Photo courtesy of Sapio Slut

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #27? Start with the rules and subscribe to the RSS feed and Twitter for updates and submission reminders.

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Bikery – The mental image of Suzy mounting this thing and pedaling herself towards a quaking orgasm flashed across my mind’s eye and I grinned into her face.

If you are monogamous can you learn to be polyamorous? – Do you think that someone who is monogamous can learn to be polyamorous for a partner, or do you think they are courting disaster?

Hot Wax – I detached myself from what she was doing to me. *breathe* She pulled again. I came from the pain, motionless, silent, and helpless to stop it. She continued.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

Spring - My eyes wide, there was no time for reaction as another crowd was wandering down the path. Our eyes locked and Daniel smirked, attempting to find something innocuous to say.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

What is Sex Positive? - Just because I create & run something, doesn’t mean I’m a dictator. e[lust] is as much yours as it is mine, and I value the opinions of everyone.

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable ~after this point~. Thank you, and enjoy!

Erotic Writing

6. Gluttony
Erotica: Suit & Tie Guy VS The Construction Worker pt II
Gang·bang­»ed
hot and bothered…
In the Morning
My First Blowjob
Oh, What a Sight!
Skate / For Wank Wednesday
Soak(ed)
The tables have turned
Wanting it Bad. Wanting it Hard
What I will do with a dildo: Sing, do with a dildo

Kink & Fetish

As much sex as he can fuck into me
Afternoon Sex x 4
Fetish/Fashion
I used to be a Masochist
Now Lick My Boots Clean, Submissive
Open
Plug Me
Rope play
Staked Out
spank, fisted and strung up
The Room

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

A sex-positive female in a sex-negative society
A Period Drama
On Safer Sex and STIs; Musings on The Swingset
Question Month #4
Sense of Responsibility
Simple?
Touch My Cock
Why Did I Engage?

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Hello, My Name is Danny Wylde
In Praise of SlutWalks
Internet Pornography and Women: It doesn’t have to feel bad

All the outdoor tables at the cafe were packed which is why Suzy and I were sitting inside with our beers, watching the slice of sky over Valencia street fade into darkness. It was a one of those rare warm evenings in San Francisco, the kind that comes after an unusually hot fall day. Bikes were locked to every available vertical fixture, including the saplings that lined the block and it seemed like everyone was up for a long night of fun even though it was a Tuesday.

At least we had a table by the big open window so we could watch the crowd out on the sidewalk. I noticed a couple at the curb and gave Suzy a nudge. He was lanky with a mass of dirty blond curls, leaning against the crossbar of his bike with his back to us. She was tall, with arching brows, dark eyes, and a strong jaw; a serious face softened by full, friendly-looking lips and an easy smile. I watched her over his shoulder, her gaze moving to his mouth, then back up with a laugh, a pink tongue wetting her lips. She held her bike in front of her as if she were leaving.

As we watched, he moved a hand onto the seat of the girl’s bike, looked down at it where it now rested, seemingly the result of an unconscious gesture, and then very slowly he traced the length of the crotch-polished leather with his index finger, from back to front, then back again. I saw her suppress a squirm and take in a quick breath, her lips slightly parted, and a blush rose to her cheeks as she laughed.

“Smooth,” Suzy said appreciatively, tucking a strand of unruly blond hair back behind an ear as she leaned over her beer. Her greased-stained hands cradled her face. Suzy was an artist who’d gotten her start bringing her kinetic sculpture to Burning Man and now had several solo gallery shows in the city under her belt. She was also a mechanic at one of the most popular and hip bike shops in the city, five blocks up the street. “Bikes are sexy, no doubt.” she said.

“Yeah, why is that?” I asked her.

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’ve thought bikes were hot ever since I was 14 and inherited my older sister’s with a seat that was a bit to high for me – I came all over that thing. Rode it so much my cunt ached all time. I didn’t adjust the seat though!”

“Came?” I asked. “You mean came? I thought that was a myth – that girls could come from riding bikes.”

“Oh no, it’s true.” She smirked into her glass and leaned back into her chair.

Small and looking younger than her mid thirties, Suzy was one of those women who would get carded until they went gray. She looked particularly cute when she talked about sex, a favorite topic of conversation. Her peaches and cream complexion and small body gave her a girlish innocence, an impression that she love to subvert with a pornographic vocabulary.

“I can’t believe you never told me about that! It explains a lot – like your job.” I gestured to her grease stained hands. “Do you still come riding bikes?”

“Sometimes.” She hesitated for a beat and then leaned across the table with an impish look. “Let’s go to my place, I want to show you something. You’ll like it.”

