50 Ways To Read Your Lover

I try to always be upfront with you so lets be clear, I haven't read 50 Shades of Grey. My To Read pile is already out of control. People whose opinions I value have read the book or parts of it and said that it's not terribly well written. People whose blogs and tweets I follow who are core members of the domination and submission communities have had some problems with the way they've been portrayed. Now, I'm not judging anyone who reads stuff that's well written. I read and watch a lot of crap. More even than I ought I'm sure, however, I decided that it was ok not to read this particular stuff if it was going to mirror my experience wading through Twilight. Despite taking it off my list I had great plans to write a whole Alternatives to 50 Shades of Grey post but, as you can see, it hasn't materialized.

This evening I swung by a friend's house briefly. She's moving and has been sweating to the tune of her own packing all day. Before I left I pawed through the books in her giveaway pile. I moved one book back and forth about three times before I stopped myself. It was Our Bodies, Ourselves and I don't own a copy. I thought, "I write about bodies and sex. I need a copy of this book."

Well, you can't say that if you don't actually write about bodies and sex. That was enough to inspire me to get my ass (and my fingers and my brain) back here. As I strolled home with my bodily instruction manual clutched to my modest chest I mulled over how I should begin my Alternatives post. About halfway there I realized that I've written more than one post on the subject already. Why am I trying to reinvent the wheel? Let me do a round up of those posts below so we can share them with anyone who might be interested. One of my favorite parts of this site and the G-Spot column before it is the conversations. The one fantastic thing about 50 Shades is that it's upping the odds of people talking about sex and desire and pleasure. I've got my fingers crossed that we'll all have more opportunities to share (and read) these gems.

My tardy review of the anthology Bitten. Not just BDSM but plenty of that if you need it.

I don't think any of our readers would call Speak pornography but here's my post about the people who do.

Another round up, this one of all the ways you can enjoy the work of Susie Bright.

On the non-fiction shelf we've got Bonk, Mary Roach's exploration of sex in our society.

The only thing I've been recommending to people who like 50 Shades that I haven't mentioned here is Anne Rice's Beauty series. It's been around a long time so many of you may know it. It's very specifically BDSM. I've got the first one and re-read parts of it often but haven't gone on to the rest. I think I'll have to add those to my very tall To Read pile.

I'll see you soon with another of the posts I've been procrastinating on. Let's keep the conversation rolling!

Fiction: 7 Flight Plunge

7 Flight Plunge

M/F

Rated: PG-13

**********

Lost. No warning at all. Totally lost.

I’d met him at another party. Maybe it was a concert. Friend’s birthday? We couldn’t recall. We’d only spoken briefly at this party. There was a lull between when I arrived and when everyone else I knew did. As I passed the kitchen I recognized a familiar face and grasped that social straw.

I’m terrible at parties. No, not terrible, I am average at parties. I say vague things and tell minimally interesting stories and every once in a while manage to get off one brilliant joke so people don’t just turn away from me.

That’s happened before. Occasionally people do just stop listening to me, pivot 45 degrees in another direction and leave me hanging. I was so relieved when my friends showed I probably did that to him.

After the songs were sung and the candles blown out and the toasts made everyone’s brains toasty I snuck out. I was too tired for stairs. So I punched the button for the elevator and made myself busy with my phone.

“Been waiting long?” he asked. I hadn't even heard him behind me.

I looked up, less startled because I was more drunk, and he was right there, barely a person’s width away from me. My head swung around and suddenly I was looking right into his eyes. I’m too shy to do that normally.

They were green. A jade green that seemed polished and cool but alive. He wasn’t shy. He was looking directly at me, not turning away. I can’t speak for his mouth but his eyes were smiling.

As usually happens in these situations I was speechless. I got a little unexpected vertigo and fell forward a bit into the eyes. I hadn’t noticed them before. I’m not an eyes person normally. I tend toward hands, sometimes lips or chins. Always something you can see when your head is bowed a little. This time, though, I got caught in the eyes and was suddenly lost. They seemed to want me right where they had me. He was going to pivot in the other direction any second and I’d lose them. I stood up on my tiptoes, braced myself with a hand on his shoulder and kissed him.

