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.



{May 10, 2007}   Why she stayed

Andalee slammed the phone into its cradle, frustrated. Three times in a row, now. Three times he’d cancelled at the last minute. How long was she going to put up with this shit? She’d convinced herself weeks ago that she didn’t need him. That his bullshit wasn’t worth the sex.

It was such good sex though – Her mind wandered to the last time they’d been together, his sinewy hands fimly wrapped around her hips, fingertips leaving small imprints in her flesh, her hipbones grasped for leverage as he slammed himself inside her.

Her face flushed a bit to think about it and her hand creeped, almost of its own volition, towards the band of her panties. It was hot in this room. Hot outside.

Her eyes fluttered when she thought of the way his old ties had been recommissioned, to bind her hands over her head. Fastened to the headboard, face down, knees spread firmly, with command. Her clit yearning for pleasure, her pussy filled with him. The vague pain that mingled with the pleasure as he reached the base of his own cock and still strained for deeper penetration.

She gasped as she remembered the feeling of his hair, brushing against her back as he lowered himself to grasp a mouthful of flesh between his teeth, his right hand swinging out to lay down an imprint on her ass. Her body jerked in reaction and he grasped her hips again, firmly pulling them back into position over his cock.


The pictures unfolded behind her eyes as she struggled for the surety she’d had only moments before. His lips and eyes flashed across her mind and she gave up the struggle. Vigorously, she attacked her cunt.

Her left hand flew up and down, applying just the slightest pressure on her clit, her less dexterous (or should I say less sinister?) right hand curling up underneath her, striving for something approaching the depth of penetration he could acheive for her.

Kicking the sheets and blanket down to the end of her bed, she curled them around her feet, creating a sensation of being bound. She moaned under her gasping, shuddering breaths as she pictured his lips enveloping her breasts, sucking the nipples in and biting down hard.

How bad she’d been, doubting him, expecting him to adapt to the schedule of her clamouring libido. He was withdrawing the pleasure now. Leaving her trembling in anticipation, in frustrated desire.

She panted at the idea of his cock, dripping with her sex, and his demands that she finish him with her mouth. Her fingers crept up her chin and she sucked the juices off them, her other hand pinching her engorged lips together, punishing them for their presumption.

She could practically taste his orgasm shooting to the back of her throat as she let go suddenly of her pussy, the blood rushing painfully back into it, bringing with it her own climax, an excruciating pleasure which extracted a cry from her throat.

If he did it again, though, she was through.



{May 8, 2007}   Fucking Fiction

Motion sensing security lights flicker on as we pass a graffitti-slathered wall. Bright colours, fine art in an alleyway, urban culture expressed through bold strokes. The tagging detracts from the art and I find myself angry at the defacement of a painting. Incensed that this gallery of unauthorized art is considered no better than adolescent ink excretions, primate territorial markings akin to chimpanzee shit-slinging or a canine who lifts its leg every half block to sprinkle another surface with urine.

The quickening dusk makes my companion’s features virtually indistinguishable. I stare into facelessness as a strong hand reaches around the small of my back and guides me towards one of the walls. Soon, my shoulders are pressed against it. The texture of the brick is translated through a thin summer shirt. A deep rumble in the distance echoes a building libido as a hand works its way down my torso.

My breath catches, just a bit, as a single fingertip lightly brushes the outside of my thigh. Scarcely making contact with skin, the finger slowly lifts the hem of my skirt. Denim rises to meet the thin fabric of my underpants, rapidly dampening without the help of the scattered raindrops which are beginning to fall onto us; around us. A flash of lightening illuminates my partner’s face, reflecting most strongly off spots where the rain has caught in his hair, or runs down the sides of his cheeks. I watch, transfixed as lips approach mine, a single drop clinging to the upper one.

I meet them with mine, sucking the water off, chasing my lips with my tongue, thirstily drinking the rain which now begins to stream down our faces. A crack of thunder prompts a gasp of breath and a thrust of my hips. Breathing becomes labored as I struggle with wet denim and leather. My underwear is gone, my skirt lifted and pressed between barely exposed abdomens. I wonder only briefly about its state, torn and crumpled in a gathering puddle at my feet.

Finally I free his cock, and feel it press against me, the heat of it cooled only momentarily by the rain. Strong hands press my shoulders into the brick. The storm has built now to its apex. Our gasps are muffled by the sound of water hitting pavement, the rumbles and cracks of thunder drowning out my quiet whimpers of pleasure. His cock moves up and down against my pussy, drawing me out, teasing me. I look along his arm, noticing the definition. Muscles standing out as he strains against me.

A hand grasps my thigh suddenly, lifting my leg, level with his waist and he enters me quickly, violently. My chest heaves and my head arches back as we fuck in the rain. Time is lost to the rythm of the rain, the rumble of the thunder, the sensation between my legs. An explosion of pleasure brings me back to myself. A slowing of rain and rythm, slick bodies moving apart, wet clothes clinging to glistening skin, the spot is abandoned.



{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