Archive for the ‘Stories’ Category

Flasher: Finding the Fetish

“Ow! Stop! I’m not a submissive!”

“You sure?”


“Are you a dom?”

“I’m thinking about hitting you right now, but I don’t think it’s sexual.”

<!–more–>“Dammit. We’ve tried everything! Are you sure this isn’t doing anything for you?”

“Ow! I’m telling you I don’t have a fetish! Knock it off!”

“You have to! You don’t like girls, you don’t like guys-

“I like girls! You know I like girls. Is this because I never asked you out?”

“You never date anybody, you just hang around with them. You don’t like guys, you don’t like sheep … You don’t like sheep, do you?”


“Then it’s gotta be a fetish.”

“Why is this important to you?”

“It’s fun. Now, we’ve tried leather, Saran Wrap, rubber, chocolate pudding, role-playing, panties, shoes, porn, diapers, and discipline. What’s left? Ooh, water sports!”

“Why couldn’t I just have a low sex drive?”

She crouched over my face to pee on me. “Because it’s not natural,” she said.

Story: Happy Fucking Easter

The alarm began blaring, on schedule, at 6 friggin’ o’clock in the morning. The fact that I was the one who had set it in the first place still didn’t keep me from snarling and swiping it to the ground with my massive forearm before crawling back into my cave and…

…and sighing and rolling over and waking Kelly up, dammit. “Hey hon, time to get up.”

“Wha? I’m still s’eepin’, go ‘way. I’ma kill yu.” Kelly isn’t a morning person, either.

“We gotta get the Easter baskets out before the kids get up. C’mon, you were the one who didn’t want to stay up last night. Move, it, Easter bunny.”

She sat up groggily and held her head in her hands. “Yeah, yeah. Hippity hoppity.”

We pulled ourselves together just enough to pretend we were awake, got up and managed to locate all the Easter crap we had bought and hidden in various hidden caches around the house. I did catch her grabbing a quick nap in the hall closet, but one poke in a soft spot and she was moving again. We had gone to great lengths to stash everything as carefully as possible, so the odds were good that at least a third of it would be a complete surprise to the kids. Kelly, wrapped in a terry cloth robe, staggered downstairs with plastic baskets and plastic bags full of assorted plastic goop and headed off to turn them into pleasing arrangements of holiday joy, while I was assigned the task of sneaking out to the front yard and raiding the trunks of the cars for more hidden loot. I came out ahead of the game – I just suffered cold wet feet, but she had to actually start thinking.

Or perhaps not. I suspect that had I seen her creations at any other time besides the rosy dawn I would have shrieked like a cheerleader and tried to hit them with a stick. There on the kitchen table were three brightly colored baskets, stuffed unevenly with unnaturally bright green grass and filled with candy which had rather obviously been dumped straight out of a bag. She had missed a few times. However, since I hadn’t had to make them, I thought the baskets were the most beautiful things I had ever seen in my life. We scattered some toys about, left some new church clothes nearby where they wouldn’t get trampled, and I made a half-hearted attempt to prop up the Easter cards my mom sent. Kelly grabbed the last bag of candy, plopped onto the couch and pronounced us done.

“Happy Easter, you wild bunny, you,” I said. I sat down next to her and carefully rammed a humorous pair of bunny-ears-on-a-hair-barrette on her head. She gave me a withering look. Oddly, the ears helped.

She pulled a fuzzy eartip down where she could peer at it. “How exactly did the manifestation of the central event of Christianity result, through the centuries, in me wearing these goddamn ears and setting out huge heaping buckets of chocolate?”

Meanwhile I had noticed that her present state of collapse was causing her robe to open, displaying gorgeous legs and just a hint of blonde curls. I was suddenly completely awake for the first time that morning. Maybe there was time to celebrate this joyous holiday after all…

Kelly continued to complain to the ceiling. “It’s not like Jesus went around handing out Skittles to the cripples. ‘Here, take thee and partake of the fish and the loaves and the bite-size Butterfingers.’ What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m hunting for Easter eggs.”

“I’m pretty… um,… pretty sure I didn’t hide any there. Oh.”

“Can’t be too sure, it looks like a nice soft place to hide stuff.”

“Ah, Jesus… just a little faster… hey! Stop that! The kids are gonna come downstairs any second!” She tried pulling her robe closed but I had a good lock on her thighs.

“We’d better hurry then, huh? C’mon babe, you’re no bunny ’til some bunny loves you. Hey, look, I found candy!” I pulled a cherry lollipop out of the leftover bag and began running it between her furry lips. Two great tastes… She didn’t object, not in so many words, so I decided to see if rapid rubbing against a g-spot could help me get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop. I made sure to keep it well-lubricated by pulling it out and sucking on it now and then. I even gave her my best blow-job impersonation; propping the stick against her clit and bobbing up and down on the “head”. With one hand she grabbed my head and guided me. I couldn’t see where the other hand was, but it was fun to think about.

“Yeah, baby, take it all,” she cried, quietly. She pumped her hips back and forth, sorta joking and sorta getting off on it. “Suck! Suck, oh god… Hey, my turn!” Kelly scooted backwards up the back of the couch and moved over so I could sit down. I handed her the sucker, but she just smiled and said she had better.

She worked my shorts off – she always pulls them off flat to my body, she says she likes watching my dick fwap against my stomach – and kneeled between my legs. She smacked her lips like Wile E. Coyote, letting her tongue sweep from one corner of her mouth to the other, and then she smiled up at me as she grabbed the base of my cock with one hand and brought out her other hand out to produce… a chocolate bunny. I think I just gave her a dumb look, and then she grinned, twisted the head off the poor little rodent and jammed it over the head of my dick. I couldn’t help laughing, it fit perfectly, and it gave my genitalia such a festive look. Then I saw how she was looking at it, and I panicked. I’ve seen how she eats chocolate bunnies. “Um, you’re not gonna bite the head off, are you…?”

Kelly just grinned again and stroked my shaft before she started nibbling on “my” ears. “Oh, yum. This is much better than the old way.” In her hand our new rabbit friend bowed and waggled at me. Kelly thoughtfully supplied the dialogue. “Here comes Peter Cottontail, fucking down the bunny trail!” She grabbed a firm hold on the base, rubbing me gently with her thumb, then abruptly bit off one of the ears.

I tried to jump back, but she had me pinned. “Agh! Damn, woman, take it easy!”

Saliva and melted chocolate was running down her face, across her breasts and all over my crotch. “No,” she said happily, and she bit off the other ear. I reached down to grab her head and rescue my rabbit but she quickly took my entire “head” into her mouth and moved her hand up and down to match her motions. I magnaminously decided to let her continue. The noises I was trying not to make were just to reassure her of her abilities, really. The feeling was incredible; as the chocolate crumbled and melted inside her mouth she moved faster and faster, letting the candy drip down and cover her hands.

After far too short a time she stood up and leaned over me. Most of the bunny was gone now, but there was a huge amount of melted chocolate smeared all over her upper body and a wild gleam in her eyes. I grabbed hold of her hips as she turned away from me and sat down hard on my candy-coated dick. I could hear both of us fighting valiantly to stay quiet as she sank to the hilt and her tight ass pressed hard against my lap. I think she had planned to guide the ride, but things were moving too fast and I had my own ideas anyway. I wrapped my fingers around her bountiful breasts, rubbing gooey chocolate over and around her nipples as I leaned forward and whispered into her ear, “Hippity hoppity.” Then I gripped her hips and started jackhammering, figuring if I wasn’t going to last any longer there was no reason she should.