He kindly stepped in toward me so I wouldn’t tip over. I felt his hand on my waist, just at the hip, and it didn’t just rest there he held it the way you tighten your hand around something you don’t want to drop. I finished kissing and leaned back ever so slightly then he closed the gap and returned the favor.

Before I wanted it to be over a bell dinged and the elevator doors opened. We each spun a bit to face the arriving carriage. I licked my lips, wondering if I looked kissed but unable to stop grinning. I was a little embarrassed but his hand hadn’t left my hip.

No one was in there.

He guided me into the elevator in quite a gentlemanly way. We turned, as you do, to face front. The doors closed.

At lightning speed we were kissing again. I stabbed my fingers into his loose, curly hair and that hand of his moved off my hip. It came front and I felt a nipple pinched between fingertips. The sweet sting of it made me rise all the way up on my toes. I was vaguely aware of trying to straddle one of his legs. Any second clothes were going to come off. How long did it take to go down 7 flights anyway?

CLACK

The apartment door opened and someone else exited the party. “Been waiting long?” she asked as she rummaged in her stylish purse. She wasn’t looking in anyone’s eyes.

“I’ve only been here a minute and…” he gestured to me.

“Just a couple of minutes, not long at all.” I stammered.

We all turned to face the elevator doors, thinking our own thoughts.

Once Is Enough?

M/F

R for language, sexual content, emotion

***

It would have been so easy. Normally hearing her laugh, making her feel better wouldn't have been a problem. We are friends, after all, and she is hurting.

Her timing, our timing, however, is atrocious.

She is in the throes of a huge breakup. The guy she'd stumbled across right after we met has...you know, it doesn't even matter why or how. They’re breaking up and she isn't happy about it and a friend would help, wouldn't he? She doesn't want a joke or a night at the movies. I know her well enough to read the signs.

I know it would have been so easy last night to turn my head when she hugged me goodbye. I could have kissed her right up against the back of the front door. It would have felt delicious to press my whole body against her, feel her breasts, even through that oddly fuzzy little coat she wore. She would have smiled, with her eyes closed, and hummed a little, way back in her throat.

Or I could have simply moved in a little closer as she stood at the sink last Sunday afternoon and I reached into a cupboard above her to grab a glass. I could have brushed the backs of my fingers over her cheek, run my palm down her side, pressed my thumb against the center seam of her jeans until she leaned back against me. She’d have hummed then, too.

I admit it, I’m a little obsessed with the humming. On New Year’s Eve a few years ago at midnight she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me soundly on the cheek. Then she turned to him and and leaned in, very slowly, for a kiss. When their lips met she did that little humming thing. It made him smile. It made my chest tight. Then it made me think about her humming around my cock.

I’m a nice guy but I’m not dead. I think about that stuff.

I think about it a lot. I think about the taste of satay sauce on her lips when we order in from her favorite Thai place. I think about the slippery seawater tang of her other lips. I think about how her hair would smell after we’d had sex, right before she fell asleep. And, yeah, I think about holding both her arms above her head and thrusting into her cunt with abandon.

I know her pretty well. I honestly think she’d like that.

She’s going through this break up, though. It wouldn’t be right to press her at this point, no matter how much she thinks it would relieve suffering.

Or maybe it would. Sometimes a little sexy naked time is exactly what’s called for when your heart is breaking. So perhaps, just perhaps, my reluctance has nothing to do with protecting her and her fragile emotional shell. I’m not saying it for certain but it’s possible, quite possible, that I’m protecting myself.

As much as I picture her naked and writhing across my yard sale super bargain sheets humming her desire into my collar bone I picture her plunking down across the coffee table from me with her laptop. Not the sad, defeated way she does now (though I fear that might come later, once she’s gotten to know me like she knows him) but happily, there because she belongs there, there because she wants to be there. With me.

