Visceral Lit











{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 21, 2007}   Productive

It’s been a while, readers. My sincerest apologies.

Recently, Eden Fantasys sent me quite an impressive pair of leather bondage cuffs to review. I only wish I could have taken them to a party, and really given them a true testing. Alas, I had to settle for some bedroom bondage.

The concierge stopped me on my way out the door. “There’s a package here for you, Ms. Sythes” I could have taken the package upstairs and saved it for later, but I’m impatient, impulsive.

I was on the train when I opened them. I tore the tape off the package like an eager child tearing open a long-awaited birthday present. Underneath a layer of bubble wrap was a plastic package, emblazoned with a rather juicy photo. The man in the photo, his lean muscular form gleaming, looked at me intensely through bedroom eyes as he strained against his bindings.

I glanced furtively around the car. How could I wait? I was already beginning to feel just a bit excited. Imagining the scenarios in which I might make use of the contents. Across from me was a well dressed middle aged man with white hair. He noticed me looking at him and there must have been something in my eyes, because he cleared his throat and returned to his newspaper, industriously rearranging the pages.

To my left sat an unabashedly lesbian couple, their sign language conversation punctuated with small giggles here and there. Perhaps they were on a first date. The longing in their eyes seemed fresh, to glow with that excitement of new discovery. I could imagine them later, lightly brushing one another’s bodies with their fingertips, the redhead’s lips parting slightly as her new, more butch companion lightly trailed a finger down the rise of her breast, curling it as it approached a firm, pert nipple. In my imagination, her lips and her nipple were the same deep shade of pink, flushed with excitement. Her green eyes standing out from her face, in sharp, perfect contrast to the pinkness that rose in her cheeks.

Unable to bear it, the redhead reached a dainty hand, nimble from years of signing and confidently slid it past the top of her friend’s jeans, finding a bare abdomen and a dampness that radiated heat. Her partner’s hands flexed and pulled slightly away from her body then grasped hard at her breasts with a gasp as she swiftly slid her fingers deep inside, laying her thumb atop an engorged button. Those red lips, that so perfectly matched those perfectly rounded nipples, wrapped around a slackened lower lip, sucking it in and nibbling her way up into a deep kiss.

Gently pinching, those graceful hands slowly began to stroke up and down the tiny shaft and over the top, massaging through the hood and curling her long fingers toward her new lover’s G-spot. Pressing her own lips against her partner’s thigh, she moved her mouth, trailing her tongue down towards soft breasts.

The dark haired woman moaned and arched her neck, her hands shifting to rest on round, white buttocks. She leaned back, to support herself against a wall and raised her knee into the softness she found there. The sensation of soft, moistening skin against her thigh urged her forth. Pulling at her date’s ass, she slowly flexed her musles, hardening her thigh and parting lips to rub the growing bud between.

Her orgasm came all at once and one high pitched cry after another pierced the silence. As her body relaxed, she slid down to return her partner’s generosity.

Flattening her hand against the red lips between smooth, soft thighs, she rubbed around to penetrate a satiny sheath. She extended the tip of her tongue and flicked at the swollen knob once, twice and then withdrew. She studied her girlfriend’s cunt a moment, spreading it to take in each crevace and then allowing it to close, slowly. Pointing her tongue, she licked up and then down between two rises of her lover’s outer labia, just barely reaching the silky skin underneath. Her upper lip followed, its dry softness contrasting the intense sensation preceding it.

She had taken the dainty redhead for a soft touch, but hands materialized at the back of her head, tugging her mouth suggestively closer, straining hips upward with a moan.

She grasped the clit lightly between her teeth and attacked anew, enveloping her lover, mouth filled with fragrant sex. She slid a firm tongue inside and flickered toward the front wall as her lips tightened, sucking noisily. She slid a hand down to her own pussy, suddenly eager for more. They came at once, bodies arching in unison and as her mouth filled with her lover’s pleasure, the butch reached up with both hands to draw it out, to rub and coax and bring forth another and another and another, enjoying, viscerally her lover’s repeated panting cries.

Before I knew it, the package containing my cuffs was open and I was furtively rolling up my pants leg, lifting my ankle to affix one there. I would surprise my date. When the night became quiet and we were alone, my evening’s companion would find me ready to be bound.