She didn’t. (Neither did I). We both bounced wildly on the couch, trying desperately to drive me farther and farther into her, and we had just found the right cadence and I felt that incredible feeling of hot liquid fire rushing from my balls and I could tell that she was desperately fighting to wait for me…. when we heard the kids’ bedroom door open.

Many things happened simultaneously: Kelly stood up, my dick fwapped into my stomach again (leaving a phallic chocolate silhouette this time), I grabbed our clothes, Kelly threw some cushions over our new Nestle’s wet spot, and we both dashed for the downstairs bathroom even as the kids came bounding down the stairs. It was a tie, and we closed the bathroom door just as the first cries of greedy happiness began.

Kelly and I stood in the bathroom, shaking with laughter and need and adrenaline. She was leaning against the door with me right behind her so we could both listen, but we weren’t really paying much attention. Kelly was squeezing her thighs together over and over and I think my dick was humming, we were still so close. She looked up at me, eyes wide, then turned quickly and leaned towards the sink as I sank right into the heat of her climax. Her sweet gooiness gripped me with rhythmic pulses and my furious spurting followed right after, followed by a few minutes of breathless panting and giggling and a good twenty minutes of two grownups trying to silently wash themselves in a bathroom sink.

So what did you do for Easter?

Story: Sound Affects

I think what I liked most about Jill was the skeptical expression she always wore. It was an expression that told you that while she didn’t believe a word you were saying, she was prepared to humor you as long as you amused her. Seeing that look through my peephole didn’t lessen its power a bit.

“Why am I here, Charlie?” she asked after I opened the door.

I stood aside and waved her in. “Can’t complain,” I said. “And how are you?”

“Charlie. Why am I here?”

“Existentially, geographically, or is this one of those ‘what’s my destiny’ kind of things?”

Words have much more impact, I’ve found, if you hear them while a finger is prodded into your abdomen along with each one. “Why,” she poked.

“Ow,” I said.

“Am. (’Ow.’) I. (’Ow.’) Here. (’Ow.’) At. (’Ow.’) One. (’Ow.’) Freaking. (’Ow.’) O’clock. (’Ow, ow.’) In. (’Ow.’) The. (’Ow.’) Freaking. (’Ow.’) Morning?” she repeated, patiently. “All you said on the phone was that it was the most important thing in the universe.”

“No, I said it was about the most important thing in the universe.”

She backed away and slumped slightly. “Oh, Christ. You’re trying to get laid, aren’t you?”

“Of course. Sit down, I’ll be back in a second.”

I hustled into the kitchen to grab the wine out of the fridge and the glasses out of the dishwasher while she sank into my recliner. Her voice carried. “I know guys are supposed to do stupid things to get laid, but you gotta be the only one who needs an accomplice.”

“Like I haven’t helped you a dozen times before,” I called back.

“That’s the only reason I haven’t shot you yet. That and because you don’t look like anyone famous, which would make it really hard to cast the made-for-TV-movie they would surely make about me.”

People meeting Jill often mistake her for an adorable and comfortably attractive young woman. They see masses of curly brown hair framing bright green eyes in a heart-shaped face, they see the generous curves lurking under the big gunky sweaters, and they get the entirely wrong impression that this is a sweet girl. It takes time — often up to five minutes — before her natural evil shows through. I noticed it right away, which is just one reason we’re such good friends.

We met five years ago in college, when she was working at Pizza Shack. I had stopped by to place a takeout order and she was the only one behind the counter during an extremely busy evening. She waved at me to hang on and then clearly forgot my existence completely while she continued answering the constant phone calls, one after another. My annoyance at having to wait quickly melted as I enjoyed the unexpected dinner theater: Telephonic Interpretive Dance.

To anyone on the other line she sounded courteous, helpful, and endlessly patient, but only I could see the hideously distorted facial expressions she made at the phone the entire time. It was hilarious. “Yes, ma’am, any topping you like,” she’d say, while letting her tongue dangle out and her eyes cross. “No, ma’am, I’m sorry (cheeks abruptly puffed to full bullfrog face, then a quick “drunken loser” expression), we don’t have pumpkin.”

I watched in rapt fascination as she flipped off a man ordering a sub and strangled to death a party ordering four large pizzas, each one with fiendishly complicated toppings requests. Her best one, I thought, was when she swung the phone in a circle, talking to it on the upswing, and still managed to get the order down.

After fifteen minutes of this I was still hungry but suddenly I didn’t want a boringly polite, over-the-counter order. So I pulled out my cell phone, got the number off one of the flyers, and called. She finished entering the last order, sighed, and answered my call without noticing me behind the register. “Pizza Shack,” she said, rolling her eyes, “can I help you?” I asked about their specials. She grimaced, then started reading them in a singsong voice from the menu. To my delight she made jacking off motions with the other hand while I placed my order, then she quickly stuck the phone in front of her crotch and jerked her hips twice, fast, before bringing the phone back to her ear. “Will that be pickup or carry-out?” she asked in an angelic voice.

“Pickup,” I said loudly.

She spun around and saw me standing there, smiling. I had to give her credit, she blushed bright red down into her blouse but her voice was rock solid. “Thank you sir, it’ll be about twenty minutes.”

I looked her in the eye and made my own jack-off motions, but with more conviction. “Thanks,” I said into the phone, “I’ll be right in.”

She stood there for a full ten seconds before bursting out in raucous laughter that made everyone in the place turn around. We’ve been laughing together, one way or another, ever since. It was us against the world and we took weekends off to give the world a fair chance.

She wasn’t laughing now, though. I handed her a glass of wine and flopped onto the couch, then leaned forward to fill her up again since she’d tossed it back immediately. She gulped that too, then relaxed and toyed with the glass rim. “And whom are we trying to impress tonight?”

“The nice new neighbor next door,” I said.

“And is this the nice new neighbor you told me about? The one who should be arrested for putting on clothes because it’s such a crime?

“The very same.”

Her eyebrows made perfect question marks. “And what services will you require of me? Do you need me to pay her for you? Hold your towel? Stick it in for you?”

“All of those would be welcome, but mostly I need ear candy.”

“Oh, she’s a next-door neighbor! Good acoustics?”

“I can hear her in the shower every morning.”

“Perfect. What’d you have in mind?”

This wasn’t a new thing for us. We bonded the first night, after she got off duty and I took her to get non-pizza Chinese food, and we’ve been through a lot of lovers together. Separately, I mean. For some reason we developed a brother-sister, police partner kind of relationship almost immediately that’s outlasted all of the other ones we’ve had. At least one of us has been in a relationship every day of the last five years, and we’ve always been there to back each other up. She was there with ice cream and rum the night Sylvia dumped me for a podiatrist, and again when Brenda decided in the middle of sex with me that she was gay. When Jill caught her now-ex-boyfriend Rick fooling around with her manager a few months ago I was there to help her SuperGlue his apartment door shut with both of them inside. I’d tell you what we did the night her now-ex-fiance Steven called to break off their engagement and used his new girlfriend’s phone to do it, but I’m still nervous about charges being brought over that one. She was with Ricky now, a nice guy with sincere eyes and, I?ve been told, over and over, very talented lips.

Jill ran a finger across the bottom of her glass and licked it thoughtfully. “So what were you looking to act out? Big fight with your ‘girlfriend’ so she can come over and comfort you with her amazing bosoms?”

“No, I’m thinking the old ‘I’m irresistible because I’m obviously a heroic lover’ trick.”

