Visceral Lit











{August 10, 2007}   To Try Something New

I have always been, as I like to call it, a scientist. Always experimenting, there is very little I haven’t tried, at least once. I’ve said before, half-joking that there is in fact nothing I won’t try four times before I make up my mind about it.

I’m 31 years old, now and while my partnerships don’t number astronomically high (they really don’t even quite hit the stratosphere, I think) I have a fair number of diverse experiences under my belt. So imagine my surprise last week when I discovered something rather mundane that I had never experienced before.

Before last week, I had never had sex in a sleeping bag.

It’s not something I think I’ve ever given much thought to, but the night was cold and my lover and I opted to maneuver both our bodies inside one small, single bag. Skin against skin and breast to breast, our breathing quickly became laboured. Our chests pressed against one another and we giggled a bit as we tried to find a place for the four elbows which had suddenly become vastly inconvenient contrivances.

Before either of us knew it, he was growing hard between
my legs. Pressing upward, warming me from within. Our
limbs intertwined and we rolled, restrained and locked
together. Thrusts were necessarily short and became quick
and deep to compensate. The base of his cock slammed and
pressed against me and we both began to gleam with perspiration
which cooled almost instantly in the night air.

I tried to raise my legs to him, to wrap them around his and open
myself more fully to his urgent thrusts, but they were wrapped
tight, the bag twisted beneath us, enforcing our closeness. I
slid my hands down, over the slippery surface of his back and
grasped at his buttocks, using them as leverage as I forced my
body deeper into the bag, forced his body deeper into myself.

His body began to tremble and my pussy began to throb in answer. He whispered feverishly to me each sensation of his body, as we slid up and down one another’s forms, a layer of thin sweat the only thing which could fit between us.

My skin tingled and burned with the friction, the constant contact raising my pulse and exciting every inch of me. When I came, it was with my whole body and my whole body strained against the flannel and nylon, and against the body of my lover as his back struggled and strained to arch with his own orgasm.

We came together and it seems there was no other way it could have ended. Our bodies so firmly intertwined that every small ripple of muscle pushed and pulled against another. We were as one body, held together there as our breathing slowed. He dropped his head into the crook of my neck and I felt his heart pound against mine, slowing against our rib cages, perfectly in sync.



{July 16, 2007}   Pria’s New Toy pt. 2

I promised you all the full story of my newest toy. It’s a bit late in coming, I’ve been very bad about my updates lately but I hope you can forgive me when you hear just how the experiment went.

As my more faithful readers know, I had long fantasized about the opportunity to strap one on and have my way with a willing lover, to feel, if only as a pale simulation, the power and intensity of being the one who fucks rather than the one who is fucked.

That night I prepared in secret, a long shower and shave, paying attention to all my bits and peices. I made up the bed and loaded up my cock with batteries. I placed my favourite lube close at hand and with a sly and knowing smile. I led my lover into our bedroom.

It seemed appropriate that I take control of the situation, perhaps my now vibrating cock gave me that drive, dampening my essential submissiveness and bringing out a new Pria, a Pria who took control of her sex.

Slowly, my mouth entwined with his, I lowered my lover to the bed, running my hands over his body, a firm touch massaging and gripping at each opportunity. I ran my tongue seductively across his lips and smiled as his dick twitched and grew, standing just a bit further out from his thighs.

I slid into the harness as I took turns nibbling at each of his erect nipples, flickering my tongue down his chest while I slipped the thick end of the double dildo into me and turned the dial for a low level of vibration. The sensation spread through my body like a flash flood, drawing my head back and a surprised cry from my throat.

My lover grinned and grabbed behind my head, reasserting a masculine control as he drew his warming cock along my torso, watching my face as it struggled to regain the composure the sudden sensation had robbed from it. My thighs and abdomen trembled as his smooth, stiffening head brushed lightly against my lips.

