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This month: adjectives, asphyxiation and sex to classic rock. 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.
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From Stranger's Gate
by Tom Casey
(Forge) |
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OVERALL RATING: 5.667
 
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To buy Strangers' Gate, click here
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She held her blue blouse open.
"I want you to watch me," she said. "I want you to enjoy what you see because I enjoy showing it to you. The more you look at me the better it makes me feel."
She lifted her skirt slowly and put one leg on the couch. Her eyes fixed on my expression. She could feel the bewitching magic of her sex fascinate me like a snake charmer who brings a cobra to the point of striking and holds it hypnotized with a flute. Moving even closer, she pulled her skirt entirely up, revealing red silk panties, which she began to stroke and tug and rub and finally pull aside. "Enjoy what you see," she said again, and my fantasies were materializing with the mass and momentum of a steam train.
Then her fingers parted the mysterious cleft. Alive and glistening, so there it was! I slouched beneath it, retreating a bit, I think, at first. A heavy metallic musk breathed from it with intimations of paradise, and I was drawn into the pull of its strange irresistible gravity. I felt worship swell from need. She pulled it apart and held it over me. I stared at it spellbound, and, obeying instinct fell onto my knees and put out my tongue.
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To buy Strangers' Gate, click here
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She held her blue blouse open.
"I want you to watch me," she said. "I want you to enjoy what you see because I enjoy showing it to you. The more you look at me the better it makes me feel."
She lifted her skirt slowly and put one leg on the couch. Her eyes fixed on my expression. She could feel the bewitching magic of her sex fascinate me like a snake charmer who brings a cobra to the point of striking and holds it hypnotized with a flute. Moving even closer, she pulled her skirt entirely up, revealing red silk panties, which she began to stroke and tug and rub and finally pull aside. "Enjoy what you see," she said again, and my fantasies were materializing with the mass and momentum of a steam train.
Then her fingers parted the mysterious cleft. Alive and glistening, so there it was! I slouched beneath it, retreating a bit, I think, at first. A heavy metallic musk breathed from it with intimations of paradise, and I was drawn into the pull of its strange irresistible gravity. I felt worship swell from need. She pulled it apart and held it over me. I stared at it spellbound, and, obeying instinct fell onto my knees and put out my tongue.
Like a sister-evangelist casting out the devil, she took hold of the back of my head and pressed my face hard into between her legs. Then she threw back her hair and pulled up her bra; her breasts, large and white, with chestnut nipples, moved back and forth above my head in rhythms of what was happening. Somehow we were on the floor, and like the frenzy of snap rolls and spins that were my first introduction to larger possibilities, now she was giving me animal feeling's first taste of sex. In the same way that sensation makes pictures in dreams, so the mind gears up imagination for the neutral fires of fantastic voyage. Close your eyes and cling to images that take you at the speed of light to places in your inner space. And now she slides under me, takes hold of my cock, spreads her legs, and puts it in. I groan a little and begin to move, feeling liquid dynamite ignite — weightless, timeless, tumbling through the blue-lit universe inside, dodging dream debris, dancing, whirling, taking giant risky steps through space, laughing like a mad man-angel thumbing his nose at God. I'm gone in deep and she has convulsions, squeezing me inside, and now I'm soaring like Superman over forbidden psychic terrain. Nothing is real, and nothing is what it seems to be: I'm en route through a new universe without meaning meaning everything, where nothing can be believed, a howling place, the psychic underworld where everything is its opposite — pain is pleasure; women, men; courage, fear — where every smile has death in it and every badge of merit commemorates despicable cowardice.
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From The Whole World Over
by Julia Glass
(Pantheon) |
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OVERALL RATING: 4.167
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To buy The Whole World Over, click here
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"You're a sexy lady, know that?" Stan whispered as he unzipped her pants.
She had no answer; she kept her eyes closed and sank into the music. His naked penis, when she felt it against her bare skin, was a shock, mostly for the desire it beckoned from Saga's marrow.
"So touch me, Story Girl," he said.
Still she said nothing and kept her eyes closed. She felt Stan's pubic hair, like a prickly sea creature, move in circles on her thigh. Then, another shock, she felt his fingers. She tried to pull away, but she knew her resistance was only halfhearted. Away to the side, on the floor, she caught sight of her pants.
"Oh no," he said gently. "Oh no. You're liking it, you are. I can tell."
And he was right, she was, in a strange way that denied her surroundings, the man's disturbing smile, the smells of his bed. It was as if only the music and her body existed. His body — that was less real.
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To buy The Whole World Over, click here
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"You're a sexy lady, know that?" Stan whispered as he unzipped her pants.
She had no answer; she kept her eyes closed and sank into the music. His naked penis, when she felt it against her bare skin, was a shock, mostly for the desire it beckoned from Saga's marrow.
"So touch me, Story Girl," he said.