Her smile was beautiful to behold. “If you can make me scream for an hour, maybe she’ll try and steal you away from me?”

“Something like that.”

“Well… OK. But you’re buying me an expensive lunch tomorrow.”

“Don’t I always?”

“And several large drinks. I don’t want to mess up my throat.”

“Neither do I,” I said sincerely. She shot me a look but I maintained my cherubic innocence. She made the ’squishing your head’ motion at me.

Bottle and glasses in hand, we entered my bedroom and perched on my bed. “So how you want to work this,” Jill asked, kicking her shoes off and curling her legs underneath herself while I poured us both fresh drinks. There was a before-the-curtains-rise feeling, exciting and terrifying and intense.

“I’m thinking we start slow. We don’t want to make it obvious we?re faking it.”

“I never do.”

“Good to know. So maybe a little rustling and light moaning for a bit, and we’ll play it by ear?”

“Roger that,” she said, and lay back on the bed, arms spread. “Come to me, lovah!” she yelled.

I lay down next to her and rested my head on her shoulder. “That’s light moaning?”

“What can I say, I’m a screamer.”

“And what’s with the Beulah accent?”

Jill rolled over and toyed with my collar. Her breath smelled of wine and rich pastry. “Trust me, darlin’,” she murmured. “There’s nothing mo’ threatenin’ to a Yankee girl than a Southern belle. Y’all just lay back and enjoy it.”

“Technically that should have been ‘you,’ then. ‘Y’all’ is plural.”

“I think I see why you aren’t getting laid. C?mon, lover.” She smiled the smile of the gleefully damned and then she gasped, her lips barely parting, so convincing that I almost looked down to see what was going on. Her eyebrows questioned me.

“Mmmm,” I said back. We started tossing ‘ahs’ and ‘ohs’ back and forth to each other from inches apart. After a few minutes she started poking me at random, trying to get me to yelp even as she released soft murmurs of purest lust. I fought back by capturing her left foot between mine and tickling the sole with my toes. She swallowed her squeal, which made a more erotic noise than either of us expected. Blushing, she smacked me on the shoulder. I grabbed her arm and we cuddled into each other, giggling.

“Great,” I panted, “now she’ll think I’m a sadist.”

“Might help,” Jill said. “Shh for a second, let’s pace ourselves. Unless you’re a wham-bam kinda guy?”

“Not in this performance, I’m not. Wine?”

“God, yes.” I rolled over to grab her glass. “You’re sure she’s home, right? Oh, thanks.”

“Yup, saw her come home a few hours before you got here. Go easy with that. You get drunk, you never know whose bed you’ll end up in.”

Jill looked around with an arrogant, down-the-nose expression. “Dahling, anyplace else would have to be a step up on the social ladder, and possibly the evolutionary one. What would I ever be doing here?” she asked loftily.

I grabbed her shoulder and leaned forward to whisper directly into her ear. “Having wild, unforgettable sex with me, obviously.” I felt her shiver when I said it, and for a second her body leaned towards me. This time I let my lips touch her ear. “I think you?ve fallen out of the role, m’love.”

She pulled back a little, enough so I could see that she was flushed. “Damn, I’m working with a method actor. Right.” Looking me right in the eyes she let out a long moan that started from inaudibility and rose up, louder and deeper, until it ended in a breathless whimper. She gave me an exaggerated look of helpless passion, the sort you’d see on an amnesiac patient in a bad soap opera, and then launched a series of gasps and cries that would have convinced anybody at all that whomever she was with, he’d found a good spot. I found myself focusing on her lips and throat. Her long, tanned throat.

I went for it. Wrapping my mouth around the side of her neck I took the muscle there between my teeth and bit down lightly. Her hands clutched my shoulder and head, but she didn’t pull away. Instead she moaned even louder and added a little bit of desperation. Then she whispered down at me. “You’re cheating! You know all my hot spots, that’s not fair!”

“Sorry,” I said, feeling smug as hell. “I’ll leave it out of the Director’s Cut.”

“Two can play this game, me hearty,” she said, and she slid a hand into my shirt to grasp my left nipple between two fingers. “Say ‘Uncle!”

“I’m prepared to suffer for my ART!” I screamed. She was tugging and twisting at me, sending delicious sparks of pain up and down my spine. Mostly down.

“Wow, I thought you were kidding,” she said, watching my reactions with interest. “Those things really are sensitive.” Her voice was husky, strained, and it was much too warm in my bedroom for her to use cold as an excuse for what her shirt was showing.

I rolled back onto my back and gasped. “More pacing?”

“More pacing.” She leaned over me to grab the bottle. Her breasts brushed against my groin when she did; both of us caught our breath but neither of us said anything. When she sat back up to pour she looked perfectly calm. “So. What’s she like? Your mystery girl?”

I sipped slowly, deciding what to say. I was very, very conscious of how full the front of my pants was just then. “Great laugh. Big, happy smile. She’s shorter than me, but not by much. Nice figure.”

“Nice tits?”


“Better than these?” She sat straighter and thrust her chest out. Her large, round breasts pushed at the low neckline of her shirt, which had pulled halfway out of her skirt from all the rolling around. Thick nipples pebbled the cloth and drew me like strawberries in front of a starving hockey team.

I examined them closely. “No,” I sighed. “She’s a mere human. But nice.”

Jill flopped back down on the bed, making the springs squeak loudly, which got us both laughing for a while. I loved watching her laugh, it did such wonderful things to her body. Finally she said, gesturing to the world with her glass, “And she’s worth going through with all this?”

I eased up on one elbow and looked down at her. Her eyes were enormous. “Yeah. She really is.”

She smiled and stretched lazily. “Then c’mere and fuck me for her.”

I fell forward and pinned her, bedsprings complaining. I kept my weight off her and pumped at the bed to get the sound right. She bounced with me for a few minutes but then pushed me off, keeping her hand flat on my chest. “That’s not it,” she whispered. “We’re slamming the mattress, not installing cabinets. You do know how to fuck, right?”

I grabbed her arms and pulled her over me, rolling with her to pin her against the wall. “I’m not sure,” I said into her neck. There was an intoxicating scent to her skin, like wildflowers sprinled with brandy. “It’s been a while. Which one of us wears the funny hat?”

She pushed me away and lay with her arms at her sides. “This isn’t working,” she whispered. “We’re not staying in the mood. No one will ever believe this.”

“Really? I always figured if we ever had sex, it would be just like this. Lots of playing, moaning, bickering, and screaming. And that would be just getting our clothes off. You uncomfortable with this?”

“No, never with you. I’m just not into it, I guess. Maybe we could play porn really loud.”

“Or maybe we could just get you in the mood,” I said, and I ran my hand up her leg and under her skirt before she could move. Jill cried out and arced upwards as my fingers slid up and down the velvety soft cloth over her mound. Immediately my hand was wet, the cloth of her panties sopping and molding around her lips and folds. “This is you out of the mood?” I asked conversationally. She balled her hands into fists and shut her eyes tight but made absolutely no move to stop me. “What are you like when you?re really wet?”

“Oh, God…” she whimpered. I slid my fingers around more carefully, pushing her panties partly into her and resting the weight of my palm over her clit. She pushed up against me with little cries. I worked the cloth around her and found a rhythm that matched her hip movements, letting it get faster and faster. I could feel the muscles in her legs straining.

I leaned down to whisper in her ear once more. “I need you to be convincing, Jill. Make it sound good.” And on “good” I fingered her panties aside and curled two fingers into the hottest place I’d ever been.