The man across the car studied his newspaper as I buckled first the left and then the right cuff. Cinching them as tight as they would go and rolling my jeans back down. When I looked up, the femme was looking at me, wide-eyed. She signed something to her girlfriend and the girlfriend’s intrigued gaze fell on me. We locked eyes and I smiled coyly. Furiously the redhead signed. Lascivious laughter; and then comfort fell back between them, their suggestive caresses becoming all the more propulsive, leading them closer to the evening I had so secretly planned for them.

My evening was about to start and I couldn’t wait to see to what heights it would bring me.



{May 14, 2007}   Introductions

I refer to myself in the first person, but I do not provide any but the most intimate of details about my life. In return, I know little about you, my readers. Yesterday, I posted my eighth post on this blog. Readership is climbing and I thank you all for reading and I hope you are enjoying my stories.

A little about me: I’m older than most people think, to look at me. I was married once, when I was very young but that’s been over for a while now. I am bisexual with a preference for men. I love women’s bodies and I love the intimacy with which a woman can touch me and I can touch her, but as I once exclaimed to a friend: “I just love cock!”

My experiences have ranged from very vanilla to quite kinky and I’ve seen lovers pale when I’ve described some of the more filthy things I’ve experimented with. I’m also a sucker for love and tenderness, the way I can touch and be touched when there’s more there than just carnality. Not to bash carnality, of course. There’s a lot to be said for a good hard (safe) fuck in its proper place and time.

I am safe and sane and you can assume that if I’ve neglected to mention the prophylactics or the discussions of safety and health, it’s for the flow of the story and not because there weren’t any. Please be safe in your sex too. Sex is too wonderful to allow for the more punitive consequences of not going into it with open eyes.

I write erotica because I enjoy it. I love the use of language to spin tales that will take your breath away and bring a flush to your cheeks. I write erotica because I enjoy sex and because I enjoy remembering those moments with others, where my skin tingled and my mind reeled. I write erotica because I’m a bit of an exhibitionist and a voyeur. I write erotica because I like to think of my readers and what acts I might be able to inspire. I write erotica because it gets me off.

I write other things too, of course because as sexcentric as I tend to be, if I spend my life in a constant state of arousal, I lose my keys and forget to eat.

My introduction to human sexuality came when I was ten. I was an exceptionally mature and responsible child and a precocious reader. The two aspects put together were what led to my raiding of my mother’s bookshelf while being left alone at home after school.

By twelve years old I had read 3 of the Hite Reports on human sexuality, one abridged Kinsey report, The Joy of Sex, Extended Sexual Orgasm and a host of lightly erotic novels which would now be classified as “Chick Lit”. I’d also read darker portrayals of sexuality, such as those in The Catcher in the Rye and Death of a Salesman.

My fascination with human sexuality was only heightened by the onset of puberty and I wrote my first piece of purely erotic literature at 15. In it, thinly disguised versions of my male friends and I interspersed our typical adolescent behaviours with a variety of sexual games. Monogamy was not a feature in this fantasy, as it rarely has been in my life.

All of the erotica I have posted thus far is based on real experiences unless otherwise noted. Most of the partners who have been immortalized here have read the work. If they’ve recognized themselves, they haven’t mentioned it to me.

I’d like to encourage comments and discussion of my posts, but I also enjoy where your silence takes my imagination.

I hope you have enjoyed reading so far, and I hope you enjoy reading further half as much as I do enjoy writing here. Feel free to introduce yourselves, or your avatars and happy reading!



{May 13, 2007}   Equal to the love you make

I remember the last time we fucked. By candlelight and incense, we sat in the nude, face to face and cross-legged. Our knees barely touched and I could feel the hair on your legs tickling mine, the warmth of you radiating from behind it.

You’d made a lot of rigamarole about love and I’d been at first, alarmed. As I’d realized it wasn’t about me, wasn’t my love you were entreating, I felt a relief which gradually passed into disappointment. This body was mine tonight, but never after.

I remember trailing my finger lightly down your chest, never breaking contact. I paused for a moment over your heart and then allowed my fingers to cascade over your abdomen. As gradually tensing abdominal muscles tapered, I hesitated again, the tips of my fingers lightly tickled by dark curls.

I flattened my hand and felt the curls gathering between my fingers as my palm pressed against your half-erect member. My fingers curled underneath your scrotum, gathering your balls into my hand and I lightly brushed them against the base of your rapidly stiffening cock.

