Tagged: sex

“You Don’t Have To Whisper”

  • ten seconds and counting
  • a sleek little black bra
  • maple-leaf-red hydraulic oil
  • the color of urine on snow
  • you don’t have to whisper, boy
  • “Squishy.”
  • though they had no sex

“You don’t have to whisper, boy,” growled Titania.

“Squishy.” Felix averted his eyes, trying not to look at Titania in nothing but hotpants and a sleek little black bra, seeing instead the puddles of machine fluids: maple-leaf-red hydraulic oil and coolant the color of urine on snow.

“Sorry, pneumatics are out of adjustment.” Titania strutted over to the air compressor and applied the nozzle to her various pulchritude valves.

Felix longed for the time before she was fully assembled, when he could caress her components on his terms. Now, though they had no sex, his soul flooded with guilt for even seeing her, for looking upon her animation.

“Gratification sequence initiated,” Titania purred. “Ten seconds and counting.”

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I’m Getting Overeducated

  • by jenby the time I reached my adolescence
  • this filthy little segmented thing
  • he could make us all suffer
  • recommended the Eggs Benedict
  • his ears are adorable
  • I’m getting overeducated
  • kissed Sharon lightly on the cheek

I’m getting overeducated in regards to sex. By the time I reached my adolescence I’d seen it all, thanks to my older sister Sharon.

Our mother split when we were little, and our father was always out drinking, so it fell to Sharon to raise me and teach me the ways of the world.

Her boyfriend’s name was Hans, and he could make us all suffer with his attempts to speak English. Sharon didn’t care. “His ears are adorable!” she would say.

One night Hans arrived at our apartment and kissed Sharon lightly on the cheek. Mere moments later she was on her knees before him and he was pulling this filthy little segmented thing out of his trousers. I didn’t want to see any more.

I cleared my throat to remind them I was there. Hans told me to go to the diner and get something to eat. He recommended the Eggs Benedict.

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Richard Took Off His T-Shirt

  • by jenlike you’ve poured ink on your head
  • his eyes were pure chocolate
  • tried to cut his own hands off?
  • in the car with the baby wipes
  • Richard took off his t-shirt
  • flashed a self-deprecating smile

Richard took off his t-shirt and flashed a self-deprecating smile as he flexed his impressive pecs in time to the pulsating dance music. His hair was the distinctive blue-black that looks like you’ve poured ink on your head in an attempt to look like Elvis. His eyes were pure chocolate chip cookies of lust. Sally decided right then and there that she wanted to screw him, out in the parking lot in the car with the baby wipes and juice boxes, and all the other symbols of her suburbanized domesticity. Sally knew it was sinful to do what she was thinking of doing with Richard while her husband Cliff was in the hospital, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to be married to Cliff anymore. Who would want to be married to a man who, when asked to help with the dishes, tried to cut his own hands off?

Sally smiled and took Richard’s intact hand, leading him out of the club.

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“Happy Birthday,” He Said

  • by jenshrinking like a balloon
  • 50 bucks worth of shit
  • picture of the burly child
  • “Happy birthday,” he said
  • passed a cohabitation law

“Happy birthday,” he said and handed Loretta 50 bucks worth of shit she didn’t need, as well as a picture of the burly child he had once been, back before the state passed a cohabitation law that compelled her to leave him behind with his father and take up residence with an old, half-senile party official whose phallus had the habit of shrinking like a balloon stuck by a pin whenever they were in bed together.

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Desdemona Smiled

  • by jenbut they still had logs enough
  • this was a popular shrine
  • the doorway of the weaving shed
  • platters of root vegetables
  • He is brisk in bed.
  • the stick he was using

Desdemona smiled and gestured to her crotch. “This was a popular shrine when I was younger. Now the fickle young men prefer others. But they still had logs enough for my purposes in the house of the elders, I found.

“Take Igor for instance,” Desdemona said of her most recent suitor. “He is brisk in bed. The stick he was using, if you’ll pardon the expression, gave more pleasure than all the platters of root vegetables stacked in the doorway of the weaving shed for winter ever could. If you know what I mean.”

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No Doubt Your Husband

  • equivalent of applause
  • the salty pork filling
  • no doubt your husband
  • played Matthew’s harpsichord
  • they’re so bloody stupid
  • wood and brick and flesh
  • not unobtrusive enough

No doubt your husband sent you to the Music Conservancy to learn the arcane styles of the baroque period, and that is how it came to pass that you played Matthew’s harpsichord. Your performance earned you the equivalent of applause, the salty pork filling as they sometimes call it, from Matthew.

Your urgent conjoinment in his quarters shook the building physically and emotionally, creating of he and you and the house a single perspiring being of wood and brick and flesh. Such assignations must be unobtrusive, and yours was not unobtrusive enough. It is common knowledge on campus.

No doubt your husband is ignorant of your carnal explorations among the faculty, as they so often are. They’re so bloody stupid.

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