Suzy dated mostly girls, but she’d occasionally requested my friendly cock when she’d had a craving and I had happily come along for the ride. I wondered if a fuck was on the menu for tonight? There was a hopeful stirring in my jeans. I knew she knew exactly what I was wishing for but she refused to tell me anything more about what she had in mind. I drained my glass in a couple large gulps which gave her the giggles. Was it nervous anticipation? That wasn’t like her and made me even more curious.

Her place was three blocks away, an old carriage house hidden behind a larger place that might have been a church once. She let me in and flicked on a floor lamp. The bottom floor was her studio, a sprawling workshop filled with a small kitchen set up in the near corner. Her bedroom was on the upper floor and so I turned towards the stairs.

“Uh-uh, over here.” Taking my hand she led me across the shadowy room, around bins of salvaged metal parts glinting in the dim light, unidentifiable old machines strewn across the scarred hardwood floor and half completed sculptures that looked like relics from a forgotten and mysterious civilization. In the far corner a space had been cleared away and a semicircle of mismatched chairs had been drawn up around a stained canvas tarp covering a bike-like form.

“This is my latest. I just finished it,” pulling off the tarp she revealed what used to be a bike but was now something much more and I heard myself gasp and a jolt of excitement slapped me in the crotch.

I took a few steps back. “Shit! It’s amazing! It’s beautiful Suzy!”

The thick, shiny, black tubes of the frame and the sweeping chrome of the handlebars gave the thing the appearance of a beach cruiser pimped out by a vampire, but this bike wasn’t meant for riding the roads of Transylvania. Instead of holding a wheel, the front fork swept down to support the frame with a serpentine curl on the floor. Delicate gold and white pin striping flowed across the dark armature, and the words “Boink Bikes Ltd.” decorated the crossbar.

Like the front, the back of the bike frame was held off the floor by arching steel struts and a large, heavy looking silver disk took the place of the rear wheel. “That’s the flywheel,” Suzie pointed out. “And see here? This is where the magic happens.” She pointed to where a second chain ran from the flywheel up to an dense assembly of clockwork under the seat.

The seat itself was sleek triangle of black leather and with a horn that curved upwards to cup the rider’s crotch. “I think I get it, but that bit doesn’t look very comfortable.” I pointed to a three inch rod of chromed steel poking up through a hole in the middle of the seat. Suzy pressed a thick red rubber dildo down onto the rod, reached down to give the pedals a quick spin with her hand until the flywheel was turning, and then flicked a lever on the handlebars. The machinery under the seat started a rhythmic whir and the dildo writhed and vibrated like a sea cucumber having an epileptic seizure. The mental image of Suzy mounting this thing and pedaling herself towards a quaking orgasm flashed across my mind’s eye and I grinned into her face. “Whoa!”

“Take a seat.” She motioned to the sagging velour armchair behind me. I gave her an encouraging look and  flopped down for a front row seat at what I was guessing would be a personal demonstration.

“Ok, I’m feeling shy now, but fuck it. I’m going to just pretend you’re not here for a minute.” She turned her back, pulled off her tank top, kicked off a tangled wad of jeans and panties and took a deep breath. “Ok. Now some lube just to get things started.” She squeezed a few drops into her palm and stroked the red dildo to a glossy, slippery shine. I stirred in my seat, my cock now poking up under the waistband of my pants asking for similar treatment.

Suzy threw a leg over the crossbar and stepped up onto the pedals which I noticed were wrapped in padded leather. She reached back, holding the dildo in position and slowly lowered her herself down onto the seat. She grasped the handlebars, closed her eyes, and began to pedal. The heavy silver flywheel was spinning with a heavy whir now and I saw her slowly thumb the lever upwards. The clockwork under the seat shuddered rhythmically and Suzy with it. “Oh yeah.” she groaned and threw back her head, mouth open in a sigh of pleasure.

She turned towards me now and took account of my situation with a laugh. “Watch this.” Lights flickered on from somewhere in the frame, bathing her shiny face and swaying breasts in a pulsing red glow. “Feel free to pay homage to my creation,” she said, and she nodded in the general direction of my crotch.

I pulled off my shirt, wriggled my jeans down around my ankles and gave my rigid cock a liberal squirt from her bottle of lube. It was time to take in a full account of this pedal-powered, erotic spectacle. Suzy had found her cadence and looked utterly transported, eyes closed, her hair sticking to her face and shoulders as she pedaled and moaned louder and louder. I stroked my slippery cock to the rhythm of her machine, watching pleasure sweep across her face, my balls tight with anticipation. She thumbed the lever higher, the red lights pulsed faster, and her head dropped between her shoulders. “Oh God, oh God, oh yesss!” Her voice was husky and tight and I knew she was close. I stroked myself faster, knowing I couldn’t take much more either.