Your hands were on me, too, slipping back and forth between my clit and my opening, extracting soft, deep breaths which arched my breast towards you. It was as though my chest was being tugged by yours, areolae hardening, reaching out for contact with you.

I leaned forward and lightly touched my lips to your collarbone, my tongue flickering along it to your earlobe before trailing down your firm chest to envelop a small, rigid nipple. You called for the divine as I pressed your cock towards me, slowly massaging with my hand as I trailed my torso across your skin.

Your hands, no longer able to reach my engorgement, tensed and gripped my thighs, pulling me closer and then moving to the yielding flesh which rose and fell against your cock. I shifted to your other nipple and drew my body to envelop it between my breasts. Obligingly, you pushed them together and pressed through.

My tongue flickered from my mouth, a quick, firm touch to the underside of your head, pressing briefly to the tip and following it with a soft kiss. Your sudden exhalation swept across my back, tickling the bare flesh and raising a scattering of goose bumps.

I slid backwards on the blankets we had placed down, to arch my neck and take your penis into my mouth. Your hands fell to the floor behind you as your hips pressed ever so slightly upward. I remember pressing you in, deeply and extending my tongue to meet your scrotum, lifting your balls to brush them against the stud in my tongue.

You rose and I fell, a well oiled machine, with the practice of lovers experienced in the motions of each other’s bodies, the intimacy and enthusiasm of a half dozen fucks culminating into the ecstasy of this moment. You straddled me and I lifted my head, drawing your cock back towards my face for more.

I fucked you with my lips and tongue and hands, the back of my throat flexing and relaxing as your hips moved you through my mouth. You were harder than I’d ever seen you and my cunt burned for your entrance.

Grasping your hips I pushed you down my body, my heart beating wildly and my breath coming in short, building gasps. I dragged my clit back and forth over your dick, which stiffened and grew even more before plunging inside me, my pelvic bone pressing my clit into the vee at your base.

I grew and throbbed against the dark hairs, now plastered flat by the juices which slid you in and out of me so smoothly. A high pitched cry, matched by a tenor of a groan accompanied our orgasms, bodies trembling and shaking.

You collapsed on top of me, sweat dripping through my hair, my hands stroking your back, your ass, your thighs as I trembled with depletion.

We lay there a long time like that, faces buried in one another’s necks, hands tender and thankful. Lips gently caressing now and then. Your penis softened gradually between my legs and eventually slipped out of me, brushing against a still sensitive clit and I gasped one last time.



{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}   LJ Feed

Wow, the LJ feed looks ugly…

But still, if you would like to receive Visceral Lit on your LJ friends list, the feed is certainly working.

It’s at: http://visceral_lit.livejournal.com/
Hope you’re enjoying!



{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}   Tie me up, Tie me down

Breath came raggedly to her. Her eyes bore into his with consummate intensity, the flecks of gold around the pupil flashing as she tilted her head to one side, arching her neck simply, pressing her breasts flat against his chest. He noted with satisfaction a flutter of her eyelids and watched as a bead of perspiration welled on her temple and then tumbled the short distance into rapidly dampening strands of hair.

She locked her eyes on his again and he sensed the surrender in them as she allowed her body to carry her away. He arched his own back and shuddered slightly as she drew him in. His head sank into her exposed neck, tasting salt upon contact with the slick skin. He ran his hands up her arms and over the rough hemp that bound her wrists. Her hips moved suddenly towards him, taking his breath away as his cock moved even deeper inside of her.

He moved his hands down her arms now and gathered her up, his fingers grasping her shoulders, pulling her down onto him. He realized dimly, through a haze of sensation that her deep, scarcely audible moans had risen in both pitch and volume and that his own lips allowed complementary utterances. Their bodies were moving more quickly now and he gathered up a mouthful of flesh and bit down on it as his cock swelled and stiffened urgently. Her cunt tightened around him in waves, ripples of electricity running from tip to base, timed with the treble of her distant sounds.

He let go of her neck, lightly brushing his lips over the dents left by his teeth, probing them with the tip of his tongue. His fingers slipped from her shoulders and he grasped her hips firmly as his body prepared for release. He felt her stiffen in his hands and released himself. She cried out as each throb pumped more of his pleasure into her. He looked down at her face, intensity on every line. Her breathing became deeper and also more rapid as her own peak hit. She fell silent as her body trembled under him and around him.



{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.



et cetera