She screamed, grabbed onto my arm with both hands and hid her face in my shoulder. I slid my fingers back and forth inside her, slick juices hot on my skin, and pumped hard while letting my hand smack her clit on the backswing. ?Ah! Ah! Ah! God! God! I’m… I’m… Ahhh!” She clutched at my hand and held it to her, rubbing up against my middle finger with all her strength until the spasms melted away. It took a long time.

When she pulled her face out of my shirt I smiled down at her. The skin between her breasts was a bright pink. “There. That sounded better.”

“You bastard,” she said, with absolutely no heat at all. She pressed up against me and sighed. “Oh, God, that was nice.”

“Thanks. I’ve been practicing at the gym.”

“I?ll bet. You gonna move that hand?”

My hand was still resting between her legs, two fingers still idly toying with a delightful little ridge just inside her. Her entire lower body was moving very slightly with my rhythm, like a mermaid lazily floating down a stream after a really good orgasm. “Do you want me to?” I asked.

“Mmm. I’m not sure. Let me get back to you in an hour or so. Ooh. Hey, Charlie?”


“You heard about Ricky?”

“The guy with the talented lips?”


“The one that Bobby saw out last week with that girl you work with? The one that you threw a drink at last night in Bennigan’s?”

“Yeah. Dammit. I wasn’t going to tell you!”

“Why not?”

Jill sighed, obviously torn between the desire to curl up and roll away from me and the desire to open her legs wider so I had more freedom of movement. I let one finger slip out of her, oh so slowly, to stroke along her opening before sinking back in. She bit her lip and groaned. “Why not?” I asked again.

“I… ah, keep doing that!… I didn’t want another pity party. Ah! We’ve had too many, this would be… God!… just like all the rest.”

I lay down next to her, nearly nose to nose, the movements adding more emphasis to what I was doing. “No, this one’s different.” Her expression asked without words. “Right now,” I said, and I let my hand slip backwards so that my fingers slid out of her and stroked up through her lips. She gasped into my mouth. “Right now neither of us is with anybody. Think about that for a second.”

Her eyes went wide. “Holy shit, you?re right!”

“So you gonna make noises for me now?” Jill sat up and pushed my hand away from her. Immediately I knew I’d gone too far. Fun was fun, but she might really be upset. “Jill, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

She pushed me down flat on my back and kneeled at the foot of the bed. “We are completely unattached.”

“Yeah, but–”

“Neither of us in a relationship, both of us free to do what we want.”

“Right, but I didn’t mean to–”

“And I’ve always wanted to do this,” she said, and yanked my pants down. They stopped at my hips but she popped the button and pulled them the rest of the way off, leaving me waving tall. “Oh, that’s just fine.” She leaned forward and, without another word, took half of me in her mouth. I couldn’t help it. I screamed.

She pulled me out and rubbed the head across her lips. “That’s better. I almost believed that one.” And she put her hands and mouth to work.

Her long hair brushed against my stomach and I could feel her breasts and stomach pressing on my legs, but the rest of my world was her mouth and tongue and teeth and fingers. She brought me to the edge almost immediately, although in my defense I had been wildly excited ever since she walked into the bedroom. But she wouldn’t let me finish. Every time she felt the surge — and from my end it felt like turning on a fire hose — she stopped strolling and just licked around the less sensitive areas. “What do you want?” I finally yelled. “Money? You want money? My car? It’s yours! Anything!?

She held me firmly in both hands and smiled towards me from behind it. “I want to utterly convince your neighbor, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you’re in here having the best sex of your entire life, real or imagined.”

Sensing that a strong response was called for, I said, after a brief squeak, “Then hadn’t you better get on with it?”

Jill sprang off the bed and let her skirt and panties fall to the ground. Her shirt followed, then her bra. If the room caught on fire around that point I wouldn’t be able to tell you. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. “Yeah, she said. “I think we?ve waited just about long enough. Five years, in fact.” She leaped up and straddled me, the soft hair between her legs just barely brushing against me. “But you gotta tell me something.”

“My ATM number is 3066.”

“What’s your neighbor look like?”

Even though my penis was trying to detach itself so it could leap up into her, even though the heat from her was driving me mad, I said, “An eighty-year-old Rotarian. Stone deaf. And away for a week.”

She stopped dead. “You mean this was a trick? You were playing with my vulnerability to indulge some fantasy you’ve had about me for years? There’s no one around to hear us fuck?” I shook my head sheepishly.

The biggest, more evil smile I’d ever seen came out on her face and stayed there. “Good. I’d hate to have the police interrupt this.” And with that she impaled herself on me until our bodies met with a smack and two loud moans. She raised up but I grabbed her hips and thrust up into her, not letting her get too far away before I could make sure that she knew, inside, that we were together. She ran her hands down my chest and drew her fingernails right where they’d do the most good. I reached around to cup her breasts in my hands. They were perfect, bouncing as she moved and spilling out of my hands, dark brown nipples rubbing against my fingers. It wasn’t sex as much as it was a claiming, both of us marking each other with nails and teeth and thrusts. And it was a playful contest too, each trying to get the loudest noise out of the other. She squeezed down on me and wriggled, her tight insides hitting all the right spots and making me yelp. I grabbed her ass and pulled her down, pressing my body up against hers until she cried out like a winning cheerleader.

When we could take no more she pressed her body against me and kissed me for the first time. Wine and strawberries. “I love you,” she said into my mouth.

“I love you,” I said back. “Wanna go steady?”

She laughed, the laugh I loved so much but deeper, throatier, the laugh of a lusty woman getting what she wants. “That’s the best sound I’ve heard all night,” she said, and we rocked each other into louder and louder exclamations of passion.

As it happens the police did show up — the neighbors below and above us complained — but Jill answered the door naked and no charges were filed. People tend to listen to her.

Story: The Yule Log

…and as she screamed her orgasm out to the world I finally unloaded and fired spurt after spurt of my manjuice until it ran in pools and streams across her tits and belly. She sighed, trailing her fingers through the steaming goo, and looked up through lidded eyes.
‘That was incredible,’ she said, and then she gasped when she saw my slugger coming up to bat again. ‘Oh my God, again?’
‘Game lasts nine innings, baby,’ I said as I watched all ten inches disappear into her hungry, cum-drenched mouth. ‘Can’t disappoint the fans, can we?’

Jimmy let the magazine drop to the bed and fought for breath as his spasms subsided. After a time he swabbed his stomach with a towel and lay back with his forearm over his eyes. Damn! Why can’t I get girls to react like that? Well, duh, he thought, looking down at his equipment with a depressed and familiar frown. Look at that. Hard as it ever gets and still barely peeks over the fuzz. Why would a girl want to grab that in her fist when she’d only have to figure out what to do with her three extra fingers.

He got up, rubbing at the drips that resulted, and stood in front of his mirror. Hmph. Pale, pasty and pathetic, and nothing to offer a girl that would be any better than her own thumb. Goddammit. Why do girls always go for the big, hunky, confident guys? I’m sensitive. I can talk to them, I’m always there to listen to their problems and give them rides and let them cry on my shoulder, but if I hint at a friendly blowjob what happens? Whap! That’s what. Not like the girls in the magazines, or in the movies. Soon as the guy shows up, bam! Down on their knees, begging for it all night. Where the hell do I find girls like that? Just one would do. Maybe I can get one for Christmas.

Hey, Santa? Can I have a slut for Christmas? I’ve been good!