Her knuckles where white where she gripped the handlebars, her eyes were tight shut and her lips pulled back over her teeth as she gasped for breath. Then suddenly her face softened in a spasm of slack-jawed pleasure and she yelled out and bucked on the seat as she came and came. I had a second to take it all in before a final tug on my cock blinded me with an orgasm. It was as though a sex bomb lobbed from some distant canon had detonated in my head and I felt hot cum splash on my shoulder and neck as my body jackknifed and shuddered.

Suzy had disengaged the drive and draped her sweaty body over the handlebars, no longer pedaling as the flywheel still whirring behind her. She slowly stood up from seat and let the wet dildo flop out of her, got of the bike, wobbled over and collapsed into the chair next to me. “Oh my God. It made it even better having an audience.”

“Always happy to help” I mumbled. “When are you going to make something like that for guys?”

She looked me over with sex glazed eyes, from where my pants were gathered around my ankles to the streamers of semen decorating my chest. “I think I already did” she smirked and tossed me a greasy shop rag.

Photo courtesy of Lady Grinning Soul

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #23? Start with the rules, check out the schedule and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Erotic asphyxiation: treatments of kink in therapy and the media - Kink and BDSM practitioners often come to an enhanced understanding of their own desires through the emphasis on personal boundaries and communicative consent which arises from a responsible approach to power and pain play.

Mirror, mirror – I found myself back there again, perched on the edge of the white expanse, spreading myself shamelessly in front of the glass

Worry – I’ve been thinking about rape culture more than ever before. On the outside, much of K’s and my play looks like sexual abuse. It’s not, because consent is always central.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

gender and misogyny: responsibility and erotic writing – I spent a good portion of my adult life being gender fluid myself …, and have partnered with several gender fluid folks as a top. Creating representation of us and our eroticism feels so vital to me, so important.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Help End the Backlog - Speaking out works. Taking action works. Silence doesn’t. Politicians on every level need to hear your voice saying “this is unacceptable”. 76%. 3/4. That’s how many rapists get away with it on a national level.

See also: Pleasurists #111 and #112 for all your sex toy review needs

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Erotic Writing
A Tryst By The Car
Compliant
Fantasy: Brand New Day
First-Time Sex: How I Lost My Virginity
Happy New Year
Hysteria
Indiscretions Vol. 1: Caught And Wild Chlid
Like Mother, Like Daughter (part two)
Loving her, Mounting her, Owning her
Merry Christmas Baby
O/One
Should Have
The Starlet
Undiscovered
Wax Off
Whenever I’m Alone With You
Yeeees. Date Night

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships
Breaking Up, Polyamory Style
Computer Sex
Douchebagopolis – When Communication Fails At A Swinger Party
Epiphora’s best and worst sex toys of 2010
Good Head
Hormones & Biological Clock Ticking
Lockets, Sins and Ink
Off My Chest
Swing Shift Volume 39- One and Only
Semi-Rant Part Two

Kink & Fetish
Barely Cooking Christmas Party
Camp Smack That Ass!
Fucked in bondage
Fucking bitch
How He Does It
Master’s Good Medicine
Paddled and Fucked
Parodies and Pizza Boys
Photographer
School Girl Night
shes and me…
You Know It Was Good When…

She has spent the day in front of a vast green screen, acting against imaginary costars who had yet to sign on to the sequel to last summer’s blockbuster, and then had come home exhausted to a vast and empty house. She wonders if maybe she should get one of those small, fuzzy dogs that she sees other starlets carrying around in handbags, or a boyfriend to replace the one who’d left last month. “Fuck that” she thinks.

As her soapy hands find their way across her small, tired body, her hands linger between her legs. She peers out across the white expanse of her cavernous bathroom, out through the open door, into her bedroom to the nightstand next to her bed where she keeps a vibrator. It was given to her by a boyfriend last year. She’d gotten rid of the boyfriend but kept the vibrator. She sees the stack of magazines on top of the nightstand, each one with her face on the cover. She’s been spending a lot of time paging through them, looking for signs of decline. The last time she’d used that vibrator, she’d thought about the men all around the world who’d jerked off looking at the perfectly Photoshopped pictures of her in those magazines, all the hard cocks of faceless men pumping out hot come just for her. She remembers how she felt afterwards.

“Fuck that shit!” She says it aloud this time, and in a cockney accent she’d perfected when she was 14 after seeing “My Fair Lady”. The accent had driven her family, and later her boyfriends, crazy.

She rolls a small, dark nipple between her fingers as she opens her legs to the rain-soft shower spray. “This is just not going to do it for me,” she thinks, and wishes she had a massaging detachable shower head like the one in the bathroom when she was a teenager. She squats down close to the marble tile and presses her fingers between her shaved pussy lips (she never can bring herself to get waxed) and finds the tip of her clit. Her fingers gently trail down her cleft, then further, finding her asshole.

