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He was hot and walked into the bedroom taking off his T-shirt. She was undressing and turned around. Her cunt was shaved, there was just a vertical line of bush. Her nipples were soft and erect. He pushed his pants off and scratched his balls, fluffing out the hair.
    He rolled down onto the bed, pulling her down.
    Hey, watch it, just take it easy.
    He started kissing her on her belly and tits, then slowed down, kissing her on her shoulders and neck and face and lips. She kissed him back, and bit his shoulder and arm. She bit hard with sharp teeth and then pushed him off her, rolling onto him. She ground her clit against his cock and his belly, his hair.
    She turned around so her ass was in his face and started stroking his cock. He pulled her hips down, and licked her clit and lips. He moved around so he could lick all the way past her cunt, to her asshole. He stuck his tongue into her, pushing a bit. She was sucking hard on his dick, dragging her teeth into it. He licked from her asshole to her clit and back, and kept doing it, holding onto her hips and her ass, her knees spread outside his elbows.
    She swung off him and lay on her front. Don't you want to whip me?
    He took the small whip down off the wall and sat on her ass, his cock under her fist against her crack. He drew the whip gently on her back and then flicked it. She twitched a bit. He whipped her harder and she moved her ass around. She felt the hair on his balls between her cheeks and bit down on her lower lip, turning her face to the right.

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I go to the deaf boy's house. It is dark, shady, with lacquered wood floors, high bookshelves. Colored silk pillows glint from low benches. A ceiling fan throbs overhead. It is dark but when I step forward a sharp ray of sunlight pierces through a high window, blinds me. I can't see. But I feel my own face lit up, white, scared, exposed.
     The deaf boy takes my hand and pulls me gently forward into the dark. Our wet feet leave silvery footprints on the black floor, up the stairs, glinting like fish scales.
     The deaf boy lays me on his bed. Unwraps me slowly, the way I've watched him pry a starfish from a rock. Kneeling beside me, he slips my bathing suit top over my arms, my head, exposing my small breasts. He pulls the pants down over my gangly legs, revealing a blonde triangle of hair, my white skin.
     Naked, I lie completely still. Close my eyes. I pretend I am an object he carried in from the beach. A bone washed up, a sun-bleached cuttlefish, a ridged cowrie shell. I am thin, hard. I am not voluptuous. I am a rock with edges, unsmoothed. White quartz, veins of dark obsidian where the rattan shade casts lines of sun and shadow across the bed.
     The deaf boy examines my naked body. He runs his hands slowly over me from my mouth down to my navel, as if I were a shell, Janthina globosa. He runs his fingers between my legs, feels where it is wet, trails the wetness down my thighs, exploring. I feel my breath become fast and short. I grow full of desire. Desire for the deaf boy's kisses, for death, for drowning. Outside the village sounds are muted, far away. It's midday, too hot to work.
     I undress the deaf boy. I do the things he has done to me. I lie him down and touch him until he moans with pleasure. I lick him. The deaf boy's skin is smooth, salty. I trace the lines of his ribs and collar-bone with my tongue. We touch each other this way, nothing more. Then we lie down, we don't speak, don't move. click to close

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One of his arms came around my neck, pinning me, and my nose filled with the scent of leather. The other hand shoved my shorts down around my feet, trapping me, and I felt his cock press against my naked ass. There was a rustling and a fumbling behind me, then I heard the distinctive crinkling sound of a condom being opened. The pressure on my ass loosened for a moment, and then it was back, the hard rod of his cock poking insistently between my cheeks.
    He wasn't gentle. Time stretched as he first slid into me, and then he began to pound into me with long, lazy strokes. He moved slowly, taking his pleasure in me, but he was relentless, withdrawing and then plunging himself deep into me over and over like a machine. My face was pressed harder against the rough metal of the dumpster each time he pushed into me, and soon I felt myself pushing my ass back with each thrust, anticipating it, welcoming it.
    Then I felt myself lifted away from the dumpster and turned, the sudden coolness of the night air against my naked skin. My head hung down over the arm at my neck, but then a hand came up and grabbed me by the hair, pulling my head up and forcing me to see.. ...read more