The towel dropped to the floor by the bed (next to the others) when he stood to pull on his jeans. Once he was back in his living room he sat at his desk and tried to remember what he was doing when the urge struck him. Oh, yeah, the papers on the Jentwick account. Fucking Christmas Eve and I’m doing office work! No wonder girls avoid me. The figures on his screen blurred and danced before his eyes and he slumped in front of them, scowling. I can’t concentrate on this, I’m too depressed. The centerfold tacked to his bulletin board seemed to agree with him.

His computer screamed (he had long ago replaced his “new mail bong” sound with a Homer Simpson shriek). Oh boy, more crap e-mail. Probably another friendly virus. I’ve got maybe three friends in the whole world but I sure seem to be on everyone’s e-mail list when they want to sell me Rolexes. Out of purely morbid curiosity he clicked on it.

Hey kids!
Don’t forget, Santa’s loading up his sleigh right now! Have you mailed him your list yet? Well, you’re in luck, because his e-mail is always on! You still have time to send your Christmas list to Santa before he leaves, so Click Here to get started. Merry Christmas!

Great, he thought, with the world-weary cynicism of the Internet veteran. Gotta be either a porn site or an e-mail harvester. Wonder how they word it so they don’t get sued? I shouldn?t be bothering with this, I?ve got work to do. I can?t get distracted!

It was a simple enough web site. Some boring Christmas clip art at the top and bottom, a basic form, and the words “Tell Santa What You Want” across the top in (ugh) blinking text. Jeez, what year did they make this? He scrolled down to look for a copyright date or company name but there was nothing else on the page. Weird.

What the fuck. I must be the most bored human being on the face of the earth.

NAME: Jimmy Saunders
ADDRESS: 88563 Lonhurst St
CITY: San Diego, CA

He paused, thinking, then began to type quickly:

I want to be a superstud. Like in the porno movies. I want to last forever and make any woman cream.

He clicked on ?Send? before he could change his mind. There. Merry fucking Christmas.

He pushed away from the desk and spun in his chair a few times before getting up. That’s it, I’ve hit my level of pathetic for the day. I’m going to bed, I’ll do this junk tomorrow. Nothing else going on, unless the cat got me a present. His bed and blissful slumber awaited him, provided he remembered to avoid stepping on the sticky towels in the dark. Again.

Behind him, the computer screamed silently. The new e-mail had a subject line that read:

Order confirmation #882665992-238856782.

A blast of sound slammed Jimmy out of a moist dream about his seventh grade math teacher and he swept the still-running alarm clock off the nightstand. I don’t believe it, the one morning I can sleep late and I forget to turn it off. Figures.

He got up, yawning and scratching, and wandered into the bathroom for the usual morning piss. And shrieked.

What the fuck is that?!? Staring up at him was the tight purple head of his now-mighty dick, and it was a lot closer to his face than he was used to. A lot closer. He could feel it pulsing, like having an enraged weasel attached to his groin. Christ, it’s thicker than my wrist, he thought. His fingers barely wrapped around it and he quickly discovered that it was stronger than he was, which was about to become a serious problem if he didn’t want to hose down his medicine cabinet. Even pressing straight down with both hands did nothing but make his elbows pop. Impending hydraulic dangers forced him to change his plans; he ended up standing over the bowl, facing away, and touching his toes.

It almost did him in. The sensations of hot liquid rushing through the beast caused him to curl his toes so tightly he almost fell over. He straightened up and looked down at it with equal parts fear, respect, and awe. Is it… humming? It bobbed a feral agreement. Jimmy ran into the bedroom (a mistake, his new friend whapped painfully into his stomach with each step) and closed the bathroom door to stand in front of the full-length mirror on the back.

Oh. My. God. It was unbelievable. He was hung like a bull moose. A thick, hard head the size of a tennis ball on top of a long coke-can-thick shaft that rose and fell with each heartbeat. He was reminded of a stalking snake, slowly and rhythmically soothing its prey before the strike. Ropy veins wound around it and the urethra was a tight pencil-sized lump along the underside. His balls were equally large and filled his hands like a sack of oranges. He gave it a quick stroke from bottom to top and nearly went to his knees from the feel of it. His prick was inhumanly sensitive; every touch sent shocks of icy fire through his balls and throughout his body to the tips of his hair. What will an orgasm do? I may not make it… A quick dig through his desk drawer produced a ruler. The head of his new cock stuck out over the top.

Holy shit with cream and a cherry. How the hell did this? From the living room the television blared sounds of sleigh bells and caroling and answered his question for him.

It was Christmas day and obviously Santa had brought his present, which frankly beat the hell out of a tie or a George Foreman grill. He sat down on the bed and considered his options. First thing, play with his new toy. Didn’t even need batteries. But who could he call?

Jill? No, she still hates me. Andrea? No, she likes girls now. Billie? No, she’s with Andrea. There’s gotta be somebody I can… The doorbell interrupted. Jimmy grabbed a robe and pulled it on, then spent a few panicky minutes trying to force his two-o’clock erection into high noon so he could tie the robe shut. He walked to the door, trying not to feel like a man smuggling a kielbasa through customs, and opened it to see a young lady with bright red hair, a UPS uniform, and an “I’m in a big fucking hurry so take your package so I can leave” expression.

“MerryChristmaspleasesign,” she said, thrusting a small box at him. Jimmy reached for the box. There was a sproing! sound as his robe failed him. The UPS lady looked down at what was now lying across her clipboard, and then looked up to meet Jimmy’s eyes with a wide-eyed stare. Perfect, Jimmy thought, fixing a frozen smile on his face. I wonder if you get internet access in prison?

“Ma’am, I am so sorry,” he began, but he stopped after she dropped to her knees and started franticly forcing his pound of meat into her mouth with both hands. “Um, ma’am? Ma’am?” He raised his voice to carry over her loud slurping. “Um, wow, could we take this inside? Mr. Jenkins across the street is staring at us. Ma’am?” Her only response was to grab his ass with both hands, pinning him in place. With a sigh, Jimmy relaxed to the inevitable.

Oh, fuck yeah, that’s what I’m talking about! Her mouth was stretched to bursting and there was still plenty of Jimmy for her to wrap her hands around. She nearly gagged a few times before she got the hang of it, saliva running out of her mouth and over her shirt, but she persevered like a trooper. Jimmy grasped his dick at the base and tugged it away from her, like the guys in the porn movies did. She resisted at first, but finally let her hands drop to attack her own crotch as she raised her open, begging mouth for his benediction. Oh yeah, just like the movies, he thought, and so he waggled his unit like a baseball bat and with a macho sneer he whapped her across the mouth with it, which was a mistake because it knocked her cold.

After a brief moment of panic (which just made his erection get even bigger) he checked her pulse. Even unconscious she was moaning and pumping her hips. He grabbed her under the armpits and dragged her back in the house (after waving to Mr. Jenkins, who was shouting “Merry Christmas, Jimmy!” at the top of his lungs). Once he got her inside the house he kneeled beside her to do something medical, although he wasn’t at all sure what. He was vaguely aware that he should be pumping her mouth and blowing into her chest, but he wasn’t sure how to start, and anyway she was definitely alive. He could tell because she was masturbating furiously with one hand and blindly reaching out for something with the other. On the off chance that it was him, and hoping to at least get a hand job out of the deal in any case, Jimmy maneuvered himself so that her questing hand found his pole.