My tongue approached slowly, lips parting over it not with reluctance but slowly still. Teasing, I drew back, my lower lip pulling away from my teeth, caught momentarily on the ridge at the top of his growing shaft. A hand adjusted the base of my new dick, pressing it against my clit, thrusting the penetrative end deeper inside me. This time I swallowed hard, blinking back my building lust and containing the urge to let this man take me.

aristotle and phyllis

Lube warmed in my hands as I spread it over the tapered head, down to the base and back up again. Gently I probed at his opening, curling my spine, catlike to flicker my tongue over his straining penis. He gasped and thrust to feel the vibrations against him and his ass opened up to penetration

.

Frantically I sucked at licked at what parts of his throbbing, thrusting member I could reach, gently guiding my cock further and further against his insistent grinding. His breaths were short and shallow and I took a moment to trail my tongue over his exposed throat, feeling the vibrations of his ecstatic moans. My hands were on his body, grasping and stroking. Palms pressed to his hips, I pulled him against me as he often pulled me against him, relishing the feeling of my own hipbones pressing into quivering thighs.

Suddenly he pulled away, grasping at his dick and stroking it furiously as he turned over and raised his hips to me invitingly. I pulled up to my knees and entered him again, this time from behind, reaching one arm around to grasp at his cock; to stroke it inversely with each thrust of my hips.

I flattened my other hand against his tailbone, the soft rise of his buttocks providing ample leverage. As I stroked the base of his cock, his own hand ran feverishly over the tip. His face rested, turned to one side against our pillows, pink cheeked, mouth slightly agape, eyes squeezed shut in a rictus of pure pleasure. The sound which escaped his throat teetered back and forth between gasps and moans as he slammed his ass against my hips, over and over again.

As my own pleasure built, egged on by the vibrations which filled my dripping cunt, my hands wandered, grasping at handfuls of him at a time, then wandering up my own abdomen to squeeze my breasts, tease the nipples, tickle my engorged clitoris and then return to his enormously erect penis.

When he came, I caught the spray in my palm, wave after wave of his pleasure filling my hand. I gently rubbed the tip, drawing out his orgasm as my other hand attacked my clit, inciting cries of lust from my throat.

Slowly I slid from him and collapsed on my back, my new toy standing straight out from my abdomen, rising and falling with my heaving breaths. I turned off the vibrations and turned to look at my lover. His face showed awe and his eyes sparkled. We kissed.



{June 2, 2007}   and a she makes three

I forgot how much firmer I was when I was young. Touching her now, I was surprised at the taut skin. Her breasts, full and round, rose to meet my hand and I sqeezed, gently testing the resistance. The skin yielded little but the woman’s lips parted, a flash of white teeth showing briefly between lips flushed and swollen with our kisses.

I was entranced by her face, spasms of pleasure distorting her smooth features as our partner’s mouth lightly fluttered over her labia. My hand crept to my own pulsing clit, wet already though it had not yet been touched tonight. I lowered my lips to the nipples which stretched toward me, never taking my eyes off her features.

Her throat expanded to allow a small sound, something between a moan and a cry which escaped her lips and was chased away by the glistening tip of her tongue. I ran the tips of my fingers over those lips, now pulling the lower one down slightly to meet my approaching kiss. My body slid over the sheets, drawing itself against hers to press my wetness against her thigh.

A small sound escaped the lips of the man between her legs and he grasped at his own cock, turning it towards me. Obligingly I slid my body down her leg, a trail of my juices tracing the friction of her smooth, tight skin against my clit. Locking my legs around his, I slid myself across his cock. It had grown huge, standing out as it had never before. It throbbed against me and burnt to the touch.

His lips broke free and he grasped her hips with muscular, sinewy hands to pull her with him as his body turned to accomodate me.

I knelt above him and continued my traverse along his trembling form. Settling my cunt against his ankle, I lightly trailed my hands over his abdomen and up the inside of his thighs. As his legs parted, his ankle drew up between my lips, pulling tightly against me and it was my turn to moan before plunging his cock deeply into my mouth.