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One of his arms came around my neck, pinning me, and my nose filled with the scent of leather. The other hand shoved my shorts down around my feet, trapping me, and I felt his cock press against my naked ass. There was a rustling and a fumbling behind me, then I heard the distinctive crinkling sound of a condom being opened. The pressure on my ass loosened for a moment, and then it was back, the hard rod of his cock poking insistently between my cheeks.
    He wasn't gentle. Time stretched as he first slid into me, and then he began to pound into me with long, lazy strokes. He moved slowly, taking his pleasure in me, but he was relentless, withdrawing and then plunging himself deep into me over and over like a machine. My face was pressed harder against the rough metal of the dumpster each time he pushed into me, and soon I felt myself pushing my ass back with each thrust, anticipating it, welcoming it.
    Then I felt myself lifted away from the dumpster and turned, the sudden coolness of the night air against my naked skin. My head hung down over the arm at my neck, but then a hand came up and grabbed me by the hair, pulling my head up and forcing me to see.
    We were surrounded by men. Their faces hid in the shadow by the light behind them, they stood quietly in a semicircle around us, the edges of the crowd lost in the darkness. All of them were watching me. My body gleamed with sweat in the pool of light, shaking with each thrust as they watched me get fucked by the demon behind me.
    Slowly, almost reverently, the silent crowd of men inched closer. I could feel the pressure of their attention like a physical thing. One reached out and touched my chest, the mere pressure of his hand causing me to moan and then the hands were everywhere. Stroking my chest, pulling on my nipples, stroking my cock. First one man knelt before me and I felt the warm wetness of his mouth envelop my cock. Then another knelt beside him, and the two of them trapped my cock between them. Their lips played up and down the shaft, alternately sucking on the head of my cock and passing it back and forth between their mouths.
    Other men came forward, and then there were hands on me everywhere and then tongues, licking my legs, my chest, probing my armpits. Shuddering, I gave myself over to them, allowing my head to fall back against the man behind me, feeling the leather slick with sweat between us, feeling the zipper of the jacket press hard against my back. With each thrust of him into me, my own cock moved deeper into the mouths of the men kneeling before me. Each time he shoved into me, my own body bowed outward, pushing itself into the hands and mouths of the men who surrounded me.
    I vanished into it, feeling the man in the leather jacket pushing insistently into me from behind, feeling the men before me hungrily pulling me into them until at last a river of fire pulsed upward, out of me, spraying from between my legs and onto the men before me. click to close

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She crawled to me on her knees. "Kiss me like on Marimar," she said. We kissed awhile, and then she broke away. "You can show me that red stick now."
    "Are you sure you want to see it?"
    "Yes, Adama, of course."
    "And you're not going to run away?"
    "Why would I run away?"
    "You have every time before!"
    "Well, this time I won't."
    I didn't trust her, but what choice did I have? I unbuttoned my pants, slid them down, and there was the red stick. She looked at it as if it were a strange creature; it was as red as I had promised. She wrapped her hand around it like a pestle and began to pound it up and down. I drew deep breaths, enjoying: her hand thrummed like a piston; at first I wanted her to slow down; then I didn't; then I stopped breathing altogether. Suddenly, I was at the cusp of release. I grabbed her, pulled her to the ground, rolled and pressed the weight of my body on hers, stripped her wrap free from her thighs and my stick touched her where it was supposed to go in. Could it have been inside her an instant? With the strength of a girl who pounded rice day after day, she pushed me off, scampered out from under the hut on her hands and knees; I was close on her heels, a goat, a dog, a rooster, a man, everything about me, fire, hunger, lust, desire. I grasped for her wraps which flew about her like ribbons, and for a moment, had them in my fingertips. We ran deep into the corn, she just inches away from my outstretched hands, my pants falling around my ankles. Then, as had to be, my pants tripped me. A girl ran through the corn as I shouted her name from the dirt. The force of my pleading raised the lahou birds from the great trees, laughing already as they turned circles through the air, remembering forever this new story I had given them.