Her eyes snapped open. In one swift movement she whipped her pants off and jumped on him, forcing him to the carpet and landing on his chest with her hands between their bodies, holding on to him for dear life. Her juices were coming out in gouts, which surely saved her serious internal injuries as she forced herself down on him. It was exquisite. Jimmy could feel her slick tightness sliding up and down the entire length of his monstercock. She was stretched so taut against him, he could feel every ridge and every vein of his python as it pushed past the clenched fist of her pussy. He could even see the bulge of it moving in her lower abdomen as she rose and lowered herself with increasing frequency. Her hands were squeezing her breasts over and over, her eyes were shut, her breath was coming faster and faster, and a cucumber-shaped bruise was forming across her jaw.

Jimmy knew from experience that this sort of thing could only last two, maybe three more minutes, and then only if he thought about raw sewage. Ah well, he thought philosophically. It’s great while it lasts.

It lasted two hours.

They tried every position they could think of and he filled and overflowed every crevice in her that they could find or create. He stopped counting her orgasms after they started running together. Finally he stood up and, with one powerful stroke and an exultant scream, he fired quart after quart of thick fluid across her face with his first orgasm of the morning. She fell back to the floor with what looked like a cream pie across her face and fell asleep. Damn, no wonder these guys are arrogant assholes, this is incredible! I feel like cutting someone off in traffic. He straightened up and almost fell from the pain in his back. Better start working out if I’m going to keep up with the big boys, he thought. A few Advil and a swig from the bottle under the sink helped with the backache, but the sight of the computer in the living room brought a raging headache, front and center.

Oh, shit, the Jentwick account! Oh, I am so dead… He pushed the broken, sweat-stained couch to one side, swept away the half-eaten vegetables and empty whipped cream cans, ran to the computer and got to work, trying to ignore his sticky, still hard cock. He had to lower his chair to keep from scraping against the desk, which just made his back hurt more. The spreadsheet looked just as impenetrable as it did the night before and he hadn’t had a throbbing foot-long distraction then.

A sound from behind made him turn. Hobbling towards him was the UPS woman, arms outstretched and walking as if she had a dislocated hip, which, for all he knew, she did. He also noticed for the first time, with a guilty start, the wedding ring on her hand. “No, baby, I can’t right now, I gotta finish umph!” She pushed his face out of the way so she could reach down into his lap and reclaim her prize but sex was the farthest thing from Jimmy’s mind right now. Well, not the farthest thing, but pretty far… She stroked and pulled at him with all the loving affection of someone trying to start a lawn mower. The second thing, definitely the second thing on my mind… No! I have to finish this or I’m unemployed. He stood up to grab her hands but she just moaned and spun around, bending over and pressing herself up against him. “Okay, one more quick one.”

By two in the afternoon, Jimmy had come sixteen more times and had finally been forced to lock the UPS woman in the garage. There was also a pizza delivery girl penned in the bathroom, an Avon lady tied to his bed, Mrs. Bilhaus from down the street had teamed up with a woman from a pool-cleaning service and they were slowly circling the house, trying all the windows, and the neighbor’s dog was howling in the backyard. Jimmy was more tired than he had ever been in his life and twice as sore. His penis was as red and inflamed as an over-nuked hot dog (but still rock hard), it appeared to be missing significant amounts of skin, and just brushing against it brought tears to his eyes. The women didn’t look to be in much better shape but all of them continued to beg (or howl) for him at the top of their lungs. Jimmy hauled himself over to his desk and sat down as the phone rang.

“Hello?” he said, trying to hold the phone tight to his mouth so the anguished female shrieks wouldn’t be heard.

“Saunders? We need you to come in to the office, Jentwick is here and we need your figures.”

Aw, crap. “But sir…”

“Fuck me! Fuck me with your massive horsecock!”


“Ram it to me, motherfucker!”

“I’m sorry sir, that’s the uh, the television.”

“Oh, those damn Christmas specials. Forget it, Saunders, this is important. I’ll see you in twenty minutes.” The line went dead and Jimmy’s brain shut down. Oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap…

The shower was agony, especially since he had to drag the pizza girl out first (he left her tethered to the refrigerator). He finally settled on poking his dick out of the shower curtain while he quickly scrubbed the rest of himself. Underwear was almost impossible. It took the application of several thick coats of hand lotion before he could tug his boxer shorts over his pulsating prong and only his loosest pair of jogging pants would fit him. Harrison was just going to have to put up with casual attire, at least until he found a harness for this thing. Jimmy pulled on a huge sweatshirt and stood before the mirror for inspection. Great, I look like someone’s trapped in my pants and they’re trying to get out. Which, in a way, is true. He wrapped a jacket around his waist and tied the arms so they hung down over his groin, which helped a bit. Grabbing handfuls of paperwork and disks, he ran… walked, rapidly, to his car.

Moving the seat all the way back gave him just enough room to turn the steering wheel as long as he didn?t make any sudden movements. Feels like I’m driving with a Big Gulp between my legs, he thought, and then tried hard not to think about that. He drove as fast as he dared, dodging cars and slipping through gaps barely larger than his car before a red light caught him a block away from the office. He waited it out, anxious and fidgety, until the slam of a door drew his attention to the car alongside him. The driver, a luscious blonde, was running around to his side with a purposeful expression.

He got his window rolled up just in time for her naked breasts to smash against it. “I’m sorry, I can’t right now!” he yelled, willing the light to change. His passenger door was yanked open and a foul-smelling woman wearing ragged clothing and what appeared to be a scrap of Hefty bag on her head began scrambling into the car. Jimmy screamed at her and pushed her back out, locking the door behind her. He turned to run the damn light and saw a wave of women in various stages of undress crawling over the hood towards him in a pink and white-laced version of Dawn of the Dead. I’m going to be raped to death, he realized, and to his horror his dick throbbed even harder at the thought. The car started rocking as the passion-crazed women tried to force their way in.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Jimmy was glad to hear a police siren. The women in front of the car parted, reluctantly, to allow a patrol car to drive up and park. Jimmy could just barely see beyond the wriggling bodies to the officer walking up to his car, and he started trying to figure out what in the world he could say. I’m sorry officer, but they all need my schlong? It lacked something.

The magnificent breasts against his window finally moved away. Jimmy rolled his window down, saying, “Officer, I really don’t know what happened but I’m sure glad you’re…” He stopped when the cop shook her hair free of her cap and began unbuttoning her blouse.

He slammed the car in reverse and gunned it, knocking aside several masturbating executives and a spasming lady walking a spasming poodle, and managed to drive the car backwards into an alleyway. Gunfire rang out and the car sagged as his back tires blew, but he kept driving as if all the hounds (bitches?) of hell were at his heels. His fan club followed, screaming and moaning, and he had one quick glimpse, off in the distance, of a battered UPS truck barreling towards him. After a few hundred feet of terrified driving he plowed into a dumpster and jumped out, wincing at the pain. His building was a block away. He could make it.

“I’m terribly sorry about this, Saunders is usually very prompt,” Mr. Harrison was saying in the friendly, avuncular voice he reserved for the Really Big Clients. “There’s probably a lot of, um, holiday traffic or something, or a parade in the way. Maybe some Jewish thing, I really don’t follow the news. May I get you another coffee?”

“No, thank you. I really must be going, I have a flight leaving in a few–”

They both stopped, speechless, when Jimmy burst through the door, dragging two women behind him. He slapped their hands away and forced the door shut on them, locking it and leaning against it to try and get his breath back.

