Playing Favorites

Disclaimer: Pure smut. Seriously, this is porn with absolutely no redeeming value whatsoever. You have been warned. I wash my hands of this. Seriously. It's just wrong. If you're not legal and I find out you read this I will personally find you and kick your ass. Not in a good way.

Favorite

Sometimes we'll fuck in the daytime, warm and lazy in our unmade bed while the golden afternoon sun shines in through the open window. Curled up together exchanging whispered endearments... sex is slow and sweet as molasses. Our lips touching and our limbs intertwined I can't tell where she ends and I begin as her fingers move inside of me. My heart feels full to exploding with all I feel for her and I know that I have nothing to hide. I love you I tell her. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou. I whisper it over and over as my lips brush over her mouth, her nose, her cheekbone. I can't get enough of those moments. Making love.. it sounds so trite, so clichéd but at that moment, I don't care. There's nothing quite like it. It's beautiful. But it's not my favorite thing.

Sometimes it happens that we're out... and we can't resist the urge. Surrounded by bodies and music, I whisper in her ear, I want you. We'll scramble out the back, into the dark alley. It might be stupid but I feel like I'll die if I can't have her right there. I push her up against the wall, push her collar aside, bite down on knotted muscle and then lick and kiss the pain away, an apology of sorts. I palm her breast and push her dress up, grind my thigh against her. Theres nothing but damp thin cotton between my skin and her pussy. I press harder as she rubs herself against me. Her fingers dig into my skin as she grabs my shoulder. Harder she grunts, and I give it to her. I laugh, I'm so turned on but this is fucking crazy. It's dark and there's no one near but anyone can walk in. I tell her that and it turns her on even more. Fuck but she's hot. Gasping harshly, she comes right there with the brick wall digging into her back. It's the wildest thing we've ever done, but it's not my favorite.

She loves to be in control and she loves to force me out of it. She loves to drive me out of my mind. She's slowly, purposely, driving me crazy. I don't know how long it's been but it feels like forever. Her wicked fingers and her sinful mouth bring me to the edge over and over again. I'm drenched in sweat and every muscle in my body is rigid with tension. It's been too long, so much.. too much. Every single fucking time I think this is the time, she draws away and leaves me grasping at the feeling she's denying me flees with her touch. The sheets are starting to feel like sandpaper against my skin. Her touch is torture, too much and not enough, never enough. I curse her name with every ragged breath. And still she denies me. I feel like I've been crying, begging, pleading for ever but every time I think she'll relent she proves that her heart is made of fucking stone the cunt. My breath is harsh to my own ears and I can hear my heart pounding. I fucking hate her, why won't she just give me what I need? I promise her anything, everything if she'll just let me come. But she won't, she'll only let me when she's good and ready. When I've lost every shred of sanity. My fingers scrabble at the sheets, simultaneously wanting contact and shying away from feeling. I can't anymore. I'm seconds from pushing her away and taking matters into my own hands. I just can't take anymore. I can't. Just when I think I'm about to break, just when I think I'm about to scream, it hits me. She finally letting me find my release. I am blindsided by my orgasm. I don't know who or what I am anymore. All I know is pleasure, white hot sliding through me. It's the most intense thing I've ever felt.

I'm wrung out, barely able to lift me head as she lays a gentle, almost chaste kiss on my lips. Good? She asks. I smile and nuzzle her face. She always knows how to give me exactly what I crave. And that? That's my favorite thing

Now Playing: Mercy - Duffy

(Body) Parts

Author's Note: So I'm feeling self indulgent and I though I would indulge in some light-hearted feel-good fiction for once. So I came up with this. Just over 500 words. Seriously self-indulgent. Child of my desire to write, some interesting DMs on Twitter over the last couple of days and one lovely fan who I didn't want to wait anymore (Not the same person). You have been warned.

Parts

It started with a hand. Thrust out of her car, lazily riding the currents as she drove by. You smile, but god what a hand. Strong mobile wrist wrapped in a distinctive cuff, tough but delicate... I was a little in love with that cuff. Her thumb ring flashed in the morning sun and I wanted to take the pad of that finger into my mouth and ever so gently bite down, let her know I was there. Those nimble fingers rode nothing but air and I wished I could ride them instead. Oh, it was just a hand... if just was a word that could be said about that hand. A hand that made a heart stutter for just a second. Nothing even need be said about the capable looking forearm, with the sleeve rolled up to just above the elbow. How an elbow can be a such tease I can not know.