She sighs, closes her eyes and sits back onto the floor of the shower, pressing a manacured fingertip into her ass and rubbing her clit in earnest now. She pushes away the image of all those hard cocks lighting up a map of the world with little pulsing red lights. Another image, real this time, of her publicist laughing as she tossed her a ziplock containing underwear a fan had mailed in: tighty-whiteys decorated with a come stain and a small, cloth name tag meticulously whipstitched to the waistband. Now she sees a crowd of fans, young men, leaning out over a red velvet rope to get her picture, to get her autograph, wanting so badly to touch her.

“No.” She doesn’t want to think about those things anymore. She opens her eyes and looks down, taking account of her taught belly and slim hips with the stretch marks that they always retouch in all her pictures. There’s her birthmark, the size of a quarter high on the inside of her left thigh, another frequent victim of Photoshop. Her high school boyfriend had always stopped and kissed it before he “ate her out”. Once, he had given her a matching hickey on the inside of her other thigh. The scar above her left knee is from falling off her horse when she was 16.

Her pussy is demanding her full attention now, and she rolls onto her back, pulling her knees up to her chest. The warm spray splashes down onto her open body and she plunges her fingers inside herself, then rubs her clit furiously and stretches out on the slippery marble, her back arching, legs clamped tightly together, hearing nothing but her own voice, lost to the throbbing between her legs.

She gets to her feet slowly, feeling where her bones had pressed into the stone. “That’s better! Nothin’ like a wank to cure what ails ya!” she says in her cockney.

Later, after she’d finished showering, she threw the stack of magazines on her nightstand into the trash.

1)
My cock, a buffoon’s
dowsing rod,
dipping towards your source.

2)
Ragged-eared tomcat
mewing for
wet pussy dinner.

A standard 5-7-5 syllable haiku:

Black lashes so long
they brush my chest ten feet down
the cafe counter.

That said, whenever I go to a strip club (which is probably about once a year), I always leave wishing for a very different sort of experience, and last night’s adventure was no exception. I’d like something less expensive for one thing. It cost us $30 to get in the door as a couple and beers were $7.50 each. I always tip the dancers generously and don’t mind spending good money on dances, but I resent getting gouged by the house. Also I’d like a more artsy, creative, performance oriented club: less guido, more Burning Man, not so damn generic, with good music and DJs. Something like The Blue Angel Cabaret in NYC: http://www.alicubi.com/nycrfd/nycrfd_06.html. Why can’t there be a club like Blue Angel here in San Francisco? Last month G and I went to a burlesque show at a bar in the Mission. That was cheap and really fun, but NOT very sexy I’m sorry to say. I want a place that fills that wide void between burleque and strip club. I think it would a big hit in SF. I’d open it myself if I knew anything about running a club.

HNT courtesy of Neptune Blue

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #12? Start with the rules, check out the schedule in the site’s sidebar and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Sometimes poly IS hard – The difficulties one faces in managing healthy interpersonal relationships, and the skills one employs in overcoming those difficulties, are the same whether you are monogamous or poly or something in between.

Artist and Model – I’m drawing her furiously along with everyone else in the class. I know her name is Janice because a long time ago we’d been acquaintances, then lovers for a night, and then I didn’t see or hear from her again.

His Boots – He’s my fix. I’m his addiction. Maybe we’re just each other’s junkies? I can never tell when i’m close enough to breathe him in I cease to care about anything else.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

I need a new highway….

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

Nerds are NOT this season’s must-have accessory - Being a nerd doesn’t mean you grew up unpopular and tormented, that you have a high-paying job, that you like Star Trek, that you’re socially awkward, that you never exercise, that you run Linux on your computer, that you’re highly educated, that you have low self esteem, or that you have trouble getting dates.

See also: Pleasurists #71 for all your sex toy review needs.

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read morr” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Kink & Fetish

31 orgasms, and that is just the foreplay
BDSM — Am I Abused?
Being Watched
Being a disappointment makes me feel like shit
Games I play with girls
“I want to be your whore”
Money in M/s
Scrabble the Jade Way
Sexualising ‘Sir’
Somehow

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Another Menage a Trois of Power
Confronting the bigots
porn, like sex work, defies easy generalisations
Thoughts on Owning my Butch Cock (Part 1)

Erotic Writing

A Dirty Girl with Needs
Blood Tint ~ Part 7
Dream on Part 2
His Birthday ~ Her Surprise!!
His Need part two
Hot and Wet
I Kissed a Girl…Deuxième Partie
It’s the simple things
It has been awhile…
Microfantasy Monday, week 72: the edge
Office Politics
Over the Weekend
sssgirls rock
Something Sexy. Confession #354
The Second Date
This photo…
The Haircut
Under 500: The Hungarian
Winner Takes All?
Wicked Wednesday: High Art

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

A Femme Crip Rant
Controlling Emotions
Consequences
Come on
Do You Suffer from Opportunistic Boyfriend Syndrome?
Eating Her Out
Essure to take off the Pressure
Hair
Letting Go
Life of a Sex Toy Addict
Naming the boy, Blue Balls
Transtastic: On Being Into Queer Women

Click through for the uncropped version.