She had settled on her knees and braced against the wall and now she ground herself against his furious, frolicking kisses.

His hands clasped over the blankets, gripping them tightly and taking up fistfuls of the bed as his body arched to our ministrations. They let go abruptly to feel up her body to her breasts. Feverish fingers trailed over her lips and then slid rapidly back down to her hole. Gently, slowly he pressed two inside as he turned his tongue to her swollen clit.

She cried out first and he tugged his cock out of my mouth as it twitched, threatening to explode down my throat. Gently he lay her down, lifting her legs as he trailed a taut torso over her breasts and then plunged himself inside her. I lay next to them, watching, spying, observing their bodies intertwined.

I bit my lip and my fingers tensed on my abdomen to see their embrace. The subtle shifts of their muscles as they strained against one another led a near painful warmth through my middle.

His hands on the back of her knees he pressed them back and he fucked her harder, looking deeply at me as my own knees spread to accommodate my venturing fingers. I watched, transfixed as his abdomen tensed with his thrusts. Suddenly there was another hand on my cunt and she murmerred my name as her fingers skillfully found their way between my lips.

A light touch, lighter than I might have touched myself, over each part of my pussy, pressure applied in just the right way and my eyes squeezed shut, my hands stretching over my head in a simulation of being bound. When my eyes opened again it was just in time to see his forarm moving across the back of her knee.

A cry came from my mouth as my eyes shut again. As his dick plunged in and out of her, he thrust two, then three fingers up my own writhing cunt, matching the rythm and pressure inside her. He arched his back and strained deeply into her, shouting as he emptied himself. His body twitched and pulsed with his orgasm and the hand in my cunt translated each wave of his pleasure.

I watched his body tremble and shake and my pussy throbbed for more. Grinding my hips against the hands that eagerly grasped, juices flowed and my orgasm came, through my pussy and through my mouth, wracking my body with each pulse. Spasms of pleasure brought with them smaller orgasms and I came again and again, coaxed and urged by tireless hands, both rough and masculine and tender and smooth.

He collapsed now atop us as our frantic breaths slowed and deepened and a layer of sweat separated our skin. As he eased his exhausted cock out of her, our hands delicately explored one another, taking the time to know the folds and crevices our lust had not yet had the patience to map.

I awoke once in the night, to find his head on my stomach, his arm across the soft curve of her hip and smiled at his peaceful face before drifting back into deep and contented slumber.



{May 29, 2007}   Sex and Loathing

Remember when you were more easily led,
Behind the cricket pavillion and the bicycle shed?
Trembling as your dreams came true,
You looked right into those blue eyes and knew.

Pet Shop Boys – Can You Forgive Her, 1993

He wasn’t particularly handsome. His face seemed stretched somehow sideways, his mouth too wide and his eyes a little further apart than average. He was unevenly freckled and the adolescent acne of his past had left a few marks here and there.

He wasn’t particularly handsome, but his lean wiry body was just the sort which attracted me, had done since I was very young.

He wasn’t particularly handsome, but he was clever and gave good conversation.

He wasn’t particularly nice to me, but then, I wasn’t particularly nice to him either. It’s safe to say we didn’t really like one another very much. In a group we could just barely manage a passable civility and alone we called one another names, spitting hateful epithets with true vehemence. We had gotten off on such the wrong foot with one another, it seemed we would never resolve it. Both dominant personalities, both straining against one another, rebelling against our perceptions of the other’s attempts to dominate.

We were at a party together, just barely legal to watch the R rated movies on the screen, not quite legal to drink the beers in our hands. Young, anyway. Teenagers. There was to be a beer run, we’d run out. Gianni was going and he was going with. Gianni had the car, Jeff had the fake i.d. I passed off a fiver to him, enough at the time for a good share of a case of Molson’s Canadian. He sneered and asked what was in it for him.