Tonight the moping recovery girl will surely “just swing by” for an hour or so of companionable silence and TV with a beer and chips chaser. When she leans her head against my shoulder, sighs from the depths of her lungs and smooths her hand over mine I could kiss her fingers, suck one in my mouth maybe, lay her back on my lumpy second hand sofa and lick a smile out of her. With a little concentration and luck I bet I could even get her to giggle. But I’m damnably self-aware enough to know I wouldn’t want to do that just the once.

I know her, sure, but it turns out I don’t know her well enough to know if, for her, once would be enough.

Half Finished Sentence

Half Finished Sentence



M/F


NC-17


***


Even late in the evening on December 31st 2010 was an unfinished sentence of a year. I’d had fun with friends and family but not gone much of anywhere. My annual performance review at work had gone swimmingly, they loved me. I still only liked them as friends. I’d broken up with the friend who was a boy if you could call a conversation like this breaking up:

“So, I’ve been thinking...”

“Yeah...”

“So I guess we should probably...”

“You’re right, I guess we’ll just...”

“OK.”

“OK.”

I took a cab home and treated myself to a new dildo. The NJoy 11, actually. Totally worth it. If I’d known I would have bought it sooner. Probably broken it off with the guy sooner, too.

New Year’s Eve found me in a local average pub with some of the average locals listening to music I couldn’t identify and watching that slightly effeminate emcee who replaced Dick Clark. I missed Dick Clark.

I had been hanging out with a group of friends and neighbors but, citing babysitters, sinus infections and, I swear to God, general malaise, they’d trickled home. All of them except Danny. Now I call Danny a friend but he’s a neighbory friend. We’ve known each other for nearly a decade, as long as I’ve lived here, we’ve talked at this bar, in community board meetings, at a friend’s party and once during a volunteer event at the park. We’d notice if the other one disappeared but we wouldn’t know who to ask about it.

I suppose I could have just left, too. I could have gone home and kissed the cat at midnight and been in bed by 12:05 having disturbing dreams about Dick Clark’s ball. I didn’t have it in me, though, which was as much indicative of 2010 as anything else. So I talked to Danny and it was fine. Fine like George Carlin talked about fine. Which was all it needed to be except that by 11:30 I started to get pretty restless. Very restless. When I knew it was all too obvious that my eyes were flicking all over the joint and I was only half listening I excused myself to the ladies room.

After a little wait in line I got in there, peed, washed my hands then sat right back down on the toilet lid. It doesn’t happen to me often but every once in a while I get so wound up that I have to do something. It doesn’t even matter what but it has to be something. Options in the bathroom were pretty limited.

Have you ever just put your body, or maybe it’s your soul, on autopilot? It’s fun but disorienting and probably pretty dangerous. Out at the bar I let my soul take over.

“Hey Dan...”

“Yeah?” he was so solicitous, such a nice guy, always willing to be part of the solution.

“Can you..” I sounded almost embarrassed, “come help me with something, please?”

“Sure.” Totally affable. Surely that would get old quick. But not before 2011. He signalled to the bartender to hold our spots and followed me back to the rest room.

Purposely vague I tossed words over my shoulder, “I just can’t quite...thanks so much...shouldn’t take a minute.” Since it was about 10 minutes to midnight the line to the bathroom had disappeared. I slipped right in, flattened myself against the wall so Danny could squeeze in then closed the door behind me.

It wasn’t the smoothest introduction to a kiss I’ve ever performed. While sweet he’s not stupid so he had to have at least a hint that something of the kind might happen but it was still pretty abrupt. He was a good kisser and he did have the grace to kiss me back which was nice of him. Not too much spit or tongue, nice relaxed feel to it.

