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"When will 'crashing waves' be expired as an orgasm metaphor?" asked one of our interns the other day. She seemed truly concerned, so this month's Henry Miller verbiage shies away from oceanic terminology. In its place we have "an animal's cramp of tortured muscle"; a belly that "laughs, weeps, then bubbles over with excitement; and "Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." Rate each entry below in three categories: literary merit, heat and originality. Each month's highest-ranked entry will proceed to the year-end competition. Two winners of that contest will be announced: grand prize (as chosen by a panel of a celebrity judges) and readers' choice. The judges' pick will receive $1,934, commemorating the publication date of Tropic of Cancer.
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From: The Almond
by Nedjma
(Grove Press) |
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OVERALL RATING: 6.5
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To buy The Almond,
click here
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He soaped my upper and lower back, covered my pubis with foam. Its hair concealed my privacy from his look, but his fingers quickly slid beneath my panties and opened the lips, finding my clitoris, hard as a chickpea, then pressed down with a delicate and meditative gesture. I moaned, tried to take down my panties, but he wouldn't let me. He turned me over, embraced my thighs, and made me arch my back. There you are, I said to myself. You are his plaything. His object. He can do anything now, rip out your tongue, tear open your heart, or make you the Queen of Sheba.
Lowering my panties, he put his cheek on my buttocks, spreading the crack with his fingers and making room for his nose. I was wet. Then he took a small flask from one of the shelves, removed a drop of oil, and perfumed my anus with it, massaging it for a long time, to the point that I forgot my trepidation and my muscles began to relax as his knowledgeable hands became more focused. I had no idea what he wanted to do to me but was wishing that he would just do it and certainly not stop the circular motion that was driving me wild, opening me up for him, as my vagina discharged its joy in long translucent strands
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To buy The Almond,
click here
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He soaped my upper and lower back, covered my pubis with foam. Its hair concealed my privacy from his look, but his fingers quickly slid beneath my panties and opened the lips, finding my clitoris, hard as a chickpea, then pressed down with a delicate and meditative gesture. I moaned, tried to take down my panties, but he wouldn't let me. He turned me over, embraced my thighs, and made me arch my back. There you are, I said to myself. You are his plaything. His object. He can do anything now, rip out your tongue, tear open your heart, or make you the Queen of Sheba.
Lowering my panties, he put his cheek on my buttocks, spreading the crack with his fingers and making room for his nose. I was wet. Then he took a small flask from one of the shelves, removed a drop of oil, and perfumed my anus with it, massaging it for a long time, to the point that I forgot my trepidation and my muscles began to relax as his knowledgeable hands became more focused. I had no idea what he wanted to do to me but was wishing that he would just do it and certainly not stop the circular motion that was driving me wild, opening me up for him, as my vagina discharged its joy in long translucent strands.
He found the spot, reaped my wetness, and daubed my buttocks with it before sinking his teeth in. No bite has ever been dearer to me. I could hear my belly laugh, weep, then bubble over with excitement. I begged, "Enough . . . enough," praying all the while that he wouldn't stop.
Then he carried me, dripping wet and moaning, to the bed. As soon as he bent over to lay me down, I pulled him by the collar, put my mouth on his, sucking his tongue, making the buttons on his shirt pop open, and bit his torso. He was laughing, beaming, squeezing my breasts with both hands, drawing their incandescent tips into his mouth, one finger roaming the edge of my soaking entry. My patience exhausted, I managed to inhale the dawdling visitor. My orgasm threw me up against him, panting and deeply embarrassed.
He didn't give me any time to catch my breath, guided my hands toward his fly and watched me open it. Incredulous, I discovered a sex organ that was stronger and larger than those I had seen before. It was brown and ripe, its skin silky and its glands impressive. I put my lips on it, improvising a caress until then unknown to me. He let me do it and watched me almost faint. I had him in my mouth and the magic of that touch alone made my belly convulse. I had no idea what animal was churning around inside there, nor why this cock provided me with so much pleasure as it came and went between my lips, rubbing my palate, gently tapping my teeth as it moved by. Driss remained upright, eyes closed, his flat belly filling me with the amber smell of his sweat and skin.
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From: Blinding Light
by Paul Theroux
(Houghton Mifflin) |
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OVERALL RATING: 5.3
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To buy Blinding Light,
click here
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"Is that nice?"