Then came the jaw.. different day, same cuff, same hand. A flash of determination and excellent bone structure as she walked into my store. This book she asked, do you carry it. I knew I didn't but I couldn't let her go just like that. The books may be used but they're well loved and I know them all just like any proper mother would, not considering that I'd idly wanted it for myself for quite some time. Still I couldn't let her go, I couldn't find it in my heart. So I typed in names and titles and numbers; offered her conversation and options while that jaw made its frustration clear. It softened just a little at the offer of coffee. I wanted to put my fingers there and touch my lips to the edge. Instead I bit my tongue and stole glance from beneath my lowered lashes. Before my ravenous eyes could map every line and curve of her face, I had to admit defeat. I called around but a copy couldn't be bought for love or money. The jaw clenched and unclenched, she could not be swayed from her search I thought. I promised to keep an eye out, contact her if I found it. I could not find it in my heart to turn that face away for good.

That might have been that if it wasn't for the dimple. She shrugged and smiled and apologized for her abruptness, and I couldn't have stopped myself if I'd tried. I shouldn't be doing this I said but I find myself unable to say no to you. I have a friend, he deals in books as well. I can't call him, he's been away for days. If anyone can hunt it down I know he can. I asked him for it myself and he promised to deliver in a few days time. I couldn't help a little frown. I wondered if she would smile at him like that as well. Instead she gifted me with another. Maybe I could pick it up from you instead. I looked down at the words she had scrawled down. But his store is much closer to you than mine. Her teeth flashed as she turned up one shoulder and told me she knew, she saw me there one time.

Now Playing: So Happy I Could Die - Lady GaGa (;*)

Pathetic

So I thought I'd try my hand at writing hetero fiction. Then I decided in for a penny, in for a pound. I'll right het from a male perspective. Not just any male. A stereotypical misguided douchebag. You think my bias is showing? (I know that's not all you guys out there, but probably what I'd be if I was born with a Y chromosome, half my male relatives, and 40% of my male friends.)

Anyway....

She said, "Listen, you're not really my type but I'm horny, you're available, and I have an oral fixation. So how about I suck your cock."

That's when he knew he hit the fucking jackpot.

She tells him that even though he can be a stupid fuck sometimes, he's still her friend and she doesn't want sex to fuck that up. She asks him if he's going to be weird about it.

She's obviously crazy about him.

That's what girls do, you know. They play mind games. They pretend they don't want to marry you and have your babies so that you'll want to marry them and impregnate them and shit.

She is so obvious it's a little sad.

She pretends that she doesn't mind when he fucks other girls when he tells her about it. She even asks when she's feeling particularly friendly. "Are you still seeing that girl from that party?"

She's pretending of course. Why else would she not fuck anybody else but him?

He asks her that and she laughs and asks him why he'd think that. He tells her he can tell, that he's the only one she's been with. She looks a little nervous, like maybe she's afraid he'll know that she's in love with him. She asks again if he's going to get weird about it. He bets she's waiting to get him to propose or some shit. Probably has the dress all picked out.

She tells him that there are a couple of guys, but she's not serious about anyone. She's lying of course. Wants him to get jealous. Trap him into something he's not ready for. Fucking girls.

So of course he's when she sits you down and tell him she can't be fucking around with him anymore. She met this guy, thinks he's special. Has he been reading the signals wrong? Is he on a completely different page? Fuck it, she's probably making shit up to get him to commit. Fat fucking chance. She's the one who's in love with him. After all, girls can't separate sex and feelings, they're just not built that way. Scientific goddamn fact.

So he tells her fine, yeah, what the fuck do es he care if she wants to break things off. He's got dozens of girls he could fuck instead. Hundreds even. She looks worried for a second, probably scared that her little plan isn't working. What does she expect, him to get down on one knee and declare his undying love? Fat fucking chance.

So he waits for her to come crawling back to him, but it's a month or so before he sees her again, but for the occasional 'friendly' facebook shit. He sese her at a party once, wrapped around some dude. He wonders how she knew he's be there, and how she got the poor shmuck to play her boyfriend. All that effort to get into his head with her little mind games.