Still she said nothing and kept her eyes closed. She felt Stan's pubic hair, like a prickly sea creature, move in circles on her thigh. Then, another shock, she felt his fingers. She tried to pull away, but she knew her resistance was only halfhearted. Away to the side, on the floor, she caught sight of her pants.
"Oh no," he said gently. "Oh no. You're liking it, you are. I can tell."
And he was right, she was, in a strange way that denied her surroundings, the man's disturbing smile, the smells of his bed. It was as if only the music and her body existed. His body — that was less real.
When he raised himself slightly away from her again, she opened her eyes only long enough to see that he was taking a condom out of a drawer in the table that held the books and the phone. She closed her eyes again and let herself sink further down, or come more fully to the surface, she wasn't sure which. Because he was so thin, his body wasn't heavy, and when he entered her, the harshness was only brief. Right away he moved slowly, smoothly, and she knew without looking that he was paying attention to her, to what her body wanted, all on its own, without any heed to her mind, and she felt herself yield.
And then before her inner eye, a tide of words leaped high and free, a chaotic joy like frothing rapids: truncate, adjudicate, fornicate, frivolous, rivulet, violet, oriole, orifice, conifer, aquifer, allegiance, alacrity . . . all the words this time not a crowding but a heavenly chain, an ostrich fan, a vision as much as an orgasm, a release of something deep in the core of her altered brain, words she thought she'd lost for good. It nearly deafened her (but not quite) to the other, more alarming wave — the groaning and happy cursing that came from Stan.
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From "An Incredible, Amazing, Really True Story" in First-Timers
by Isabelle Gray
(Alyson) |
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OVERALL RATING: 5.973
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To buy First-Timers, click here
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A Johnny Cash album started playing. Billy's thigh muscles tensed and she placed both of her hands atop my head, curling my hair between her fingers, tugging slightly as I slid my tongue lower still, then back toward her clit. When my tongue finally reached her clit and I began to lick in slow, steady circles, Billy hissed and whispered, "Yes, that's it, right there." I smiled into her pussy, determined to do whatever it took to keep Billy, and her pussy, as happy as I could. I slid one hand up Billy's body, enjoying the sensation of our skin coming together until I reached between her breasts. As I teased her clit with my tongue, I rolled her nipples between my fingers until Billy gasped and sat up. "You're driving me crazy," she said. My heart fell but I wasn't going to let my disappointment in myself show. "Is that a good thing?" I asked. "Without a doubt," Billy answered.
My confidence renewed, I slid my tongue back to her cunt and began thrusting it in and out, slowly at first, but then faster and then slower again enjoying how Billy's body responded. Past the crowd watching us, I could hear the stereo switching to a new album — Tina Turner. I propped myself up on my elbows, trying to push myself deeper
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To buy First-Timers, click here
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A Johnny Cash album started playing. Billy's thigh muscles tensed and she placed both of her hands atop my head, curling my hair between her fingers, tugging slightly as I slid my tongue lower still, then back toward her clit. When my tongue finally reached her clit and I began to lick in slow, steady circles, Billy hissed and whispered, "Yes, that's it, right there." I smiled into her pussy, determined to do whatever it took to keep Billy, and her pussy, as happy as I could. I slid one hand up Billy's body, enjoying the sensation of our skin coming together until I reached between her breasts. As I teased her clit with my tongue, I rolled her nipples between my fingers until Billy gasped and sat up. "You're driving me crazy," she said. My heart fell but I wasn't going to let my disappointment in myself show. "Is that a good thing?" I asked. "Without a doubt," Billy answered.
My confidence renewed, I slid my tongue back to her cunt and began thrusting it in and out, slowly at first, but then faster and then slower again enjoying how Billy's body responded. Past the crowd watching us, I could hear the stereo switching to a new album — Tina Turner. I propped myself up on my elbows, trying to push myself deeper into Billy, rocking my hips against the floor. I couldn't believe how turned on I was. Billy's pussy became wetter. Her fingers gripped my hair tighter. I was getting the hang of this, I told myself. I shifted slightly so I'd have a bit more room and began teasing the edges of Billy's cunt with two fingers while my tongue flicked around the edge of Billy's clit, darting away each time Billy tried to adjust her hip or put her clit on my tongue. I was being a tease and I knew it. I slid two fingers inside Billy's cunt and shivered as I felt the warm, slick tight flesh gripping me. The deeper I slid my fingers, the wider Billy's legs spread. Once I was as deep as I could go, I flipped my wrist and began pressing my fingers upward against something soft and spongy. "Fuck me, hard," Billy muttered through clenched teeth. I wrapped my lips around her clit, sucking insistently, while I thrust my fingers in and out of her pussy to the rhythm of "Private Dancer."