I was an autopilot, though, and had a mission and just less than 10 minutes to accomplish it. I slid my hands down and began to figure out the details of his belt buckle. Dan kept kissing me and let me work it out, and work him slowly but surely out of a slightly twisted pair of boxer briefs. After a few long pumps in my hand I began to kneel and that’s when he stopped me.

With one hand he encouraged me to keep pumping. With the other he did his own figuring. My skirt wasn’t terribly long but the getting up and over the tights was a tiny challenge for him. Fortunately I wasn’t wearing panties. I didn’t have any clean ones.

I worried my thumb over the head of his cock and he did the same for my clit. I jumped a little and laughed. He chuckled back. He worked his other fingers over my labia and down between them getting slick and slippery. I spread my legs a little, hoping he’d take the hint and he did. He put just one finger inside and immediately I had to insist it wasn’t enough. I snaked my own hand under all those clothes and manipulated his hand until there were three of them in there to the hilt. I ground my clit against that fleshy pad of his palm and found I was rhythmically squeezing his dick. He used his free hand around me to get me back to an up and down motion, he didn’t stop the slight twisting motion I had going.

At that point, frankly, I quit paying attention to him. I knew, if I could just position his hand correctly I could get where I was going. I grabbed him by the wrist and wasn’t gentle. Even had to stand up on my tiptoes a little. His fingers couldn’t move much inside me  but a little was enough. I loved the short strokes. I ground down with my pubic bone against his palm and just concentrated on coming. He moaned a little and I thought I was being derailed but with a slight turn of my hips and more pressure I was at that edge you can’t help but fall off of. One more second, I held my breath and came hard enough that my thighs quaked. A couple of seconds later my hand, covered by Danny’s and wrapped around his cock felt warm and squishy with his come.

Upstairs a cheer arose, “Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year,” Danny smiled.

“Happy New Year,” I replied a little wryly.

We shared an awkward peck on the lips and turned the water in the sink on just before another holiday patron started banging on the door.

Snow Day

Snow Day
M/F
NC-17


***

We had a tradition in college, in law school, during that shaky first job. On the first day with snow, real snow, snow that stuck, we ditched. Getting up to call in was required. Then going back to bed could seem more decadent. At some point we’d go out, walk somewhere, make a snow angel, he’d for sure pelt me with a couple of snow balls and we’d come back home. Mostly, though, we stayed in bed. Naked.

Then I landed that second job. It dangled the big, fat, sweet, juicy carrot of partnership in front of me. I got serious. I mean, I made it through law school so it’s not like I’m Bozo the Clown or anything but this promise of reward, this treadmill, it upped my serious to threat level FIRE ENGINE RED. So in the first winter of the second job when it started to snow I got up. I didn’t call in sick and go back to bed. I showered, put on pantyhose and went to work. And I felt terrible about it.

“What are you doing?” he asked when I came out of the shower.

“Going to work.” I said matter-of-factly.

“Weather man was wrong?” he was bewildered in that sleepy way.

“No.” I tried to sound rational and firm but not mean. I probably didn’t succeed.

“Oh.” Two letters filled with a whole alphabet of accusation but I was paying the rent, not to mention his tuition, so what could he really say?

Half the office was out that day. They lived in New Jersey or had kids who were out of school or had stayed home naked in bed. I hated them.

By lunch time, given the reduced numbers in the office, I’d done all the work I could do and a good portion of the work some of the absentees should have been doing. I was itchy in my hose and resentful and, most of all, guilty. I was a grown up now, in theory I could do whatever I wanted. So I tested that theory. I sent a few more emails, made a phone call or two, gathered up my things and told the office manager I was headed home for the day. In the elevator I tried to keep a cool, Mad Men-inspired exterior but I was waiting for someone to step on at a lower floor and haul me back to my desk like a truant.

I got home about two. Music was blaring through the apartment. Prince, something vintage, very sexy. For a heartstopping moment I considered leaving again. I was, inexplicably, terrified of what I was going to find even though he’d never given me reason to doubt him. I didn’t even set my bag down while I wandered down the hall and into the living room. He was pacing the carpet with a book in his hand head bobbing to the music and his mouth moving silently. I knew him well enough to know he was switching between singing along and talking out his critique of the book. It was a good bet that book was Plato.