He was a mess. His sweatshirt and jacket were completely gone, he had only one sock left, and his sweat pants were reduced to tatters and strips (with a few obvious bite marks here and there). And through the wreckage rose his dick, proud and unbowed. Jimmy took a deep, shuddering breath, and looked up to tell Mr. Harrison it was okay if he was fired as long as he could hide here for a while, just in time to see Jentwick for the first time. Mrs. Jentwick. Before he had time to dodge Jimmy went down in a pile of tasteful gray clothing, elegant pearls, and 227 pounds of frenzied matron. He tried to object but he was just too damn tired and besides, Mr. Harrison kept making “go ahead” motions at him, obviously already planning how to bill her for this.

Oddly enough, she was the best yet.

At five minutes to midnight, Jimmy arrived at the hotel room to hide out in relative peace, thanks to the limo and carefully-worded arrangements of a grateful Mr. Harrison. He was a wreck. Large patches of scalp showed through where his hair had been ripped out, he was bleeding freely from thousands of scratches all over his body, his entire torso was an immense and painful hickey, his balls felt like pressed grapes, and his goddamn motherfucking thrice-cursed Jesus tap-dancing Christ dick was still hard! He collapsed naked on the bed and buried his face in his hands, sobbing in the empty room.

“So, Jimmy. Was it worth it?”

Jimmy jerked upright (with a small cry of pain) to see a very large, very old man sitting on the bed. Jimmy looked at him closely. Fat, check. Beard, check. Rosy cheeks, check. Sonnuva… “What the hell did you do?” he cried.

“What you asked for. You wanted to be a superstud. Ta-da! Whatcha think?”

Jimmy moaned. “I’m fucked. I can’t get near a woman without getting assaulted. Every muscle in my body is cramped. I’m out of sperm, I’m shooting white blood cells and spit. If I’m not careful I get dizzy from blood loss. I can’t talk to a woman, can’t get them to see me as anything other than a penis. Every woman in the world, they don’t care about my personality or my privacy, but the second they see me they just want to use me over and over again ?til I die.”

The fat man put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and smiled down at him. “Rough when people objectify you, huh?”

“You know it. It’s not just young women, it’s any woman past puberty. Cheerleaders, geeks, doctors, nurses, female firefighters, nuns, even a congressperson, I think. And my boss wants to put me out for stud service to help get contracts from upper class women. This is going to kill me.”

“So,” the man said, his eyes twinkling, “you ready to get back to a normal life?”

Jimmy looked up in shock. “Are you kidding? Hell no!”

“Yes, something told me that by now you’d be ready to… what?” The man did a splendid double-take and stood up, flabbergasted. “What?” he roared. “You want to keep it?”

“Hell yeah,” Jimmy said. “Are you kidding? I’m getting laid like no other guy on earth! Even the guys in the movies can’t beat this! I’m the greatest stud there ever was!”

“You’re insane. You’re supposed to have a new and better appreciation of your day-to-day existence that will let you live the rest of your life with a positive outlook on your life and the cards you’ve been dealt, you fucking moron! If you keep on going like this you’ll be dead in a week!”

“Yeah, but I’ll be the happiest fucking corpse in history! It might not even stop there! Women might travel from miles around to dig me up and hop on!” The man began slowly backing away, horrified, but Jimmy wasn’t looking at him anymore. “Maybe they’ll bury me so it’s sticking out of the ground, and women can come and fuck me for years and years and years! I could become a rite of passage! A god!”

Unnoticed, the fat man headed for the door. “This shit just isn’t working the way it used to,” he muttered. And, laying a finger alongside his nose and shaking his head sadly, he left.

Story: Attack of the Infinite Monkey

My poetry muse had struck during dinner, so the setting sun found me curled on my couch with my journal and a pen. Archaic though it may be, it makes a difference.

I write for a living, cranking out political commentary and articles for my bread, butter, and beverages. I also write novels and other stuff for the fun of it because bread and butter by themselves get awfully boring after a while. Over the years I’ve discovered that each style of writing has its own utensils.

Non-fiction demands speed, accuracy, and easy access to a universe of facts. That means computer. I also use my computer at home for writing mystery novels but only after I’ve disabled my e-mail, web browsers, instant messaging, and games, lest they distract my weak and feeble mind. If I’m on the road I can use my Palm Pilot, which inspires entries that are concise (which makes sense) and wittier (which does not).

However, my computer and handheld are both useless to me for writing poetry. I’ve tried and nothing happens, I might as well be sitting in front of my toaster oven. For poetry I have to have pen and paper before my mind will relax enough to let my emotions out.

I also need silence, which was scarce at the moment because my girlfriend Lucy walked over and stood in front of me to sing “Happy Birthday” at the top of her lungs. She was holding a very large box wrapped in the newspaper comics section.

She finished with a ridiculously deep “and many moooooore!” and dropped the box on my lap. It hurt, this thing was heavy. Suspiciously heavy. I looked up to see if Lucy had unobtrusively dived behind something large and blast-absorbing while I was preoccupied with the ribbon.

Nope. She was still standing there, twirling a strand of her long, blond hair between her fingers, waiting for me to open my brand new engine block or whatever the hell this was. “Go ahead, goofy. Whip it out,” she said with a grin, clearly enjoying herself.

“Why not,” I said. “I’ve had a good life.” I tore the paper away to reveal a very solid cardboard box, and then opened that to reveal… a typewriter. An old one, as if there were any other kind these days, but a really massive old one, totally manual, the kind with the little round keys perched in neat rows on slender black stems. A black and red striped ribbon ran from the two large spools on top. The decal on the paper table declared in bright gold letters that this was a “Royal,” and I didn’t doubt it for a second.

I set it down with a grunt and swept Lucy up in my arms, swinging her around the apartment. “This is great! Thank you! Where did you find this?”

“Not telling,” she said, “but if you need parts or more ribbons I know where there’s a place. Totally coincidental, me knowing that.”

“Of course. And I believe you.” I bent down to inspect my prize more closely. My nostrils flared at the faint smell of machine oil mixed with the sharper tang of a new ink ribbon. Ancient writing senses tingled. I touched the carriage return lever and marveled at the ease in which it ratcheted. “What brought this on?”

“Hello? Birthday? You told me once about playing with your grandmother’s old machine, I thought you’d get a kick out of it.” She knelt down besides me and gave me a squeeze. “Besides, who knows what you’ll write on this?”

I stood up and gathered her up in my arms. “I’ll write you love letters,” I said, nuzzling her neck. “Long, passionate, badly mistyped love letters, reeking of carbon paper and WhiteOut, as God intended.”

“As long as you spell my name right.” She curled a finger over my belt and tugged towards the bedroom. “C’mon,” she said playfully. “Now you have to thank me.”

An hour later I was back at my new toy, but I felt troubled. Across the hallway Lucy was sprawled across our bed, glowing blue in the moonlight and looking like a lunar landscape, all curves and slopes and rises. The sex had been wonderful, as always, but something was off.

We had collapsed on the bed, still kissing and laughing, and we broke to pull our clothes off. I had some trouble with my socks. We kissed again and stroked each other, teasing and tickling and caressing until our breath became ragged. I kissed her lightly on the cheek, careful to avoid her neck because she’s ticklish there. She trailed her hands across my chest and no lower because she gets a little shy around my genitals, but we’re used to working around that.

When we were ready she reached over her head to the nightstand and pumped a dollop of lotion into her hand. She kissed me quick and applied it where we needed it, jumping slightly at the cold. I rolled over her, keeping my weight off, and rubbed the head of my dick against her moist slit. She sighed and relaxed her thighs, opening herself to me. I kept rubbing until the lotion covered both of us and then I let my weight push me into her slowly, a half-inch, then back out, then again until I was completely in her.