Movable Feast: charcoal, 5.5" x 8.5"

I know her name is Janice because a long time ago we’d been acquaintances, then lovers for a night, and then I didn’t see or hear from her again. At the time a mutual friend told me that she’d left to become part of an “intentional community” in South Carolina. Someone else said she’d gone back to New Zealand. I’ve thought about her a lot since then always assuming I’d never see her again, but here she is in San Francisco, 3000 miles away from Northampton, Massachusetts, seven years later, lying naked in front of me.

It’s as though she’d materialized out of thin air and her entrance into the studio was almost as sudden. Only forty minutes ago, Rob, our instructor, had wearily announced that the model had called and was running late. Then Janice ran into the room fifteen minutes later. Instead of going into the bathroom to change into a robe as is the custom, she’d simply stripped off her clothes and hopped up onto the platform with an apologetic smile at Rob and started moving through a series of quick poses with barely a glance at us. I’d recognized her the instant she’d appeared in the black-curtained doorway and my heart had started hammering so hard I was worried that in the concentrated silence of the studio people would turn and stare at the sound coming from my chest.

Now she’s moved on to longer poses. I’ve been sitting five feet away from the chocolate softness of her right thigh for the last twenty minutes, trying to draw as my palms leave wrinkled blisters on my paper. I’m holding my pencil too tight, my head is buzzing like a hive of bees, and I feel warm and swollen as if warm honey is running down my spine and filling the crotch of my jeans. Visions of that night seven years ago run through my fevered mind in vivid loops.

There was a party on a summer night so warm and humid that it rubbed against the skin like a wet cat with a fever. It was a Friday get together at Vincent’s place, a forty-five minute drive into the countryside outside of Northampton, Massachusetts, and a particularly large crowd had shown up, filling the downstairs of his roomy Cape. Soon after I’d walked in, Tina, Vince’s excitable girlfriend, had cornered me in the kitchen and spent a long time telling to me about her latest idea for a documentary about some indie band that I’d never heard of. Gerry, who’d just finished his degree in Environmental Law at Yale, and a few of his buddies from his Ultimate Frisbee team held an aggressively jocular conversation around the refrigerator, guarding their stash of microbrew.

After enough of the sangria in the big stained stockpot that served as a punchbowl had disappeared, someone had put on a mix of old funky favorites and people started dancing. I was drunk enough to get over my usual shyness but not enough to totally embarrass myself, at least not more than anyone else that night. We danced in place on the shag carpet of the dim room, shuffling around and bumping hips with whomever was beside us, grinning at each other with open, purple mouths. Feeling my buzz, I’d playfully hip-checked the girl to my right a couple times before turning to look at her. I almost wished I hadn’t.

It was Janice and she looked so beautiful I’d felt self-conscious then in spite of my buzz. Her unruly hair, her white tank top glowing against her dark skin, the small, black star tattoo on her shoulder, and the cargo pants riding low on her slim, snaky waist made her look tough in a commando sort of way. She was barefoot though and she smiled up into my face, her full mouth stained with wine, and I was overcome with foolish abandon. I took her fingers in my swampy palm and gave her a spin, but instead of coming all the way back around she only went around halfway and then pulled my arm down across her body as she ground her ass back into me.

Like other overly self-restrained people, I have a tendency to go over the top in moments of abandon and then feel awkward about it, act strangely and just generally fuck up whatever good thing might be happening to me. This was one of those rare moments when I felt like I might avoid acting like an dork. She looked over her shoulder mischievously, threw her head back on my shoulder and reached up to cup the side of my face, her grin turning to an exaggerated sexy pout. We were dancing together now, her small body moving sinuously around me. I laughed in her ear trying to let her know I wasn’t taking any of this too seriously even though the warm swelling in my crotch was giving me away.

As the song began it’s repetitive loop and fade out, she turned to me with the rim of her empty clear plastic cup gimbaled between her thumb and forefinger, pinkie held high and cocked an eyebrow towards the kitchen. I followed her, side slipping through the sweaty bodies packed in and around the Ikea furniture, towards the florescent glow of the kitchen doorway.

I knew Janice through a friend of Gerry’s. We’d been to at a lot of the same parties that year and there’d been more than a few times when I’d searched her out across a dim room only to find her looking at me and we’d locked eyes for a few breathless seconds. I had no interest in joining the flock of hopeful men who always seem to be in orbit around her though, so I’d intentionally kept my distance. I’d always made a point of playing it cool around her, later indulging in fantasies that slicked my belly with cum.