As she spoke another hand crept across his leg from below and followed the seam on the fly of his jeans, feeling for his cock through the dense layer of cloth, the busy fingers asking a general question. And a moment later he felt his jeans being unfastened and loosened and tugged down. How could this be? He felt Ava's two hands, one under his head, the other directing her breast. He was outstretched on the sofa, sleepy and slightly drunk, yet aware of the odd number, the insinuation of the third hand.
He made a move to pull away. Ava said, "Just let it happen," and the ghost-like hand groped further, the fingers manipulating him until it was no longer so strange. Then the searching of a licking tongue and the heat of an eager mouth.
Burying his face in Ava's breast, Stedman became fearful as the other mouth nuzzled him and enclosed his cock, at first gently, in a tasting way, and finally with gusto, sighing, the sighs sounding within his flesh and swelling. In a twinge of alarm, he let one hand trail down until he could feel the long hair of the woman below. She was wearing a studded leather dog collar that was tight on her neck
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To buy Blinding Light,
click here
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"Is that nice?"
As she spoke another hand crept across his leg from below and followed the seam on the fly of his jeans, feeling for his cock through the dense layer of cloth, the busy fingers asking a general question. And a moment later he felt his jeans being unfastened and loosened and tugged down. How could this be? He felt Ava's two hands, one under his head, the other directing her breast. He was outstretched on the sofa, sleepy and slightly drunk, yet aware of the odd number, the insinuation of the third hand.
He made a move to pull away. Ava said, "Just let it happen," and the ghost-like hand groped further, the fingers manipulating him until it was no longer so strange. Then the searching of a licking tongue and the heat of an eager mouth.
Burying his face in Ava's breast, Stedman became fearful as the other mouth nuzzled him and enclosed his cock, at first gently, in a tasting way, and finally with gusto, sighing, the sighs sounding within his flesh and swelling. In a twinge of alarm, he let one hand trail down until he could feel the long hair of the woman below. She was wearing a studded leather dog collar that was tight on her neck. He felt further, into the warm declivity of her shoulder, and grazing his knuckles on her smooth cheek, he let his hand fall, and was greatly relieved when it found the fullness of her breast. She must have been kneeling next to the sofa, leaning across his legs, as though drinking at a fountain. Her breasts hung loose, slack and soft, and danced in his hand.
Unexpected light blazed in his mind. He surrendered to the caresses, and for the longest time on the sofa in the warm room he lay half smothered, half floating, while Ava consoled him. Or was she speaking to the other woman? There was a confidence in the way she spoke, almost as if she were gloating. It ceased to matter, for at last the separate strands of his desire became a knot, and the knot began to twist in his guts, and it slipped and tightened in his groin until it was an animal's cramp of tortured muscle. In an instant it was yanked hard and it liquefied, spilling warmth all over him. He cried out once, and then he was raw and innocent again.
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From: Love Creeps
by Amanda Filipacchi
(St. Martin's Press ) |
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OVERALL RATING: 5.3
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To buy Love Creeps,
click here
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His penis was annoyingly erect, a condition that shocked him and of which he disapproved, since he had a wonderful girlfriend, Jessica, and would never cheat on her. A month earlier, they had officially decided to make their relationship monogamous, not that it had not always been.
The day before, Alan had discovered a fun-filled solution to his tormenting lust. The apartment had very large, very private, comically lush bathrooms, and when his erection got in the way of his concentration, he would politely excuse himself with his cell phone, retreat to one of the far bathrooms, and call his girlfriend, who fortunately was spending her afternoons in his apartment, which made it convenient for them to engage in phone sex. They had done this before, on occasion, but it was particularly helpful this week.
"Why are you out of breath?" he asked, when she answered the phone.
"I'm exercising for you," she said, and suddenly he heard an exercise video in the background.
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To buy Love Creeps,
click here
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His penis was annoyingly erect, a condition that shocked him and of which he disapproved, since he had a wonderful girlfriend, Jessica, and would never cheat on her. A month earlier, they had officially decided to make their relationship monogamous, not that it had not always been.
The day before, Alan had discovered a fun-filled solution to his tormenting lust. The apartment had very large, very private, comically lush bathrooms, and when his erection got in the way of his concentration, he would politely excuse himself with his cell phone, retreat to one of the far bathrooms, and call his girlfriend, who fortunately was spending her afternoons in his apartment, which made it convenient for them to engage in phone sex. They had done this before, on occasion, but it was particularly helpful this week.
