away exposing most of yourself to the stranger. Now across your belly firmer the stranger holds the knife now as it moves in small circles around your belly button. Now under your panties as they are cut and torn away from your silky body.
You lay there totally naked now and exposed to the stranger as the knife begins moving down the outside of your other leg. Now back up as you feel a hard smack of the stranger’s hand against your naked clit. You feel the stranger rare back as he thrust forward with the knife. You tighten with fear as you hear the thunk of the knife into the marble slab. You let out a sigh of relief that the knife did not pierce you.
Your relief is short lived as you feel the stranger bite down firmly on your inner thigh. The strangers begin sucking as they bite. First one side then the other. Now back. You feel the strangers’ hands sliding up and down on you wet shaven kooch. You feel the strangers’ palm wrap around your mound and squeeze firmly. The one stranger’s free hand that is up by your shoulders slides down and fondles your perfect breasts. Kneading them hard like you would bread. You feel the stranger shift positions slightly. The stranger’s hand that cups you quivering pussy now moves so that the thumb rests firmly against your hot throbbing clit. One stranger pinches your nipple hard and sends small pains of excitement to you. While doing this, the other stranger slides two fingers deep inside your tight wet pussy. The thumb begins rotating in circles as the fingers begin probing inside.
The stranger begins sliding the nipple hand down along your side as you feel some pleasure from the strangers heated flesh touching yours as it drags downward. The hand in your kooch now begins moving in and out. Widening and closing the fingers inside you as they move. In and out faster and harder now. The free hand has moved down to you tight and firm as you feel the sting from a sudden smack there. Your breath quickens as the rhythm of the fingers begins upping its own tempo.
You once again feel teeth on your clit for a moment and another stinging slap across your ass. Now the fingers move within you faster and more furious with their tempo increasing as you feel the strangers tongue sliding between and inside your juicy dripping pussy. You feel yourself getting to climax. The stranger does also as they feel your pussy quiver and tighten around their fingers. The hand that has been smacking your ass to the point of a tingling sensation of being asleep is moving again. You feel it slide across you hip and inner thigh. Your back begins to arch with the oncoming tremors your body now feels. The stranger slide a finger between your firm tight cheeks and begins teasing you brown hole as your pussy tightens again around the thrusting fingers.
The thumb now back on your clit vibrating it with each hard stroke of the hand that goes deep and fast inside you. The other now plunges deep inside your ass. Alternating their thrust. They both find their spots deep inside you. Yes, you know the ones. They both thrust in and out of you as fast and as hard as possible now. Your cum is beginning to rush from within you. The stranger does not stop till you almost collapse from the exhaustion. As the stranger lets you lay there in your spasms of joy you feel them rise.
The stranger pulls the fingers from within you fully this time as you let out a sigh of joy and ecstasy. You feel the stranger climb off of you and you feel the blindfold being removed. You feel your head being raised as you hear a man’s voice ask you would you like to see who has done this to you? You open your eyes as your head is being lifted and you noticed the figure is totally disrobed now. And that to your shock that a woman has done this to you and not a man! You start to gasp but as you do you feel a sting of another slap across your ass.
You look downward as a shiny flash has caught your eye as it pierces through the darkness and you notice this time it is not flesh that strikes you but cold harden steel gauntlet the man wears you feel the long, pointed, gleaming, silver spike like fingers as they grab your stinging ass firmly and squeeze it tight.
You groan with surprise as the blindfold is put back into place, putting you in utter darkness once again. You feel the claw start moving its way up your side as it digs into your flesh. The sensation you feel is a cross between a feathery tickle and a grabbing fingernail as the tips just move around in erratic patterns across your accepting, tingly flesh. Ever upwards it moves now across your belly and encircles your belly button as pressure is firmly applied so that the marks redden and trace the new path from which the claws came.
Now sliding them down to your mound your kooch begins to quiver wondering what he will do. You feel the cold steel on either side of your dripping pussy as the tips run up and down the length between your thigh and pussy. You feel them sliding inward on you now lightly teasing your outer lips for a few passes as the smooth chrome rubs against your clit spreading your own lubricant around on your tingling body. You feel pressure being applied in that area now as one of the steel finger slide inside you and slowly thrust in and out of you. Letting you lips wrap tightly around the cold smooth surface of the fingers.