She sloshed her cup around in the bottom of the stock pot. “Oh my god, it’s hot in here!” She waved her free hand in front of her glistening face.

“Let’s go out onto the deck and get some fresh air.” I suggested. It’s awkward and challenging trying to have a casual conversation with a woman who you’ve pictured riding you’re aching erection with wild abandon.

“Sure.” She turned and fumbled with the heavy sliding glass door and I followed her out into the warm, damp night air. She turned her back to the house and leaned out over the rail of the deck. I came up close enough beside her so our shoulders touched and we looked out at the long slots of light thrown out over the the dark lawn by the windows behind us.

“How’ve you been?” I asked. “I haven’t seen you for a while.”

“Yeah, I’ve been really good,” she said. “I just got back here day before yesterday after being away for a while. I’m dealing with some culture shock and jet lag, but I’m good!” She cocked her head slightly and looked over at me with a smile that I imagined might suggest something more than just commiseration over the difficulties of travel.

I was nervous in spite of the red wine sloshing around in my head and my mind went blank for a long second. She must have recognized my panicked expression because she said, softly “Don’t worry, you don’t have to make conversation.” It was an assurance not a dismissal, but I felt embarrassed non-the-less and grinned sheepishly.

“Thanks, sorry, I’m just a little drunk.”

“Obviously not drunk enough” I thought to myself. Out loud I said “So, where were was it that you just got back from?”

“I was in New Zealand mostly, but went to Australia too – also spent a few weeks in Bali and then Thailand.”

“Cool. Did you travel alone?” The music was muffled but still loud and I found myself raising my voice more than I wanted to.

“Yeah, but I have a friend in New Zealand so I was able to stay with her.” She smiled without looking at me.

“Cool.” I felt encouraged by the lack of reference to a boyfriend or even a male friend which usually amounts to the same thing, at least I guessed that it did in Janice’s world. “Are you back living in town?” I’d been to one party she’d hosted in small, hot apartment above the Korean restaurant on Main Street, and could still picture her taking a drag on a joint and pressing her lips to Gerry’s as he’d inhaled the smoke from her open mouth. I remembered being surprised by feeling like I’d just been punched in the gut.

“No, that place was a sublet. I’m looking if you know of anything.”

“I can’t think of anything right now, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground.”

I watched her pick at the flaking wood of the rail. “Where are you living in the meantime?” I asked.

“Come on, I’ll show you” and grabbed my wrist and led me down the wooden steps and across the grass to the thin line of trees at the edge of the lawn, through a narrow break in the underbrush and into the meadow beyond.

“Ok – what, you’re sleeping in the woods?”

“‘I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately.’ You read Walden Pond?”

“In high school I think.”

“Well, it’s kinda like that. You’ll see – come on.”

I followed her through the waist-high grass. The air was still and close, distant sounds deadened in the humidity. My heart was hammering in my ears, a heady mixture of euphoria and nerves. I decided not to make conversation, try and relax, and enjoy whatever might happen. She silently laced her fingers into mine and led me, weak-kneed, up and over a little rise in the meadow.

Hands are really hard to draw and I struggle to capture the delicate way Janice’s right hand rests on her collarbone. Her skin is moistening under the hot lights, seeming to darken and deepen like oiled wood. I take a deep breath, turn the page of my sketchpad, look up and take in all of her at once. She lies on her back, her right arm sprawled over her head, left arm folded against her small, soft breasts, legs bent at the knees, her right leg crossed over the left. The dark mound between her legs is in deep shadow, the floor lamp throws an orange glow across her right hip. I lick my dry lips, wipe my damp palms on my jeans and try to focus.

We stumbled through the damp grass down towards a large pond, its surface still like black oil. I could make out few trees marking the far shore like dark clouds on the near horizon. Bullfrogs grunted in the shallows nearby. In front of the pond stood what could only be a tepee – a tall white cone of canvass glowing dimly in the darkness ahead.

“A tepee!? Really?!”

“I know – like something from a hippie commune, right? It’s actually really nice inside,” She met my enthusiasm with a big smile. “Vince’s letting me stay here until I find something.”

“Can you swim in there?” I asked, nodding towards the pond.

“Sure, want to?”

“Yeah, I feel pretty hot and sweaty still.” I’ve never been overly shy about being naked in front of strangers, at least when it’s for recreational purposes, and I figured that considering the direction that things were going I should be brave and take a risk.

I kicked off my sandals, took off my t-shirt, and then pulled down my jeans and underwear as a unit and kicked them aside. Janice stood there looking at me, a startled expression on her face.

