Best Women's Erotica 2015 by Violet Blue

Author:Violet Blue
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cleis Press Start
Published: 2015-01-06T05:00:00+00:00

I can hardly quit thinking about it. I put respectable clothes back on, and try writing cover letters at a coffee shop, but mostly I daydream. Danny wakes things up in me I didn’t know were there. He’s so observant, so curious. He taught me how to talk in bed—something I’d never been able to do before. “What does that feel like?” he’d ask me, fingering me, pressing and stroking different parts of my insides.

I’d pant and gasp and try answering, “Really good,” or, “Yes, right there,” but he wasn’t satisfied.

“No,” he’d say. “What does it feel like? Describe it to me!” he’d say, moving his finger to caress one particularly sensitive spot.

“Like swimming,” I said once. “Like swimming in silver. When you press there, a silver wave hits.”

He kissed my neck, held my ear between his teeth and told me deliciously dirty things. When I touch you like this, your cunt gets so tight and wet. You’re like a beautiful curtain, opening and closing on my hand, you’re so luscious.

At eight-thirty, half a cover letter later, I figure it’s time to go. I pack my semi-functional laptop and notebook into a bag, and the barista, I think, catches the wistful half-smile subtle on my features. “Got any good plans for the night?” he asks.

His question makes me laugh. What if I told him, I’m going to go pick up my boyfriend from the magic show where he works, and then I’m going to strip him naked and fuck him with the dick he brought home for me today? But his eyes are sincere, probably lonely. “Thought I’d roast a chicken,” I say, shrugging.

Once out the door, I crack up. Good euphemism.

Danny’s more employed than me. He’s been working for nearly fourteen years, right at the same place, with a few brief stints living in Portland and some off-seasons spent rambling. He’s a stagehand in a magic show. That’s right. He wears a majestic top hat, and he carries around silver trays laden with bunnies in various states of appearing and disappearing. He also does one third of the administrative work to run the strange old theater where the show plays. We met because he hired me—at the last “real” job I had—to do some restoration work and minor carpentry on the semi-historical interior. Now look at us.

He’s dapper in his top hat, the black brim casting a dark shadow on his dark skin, the lush, dusky reds of the old theater framing him. When he sees me, he swoops the hat off and bows. I press up to him, and we waltz around the empty room, which still smells of popcorn and stale candy. He likes it when I lead, so I make him twirl and dip and then plant a soggy kiss on his cheek.

He leaves the top hat there—always much to my dismay, but on the walk home I get to see his dark eyes glitter against the still-wet streets, eyeliner smudged underneath, making him look smoky and mysterious.

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