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TK. click to close

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I am sweating. Sweat slides from my face and throat and mixes with the honey. There is honey on my cheeks, my fingers, my dress, on the toes of my shoes.
    He tends the fire and refills the knife jug with boiling water. His part of the job is done. He doesn't thank me. He doesn't offer to help. He just stands and watches as I sluice the last of the frames.
    "I did a bit of bee work with my uncle. In the old country."
    I nod. My arms ache with the weight of the frames.
    "It's hot in here."
    I nod again. Then he takes off his shirt, pulling it over his head, the buttons still done up. It is so tender a thing to see — his face hidden in the cotton like a boy's.
    I watch him as he takes a cup of water, drinks and splashes it onto his head and chest. Then he is behind me, sprinkling water over me, flicking it through his fingers. I lean back towards him. He paints me with water, his thick finger dipping into the cup then tracing my forehead and curve of my jaw. ...read more

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I am sweating. Sweat slides from my face and throat and mixes with the honey. There is honey on my cheeks, my fingers, my dress, on the toes of my shoes.
    He tends the fire and refills the knife jug with boiling water. His part of the job is done. He doesn't thank me. He doesn't offer to help. He just stands and watches as I sluice the last of the frames.
    "I did a bit of bee work with my uncle. In the old country."
    I nod. My arms ache with the weight of the frames.
    "It's hot in here."
    I nod again. Then he takes off his shirt, pulling it over his head, the buttons still done up. It is so tender a thing to see — his face hidden in the cotton like a boy's.
    I watch him as he takes a cup of water, drinks and splashes it onto his head and chest. Then he is behind me, sprinkling water over me, flicking it through his fingers. I lean back towards him. He paints me with water, his thick finger dipping into the cup then tracing my forehead and curve of my jaw.
    There is a sense of everything crumbling and swirling.
    "Go on," he says."You're not finished."
    So I stand with him behind me and drag the knife over the last frame again. But I am weak with it. Honey is splashing and dripping, missing the extractor. He is wetting my arms, pushing his fingers up under my sleeves, wetting my skin, pushing higher, searching out the join between arm and body.
    What happens next? I can hardly say . . . but the knife and the frame are gone and I am taking off my dress, arms reaching over my head like him, and letting it fall to the floor of the car into the water and honey.
    Then there is this moment — one still moment — when he watches me but does not move and I could almost have felt foolish but for drowsiness from the heat. So I busy my hands with undressing, shoes, stockings, slip and go to him with my head bowed.
    Then he is touching me. From my fingers up to my shoulders, down my legs and up again, across my breasts, licking the fine hairs that snake down my belly, stopping to part my sex with his tongue.
    His clothes are with mine on the floor and then we are on top of them. He is biting my mouth, dragging and sucking my lips, folding them in his. His tongue is strong and urgent. He grips my breasts hard in his hands, the flesh spilling between his fingers. He is drawing out my nipples in his mouth, then letting them fall, stunned. He is grinding his penis into the flesh of my belly. Hard flesh into soft. He is working at me, pushing at me, his toenails scraping at my calves. It hurts, it is almost pain. He is moaning and keening and straining and then shuddering and suddenly still. His chest feels hard and sharp so I push his shoulder and he moves to the side. There is the sound of skin unsticking.
    Then I lie there with him, alight and dripping, until I can take myself away and make it right alone. click to close