On his next turn he saw me and startled. He smiled but it was cautious and he opened the cabinet to turn the music down. Tears welled up behind my eyes and my arms felt heavy from carrying the guilt of making the boring, grown up choice. I dropped my bag and coat and went straight to him, trying to get there before the tears fell. I clung to his back like a limpet and he had the grace to reach back and cradle my head with a hand.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered in his ear.

“You came home early.” It was statement of fact, not of gratitude.

“I missed snow day.” I sniffed, trying to be discreet.

He nodded but didn’t reply for a moment. His head turned slightly toward me when he asked, “Feel bad about that?”

“Yes.” I replied, very quietly. Then I slid around in front of him and kissed him. I gave it everything, too. I went in slow. I kept my mouth closed for a while, waiting to be sure he was kissing back, before I even grazed his lips with my tongue. Once I got a little of that back I pressed my whole body against him and really jammed my tongue in his mouth. I kept at him, rubbing my nipples against his chest and clutching his ass with my hands until I was honestly breathless and had to stop. I slid back down from my tiptoes and leaned my head against his chest, breathing heavily. He held me and rubbed my back.

“You will, however, need to do penance.”

Thinking I understood I smiled and began to sink to my knees.

“Oh no no no no no.” he lifted me back up and set me apart from him. “Take all that off.” he gestured disdainfully at everything I wore and why I wore it.

There is absolutely nothing sexy about taking off work clothes. You can cite Kim Basinger in 9 ½ Weeks or Demi Moore in that sexual harassment movie or anyone in Ally MacBeal but the truth of it is that your feet swell in heels and pantyhose make you look like sausage and trying to untuck a sheath from a business skirt is a symphony of tugging and wrinkles that’s hardly alluring.

Once, very early in our relationship, I’d made a big deal out of stripping for him. I’d worn a special outfit with lacy lingerie beneath and put on music and lowered the lights and even watched Showgirls to prepare. I thought it had worked exactly right. He was all over me when I finished and we went three rounds before we collapsed on the bed. After a brief rest, heartbeats still a little irregular, he asked, “Why did you do all that?”

“Which part?” I joked.

“The big show.”

“I thought you’d like it.” I was hurt and in no position to hide it.

“I did. Seeing you get naked is sexy, it’s always sexy. The other stuff, though?”

“Yeah?”

“No offense, truly, but it was a little distracting.”

“Distracting?”

“Any time you’re getting naked that’s all I want to see. I don’t care how it happens, just seeing you is hot.”

It was a sweet thing to say in an artless sort of way. He stuck by it for years, even when he was berating me for not making enough of an effort to treat him specially. His well-intentioned hypocrisy was nice, I guess.

So I just hopped and tugged and pulled my middling expensive suit and all its accents off. Even my threadbare cotton underwear. Facing him wasn’t exactly a challenge but I was implying that he had the reins.

I thought he’d tell me to do something. He liked to tell me what to do. Instead he came right up in front of me and reached between my legs. Delicately he stroked and separated and kneaded just a little. I swallowed hard to keep from crying out. I could have made as much noise as I liked but something made me want to preserve the silence. After a moment he nodded a little as if he was satisfied with his findings. I should hope so I was wet and quivering by that point.

He licked his fingers off before he took me by the elbow. He steered me toward the couch. Again I assumed I knew where he was going with it. I started to sit and he tightened his grip. He took me around the side of the sofa and bent me at the waist. He made sure I kept my head low and my ass high. He even used his feet to gently tap my legs apart a little more.

I thought for sure he’d use his fingers first. He just stood behind me, opened me with one hand, placed his cock with the other and pressed firmly, but not unkindly, all the way in. My moan turned into a kind of a laugh. I was used to more lead up, I wouldn’t have expected this to be so satisfying. I let my head hang down, steadied myself against the cushions and closed my eyes.