I shrugged. What did I have to offer, really? A skinny little punk with a chip on her shoulder, a grade behind him in high school, no particular position of advantage. He’d been complaining of a wrenched shoulder, the result of the day’s sporting competition, so I offered him a massage. I was known to be good at it and I figured a few minutes of muscle rubbing was worth four or five beers. He agreed.

When they returned, I took up a position, obediently behind him, crosslegged on the floor. As I rubbed his back, we chatted. Pheromones filled the air.

Anyone who ever was an adolescent knows exactly that moment when both of you decide to go for broke. When the control is surrendered.

I slowly sipped my first beer of the evening as he drank deeply of his third and then fourth. First his left then his right hand found its way to my knees, my thighs.

At first they just rested there, aiming for casual, though the position musn’t have been very comfortable at all.

I remember that he was left handed and it was that hand that first made its way to the top of my damp tights, one finger lightly stroking there a few times before it travelled back down my thigh. My own hands stroked his shoulders less and his chest more, marvelling at the definition of his pecs, despite their slender placement.

The next time his hand travelled up my leg, it slipped under my tights. I repaid the favour of his stroking, slipping my hand down his tight stomach and over the bulge in his jeans. I could only feel the tip of his cock, straining against the zipper. I considered freeing it, allowing it to burst forth from the denim, but a glance around the full room dissuaded me.

I made eye contact with a girl I barely knew and she winked at me knowingly. Suddenly horrified by my own forward and public groping, my hand quickly retreated back up to his shoulders. He was not so easily dissuaded, thankfully and he slipped his finger around my soaked underpants and plunged it deeply inside me.

Hungrily my pussy enveloped him and I felt his chest rise and fall rapidly a few times before he leaned back to slide another finger effortlessly inside. I was young and still quite tight, but my juices easily made up for it, dripping down his palm as he rapidly slid his hand up and down and craned his neck back to rest his head on my shoulder.

His lips brushed momentarily against the upward curve of my jaw, just under my ear before he murmurred a command. “Go lie down under the blanket on the futon.” He withdrew his hand abruptly and stood up, leaving the room.

My legs trembled and my pussy burned with the hot blood which swelled my clit and spread my lips aside. Shaking, I climbed onto the futon and wiggled down under the thin blanket. I waited, barely breathing, wondering if he was going to come back, wondering what he was doing, desperately trying to keep my hands off my clamouring cunt.

After a few minutes, he came back and sat down on the edge of the futon. Leaning back on one hand, his back to me, he reached back and resumed his rubbing. Blood rushed to my face. He ignored me completely except for his one busy hand, tucked under a blanket, stroking, pinching, penetrating. As my breath came in shallow gasps he casually held up his end of a group commentary on the film on the screen. I still remember that it was a brutal film, set in a Southern military academy. Some people associate Dixie with racism or slavery. I associate it with the titillation of being coaxed to orgasm by an indifferent adversary.

I tried to keep silent, to pretend to be simply sleeping behind him, but as my peak hit, my jagged breaths took on a high, quiet pitch. I bit my lip until blood sprung into my mouth. I held my breath and I came hard, for the first time daring to show my pleasure by pressing toward his hand.

When the spasms finally subsided he lay next to me for the first time. Bringing his face close he issued another command. “Meet me in the second floor bathroom in ten minutes” and again he was up and gone.

I used the next ten minutes to gather my senses about me and then crept like a thief down the stairs. I stood outside the bathroom door for several minutes, nervous and unsure before finally turning the handle. I found him behind the door, stripped naked, his hard-on bright red and pointing straight at me.

For all the under-the-covers fumbling I’d engaged in as a horny young teenager, this was the first time I’d found myself faced with stark nudity. With a penis standing at attention, with balls drawn up in anticipation. He pulled me towards him and undressed me, fondling my breasts, my ass. He drew my hand towards his cock and I took it into my palm, wrapping my fingers around it and tugging it toward me.