You feel tapping against your clit as he does this and he begins to pussy spank you aroused throbbing clit. You feel the steel shaft of one finger flick at your ass as the other thrust in and out of you. Now both holes are filled with the thrusting smooth fingers. The mans free hand reaches down and wipes some of your thick hot dripping cum from you aching pussy as it runs from around the massive steel fingers thrusting inside both you holes. As his hot fingers cover themselves in your juices he drags them across you pulsating clit teasingly. Raising that hand so that it brushes light against your nipple and startles you. He rubs it around your nipple and then up towards the side of your throat, now along your tender cheek and teasingly across you lips as you moan just a bit.
Seductively teasing you for a minute or so as you open your mouth wider and attempt to lick his fingers. He finally lets you lick them before letting them slide inside your sucking, pouty lips, as you taste for yourself your sweet taste. You suck the juice completely from his fingertips as he pulls his steel cock like fingers from your aching fulfilled holes and drags them across your heaving belly.
Your breath is so erratic from the evening's events. Of the pleasure or pain the wanting and desire versus the fear and loathing. Your senses are in overload. As you feel the mans hot lips kiss along your nipple. Cupping your breast tightly with the juice dripping had he squeezes quite hard causing the nipple to erect so hard that it aches from its pleasure.
He drags his rough course tongue across the tip of it as your belly quivers and you moan. Now licking up your neck slowly and sucking, kissing along to your ear. Now to the ear lobe. He relaxes his grip as he bites down firmly on you lobe. Moans mixed with pleasure and pain comes out between your succulent lips at the same moment. The steel shafts gleam in the cold night air as they drag down along your gyrating body.
Along your side as he move between your still tied legs. You feel his rock hard cock poking and dragging across you as he centers himself. He starts moving up on you as his cock teasingly drags across your clit almost ramming inside you. He reaches down and knocks his dick against you red-hot throbbing clit. A few more times now before sliding further up on you.
The woman now is told to assist him. She moves over to you and pulls firmly upon your long flowing hair so that you arch your neck and back. They arch in a way that his hard shaft lays between your firm heaving tits. He reaches down and pulls both your tits tightly together as he slides his cock further between them. The woman raises your head. He reaches down and behind him and starts finger fucking you again.
The woman reaches over and grabs one of the candles from the candelabras. Steaming hot drops of wax drip on top of your tender nipples. Drop after drop you feel the heated sting as the wax begins to mound and run down your breast and nipples. First one nipple now the other and back again a few times till there is almost a cast of wax forming your breast little love hole some wax drips into your lubed breast canals as his cock thrust between them you hear a sizzle from time to time.
The wax excites the man as he leans forward and tongue kisses the woman. She moves the candle now so that the wax dips a few drops on his hard cock. This excites him as well as you. You feel the thrusting and thrashing getting faster and harder and more erratic with each thrust and withdrawal. Now the steel fingers hold your large breast so that each nipple is being poked by a spike in its fully erect nipple he tightens his grip on your breast as his finger fucking becomes wilder and more erratic. You feel his weight as he thrusts his cock between your captive tits.
The woman hold your head up tighter now so that you feel his cock against your lips and you slide you long protruding tongue at it. After a little teasing you feel his thrusting tempo slow and lets you take his swollen shaft in your mouth further now as your tongue slides along his hard shaft, you feel his swelling shaven balls brush along your soft silky skin as he thrust in and out of your tightening lips. You feel his cock jumping as he gets close to cumming in your mouth as you suck him harder and deeper with each thrust of his cock. He pulls fully out of you as he slides down further on you now.
You yearn for his cock at this point you tell him you want it inside you. He says nothing as you feel the steel drag lightly across tour throat and chest. He reaches down and loosens your ankles so that your legs are fully free at this point. But your hands are still tightly bound. You feel limp as he reaches beneath you and flips you over. You now lay almost kneeling in this position your arms are touching the cold slab from the elbows down and the knee to ankle.
You feel him slap your firm red spanked ass hard. So hard that it shakes your entire body. Once on the left and once on the right side. He reaches up in the normal hand and runs his fingers through you soft air. He pulls back firmly arching you in a way that your breast and erect nipples brush against the cold marble slab. Your head rises high in the air.