He went slowly with long strokes for a little while. I felt lulled. It was like having someone rub circles on your back but so much better. Just as I was drifting away he sped up, added a little circling motion. Every so often he’d bang straight and hard into me, slapping his balls against my ass for a few strokes then go back to the circling. It was exciting and it was a great way to build up but it was maddening, a start and stop and change of ploy I couldn’t control. I rolled my forehead back and forth against the seat of the couch trying to center myself.

His strokes changed again, got a little more careful and short when he leaned over me. I felt his chest hair scratching and tickling my back. It didn’t last long, though, because he was just reaching for my hand. Keeping hold of it he stood again, gave a few more of those hard strokes, then lifted my hips just a little, I had to roll up on my toes for a second. He slid my hand underneath me and set my fingertips generally near my clit.

“Go on.” he told me.

“It’s hard...with you moving...”

“You can do it.”

So I rubbed. I reached around his cock, tried to pick up some of the juices that were seeping down. I bent my knees reflexively and he had to grab both hips to keep from slipping out. I widened my stance, which made him groan a little. Then, comfortable, I rubbed in earnest. I tried to find the rhythm that went with the sensation of him inside me. It was always hard for me to concentrate on both the inside and the outside at once.

“Go on.” he repeated.

I held my breath for a minute, screwed my eyes shut and felt myself getting closer. My hand flew across my clit and my mouth opened, I couldn’t close it. Finally it was just words, “Mo....mmm, more, more, little..ahh....more....” and I came with a strangled version of a scream.

He was still stroking steadily into me and it was nearly smashing my hand so I slid it out from under me.He started to speed up. He grabbed my hand and threaded our fingers together. He was pounding away and, for the first time in a long while, he shouted as he came and fell on top of me, barely catching himself with his hands before I got crushed.

Minutes later when we finally had the muscle control to swing around and spoon on the couch I grinned and asked, “So...snowball fight?”

“Mmmm, in a minute.” he murmured and closed his eyes.

Overheard

Overheard
M/F
R


***

A door opens.


So...hi.


Hi.


You’re...


Amber, yes.


Come on in. Do you want something to drink?


Just a glass of water would be great, thanks. 


That door closes.


I got your message. Oral, with the option to upgrade, right?


Ye...um...yes.


I’m sorry, I have to just be clear. It makes things safe for both of us. I like to get it out of the way so we can just have fun. And in that spirit, they made the payment structure clear?


Absolutely.


If you have any questions I’m more than happy to answer them now or at any time. 


Um. No, not real....well, do we just...start?


I’d like to just make a quick stop in the bathroom, wash my hands, get out of these jeans, freshen up, is that OK?


No, sure, yes that’s OK.


Do you want me to keep the shoes or no?


Could you just lift?


Sure.


Yeah, keep the shoes. 


Will do.


Time passes. Not much. Water is drunk. Not much. Bourbon is consumed. A little more. Still, not much.


Hi again.


Hi. That...set really shows off...the shoes. 


Laughter.


Thank you. I thought so. Are you comfortable in that chair?


Very.


Good. Let me just slide the table out of the way a little. Mmmm, nice belt. I like them when they’re good and worn in like this. 


Ka-chink.


Lift. Just a little. Perfect.


Mmmmmmm.


You’re very warm. Is it too hot?


Nnnnnnnnn....no.


Good.


Lift again. 


Complete silence.


Harder?


Uuuhhhh, nnnnnn, little. No teeth!


No. Promise. Shhhhh.


Oh. Oh. Yeaaaaa.....


Mmmmmmmmm, mmmmmmmmm, mmmmmmmm.


Gaaa, ye....please, please please.


Laughter. Chuckling. Muted.


What?!


Shhhhh. Just wait a minute. 


Breathing. Heavy. And light.


OK?


One more sec.


Now. Please.


Like this?


Yes.