I held it firmly and massaged, I withdrew and tickled it with my fingertips, running them lightly up and down the shaft and over the tip. A dribble of precum escaped and spread between my fingers. My right hand took over the manual ministrations as I lifted the left to my lips, to lick the fingers clean.

He moaned and his knees buckled as my tongue ran down one finger and up the next. He seized a towel rack and thrust his cock towards me, burying it for a moment between my legs before drawing it back, slippery and sticky with our combined fluids.

My hands teased him for an hour, drawing him to orgasm and then retreating, leaving him with shaking legs and a cock more and more swollen. Finally he was pleading with me to let him sit, to finish him as he sat, because his legs couldn’t hold him any longer.

I pulled down the toilet seat and directed his body down, straddling him. Licking dry lips he asked if I had a condom and I had to admit that I didn’t. He tilted his head back and pressed his face against the cool tile wall, suffering to draw his cock up and down my labia instead of plunging it deeply inside me, where it clearly longed to be.

I cupped my hands over the top and let him grind against the soft, slippery skin between my legs, occasionally reaching down inside me to draw more lubrication between us. His dick throbbed with every beat of his heart, the skin stretched tightly over the swelling head.

I slid off his lap and knelt on the bath mat, both hands rubbing him trying match the ferocity of his thrusts. He cried out when I finished him there on my knees, his shout retreating into a long, low moan as I devoured the semen which dripped down his cock, between his legs.

We went our separate ways, never speaking, for good or ill, again.



{May 7, 2007}   She kissed me!

Today had me thinking about the first girl who kissed me.

She was a tiny little fireball of drunken gothic energy. We had no other connections than that we hung out in some of the same places. I didn’t know her last name or where she went to school. I never saw her without her best girlfriend on one side and her boyfriend on the other. I didn’t even have her phone number.

Her hair, (black of course) lay flat where mine did not, sleek and shiny. Her features were delicate and her smile delightfully impish. I had never felt an attraction to a girl before. A year younger than me, she came off as everything I wished I had the guts to be, adorable, outgoing and unabashedly sexual.

We chatted twice weekly and soon greeted one another with hugs.
Hugs moved on to playful, closed mouth kisses. After the first of these
I felt bigger, more special and just generally pleased with myself. Things
were not good at home. At school and in my extracurricular activities I
was a freak and stood out like a sore thumb, but I could put on black
velvet and big boots, paint my nails and lips black and head out to the
spots I knew and know that there were people, like her, who squealed
and returned my hugs and…kissed me!

I was drawn to her like a moth to a candle. She lost none of her glamour
even as she staggered too drunkenly into the street, needing to be pulled
out just in time to throw up in the gutter. I felt a thrill of excitement when
I ran into her at a party of a friend I didn’t know we had in common.

Late one night she staggered down the street towards me, grabbed me and
pushed her tongue between my lips and into my mouth. My head filled with
helium. Her lips were softer than the ones attatched to the boys I’d kissed
(it’s a cliche I know, but it’s true) her kiss more empathic. I could scarcely
breathe as I processed what was happening before returning it as well as I
could.

She giggled as her boyfriend irritably dragged her off me and down the street. I was left standing in front of the theatre, fingers on my lips, desperately trying to process my tumultuous thoughts.

I doubt she even remembers it, but it completely changed my perception of the world. We lost contact not terribly long afterwards. I started dating Dell and faded from the scene in a whirlwind of new relationship energy. Every now and again these days I catch a glimpse of her life and I remember the crush I harboured on her so many years ago.

We’re both such different people now and it’s such a strange thought to think that in that place and time my world was so affected by hers where now they barely overlap.

I just remember turning to Lois and uttering the awe-struck words: “She *kissed* me!”



{May 7, 2007}   October 26th 1991.
The ache of losing the last boyfriend was still heavy in my chest. The air that year had stayed hot. It had been an exceptionally warm summer and was turning into an unseasonable autumn.

