come up from between her thighs and unzip your jeans…

“Would you like to kiss me, Lila? It might help you to decide if you like this or not.” 

Lila licks her lips, so I close my eyes and wait for her to come to me. In the next room I can hear the printer punching my words onto paper, as she presses her thin, champagne-cool lips to mine. Everything about her feels thin: arms, legs, neck, the fleeting kiss, which has no flavour, no taste – just a pressing of slender flesh. I open my eyes and we both retreat from each other, but not completely. I can sense you holding your breath in the next room, as she and I take another sip then lean in to fold our lips into each other, this time with more courage. I lick her upper lip then pull back. With the next kiss I let my tongue enter her mouth slowly and subtly hooking around hers. My free hand slides under the shimmering gold of her skirt, gliding along towards her pubic bone, to discover the white tank top which hugs her slim torso is a one-piece suit that unclips at the bottom of her crotch. Nor is she wearing a bra, causing her erect nipples to struggle against the taut fabric. 

I let her lead the kissing, offering my mouth to be explored at her pace, making sure the experience doesn’t feel urgent, just like my fingers which glide up and down her crotch, in slow and gentle strokes that are more like soft patting than fingering. She pulls back when she hears you come back into the room, and I hold her in my gaze. She doesn’t close her legs, letting me push her gently into the corner of the sofa, while I rub my hand against her clit. I take another sip of the champagne and spray the cool fizz into her mouth. She closes her eyes and lets me work on her body, while you sit down in the grey armchair and put the freshly printed story that I wrote about us on the side table, never to be read out loud to anyone. 

You adjust the uncomfortable hardness in your jeans, as I press my palm into her sex, like it’s the only thing I ever want to touch. 

“Lila, are you ok?” you ask and stroke her hand gently because it’s important to make her feel safe. To make her think all the sensual caresses are about her. Her underwear is soaked, as I unclip the buttons of the body suit. My fingers dive deeper, separating the soft lips and rubbing the wetness into all her folds, firmly but not hard enough to give her what she wants or needs. Lila, now lost in the moment, groans, and tilts her head backwards making her long brown hair sweep over her chest and shoulders, exposing her swan-like neck. I come up to lick it, while stretching out my hand to pass you my champagne flute, now hindering my actions. You kneel on the floor in front of the sofa, as I gently spread her legs. 

“Is it ok if Damien licks your divine femininity?” I ask, mimicking the dainty language of her online posts, but also wrapping her in a cocoon of familiarity. She nods and you pull her hips closer to the sofa’s edge. You lick her for a while and she immerses herself in the tingling, euphoric sensation building around her clitoris. I pull her top down to free large coffee-coloured nipples; you come up from between her thighs and unzip your jeans. 

The lights of the harbour and the bridge that moves the city around are streaming into the room through the naked floor to ceiling windows. Were anyone to look through binoculars from the buildings across the dark water, they would make out three shapes immersed in tantalising foreplay. Lights are flickering over the black horizon, as if it was a mirror ball; ‘mirror ball’, coincidently, is our safe word, but we won’t need it tonight, because tonight is all about mellow fucking of someone new. There won’t be roughness, broken ear drums, black eyes, golden showers, forced penetrations, a belt around the throat until someone passes out. 

“May I?” you ask, and she whimpers as you push your cock inside her. Her cunt juices glisten on your mouth and chin, and her legs dangle over your shoulders as I pinch her nipples, and watch you push yourself in and out, groaning heavily with every breath. I can tell you’re working hard not to sound too hoarse, not to startle her out of the trance. Your hands hold her slim buttocks in place for a few more pumps, but then you pull out, and I make her follow me down to the floor as you rise up. 

“Shall we both lick him?” I ask, pretending I need her permission to put your cock in my mouth, even though I’ve had it there as many times as there’re stars outside. I let her take you into her mouth first, keeping my fingers on her clit, watching her bob up and down over your thick erection. She’s not sucking vigorously enough, but I don’t ask her to change pace, because you’re rock hard as you massage the back of our heads and alternate between our mouths. 

“Stop Lila – or you’ll make him come too early.” 

I pull her, now intoxicated, into the bedroom, where the lights throw a soft glow onto the bed that you sleep in with your wife. Here the dimmed lights are warm orange, good for blurring the details of our bodies and the snow-white covers enveloping a light doona. I see our reflection in the gilt mirror that rests on the floor, as she and I strip off our clothes and slide onto the bed. I can hear you collecting the glasses in the lounge, which I know you will refill and bring into the bedroom, but not before giving me enough time with her first. Time with her breasts, two flat formations of white flesh with nipples sticking out like the mouthpieces of blow-up mattresses, narrow hips and a bare pubic bone. A flawless body, with no freckles, no scars, no skin tags, unmarked by life’s experiences. 