"Why are you out of breath?" he asked, when she answered the phone.
"I'm exercising for you," she said, and suddenly he heard an exercise video in the background.
Alan asked her to take off her clothes. She was always up for phone sex. As well as real sex.
"I'm taking off my underwear now," she said, while moving up and down over a man, who had his penis in her.
"Are they off?" Alan asked, lying on the floor, on a giant, plump, pink mat, his own underwear and pants lowered to his thighs.
"Yeah, oops, hang on, they're caught on my heel. There," she said, easing herself down more slowly onto the penis of her afternoon lover, who knew not to say a word when Alan called. His hands were on her butt, trying to speed up the pace, but she liked it slow, particularly during phone sex with Alan, which she had engaged in before while cheating on him. The afternoon lover was not averse to this. He was sprawled on Alan's white easy chair, the chair with no arms, which made it ideal for Jessica to straddle him in the way they both liked. The white chair had gotten gradually more stained with each passing day, but Jessica diligently scrubbed the stains after each ride, succeeding only, of course, in making them paler and larger.
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From: Genevieve
by Eric Jerome Dickey
(Dutton) |
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OVERALL RATING: 5.5
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To buy Genevieve,
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She rests on top of my body, naked, wrapped around my leg, her head on my chest. Her skin is still hot, set fire by too many orgasms to count. I've never been with a woman who came so hard, so often. My tongue tastes like her secrets. Her lavender aroma lives on my flesh. She stirs. My leg is sticky where her vagina rests on me. My come drains from her, adds to her wetness. I stroke her breasts, fingers pulling at her nipple, and she purrs. Her hand holds my penis with a never-ending longing, holds my flaccidity as if she wishes it were hers to keep…
Her tongue finds its way down my chest. Her mouth covers my penis.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
My fingers stroke her hair, hand encourages her rhythm. She looks up and smiles at me, rubs that part of me against her face, glows as if it has healing powers. Her mouth covers me again. She hums. Sounds starved. Heat. Sweet, sweet, heat. The wet sounds arouse me.
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To buy Genevieve,
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She rests on top of my body, naked, wrapped around my leg, her head on my chest. Her skin is still hot, set fire by too many orgasms to count. I've never been with a woman who came so hard, so often. My tongue tastes like her secrets. Her lavender aroma lives on my flesh. She stirs. My leg is sticky where her vagina rests on me. My come drains from her, adds to her wetness. I stroke her breasts, fingers pulling at her nipple, and she purrs. Her hand holds my penis with a never-ending longing, holds my flaccidity as if she wishes it were hers to keep…
Her tongue finds its way down my chest. Her mouth covers my penis.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
My fingers stroke her hair, hand encourages her rhythm. She looks up and smiles at me, rubs that part of me against her face, glows as if it has healing powers. Her mouth covers me again. She hums. Sounds starved. Heat. Sweet, sweet, heat. The wet sounds arouse me.
I moan, let my hand gather her hair into a fist, keep encouraging her motions, her head moving so smoothly. Every Hooksexup comes alive. I writhe toward an undeserved heaven. My flaccidity hardens. I look down at her. She smiles, proud of the power she has over me inside of this moment. Kisses me and my insanity escalates. She pulls me to where she needs me.
Her legs open and I climb on her. The lips of her vagina whisper my name.
She takes me inside her and there is a shift in consciousness as we integrate in sin. She moves and I fall into her anxious rhythm, her undercurrents. Her words are soft, her moans are soft, and her skin is soft. They all create a spark. And that spark becomes a raging fire.
I put her ankles around my neck, hold her ass, pull her into me a thousand times. She looks down to witness our connection, then stares into my eyes. My measured strokes go deeper, create madness. She grabs my ass, shudders, tells me she wants me faster, deeper.
Her arms flail side to side. She yanks the sheets, finds a pillow to cover her mouth, give that softness her wild sounds. Her legs shake. I yank the pillow away so I can see her face. Have to watch her. Her eyes close tight. She tremors and grabs her breasts, squeezes them so tight. Her legs spread like wings. Under my every stroke she flies and cries like an eagle.
I turn her over, position myself between the bed and the wall, use that wall to give me power. She can't move. Can only take what I give. She's there. She's coming strong and often.
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