I sat on a picnic table, a light denim jacket wrapped around my shoulders as twilight settled over me. It was the first time I’d been back here since early June. This party wasn’t as wild. There were more teenagers and fewer adults, true, but the heavy sense of impending winter was prevalent.

It was clear we were bidding goodbye to summer, rather than engaging in the Dionysian excess of welcoming it.

Old habits die hard, especially in me, and I was staring, unnoticed, at his profile. His hair had grown longer over the summer. It still curled tantalizingly at the back of his neck though, thick strawberry coloured rings hidden to all but the most intimate observer under the length of blonde on top. I longed to run my fingers through that hair, feel it softly brush against the back of my hand, curl around my fingers. I longed to stand close to him and breathe him in, to touch him confidently and be touched back.

His blue eyes flashed over in my direction and he saw me and grinned. He never smiled; he grinned and like Alice watching the cheshire cat, all I could see was his mouth; a flash of red and white. He half strode and half ran to the sun porch to change the music. A moment of silence and the first few bars of The Beatles’ white album ring out over the field.

I hadn’t listened to the white album since the last time I’d been with the one who had so recently broken my heart. A deep empty melancholy settled over me. Hot on the heels of the melancholy were some new feelings. Resentment, Vengeance and a healthy helping of Unfinished Business raised their heads and led me to the porch. I took a seat across from him. We looked at each other, uncomfortably sizing up the other’s positions for a while. Apropos of everything and of nothing the track changed and the pedestrian rhythm of Why Don’t We Do It In The Road began.

“I like this song” (“At least”, went my subtext, “I like where it could lead us.”) He turned his head to one side and gave me a penetrating stare. That stare that attempted to see right into me. It never seemed to get right to my core, that stare, but I loved that he tried. It made me feel interesting.

I shrugged when he commented that it wasn’t usually a favourite. “The first time I played this one for my ex-boyfriend, (“I’ve moved on from you, you know, and on and on and on” The subtext screamed “but I’m single right now”) “He was properly shocked. It was amusing, given the circumstances” (a look meant to convey that the circumstances should have precluded shock about a Beatles song).

He considered me for some time and I tried to play it cool, all the while a heat rising slowly up my neck. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. When I looked at him again he was still staring at me with those piercing blue eyes. He had leaned forward in his chair. “Where are you sleeping tonight?” He enquired finally.

My heart skipped a beat and I was glad I was sitting down or else I think my knees would have buckled and my legs would have melted out from under me. A sharp stab of something darted at supersonic speeds up my centre, leaving in its wake a tapering heat. I went for casual, but my face was burning and my speech betrayed me. “I d-d-dunno” I shrugged “I figured probably in Sally’s room”. He nodded. “Well, I’m heading up to the attic now. You’re welcome to crash up there if you like.”

He got up and stood in front of me, staring expectantly. I rose on shaking knees and followed him mutely up the three flights of stairs to the room he shared with his cousin. I was shocked and titillated to find that he had gone through with his plan to mount a mirror on the ceiling and a line from an Eagles song flitted through my head, reminding me of our first date, when he’d bought the album on vinyl from a garage sale we’d walked past. Sleeping bodies were strewn all around the half of the room that he and Spaulding had set up with wall to wall matresses and cushions. He tossed me an old t shirt of his. Offering it to me to sleep in. I turned my back shyly and slipped into it. When I turned back he was looking at me quizzically. I blushed to the tips of my ears.

We got into bed and I curled up next to him, my forehead resting against his shoulder. He put his hand on my waist, his fingers lightly brushing the small of my back and I swallowed hard to chase away the shivers. Slowly and tentatively my hand crept across his chest. I looked up at him and he was looking down at me. Our lips met softly.

His hand worked its way slowly up inside the top I had just put on and rested alongside my breast. “Your heart is beating so fast” he commented. I shrugged again, I seemed to do that a lot with him, he left me at a loss for words.