So he avoids her. The traitorous bitch. Trying her best to break his heart.

He sees it a few months down the line. An honest to God goddamn engagement announcement. He can't believe the lengths she would go to, just to get him to fucking commit.

She's probably going to marry that poor bastard. Trap him into a life of monogamy. Waking up to her face every morning. Pretending to be in love with the sucker. Kissing him all open mouthed and dirty like a fucking whore. He bets that bastards can't get her breath to hitch just the right way when he fucks her just right. He bets the fucker's got a tiny dick. Looks like he has a small dick. She's settling for a guy with a small dick who doesn't even know how to fuck her right, all in an attempt to get over him.

Pathetic.

What I'm Listening to Right Now: Love Will Tear Us Apart - Joy Division

Sometimes, It's Sex

So here's a little piece of fiction that turned out a let less smutty than anticipated. You plan for the sex and the plot just blindsides you I guess.

Usual Disclaimers Apply: Here be Lesbians.


Fresh out of the coldest shower I could manage, I pick up a pair of fresh cotton panties and slip them on. I almost put on a t-shirt but think better of it. It’s a typical summer night in Beirut, the air so heavy it feels like I’m breathing underwater. I can practically feel the nonexistent material clinging to the small of my back.

I walk into the bedroom, the whirring of the electric fan loud as it makes valiant effort to cool the room. No dice. I glance at the bed, Lara spread out on top of it, her long black hair fanned out around her head, as if spread out to catch the last of the coolness from the sheets. She makes a pretty picture, cigarette held gently between fingers that made me very happy just a few minutes ago. I think of joining her there, briefly, but I don’t.

Too hot. It’s too hot for snuggling, too hot even for sex. I’ve gotten too used to the omnipresence of air-conditioning back home. As much as I’ve missed sex with my girlfriend, I don’t think I can manage any more of it tonight.

Even as I’m thinking this, my feet take me closer to the bed. Sometimes it feels like she’s my true north, and no matter how hard I try to resist, I end up making my way towards her.

Despite my desire to fall onto the sheets and put my mouth to hers, I only steal a cigarette before making my way to the armchair across the room. I sprawl out, trying to take advantage of the quickly disappearing relief of the cool fabric.

I take a quick drag of smoke before speaking. “So,” I say, “You want to tell me why nearly everyone tonight was treating me as if I was made out of china?”

“Because the entire fucking community is made up of ignorant gossips that need to learn to mind their own business?” Her words may be harsh, but they seem to carry more amusement that anger.

“Care to elaborate?” Our friends are a pretty tight knit group, and information travels fast. Lara is not a fan of the gossip mill, but evolved girlfriend or not, I hate being out of the loop.

“Word is” she says without preamble, “I’m cheating on you.”

“And why would anyone think that?”

“Apparently if someone walks in and sees you face down on some girl’s vagina, it means you’re being unfaithful.”

“Oh?” I ask, shifting slightly, already slightly turned on by the image of my girlfriend lying between the phantom girl's thighs.

“Mmm,” Lara grins, “She was so juicy. Like eating out a peach.”

And just like that it's as if my last orgasm was years away. “Tell me about her?”

Lara pauses, and gives me a look. I wonder how I look to her... breasts bared, fingers of my left hand curling around the waist of my bright blue cotton panties, already inching them down.

Apparently, I look like a pervert who can't have a serious conversation. “… I know that you have a more or less one track mind when we can spend time together, but can we get back to the whole issue of everyone thinks I’m cheating you thing?”

Definitely an oversexed pervert then. I blow out a frustrated breath. “Me?! You started it, goddamn fucking tease,” I say without much heat. I hope.

“Heh, I know. Sorry couldn’t resist. I’ll tell you later, I promise. So anyway, that’s why…”

“You bet your fucking ass you’re finishing this. Can’t believe you bring that up and then you stop like that.” I am no a fan of sexual frustration. Not when I haven't seen my girlfriend for three very long months.

“Jenna!” If it wasn’t so hot she’s probably get up and smack me on the head. “Focus!”

“OK,” I say, “Right. So. Cheating.” Sex. Sex. Sexsexsex.