My scalp prickled in fear and shame. Maybe I’d assumed too much and now I was a drunk, skinny, naked guy standing there in front of a beautiful woman who would keep her clothes on and be forced to say something kind but discouraging.

“Gotcha!” and she clapped her hands, and laughing madly at my panicked expression.

“I’m sorry, but your face was really too funny!” and with that she pulled off her tank top and stepped out of those cargo pants. There was no sign of underwear.

She looked so much smaller and vulnerable out of her clothes, somehow more girlish than I’d imagined. Her breasts were small, shadowy fruit in the night, her nipples black punctuation marks. The darkness clung to her narrow waist and flowed down to the diffuse softness between her legs.

“Come on, what are you waiting for?” She hooted and ran into the water up to her waist and then knifed under the black surface.

I answered with a yelp of relief and sloshed in after her. The water was almost as warm as the air and velvety on my skin. Ducking under I swam towards her, opening my eyes in the inky blackness hoping to find a foot to grab in retribution. I couldn’t see a thing but came up right beside her eliciting a squeal.

“Hey.” she’d whispered softly and then with shy smiles we kissed, lightly at first and then urgently, drawing in deep sighs and gasps of each other’s wine-tainted breath. We treaded water, our mouths locking and parting as our heads bobbed unsteadily to the rhythms of our paddling hands and feet.

We crawled up the muddy bank and stood on the low wooden tent platform that jutted out in front of the tepee, our lips, tongues and damp bodies pressed together in deep kisses, my hard cock sandwiched between our bellies. Her full bush of pubic hair pressed against my thigh, course and warm. I let my fingers settle in the soft hollows behind her jaw as she fucked my face with the hard tip of her tongue.

We broke away, breathless, and she turned away and flipped open the flap of the tepee “Come on!” she coughed, trying to clear the huskiness from her voice. I followed her as she stooped to enter the low opening, restraining myself from reaching for the curves of her ass and the dark cleft between. My heart hammered in my ears as I straightened up in the hot, pitch-black space.

“Just a minute.” She put a warm palm against my chest and then disappeared into the darkness. There were some rustling, fumbling sounds, and then a match flared as she bent and lit a couple of small candles in sooty glasses. There was a futon decorated with a rumpled sleeping bag. A few thick books were scattered on the low table next to the bed and a large faded green duffel bag had been pushed up at its head to make a kind of headboard.

I hesitated for a moment, not awkwardly, but just to take in all of her total nakedness. Her skin was still damp and looked velvety in the buttery tongue of the candlelight. I stepped forward and cupped her small face in my hands as I kissed her. I wanted to put my mouth all over her, to lick, taste, suck and smell every succulent part of her, every part that I’d imagined and hungered for. Her soft open mouth pressed into mine again and again. I sucked each of her full lips into my mouth in turn and bit them gently as I reached down to cup her small breasts in my shaking fingers. She groaned and pulled me down onto the futon on top of her.

She gets to her feet for a standing pose, a contrapposto, hand on her cocked hip, turning her head to the left looking out over my side of the room. I want her to look at me now, recognize me. I want to leap up and say something. My charcoal pencil starts to trace the contours of her face, lips bracketed by smile lines, glossy, arching eyebrows. I will her to glance down and see me.

I was on top of her, the length of my shaft ground against the course hair of her cunt and I ached to lift my hips and plunge myself into her. “No, not yet, wait.” she whispered, so I sat up and straddled her hips. She smiled up at me, biting her lower lip. She cupped my ass in her hands and pulled me up towards her mouth. I resisted for just a moment, leaning down to suckle her dark nipples. She arched her back and moaned but pulled me forward until I was over her shoulders. She craned her head up off the bed and gave my bobbing cock a quick, playful lick, taking the glistening clear drop clinging to the swollen head onto her tongue with a smack like licking a drop of honey from a fingertip. I chuckled, and she did it again, with an even more exaggerated smacking sound. I loved the the way she was playing with me, making me laugh. I felt relaxed but at the same time so turned on that my body was humming like a tuning fork pressed to a piano lid.

She stuck out her tongue and cupped my ass cheeks, pulling my purple head down to her open red mouth. My giggles dropped to a deep groan as she closed her full dark lips around the shaft and pulled all of me down her throat as I let out a startled gasp. She looked up at me, the corners of her eyes wrinkled in a smile. I reached back and without being able to see what I was doing, let my hand softly move between her thighs and down to her mound. I felt her spread her legs wide and her pussy opened under my fingers, a wet slippery cleft. I kept my touch soft as a blind man’s, gently brushing her hot wet folds with my fingertips until she lifted her hips to grind and crush her clit hard against my palm as I curled my fingers into her dripping cunt. My cock popped out of her mouth as she sighed and closed her eyes.