Slowly and gently we explored one another with our fingers. I was in heaven. Breathing him in, my hands pressing against his chest, his back and up the back of his neck to those secret curls, hidden under layers of straight blonde hair. The door to the room opened and light flooded in. Tim shielded his eyes.

Standing in the doorway was a boy who had been introduced to me as Frank. He was stumbling drunk and he was looking for Spaulding. Tim advised him that Spaulding was sleeping and Frank blinked into the darkness. He squinted in my direction. “Do you have a chick up here?” Tim clarified that Frank was not welcome at the moment and Frank swayed in the doorway a few minutes. “Hey, is that a mirror on the ceiling?” he blurted out finally. I hid my face in Tim’s chest. I was beginning to giggle, but it was clear that Tim was not amused. Frank stumbled over to the bed and fell onto it, reaching out and blindly groping me with his free hand.

Tim’s hackles went up. It surprised me, the forceful possessiveness he suddenly adopted. “Don’t touch her Frank. Go home” But Frank didn’t heed. As Tim got more riled up, I became more interested in this side of him that he’d never shown to me before. “It’s ok” I found myself saying “he’s drunk, just let him pass out and be done with it.” We found a spot closer to the wall and resumed our activities. When Frank’s hand made another appearance, this time on my ass, there was nowhere left to go. At Tim’s insistence, we switched spots, and Tim so firmly fended off Frank’s next attempt to get in on the action that Frank stumbled out of the room.

Our bodies relaxed into one another. I was thrilled to find that I fit so comfortably up against him. Our torsos seemed perfectly matched so that as he grew his penis pressed up against me pleasingly. I was absorbed in kissing those lips. They were so soft and so red. I had gone to sleep so many nights dreaming of them and I never wanted to stop kissing them now. He rolled me over onto my back and climbed on top of me. He looked down at me, his long bangs tickling my forehead. “Are you ok?” he asked. I nodded, not trusting my voice not to betray me. He pressed his legs against the outside of my thighs and leaned his head down to kiss me again when I was struck in the face by a beam of light. I covered my face as Tim leapt off me and turned, visibly annoyed, to face the door.

Sally stood there. “Pria?” she asked. I peered through my fingers at her sillouette. “uhhuh?” I asked. “Um, I’m gonna go to bed soon, I just wondered…” her voice trailed off. “It’s ok Sal, I think I’ll sleep in here tonight” Sally looked at me uncertainly. She was far smarter than her 13 years would suggest but it was clear that she was unfamiliar with the situation. “Is everything ok?” she asked. “It’s fine Sally, it’s great in fact. I’ll see you in the morning ok?” She stood there a moment longer until Tim threw a pillow at her. “Get out Sally!” he demanded and she turned and scurried away. Tim rose and closed the door and came back to the bed.

He lay on his side next to me and after a few minutes of kissing he slid his hand under the waistband of my underpants. I gasped audibly as his fingers entered me and urgently pressed my body up against his. With his free hand he led one of mine down towards the waistband of his own pants, leaving my fingers hooked just under it. I reached down and took him into my hand when the door swung open again. Both my hands flew to my face now as Tim sat bolt upright. I made a noise of frustration. Tim’s sister’s voice floated through the darkness at me.

“Tim, Sally told me to tell you that she doesn’t need this from you right now”. I let out an exasperated sigh and raised my head to scowl at Sharon. “Who doesn’t need what from me exactly?” “I don’t know,” she looked at me uncertainly “Pria doesn’t need you raping her right now or something”. My head flopped back onto the pillow. “Shar, tell Sally I’m fine.” Sharon stood there, uncertainly a few more moments. I could feel Tim’s body, tense against my legs. I longed to hold him again, I longed to kiss him again but mostly I longed for a lock on that goddamned door.

Sharon’s fears finally assuaged, she left, once again leaving the door conspicuously open. Tim got up and shut it, then leapt on top of me. Our kisses were more fervent this time, our hands trying to make up for lost time, trying to get everything in before the next distraction. He slipped first one leg, then the other between mine and effortlessly pushed them apart. I could feel his penis pressing hard against me through my underpants. The door swung open again. Tim lay down on top of me and I buried my face in his neck. “What the fuck is it NOW?” Tim demanded.

