Five-Minute Erotica by Carol Queen

Author:Carol Queen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Running Press
Published: 2010-06-01T04:00:00+00:00

Under the Camel Light

BY MUZELLE

At the ripe age of 19, I landed a solo pad halfway up the west-side slope of Nob Hill. The original renter skipped off to Europe for the year, so my sublease rate was to die for and the place was fully furnished. Unmistakably, it was the sweetest, most charming studio in the whole city. Of course, I couldn’t help but adore it because it was my first. Hardwood floors, old claw-foot tub, checkerboard kitchen tiles . . . and a squeaky old Murphy bed to boot. The view, however, left much to be desired.

My one and only window was directly aligned with another Edwardian complex. So nothing but a six-foot gap and an old rusty fire escape inhibited the Smiths and Joneses from sharing my quarters. Most of the tenants kept to themselves, though, so I figured they might as well have been living in Zimbabwe. Aside from Pete, that is.

Pete was a chain smoker. And Big Brains lived with a cat that was allergic to nicotine. Ergo, the fire escape became his second home. If my window was open, a fresh breeze chocked full o’ Camel Light incense never failed. I began to hate cigarettes with a passion—despite my addiction to bumming them from friends.

I seriously contemplated offering to swap cats with Pete just to get him off the fire escape. But since our first “How do?” we never talked. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to lose the silent game. Besides, my little fur ball was positively more precious than his.

As it turned out, Pete was never a bother. He never spoke. I suppose he was trying to be as considerate of my privacy as possible. So I made up my mind to pretend he lived in Zimbabwe with everyone else in that building.

But I will never forget the last night of my first month at that place. I had gone to Baker Beach with Johnny, an incredibly hot, adoringly witty old sex buddy.We bared it all under the hot sun.

“I heard you really have to protect against penile burn on these nudie beaches,” I hinted. Johnny smirked and was oh-so-kind as to let me rub liberal amounts of sunscreen onto his anxious, uncut cock.

In return, he read the dirty bits of a nasty novel to me as he lightly tracked my treasure trail with his finger. Intermittently, when our fair fellow beachers looked away, he teased my anxious, throbbing clit. First a couple of light taps . . . then a few soft ringlets . . . and ultimately a machine gun finale.

My tail wagging, I asked, “Hey, wanna skip the sunset and head back?” As if I had to twist his prick. By no shock, I couldn’t wait to dash home and jump his bones, and he had no qualms. So we scurried back to my digs.

He heated the shower while I pulled down the Murphy, lit my candles and turned on the soft purrs of France Gall (60s-famed, French sex kitten extraordinaire).

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