The woman now is told to climb on top the slab. She climbs in front of you as she slides her legs between you arms so that you hands are around her back when she is finished. Her legs reach all the way down and along the outside of your bent legs now. You feel the man driving your head down into the woman’s pussy letting you get close enough for a small taste before letting you go so that you can run your tongue all inside her tight pussy for yourself. She now pulls your head and hair tightly into here tongue starved pussy as she guides your probing tongue for her satisfaction.
The man now runs his steel fingers along your back and spine from your little round ass all the way up to your long thin neck. Making erratic swirls as he goes. Your tongue is thrust deeper inside the woman's tasty pussy as she pulls you tighter. You feel his still swollen hard cock spreading your ass cheeks as it slides its way through them. Pulsating from time to time. You raise your head as you moan from feeling the head of his cock teasing your tight ass as with one massive thrust he lets your asshole swallow his hot hard manhood deep inside you.
To be continued ….
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The Ride
by Terrie Leigh Relf
tlrelf@cox.net
 ou offer me a ride
and as I climb in you car
all I can think of
all that I want is
your smooth-handed
words on my mouth
your sweat-scented
thoughts on my tongue
your long-legged
meaning in my throat
while you coax
your car
down another wrong turn
crawl further
yes further
past why don't I
just ask you in
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Happy
by Jolie du Pré
joliedupre@hotmail.com
www.geocities.com/joliedupre
oshino cherry trees grace the streets of Macon, Georgia like droplets of cotton candy fallen from the sky. When I was a child, a third grader in Mrs. Chatham's class, I dressed as a cherry tree in bloom for our spring chorus concert.
While Megan wore her favorite dress, bursting with bright, multicolored tropical flowers and Patsy showed off her new Kelly Green jumper, I covered my brown body in a pink blouse, pink skirt, pink tights and I begged Mama to buy me the pink patent leather shoes I wore to match. No one knew I was a cherry tree, but I knew and that was enough. I've always loved Macon for its cherry trees and for its people. You won't find a friendlier bunch around.
This is a place where folks say "hi" to each other. It's where the smell of ribs cooking on the grill lead you to backyard barbecues open to everyone. And where neighbors sit on their front porches more often than the back ones. I've lived in Macon all my life and I'm 20 now.
But as much as I loved Macon, around the time of my 16th birthday, I had this tremendous desire to leave it. I attribute this longing to my love of books. Mama brought me to the Macon Library for the first time when I was two. By 16, I had checked out and read many great books of the western world. I lost myself in Dickens, Fitzgerald, Twain and so many others. Books have always provided me with a means to escape my surroundings. And when I left Macon for Washington, D.C., I got the chance to escape for real.
No one in my family has been to college, yet everyone knew that I should go. I received an academic scholarship to Howard University an African American university in Washington, D.C. Relatives and neighbors chipped in to help Mama cover room and board. They do that in Macon, chip in and help, especially someone like Mama, a widow. Daddy died soon after I was born.
The cherry blossoms in Washington, D.C. were as beautiful as the ones in Macon. And whenever I had some free time, I loved to venture to the Smithsonian or stare at the White House. Here was a new world waiting for me to explore.
In the beginning, I had a roommate by the name of Nicole. She was from a small town in Alabama and the minute she arrived on campus she was homesick. She would lay in her bed at night and cry for hours. She left Howard after a couple of weeks. The administration was supposed to replace her with a different roommate for me, but they never did. So, I had the room to myself.
During my second semester I met Jordan, a sociology major. I fell in love with him the moment I saw him. His skin, blue black in hue without a single blemish, covered a body that was toned and strong. He had straight white teeth, thick luscious lips and clear bright eyes. He looked healthier than any man I had ever met, and he was smart and interesting, nothing like the guys I had met in Macon.
In the second half of my sophomore year, at 19, I discovered I was pregnant with Jordan's child. When I told Jordan, he was happy for me. He talked about how he would support me and the baby and how we would spend our time together. My studies no longer mattered to me. I skipped classes. I had this vision of Jordan, me and the baby living together in our own apartment. Perhaps Jordan and I would marry.
I bought some baby clothes from the thrift store and looked into buying a crib. Jordan hadn't offered any financial help as of yet and Mama didn't know about my pregnancy.