“Would you like to explore my body?” I ask and bring her hands to my breasts, which she cups, curious about ones that have had milk in them. My body couldn’t be more different to hers. Every part is round, full and warm. All of my deepest, softest crevices that have been owned by your mouth, tongue, hands, cock, Lila now explores with her cold, slim hands. You come into the room and sit next to her on the bed to hold her in your lap as I go down between her legs. It’s my turn to lick her senseless. As you caress her lips with your fingers, I drive my tongue into her and suck hard. I spit loudly onto her clit then suck it all back up, making her wail and clutch to you. It’s pleasure and pain, over and over as I bite and lick, eventually asking her to turn over onto all fours. The mirror on the wardrobe door reflects her arse curving upwards on the edge of the bed, time for you to lower your jeans down to your knees, grip her hips in your hands and take her from behind. 

I jump off the bed and go to my handbag in the kitchen to retrieve a tube of lube. 

“Do you like anal?” I whisper into her ear when I get back. 

“I’ve never done that,” she whimpers, nearly crying, but not asking for it to stop. 

“It’s ok, you don’t have to. I’ll just rub it in with my fingers. You will like it, I promise.” 

I rub the lubricant into the hole that reminds me of her mouth, which isn’t occupied by your cock, then reach underneath her stomach to work on her clit, feeling the shaft of your cock going in and out of her tight cunt. With all her holes pleasured at the same time, she moans loudly throwing her head back: she’s about to erupt. I rise onto my knees to reach your mouth. We don’t kiss, just let our tongues entangle and lick with a hungry wanting that can never be sated. I know you won’t hold off much longer, so I pull my fingers away from your cock and rub her clit and arsehole vigorously. You groan heavily and she screams as you pump deep into her, but you don’t cum, because you know you must save it for me… because we’re here to hurt each other, to see who will crack first. 

After her final yelps, I push Lila away and make you lie in the middle of the bed, which you do while cradling her in one arm. I take your cock into my mouth, hard and deep just the way you like it. I moan loudly as my diligent licking cleans her off your long shaft, round tip, vulnerable slit, tight balls. You kiss her mouth gently to keep her occupied, while rising up and down, oozing precum into my mouth. I sit on top, hugging you with my thighs. You put your free hand on my hip. I guide your cock into me through my dark forest of curls, where it fits perfectly, the same way my cheek fits your face. Resting my hands on your shoulders, I start to rock up and down with my eyes closed. 

I sense Lila’s watching us anxiously, her breath quickened, her post-orgasm bliss not enough to distract her from what she’s seeing. But I don’t care about that now. I reach down and squeeze you, feeling your hard cock sliding in and out of my gushing cunt, remembering you’ve told me how much you love how my warm wetness sometimes squirts as far as your face. I scoop the juices now with my hands and spread them over your belly, reaching up to your chest, pinching your nipples so hard it makes you jolt. In this moment, I feel my body flood with the familiar tingling, an overwhelming sensation that travels from my cunt right down to every nerve in my fingertips. Our bodies are rapturously immersed in each other, but the shock is in the connection between your hand and my hip, where your palm is flush with my skin. 

It’s where the love hides. 

I open my eyes and let it happen, when I orgasm like I never do with anyone else. That you can bring me to this state, a rapture that only you own, breaks you too, and we howl in a moment that feels like an eternity, but lasts only seconds. Seconds during which nothing else matters. I fall onto your chest, where I lie, euphoric, motionless, with my face turned away from Lila, silently absorbing my pounding heart and pulsating insides, and your little spasms still emptying into me. With the intimacy away from her, a palpable unease seeps into the girl lying on the other side of you. It makes me glide down along your stomach to suck my juices and last drops of cum off your cock. I’m not doing it to pleasure you, I’m doing it to remove any trace of me, before leaving you and Lila on the bed, naked and exposed. 

Joanna Maidment – The Stranger In Me 

you want to have lots of sex….

No matter how much sex there is in my books, it’s all relevant. “My characters don’t just bonk for bonking’s sake. I did consciously as part of the story want there to be lots of sex, because when you meet someone new, and you’re that attracted to them you want to have lots of sex. For the first sex scenes I ever wrote, I went all out. The second one was actually anal. And I wouldn’t change it for the world, although a part of me does think ‘I can’t believe I’ve written this. Somebody once emailed me and told me how many orgasms Ava had in ‘This Man’. Loads. 