“Yes. Cheating. Remember when Jesse was rooming with me before she left for that job in Montreal?”

“Vaguely?”

“Yeah well. One night I thought she’d gone up to Zahle to visit her family, but then she had something come up in town she forgot to tell me about.”

“And she walked in on you with Peach Girl.”

“And she walked in on me with Peach Girl.”

“And you didn’t explain that I was cool with it why exactly?”

“I don’t even know, I mean she left right away. And by the next day I saw her and she’d already told Lulu and Sara. Lulu had told Tanya and Tanya told Rana, and it just blew up. And they assumed, which pissed me off so much that I didn’t deny it, because I don’t need to defend myself to them like some sort of criminal.”

“Fuck.” The problem with being in such a close community is that things never stay private for long. “When was this?”

“Two months ago?”

“And you haven’t told me why exactly?” If I know my friends, they probably haven’t been very warm to Lara since then. I love them to death but the do close ranks ridiculously quickly.

“Because there’s nothing much you could have done from Kuwait? Because you’re miserable there as it is and I didn’t want to add to that? Because however they choose to interpret my actions, it only matters to me that you know what I’m about?”

I’m quiet, looking at my suitcase, contents strewn out like the guts of an amateur sacrifice to the Gods of Long-Distance Relationships. I got here today and in two weeks I’ll be leaving again. It’s going to be the longest we’ve spent together in more than a year. Usually it’s a spare weekend stolen away every few months. Three years already, and god knows how many more to come. It’s not easy. For me or for her. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” It’s abrupt, but definitely heartfelt.

I sigh. “Sometimes I wonder if we both wouldn’t be happier if..”

“Fuck you.” She’s more frustrated than angry when she interrupts me, “I told you a thousand times. I don’t care about easy. I care that we’re together. You and me. That’s what matters. Two days, two weeks, two years, two life times, I’ll take whatever I can get with you. And soon you’ll have enough saved up for that masters in Vancouver. And I can finally take that job. My parents are already there, only two hours away, and they can’t wait. Hell, they probably love you more than they love me anyway. You’re saying you want to disappoint them?”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “No?” God forbid I disappoint Lara’s *parents*. That’s my baby. Always deflecting with other people.

“Good.” She nods, as if it’s all settled. “So now that’s all over, let’s fuck.”

If she thinks that she can distract me from the issue as easily as that she’s delusional. There a lot of things we need to work out, because I don’t want to imagine what would happen to us if we let these things fester. And I need to have a talk with my friends because our relationship is our business. And if I’m OK (more than OK) with Lara fucking other girls when I’m away then they’re going to learn to be OK with it as well. Oh we are going to talk. First thing in the morning. After all… “How can I resist such a pretty offer?”

What I'm Listening to Right Now: متيم - راشد الماجد

It's Not Sex

It's not sex I miss. You can't miss what you never had, not really. What I miss is the intimacy. The easy physical affection. I miss touching. I miss hugging. I miss kissing.

Twenty days, only twenty days of being around only other LGBT women, and it's more real than an entire lifetime of everything else. Twenty days of breathing easy. Twenty days of honesty. Twenty days of belonging. Twenty days of joy.

Three months since I've been back in my real life, but I am no longer able to reconcile myself to the lie. Three months of acting straight. Three months of being back in the closet. Three months of being bereft of touch.

In Lebanon, Inever went long without the someone's arms slipped around me, offering love and comfort. Say what you will about the Community, they are not stingy in their physical affection. I never knew how tactile a person I was until I had all that at my fingertips. Often literally so.

These girls, my girls, their love, it overwhelms. In our space, there are no barriers. At first it seemed so strange, everyone climbing under, over, and onto one another. I was hesitant at first. For a few seconds. But I quickly fell under the spell of their complete openness and generosity in their affection. I had no idea how starved I was for all of it until I could have my fill. I never knew there was someplace I could belong. But like Frost says, Nothing gold can stay.

So I came back to Kuwait. So Eden sank to grief. Once again I am without the comfort of loving arms.

What I'm Listening To Right Now: Reelin' in the Years - Steely Dan

Night Time Rituals

I’m not in love with her, that I know. But she draws me like no other, and I am certainly in love with the idea of being in love with her.

Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like. If at fifteen I was thinner, taller, beautiful, desirable. What would it have been like if I had known I was gay? That she was gay. If I had known how much I would want her. If I had taken the chance. If I had the courage to speak to her. If I had smiled and put my fingers at her wrist. If I had been bold enough to casually brush her hip with mine. If I hadn't seen her just that one time, and unaware, left her in my subconscious biding her time.

What if we were high school sweethearts? If I had wanted her and she had wanted me. If I had told, asked, begged, pleaded, gotten down on bended knee. If I had asked her in written word, and touch, in song, in the way I looked at her. I wish that I had looked at her.

What if we were in love? What if hers were the first lips put to mine? If she had been the first one inside of me, her fingers tentative at first, her brow drawn as I lay back, one hand resting on her shoulder, fingers splayed, my mouth slack in surprise, letting out a cry of pleasurepain. If I had worshiped at the altar of her divinity, on my knees, face buried in her heat, one of her heels digging into the small of my back.

What if she had left me for that school so far away, and made me cry hot tears into my pillow, unable to tell anyone, terrified that it was for good? What if she stayed true to me as I pined for her? Seen her in every corner, every curve, every ray of light. Her eyes, her smile, that quirk of amusement at the corner of her mouth?

What if she came back to me and made my heart swell? What if she had known my friends, my arm loose around her waist, confident that she was mine? If I had melted in to her, bracketed by her legs, my back to her chest, acting extra coupley on movie night. If I had fallen asleep in her arms after going at it hot and dirty back in her bed, only to start awake terrified: what time is it, my parents are probably wondering where I am?

Instead I spoke to her years after that first glance. Instead she’s just a face on the computer screen, and has probably forgotten all about that awkward meeting.

Our could-bes are my bedtime stories, many a night they sing me to sleep. I am not in love with her, but I’m very much in love with the idea of being in love with her.

Credit where credit is due, I was inspired, love-crumbs notwithstanding:

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh ... And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

-ee cummings

Though I Have No Camera

My day consists of a few dozen photographs. Sometimes I feel like an uninvested observer, fascinated by the boring details of my life, taking snapshots to document the ordinary. A pair of pale gold ballerina flats carelessly abandoned in the middle of my bedroom floor. Click. The casual intimacy of my unmade bed telling a story far more interesting than the truth of my restless sleep. Click. The view from my windshield of the cars gently gleaming before me as I idle at a traffic light. Click.

Most days, The City (it’s the only city we have) comes up like a revelation as I make my way back home from Shuwiakh on the road that takes you to the Sheraton Roundabout. The City usually breaks up from the flatness of the skyline like a tiny copse of trees and grows larger until it swallows me up. But some days the sky has other ideas. Some days it is The City that is swallowed by the sky, heavy with yellow dust.

Dusty days usually cause me a lot of grief, but on one particular day I lay safe in the arms of the antihistamines I rarely remember to take. On that particular day, free of stuffiness and itchiness and other things best left unmentioned, I noticed that the desert had swallowed up my metropolitan oasis of metal and steel.

Instead of the old familiar face greeting me at our usual place, I was by met emptiness beckoning me closer, and so I drove on. As I approached, buildings began to loom out one by one, shrouded in an unfamiliar cloak of gritty mystery. Instead of the usual merry group, each was a hulking monolith of individuality.

Odd, how an ordinary turn of weather had changed the friendly face of my city into something alien. It seemed everything was muffled, darker. It seemed to me like every structure carried a sort of dull post-apocalyptic sheen, left all alone and condemned to a destiny of solitude. It reminded of a short burst of fiction I once wrote in my original blog.

Some bits and pieces of that recently remembered something...

"We built the world, height upon height, we rose up reaching for the sky. We thought we could leave the mess, the grit and dirt of humanity behind. Reaching out to the clean expanse of sky, dirtying it as we reached... Then they left us here, living in the shadows of what they have wrought, mere skeletons now. Left us with hollow husks, laying under this blotted out sun. What a legacy they’ve left us, cadavers, monoliths, useless, a tribute to a pointless race whose outcome has been lost to time."

As I often do, I wished the I did in fact have a camera.

Er… perhaps I was feeling particularly lonely that day?

What I'm Listening To Right Now: Eh Eh (Nothing Else I Can Say) - Lady Gaga