A couple of my professors sent me notes, asking about my absence and letting me know I was in danger of failing. I ignored the notes.
Jordan had an apartment off campus, and one day I decided to surprise him, at his apartment, with dinner and wine. I went to the grocery story and bought pasta, a nice garden salad, and I splurged on a good bottle of white wine.
When I arrived at his apartment, his door was slightly open, so I let myself in. There was a purse hanging on one of his kitchen chairs. I could hear soft moans coming from his bedroom down the hall. I should have left, but I didn't. I wanted to see it. I placed my groceries on the kitchen counter and walked over to his bedroom door, which was closed, and quietly opened it.
They were naked. She was on top of him. Her long dark hair hanging down, covering his face. His hands were on her backside. She was riding him the way I did, the way he liked. I grabbed my groceries and left the apartment. When I got home, I threw up.
The next morning I went to Planned Parenthood, with the last of my money and aborted my baby. Later that afternoon, I was informed that I had been dropped from my classes.
The next thing I remember is waking up, two days later, at Howard University Hospital's Psychiatric unit. They said I was walking around the campus incoherent, staring in space, talking to myself, unable to recognize friends. After a few more weeks they concluded that I was not a threat to society or to myself and that the best thing for me, after this isolated incident, was to return home to Macon. And that's where I am now.
Mama has been very nice to me. The hospital told her about the abortion. She's a Christian and she feels that abortion is wrong, but she hasn't mentioned it to me. She won't discuss school or my stay in the hospital, either. She just keeps trying to feed me because she says I'm too skinny.
I truly believe that everything happens for a reason and now that I've been in Macon for about six months, I've had a chance to really look at things.
Jordan was a vegetarian, and if there is anything good out of meeting him it is that he taught me about it. I learned about the different stages of vegetarianism and about whole organic food. It's hard to find organic food here in Macon, so I just do the best I can. If I look skinny to Mama, it's because I'm a vegetarian now. And I don't feel sickly or thin, I feel good.
I bought a yoga mat back in D.C., and truthfully, I never really used it until now. I've been studying yoga books and sometimes I take my mat outside, with my tape recorder, to the neighborhood park. Have you ever done yoga outside? God, it's so wonderful. I put on my music, so soothing, and really get into myself. Some of the people from the neighborhood stare at me, from afar, when I do this. I just pretend they're not there.
It's me I'm focusing on and I enjoy the solitude. I'm embracing celibacy and I prefer to make love to myself right now.
I bought some home made candles from Annie May's shop. She asked me if they were a present for my Mama. I didn't tell her what I needed them for.
Mama and I live in a big house, with three floors, that Mama has lived in all her life and inherited from her family. I'm on the top floor and nobody can hear me up there. At night I light my candles and put Anita Baker or Toni Braxton on my cd player. I take off all my clothes and dance in front of my mirror.
I enjoy the look of my body. I cut off my relaxed hair and starting locking. I love it natural. Mama hates my hair this way, but she leaves me alone about it. My breasts are firm, my stomach is toned. There are advantages to youth and right now I have them. I leave the hair between my legs. I don't care to shave it.
After my dance I lay on my bed. I rub my breasts with my fingers. Sometimes I put a little oil, that I bought back in D.C., on my nipples. I love the way it makes my fingers glide over my skin.
I take my fingers away from my nipples and run them through the hair on my mound. I caress my hair for a long time because it feels so good. My fingers drop to my clitoris. I rub it firmly, but gently, and at the same time I return to my nipples, which by now, like my clitoris, are quite erect.
As I lay on my bed, very wet, I don't think of Jordan or of any man. I simply enjoy the moment and of being home, in my room, with myself. When I reach orgasm, I scream out, because I know no one can hear me. Then I rest and listen to my music. Mama feels that masturbation is something that you should not do. I would never tell her I do it. I respect my Mama, and I go with her to church even though I don't care much for it. But I feel her views are wrong.
As far as college is concerned, I will return someday. But this time, I think I'd prefer a smaller college, closer to home. And I'd like to major in nutrition.
The other day, to my surprise, I discovered some wonderful herbal teas in one of the markets. Last night, Doreen and Aggie, long time friends and neighbors of Mama, were in the living room talking with her. They didn't know I was nearby, in the kitchen, preparing some tea to take upstairs to my room.