She reached up to hold my shoulders; I set my hands to the sides of her head and our dance began. I always go slow to give her time to adjust and that lets both of us build our fires to the boiling point. She raised her hips to urge me on. I went faster, pumping away, pulling up a little to let her get her hand between us so she could bring herself right along with me. I gasped and burst inside her, fighting to keep going long after I was spent and dwindling so she could come under me with happy moans.

After she fell asleep I crept out of bed and now here I was, staring at forty pounds of metal, trying not to be intimidated. The typewriter seemed to be waiting for something, and I began to suspect it was waiting for a real writer to come along. It was grinning evilly at me.

Heck with this. Writer’s tip #1: Write something, no matter what. Then at least you have something to edit. I stuck in a sheet of paper, smiling at the barely-remembered feel of the platen ratcheting, and typed “Dear Lucy.” The sounds of the keys striking cracked! In the still room; Lucy snored gently on.

“Dear Lucy,” I typed. “I love you. This is the perfect present and I thank you for it. You always know just what I need, even before I know it myself. Right now I’m looking down the hall and I can see you laying there. You’ve kicked the covers off like you always do and your hip is rising above the sheets like a snowy mountain, cool and untamable. But I can tame you. My hands ache to grab your hips and flip you over, exposing your sweet, rounded ass to my hungry gaz”

I stopped, horrified. Where the hell had that come from? I shook my head and laughed a bit, trying not to notice how heavily I was breathing. “Okay,” I said out loud. “Pen and paper for poetry, computer for politics, typewriter for bad porn.” I grabbed a Coke and chugged half of it before sitting back down and trying again.

“Dear Lucy. I love you. Even after two years my heart jumps whenever I see you. When we’re in the mall and we go to different stores and then I come back and see you across the crowded room, I can’t believe that you chose to be with me. You’re incredible. I see other guys looking at you and I think how lucky I am. I see guys come up to you whenever I’m not right next to you and they hit on you, and I just want to roar and smack them away from you. You’re mine, you belong to me, and I will fight for”

When I pulled away I was panting like I’d run a marathon, and my head was pounding. What the hell? I don’t write stuff like this. I don’t even think stuff like this! This is stalker shit, this is… this is my subconscious or something. It’s like my monkey genes woke up and asserted my alpha maleness or something, and that was just wrong. We didn’t spend millions of years evolving up from apes so I could go caveman on my girlfriend.

It was the typewriter. Had to be. Tapping away on this thing was bringing out some weird kind of atavistic ur-writer in me, the kind that smokes nonstop and dies of alcohol poisoning. The kind that wasn’t me.

Still, I felt… powerful. Strong, in a way I never had before. I stood in the bedroom doorway and looked at her. Lucy had rolled over in her sleep and was now on her back, naked to the waist, her full breasts rising and falling gently.

I wanted her.

I still loved her and I still needed her and I still respected her as a person, but just then I wanted her with an intensity that frightened me. I took a step forward, shaking, and then threw myself back into the living room and behind the typewriter.

“I’m not like this,” I typed, although I’m not sure who or what I was trying to convince. “I don’t listen to my animal instincts. I’m a civilized man. An infinite number of monkeys might be able to type the works of Shakespeare, but my inner monkey needs to shut up. I don’t do brutal.”

It wouldn’t be brutal. I could feel it. It would be forceful and definite, but it wouldn’t be brutal. I’d stop if she wanted me to. I knew it. I pounded on the keys, reveling in the simple violence of smacking metal keys into paper until it wasn’t enough anymore.

The bed creaked when I sat on it. I laid my hand flat on her stomach and stroked it gently but firmly, taking possession of it. This is mine, I thought, and I felt guilty and strong. I stroked up to her breast and I grasped it, gently but firmly, and enjoyed the fierce pride of ownership.

Lucy opened her eyes. “Wha…? Honey? Are you–”

I leaned over her and took her mouth. My tongue easily captured hers and made it mine. She gasped and came fully awake, looking into my hunger, and her eyes widened. As I watched they darkened to a deep and smoky pool I’d only glimpsed before and never understood. I knew what it was now. I’d found her monkey.

I trailed my tongue across her cheek. She shivered with the feel of it. I whispered hoarsely into her ear, “I want you,” and just as she arched her neck to push against me I ducked my head and bit down on her shoulder.

She cried out. Part of me wanted to stop, make sure she was okay, but the monkey reveled in the way she pushed her ass back against me, the way she moved in my arms. I reached around and slid my hand down between her legs to circle her clit, already buzzing and hot. I caught it between my fingers and tugged on it and she cried out again and reached back to grab my hair and pull my lips to hers. We kissed savagely. My fingers slipped deep into her where she was boiling hot and getting wetter by the second.

She reached around to grab my cock, yanking at it, pulling it closer to her. I closed my eyes to relish the feel of it before I grabbed her hip to hold her steady and sank into her hard enough to smack against her ass. We screamed at the connection, my thrusts branding her inside, making sure that she knew forever that she was mine. Lucy lurched forward to grab my butt and pull me frantically towards her, into her, urging me faster and faster, harder and harder.

I didn’t care about her pleasure, even as I angled to maximize it. I didn’t care about keeping my weight off her; I pushed her into the bed and pounded harder. I didn’t care about being sensitive or about being careful or whether or not we had simultaneous orgasms. I was taking her, and I felt free.

And she took it. She took everything I had and coaxed me harder, making me fight to stay on and not get thrown off the bed. Her muscles clenched and her teeth were bared and she laughed a deep and guttural laugh that didn’t come from a human throat. I gripped the side of her neck in my jaws and felt the hot pulse, just under the surface, calling to me.

There were no missteps, no goofs, no “sorrys.” Everywhere I touched her, she burned. Everywhere she touched me, I ached. Everything I said to her made her moan and clutch at me like a lifeline. Every thrust pushed a cry out of her throat, deep and guttural and heartfelt. I lay completely on her, my groin chasing her clit all over her pelvic bone, and I rode her into a red-hot place where all that mattered was feeling and passion and fire.

I roared when I emptied myself into her, pounding hard enough to shake the bed. In response she pushed harder back, screaming with me and shaking with her own bursts. I collapsed on top of her, still fully hard inside her, and she whimpered and squeezed me and shuddered through another climax. We were both drenched in sweat. The tiniest movement caused both of us to gasp again and we pushed gently against each other, quivering in the aftershocks.

Te last thing I remember, as consciousness began to creep back and my monkey scuttled back into my hindbrain, was me whispering into her ear, “I love you,” and feeling her shiver at the sensation.

I awoke, alone. The bed looked as though hippos had been wallowing on it. I was sore in a dozen places. And she was gone.

I couldn’t believe what I had done. My lovely, my tender Lucy, and I had all but raped her. How the hell could I ever face her again? Had she left? How could she ever trust me again? I wasn’t even sure that I trusted myself. Even in my shame I felt the stirrings, knew I wanted her still, knew I could take her again, and it frightened me. The monkey is always under the surface, waiting.

A noise startled me and I looked up to see Lucy standing in the doorway. She was gloriously nude, draped in the torn sheet, looking like a ravished goddess. In her eyes was the look that lionesses use to tempt their mates. “Type something for me,” she said in a husky voice.

I started to say something, to apologize, but she stopped me with a look. “A little rough for every day,” she said, chuckling, “but right now I want you to write something for me, right there on that machine.” She turned and looked back over her bare shoulder. There were red marks on it, bite marks, and they thrilled me. “I’ll be waiting for it.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, but her voice carried back. “And then it’ll be my turn.”

Inside me the monkey laughed. I began to type.

My Stuff