Jodi Ellen Malpas – Interviewed by Zoë Apostolides 

discovering myself to be a poet

And I sat there in the afternoon, drinking bourbon, getting good and smashed, being completely open to the world in that temporary way like I was when I came to town and I was discovering myself to be a poet. I had my notebook open to all the light coming in. I’d have a thought and write it down. Most of the old guys in the bar were extremely friendly and kept telling me about how this neighbourhood used to be, and what a funny guy that one is, take a look at him, and then one yells our friend here would like another drink. What are you drinking, honey. Bourbon? Our friend the poet will have a bourbon. And everyone smiled at me. At that moment the whole city of New York was my congenial host, I was sipping drinks and happily looking out. 

 
What I saw through that diamond view was my future. Soon I would be living across the street, just a few doors down, for almost thirty years. I would see the bar change hands about three or four times, the front get painted green, then yellow. Never again, not once, did I ever step into that bar again. I would habitually gaze through the open doors — while I’m walking my dog, coming home from a party. The bar changed names. It always feels like she’s in there. Getting gloriously drunk in the afternoon. And I have to smile at her pleasure. Cause it’s new. 

Eileen Myles – Inferno 

Sex was a game or a weapon or an addiction

Love was something I would not have to worry about — the whole mystery of love, heartbreak songs, and family legends. Women who pined, men who went mad, people who forgot who they were and shamed themselves with need, wanting only to be loved by the one they loved. Love was a mystery. Love was a calamity. Love was a curse that had somehow skipped me, which was no doubt why I was so good at multiple-choice tests and memorizing poetry. Sex was the country I had been dragged into as an unwilling girl — sex, and the madness of the body. For all that it could terrify and confuse me, sex was something I had assimilated. Sex was a game or a weapon or an addiction. Sex was familiar. But love — love was another country. 

Dorothy Allison – Two or Three Things I Know for Sure 

The foreplay and the sex was electrifying

As a sexual being, I’ve known I was into restraint for a long time. If I could pinpoint the first moment, it would be when I was 20 and my first serious boyfriend, a blacksmith and blues singer, tied me up in the four-poster iron bed he’d designed and made himself. Two decades my senior, he made very effective use of those four bedposts. The foreplay and the sex was electrifying, and I suppose (however unconsciously) it was then I discovered that a little restraint in the sex-play magnified both the intensity of my orgasms and the number of them. 

Adrea Kore – Kore Desires 

feelings grew in intensity…

Her mother was late coming home, and she had nothing to do; her father had just gone out with a friend, and since there was nothing interesting on the TV, she began examining her own body, in the hope that she might find some unwanted hair which could immediately be tweezered out. To her surprise, she noticed a small gland above her vagina. She began touching it and found that she couldn’t stop; the feelings provoked were so strong and so pleasurable, and her whole body – particularly the part she was touching – became tense. After a while, she began to enter a kind of paradise, the feelings grew in intensity, until she noticed that she could no longer see or hear clearly, everything appeared to be tinged with yellow, and then she moaned with pleasure and had her first orgasm. Orgasm! It was like floating up to heaven and then parachuting slowly down to earth again. Her body was drenched in sweat, but she felt complete, fulfilled and full of energy. 

Paulo Coelho – Eleven Minutes 

we couldn’t stop writing

I wrote her, and she wrote me. I wrote on her body. All over her I wrote. I wrote into her mind, and she wrote into mine. She wrote me as much as I wrote her. We became a novel to each other. She turned into words and ideas, while I was complicated and hard to unravel. We were story and mystery; plot-twist and foreshadowing. With each new word and action we unveiled another detail. 
 
Gradually our back-stories were filled in; our motives explored; our hopes and fatal flaws described. She had pages and pages within her that turned into chapters and chapters, and I had secrets not revealed. We couldn’t stop reading and we couldn’t stop writing each other. Every day, we became our story once again. We were the novel being written in real time. 
 
And then new characters were introduced. New relationships were revealed. Secrets spilled out. Words were said. Our book accelerated toward its tragic climax. That was when the novel ended, without denouement. It sits on my bookshelf now, silently: A once-shared life, a good story, a memory. 

Anon – A Life in Three Paragraphs 

Sexual Ecstasy

When the sacredness of sexual union is felt, it is possible to experience your connection to the life force itself, the source of creation. This connection lifts your consciousness beyond the physical plane into a field of power and energy much greater than your own…Margo Anand – The Art of Sexual Ecstasy  

What We Buried

Don't you do that. 
Don't you look at what I had for you and call it weak. 
Not when you were the one afraid of it. 
I stood there with my hands open, 
my mouth bruised tender with supplication. 
Don't you dare treat me like a victim of my own emotions, 
like being moved to my knees by love 
was a mistake that I regret. 
I will go to my grave with the memory of the bravery in my bones. 

 Caitlyn Siehl - What We Buried 

forgotten memories

Most of the time, the universe speaks to us very quietly..in pockets of silence, in coincidences, in nature, in forgotten memories, in the shape of clouds, in moments of solitude, in small tugs at our hearts….Yumi Sakugawa