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"Don't be such a girl," she says.
    She undoes her jeans and shows her boxer shorts. She's dressed like Madonna. That's hilarious and sexy. The shorts are cobalt blue and the waistband is frayed. I can see the elastic through the fabric.
    "Lets fuck like they do in the movies," she says. "Like no one really does. You know, really fast, lots of thrusting. Okay?" she says, very sweetly.
    I nod. She pulls her boxers down, and considering that she has to do gymnastics to reach me, and I have to bend my knees, we manage, not too awkwardly, to get her on me and me in her and the two of us holding each other. I'm laughing.
    "Hey, fruitjes," I shout, and Ava says, "Ssh." She says, "Don't wreck the moment." It's difficult to know what's left to destroy, though, because I'm squatting and she's straddling my knees and I keep falling out of her.
    "I thought it was supposed to be seamless with heterosexuals," I say.
    "Are you calling this heterosexual?"
    "Well, according to some definition."
    "Not when we're both fruits," she says. Then she bites me on the lip and says, "How do you ever get laid? You never stop talking. I thought boys didn't talk. Try and pretend you're a boy."...read more

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"Don't be such a girl," she says.
    She undoes her jeans and shows her boxer shorts. She's dressed like Madonna. That's hilarious and sexy. The shorts are cobalt blue and the waistband is frayed. I can see the elastic through the fabric.
    "Lets fuck like they do in the movies," she says. "Like no one really does. You know, really fast, lots of thrusting. Okay?" she says, very sweetly.
    I nod. She pulls her boxers down, and considering that she has to do gymnastics to reach me, and I have to bend my knees, we manage, not too awkwardly, to get her on me and me in her and the two of us holding each other. I'm laughing.
    "Hey, fruitjes," I shout, and Ava says, "Ssh." She says, "Don't wreck the moment." It's difficult to know what's left to destroy, though, because I'm squatting and she's straddling my knees and I keep falling out of her.
    "I thought it was supposed to be seamless with heterosexuals," I say.
    "Are you calling this heterosexual?"
    "Well, according to some definition."
    "Not when we're both fruits," she says. Then she bites me on the lip and says, "How do you ever get laid? You never stop talking. I thought boys didn't talk. Try and pretend you're a boy."
    "Okay," I agree. In other words, I better stay hard.
    "Say it," she orders, holding my dick. "Say, 'I'm a boy.'"
    "I'm a boy."
    "Convince me," she says.
    "I'm a boy," I repeat, and the evidence, I guess, is my dick, which is still hard, sort of to my surprise.
    So we do this ten-minute herky-jerky thing together. She's got her arms braced against either side of the doorway, and I'm trying to keep my balance and watch over her shoulder, both at once. I have my eye out for fag bashers and passers-by, when Ava, sensing my distraction, says, "Now tell me you're a girl."
    I do what I'm told. I say, "I'm a girl."
    I lose my balance and fall. I'm lying on my back in the doorway. "Stay still," she says, and she gets on top of me and says, "I'm a girl," and I say, "Sure you are," and she says, "You are, too," and then she makes me say that over and over.
    "I'm a girl."
    "Sell it," she says.
    "I'm such a girl."
    "You're a Dutch girl."
     "Ja ja," I say.
    "Okay," she says, and she takes my hands and puts them up her shirt, on her breasts, and says, "Sweet girl." I'm looking up at her and touching her lovely breasts, her, what, soft? Round? But they're not soft and round, they're too complex for that. I'm trying to figure out how to hold them. To cup them, as she cupped my balls. Going straight for her nipples would be corny. There have to be digressions in storytelling and making love, and I'm turning breast cupping into a narrative, when Ava, who has been playing with herself, suddenly says, "I'm going to come."
    "I though girls took forever," I say, laughing, out of breath.
    She says, "Shut. Up."
    If she were a guy I'd hold her tight and say, like, "Yeah, buddy, that's right, buddy," which is what, for want of a better idea, I do. I hold her breasts and say, "Buddy," like we're Boy Scouts, and she leans down and kisses me. She catches me mid-Buddy. "You come, too," she says, arching back. I have never come inside a woman before. I'm worried I can't. "Shut your eyes," Ava says, "and dream of Dennis Quaid," and she stays with me until we're both through. click to close