Then, Billy decided it was time to take charge. She pushed me away and said, "I want you on your back." I quickly complied and Billy straddled me, facing my feet. She inched backward until her pussy was pressed against my mouth. My jaw was beginning to ache, but I opened my mouth wider, and resumed with licking and sucking and sliding my tongue over every inch of her pussy. Billy began to rock, her body pressing into mine. The tender wail of Miles Davis filtered through the other sounds around us. Then she began to thrust, and her thighs started to shake. I grabbed hold of her ass, slapping the firm cheeks. A gush of wetness hit the back of my throat. "I'm going to come," Billy shouted. I stopped. She grabbed hold of my ankle. "Don't fucking stop, kid." I resumed my efforts, struggling for air. Billy began to grunt in loud, guttural tones as if she was releasing something deep and dark. I was certain of the moment she came — the very crescendo of her climax, when her cunt juice was thick and smeared across my face and her body shuddered above and around me.
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From The Woman in the Row Behind
by Francoise Dorner
(Other Press ) |
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OVERALL RATING: 3.467
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To buy The Woman in the Row Behind, click here
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"My lipstick will mark your tie," I told him, chilled to the bone by the thought of my husband's tie.
He threw his coat, his jacket, his shirt, and his tie to the floor. I turned out the light. He pressed himself up against me and took my whole mouth into his. I closed my eyes, like in the movies, and I became the other. Fully clothed, I slipped down to his knees, against the cold wool cloth of his distended trousers. I opened my lips slightly and waited. In the half light he lowered his zipper. Then I looked right at him, telling myself it was my husband and that he would like this with me. And I swallowed him up.
He stroked my hair but I threw his hand aside harshly. I wanted him to stay passive, completely passive. I went to the very limits of his resistance and, just when he was saying yes, I stopped. I stood back up, threw him backward, straddled him, and ran the rough-edged belt from my raincoat around his neck. I tightened it sharply and watched him orgasm. Then we had a drink together. We had a hundred and sixty minutes left.
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To buy The Woman in the Row Behind, click here
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IGNORE ME.
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From You're Not You
by Michelle Wildgen
(St. Martin's) |
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OVERALL RATING: 4.750
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To buy You're Not You, click here
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I still had a few condoms in my bedside drawer, left unused by my last boyfriend the previous fall, and I took them out and set them on the table. Since I was being so relaxed and up-front. He kissed me, and I reached beneath his sweater to pull his T-shirt from his waistband. He drew back when I did that, looking surprised. I gave him what felt like a mocking smile, unbuttoned his jeans, and then didn't undress him any further. After a few minutes he did it for me . . .
He was stretched out on his back, my hand pressed flat on his abdomen. The sun cast a sheen on his skin, showing faint pearly ridges of a faded stretch mark on one hip, the coppery filaments of his pubic hair.
I thought he'd go down on me, but after a while he unwrapped a condom and put it on. You're kidding me, I thought. Aren't older guys supposed to have taken a few courses in foreplay? He hauled me on top of him, but when I tried to turn around to face him, wrap my legs around his waist, he put his hands on my hips and guided me so I lay facing the ceiling, confused and disappointed, on top of him as though he were a mattress.
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To buy You're Not You, click here
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I still had a few condoms in my bedside drawer, left unused by my last boyfriend the previous fall, and I took them out and set them on the table. Since I was being so relaxed and up-front. He kissed me, and I reached beneath his sweater to pull his T-shirt from his waistband. He drew back when I did that, looking surprised. I gave him what felt like a mocking smile, unbuttoned his jeans, and then didn't undress him any further. After a few minutes he did it for me . . .
He was stretched out on his back, my hand pressed flat on his abdomen. The sun cast a sheen on his skin, showing faint pearly ridges of a faded stretch mark on one hip, the coppery filaments of his pubic hair.
I thought he'd go down on me, but after a while he unwrapped a condom and put it on. You're kidding me, I thought. Aren't older guys supposed to have taken a few courses in foreplay? He hauled me on top of him, but when I tried to turn around to face him, wrap my legs around his waist, he put his hands on my hips and guided me so I lay facing the ceiling, confused and disappointed, on top of him as though he were a mattress. My head hung down on one side of his neck, our hips lined up, and my legs fell on either side of his. His hands glanced over me and nudged my fingers down to touch myself. His fingers stroked my breasts, his tongue touched my neck, and he slid a hand down over my wrist to be sure I was still stroking myself, and then he was inside me. It was like being fucked by someone you couldn't see, only feel, and after a while I was pushing back against him with my hips, my knees raised up and my hand cramping as I moved my fingers as fast as I could, until I came.
When I turned around and looked at him, and his expression was so blurred, so rapt, that I felt my breath catch all over again, I pushed his legs apart and lay between them, reached around to cup his ass in my hands, and instead of doing any circular, seductive figure-eights like I thought you were supposed to do but which most guy seemed to grow bored with pretty quickly, I pumped up and down on him. The hell with slow gyrations — I was aware that this was a man's motion rather than a woman's, which must be why it had a strange edge of playacting and excitement to it.
After he'd left, I remained in bed, having retrieved the covers from the floor. I would never have admitted this to Liam, or even to Jill, but the encounter made me feel very adult.
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