I was desperate to taste her so I turned around and knelt beside her, but she pulled my leg over her head so we were in the sixty-nine position with me on top, my ass in her face, my throbbing glans bobbing against her chin. I felt open and vulnerable and I shivered in excitement. “Please.” she gasped. I felt her hot breath on my balls, her hands clenching my ass cheeks.

Her pubic hair was damp and glistening in the paraffin light, her swollen labia full and slick and I pressed my face between her thighs to kiss her. The cumin-like smell of her wet pussy, mixed with the pond smell of damp grass and ferns was intoxicating and I lapped at the entire length of her slippery lips. She squirmed and moaned under me, her hands fumbling and tugging at my cock. I wanted to open her up like a ripe mango and slurp until her juice flowed down my chin, so I lifted her legs, pressing her thighs back against her chest, tucking her knees behind my arms. She was spread completely open below me then, pink and shiny as the mouth of a conch shell.

Swirling my tongue around her swollen clit, I explored her pussy with both my hands, dipping my fingers into her opening, then pulling back to gently brush the velvet skin of her ass cheeks and the inside of her thighs with glistening fingertips. I flicked at her hood with the tip of my tongue and then leaned in and fucked her with it, sticking my tongue out as far as I could, pressing it in deep enough to taste the vinegary tang inside her. Her hips shuddered under my mouth and her nails dug into the small of my back.

When my fingers found her ass, slippery with her own juice, she moaned around my shaft that was now deep in her mouth. Touching her in her there, her most sacred spot, and watching my finger disappear into that tight anemone of an orifice excited me so much I had to lift my hips to pull my cock out of her mouth for fear I might cum from the sight of it. Her hot ring of muscle grasped at each of my knuckles like a small, hungry animal.

“Oh yeah, that feels good. Fuck!” she moaned as I pumped my finger slowly in and out of her ass and nursed at her clit like a nipple. Her hands tugged at my throbbing rod, and then I felt her fingers pressing firmly into my perineum. Startled, I looked back down the space between our sweaty bodies and watched as a rivulet of clear pre-cum flowed from tip of my cock into her cupped fingertips. Again she pressed and then pulled her hand up my shaft like a teat, milking more pre-come onto her fingers. Then I felt her warm dripping fingers on my asshole. She was going to give as good as she was getting. “Yeah?” she asked.

“Ok!” I gasped. I’d imagined being inside her so many times but this was something new, far beyond my late-night fantasies. My body felt hungry for her in a way I’d never imagined and I wanted her inside me, filling up some empty space inside me that she’d only just discovered. I felt her finger press firmly and gently against my ass. I took a deep breath and felt her slip inside me, slick with my own juices. I brought my tongue back down on her clit and it seemed like out bodies were fused together, like we had completed a magical circuit, our lips sucking, tongues swirling, fingers fucking each other into one long, wriggling, orgiastic mass.

Her finger pressed deeper and I felt like I was going to pee and cum at the same time. She gently rubbed me deep inside and sucked my shaft deep into the back of her throat. Pressing my face deeper into her slick flesh, I swirled my tongue around and around her swollen clit and then I heard myself moan into her as I began to cum, involuntarily thrusting back back and forth between her finger in my ass and her sucking mouth. I felt her gulp at my cock as she ravenously drank down every drop of cum. And then, still holding me tightly in her mouth, she began to cum, her ass grabbing my finger in fluttering spasms. Her thighs came together and squeezed the sides of my head. I could hear her gasp and roar through the jaws of that fleshy vice and her hands and mouth tugged at my still hard cock in a violent flurry of hunger and release.

We rolled off each other and lay there hot and wet, breathing in the smell of candle wax and sex, and the humid summer air.

I think I remember the first words I murmured with my rubbery tongue and silly grin were “I really like your tepee.”

Now I glance up from my drawing pad and she’s looking at me. A smile pulls at the corners of her hungry mouth and I smile back up at her, my scalp prickles with nervous excitement. The timer at her feet starts chirping insistently, signaling a ten-minute break. She steps off the far side of dais and pulls on her shorts and tanktop, turns and walks towards me. I stand up, awkwardly straddling the bench. She looks so much like she did that night: her bare shoulders, the way her hair frames her face.

But her shoulders are bare and I’m not seeing that small, black star tattoo – there’s no sign of it at all! My elation crumbles into dizzy confusion.

“Hi,” she says, “do I know you from somewhere?”

“I don’t know, but you just look like someone I used to know. Did you used to live in Northampton? In Massachusetts?”

“Nope, I’m from the East Bay.”

“No, I don’t think we’ve met.” I clear my throat. ” I’m Oliver.”

When you look at me
You steal my skin, revealing
Complicated flesh.

My cock and your cunt
Fueling salty fusion
Dark orbits quicken.

I love sixty-nine
Tongues finding the slippery truth:
Ying-yang is yummy!