His father’s voice rang through the room. “Boys, who’s up here?”. Tim answered. “Well, Spaulding and Karla are sleeping over there. I think there’s a few people asleep on the rug over there and me and umm…Pria, I think.” The door swung open a little wider, letting in more light. “I want the girls out of there now” Tim protested. “Now, Tim!” answered his father as he turned and strode to the stairs. Spaulding’s voice rose from the bed a few feet away from us. “I’m not waking my friends up to tell them they have to leave” he muttered petulantly, not nearly loud enough for his uncle to hear. Tim kissed my nose. “I’ll be right back” he promised.

I lay for a long time waiting for him. He came back and began to get dressed. “What are you doing?” I asked. “I’m going to my mom’s” he muttered. He put on some jeans, did a double take and took them off again. He had put on my jeans. He grabbed his motorcycle helmet, threw on his leather jacket and walked out. I slept fitfully that night and avoided his father the next day, grabbing a ride from a friend of a friend as far as the bus station to go home.

He called me the next day to apologize. He was at his mother’s place, but it was packed to the rafters with bikers at present or he’d invite me by. We’d see each other soon though. We would always see each other soon.



{May 7, 2007}   Andrew – 2004

The conversation faltered. They glanced shyly at one another, each trying simultaneously to catch the others’ eyes and yet to avoid prolonged eye contact. The minutes stretched out until the tension in the room was palpable. A haze of mind-altering hormones caused blood to rush from the centre into her cheeks and puzzlingly, her ears. A few aborted advances were made, leaning towards one another and then pulling back as though scalded by proximity. It was now or never.

The kiss was frantic. Heart thumping wildly and mind reeling she pressed her lips against his and then pulled back. He smiled and she tried to smile back. He reached out a hand and cupped her cheek and she leaned forward again. He kissed her softly and her hand, shaking and unbidden, reached up. She ran her fingers through his hair. It was soft and clean, her hand slid easily through it. She extended her tongue gently beyond her lips and with it studied the curve of his upper lip before allowing the tip of her nose to slide down his, their foreheads resting against one another and enveloping his lower lip in her own.

A deep intake of breath. Hands flying,
each trying desperately to keep up with their frenzied libido. The
kiss was more than that now, it was a gasping, sucking entity;
warm and moist. The lips parted and explored other regions of
the face. Fumbling fingers found their way around a variety of
catches. Clothes forgotten, they changed postion. The kiss became
deeper, the breathing more frenzied. There was no stopping it.

Control was surrendered to the deeper senses.

Her heart was pounding and her face flushed. There was
no time to wrap her head around the newness. The feel
of this body, the curve of this cheek, the smell of this
male.

Every one of her senses was stretched to capacity,
her mind flickering over each one briefly like an indecisive
hummingbird drinking in a field of flowers.

Lights flashed behind her eyes as his lips charted new
territory.

She pulled his face back to hers and locked her lips against his, desperately trying to focus on one thing. She was painfully aware of him pressing against her and her hips strained urgently toward his. A new, unbearable, emptiness was clamouring for her attention. She bit her lip, trying to regain control over her body, struggling for composure. Filling her lungs to bursting she enthusiastically called the battle.

He was strong, dominant, sexy. Her head reeled with new sensations until she wondered if she would even remain conscious. The kisses slowed, the hands became more gentle and their bodies relaxed into one another. Breathing hard they smiled, still with an unfathomable shyness, at one another. She brushed a sweaty lock of hair from his forehead and eased herself out from under him, not willing to let go.

It was late. She held his head in her lap as he drifted off to sleep. She sat contemplatively there for hours. Meditating on her newest experience, reliving it as she looked at his peaceful face. It was a good night to be alive.



et cetera