"Mavis, baby, that chile' of yours ain't right. What you gonna do wit her?" said Doreen.
"She's all right," said Mama. "She's just tryin' to get herself together so she can go back to school."
"She don't talk to nobody. Seem like she be in a different world," Aggie said.
"And what about her hair? My Lord!" Doreen said.
"I'm not worried about it," said Mama. "That's just the style right now."
"I don't know, Mavis. That chile' don't seem happy," Aggie said.
I took my tea and went upstairs, straight to my big overstuffed chair that's been in the family for years, which I love because it's so comfortable. I sat in the chair and looked around at my room. I'm so pleased to be back in Macon, and I don't want to leave it like I did before. I'm also very content with the decisions I've made after Howard and the hospital. And despite what anyone says, I am happy, the happiest I've ever been.
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Picasso Porn
by Sean Farragher
sfarragher@nj.rr.com
http://www.seanfarragher.com
 atricia, Ceilidh Dancer
Our Summer of 1972
I changed your life,
have filmed it colorized
in just a brief rush
of angel of my hand;
your face in magenta,
blue and cyan relives
the dark grief of Nam
makes memory perfect.
How many times in dark
on beach in cycles of eyes
I whispered the umber hedge
when we were lovers in Paris
under pale blue watercolors
Renoir washed women
dissolved Picasso Porn.
Does danger exist in vision
ribbons angled with layers
disguised by casual Voyeur?
I love to watch bodies tangle
and untangle in the sand
like tortoise eggs laid in spatial agony
lingering in afterbirth of swimming madly
surfed with small death and revival:
"La petite mort est facile,"
Patricia said raising her eyes
from the inside lips
at crest of fingers
finding leap of vulva
She was nude descending
broken staircase in patch of
confusion at instant at come.
Darling, I countered deft fingers
made from Holy Grail.
He created redemption
from romance; Imagined faking
Cleopatra on Nile-
Yes, I know we ride the Dublin Bus
from Walkinstown to College Green;
there's Nora Barnacle daft on trolley;
she returned with James Joyce
himself, Patricia said, distant relative
you should know. Good man from Tuam.
Molly did come she whispered
in the last YES, she smiled.
Nora was not lying. Vision scrambled
Inside Picasso porn we made love
on tramlines and laughed in the hedges
watching gulls unseat themselves.
Unlike most I admire story more
than the sentiment. I do love
honest liars and mad poets
We dreamed the delusion:
Sex mocks Ulysses. It was not
as I wrote or Jimmy Joyce
set down for last will
and testament of Penelope.
I told you love was vague
these days when you returned
from death scarred Vietnam planet
holding as doll a litany of names
that grace black marble; bloody hands
on the walls; mine never clean.
I loved you first in the dark
and you screamed Jimmy
Why didn't I give it
all to her, Patricia begged.
Her path shows outside
to the kelp bogs conjured
as lad for tomb while you
masturbated freely in choir loft.
We lost Jimmy with love
decanted in the vestibule;
I waited for the doorman
with signs from the Zuni
while ghost dancers
fornicated on steppes
of the Mayans to script
movie, Ulysses II.
Yes, sun trails fadeout
eastward through modern Rivers
after eons and ice ages;
Getting there at end
which was important.
Finally, closer, two shot,
then pull back to long shot
of smiling woman staggering
through the hedge rows peeling
her mask away showing she is
Circe and beguiled I wait.
Watch, on the sound stage
TV cameras track come shots
& black eyes of emaciated
actors stagger in drug store
hallucination of after sex.
Yes, delusion is splendor.
Yes, with no blood and grist:
Picasso porn faked it.
Yes, Pablo's Guernica may
be last best portrait of war
and dying known outside the LZ
of Nam where blood on my hands
I carried my name alive out
of that scream of burnt women
who caught napalm on their minds
and their breasts were crispy
and my vomit true to script
I unglued history; I healed
with Dublin drinking Irish Ceilidh
dancer and rogues of folk
songs and poets for battle cry.
Yes, Patricia there is blood on
my hands and you made me laugh
again as old soldiers do impotent
in the mercy of your hands.
Yes, we fucked madly in the church.
We did it on Yeats's grave. We pass
sentence on false witness.
We are reborn.
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