And this?


Yes. More. Please.


Mmmmmmmmmm.


Mmmmmmmmmm.


Quiet. Not silence.


Oh, oh, oh yeah, now, now, please now!


Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm!


Yes!


Rustling. Gentle, calming noises.


Whew!


OK?


Very. Thank you.


You’re very welcome.

Masked

Masked
F/F
R


***

Honestly, you’d think that at my age I wouldn’t be surprised at the foolish shit I find myself doing. I’m old enough to say no or even to lie my way politely out of things when I know they aren’t my cup of tea. Yet here I am wandering around in the dense undergrowth of a National Park in the Pacific Northwest looking for a port-o-potty.

I should probably back up.
    
My college roommate, Siobhan, moved to the wilds of Oregon about ten years ago. Her husband is a Park Ranger and that’s where he was assigned. Since she was married in her home town of St. Louis I’d never visited the new home. A conference brought me out to Portland and I figured it’d be pretty rude of me not to try and get together. If I was already traveling all that way from Baltimore what was another couple hundred miles? When I heard how excited she was that I’d be coming I felt pretty good about myself. I might even have bordered on the smug. I’m an idiot.

A week before my trip she calls me up. “Hey, just wanted to give you a heads up that the night you’re coming to visit is our big Halloween party. A whole bunch of us get together in a local park, we wear costumes, there’s great food and wine. You’ll love it! So pack a costume!”

Somehow, I didn’t manage to reschedule the visit. Never once did I hear myself say, “You know what, that’s just not me.” even though I was thinking it so hard I think I strained my cerebellum. The best I could do, apparently, was to negotiate my way out of bringing my own costume. It turns out that Siobhan had an extensive costume closet and she’d find something perfect for me.

As ridiculous as the whole evening felt, especially while negotiating a portable toilet on the edge of a forest, I had to admit she had found something perfect. I’m not much for elaborate fantasies but when I do find my mind wandering it’s always to the ancient Greeks. Siobhan had a flowing Grecian dress in ice blue with a little gold detailing and a sparely designed feather mask that covered my eyes and nose and dressed up my hair. She’d pulled that up loosely so it wasn’t overpowered by the feathers, slapped some lipstick on me, tossed over a pair of the most comfortable sandals I’ve ever worn in my life and called me done. I felt gorgeous. Then I felt ridiculous for feeling that way.

Coming out of the port-o-john I had the dress unattractively bunched around my thighs. I didn’t want the light fabric swishing bathroom floor filth onto my ankles for the rest of the night. I tried to shake it out while reaching up for my drink, stashed in the crook of a tree.

“That’s fucking brilliant.” a quiet voice behind me observed.

I jumped, “Whoa, didn’t know anyone was out here.”

“Sorry, I’ve got these super soft boots on. I forget how silent they are.” she explained. The boots in question were ankle height and suede with a gently pointed toe and flat heel. I’d have been tempted to steal them but they went perfectly with her Robin Hood costume. It actually had a hood on the cape in addition to the mask so I couldn’t even tell what her hair was like.

“No worries,” I reassured. “I’m just not from around here. Not used to all the...nature.”

“It does take some acclimating, I suppose. If you need an escort back to the festivities I’d be happy to help you.”

I’d gotten here on my own. I could get back just fine. “That would be nice.” I accepted.

“Just let me do what I came to do, won’t be a minute.”

“Can I hold your drink?”

“Nah,” she demurred, “I’ll just put it here.” With that she walked right up to me, standing near enough to touch, and reached up into the crook of that tree to set her drink down. I could feel her breath on my neck she was so close. “Be right back.” she whispered in my ear.

I sipped my locally grown organic wine from its compostable cup and thought about just sneaking away. Before I could decide how rude that might be she was back. My nerves made me step away so she could reach her drink without touching me.

“Wow, that was quick.”

“Secret weapon,” she smirked, lifting the hem of her tunic enough to show me that what I had thought were leggings were actually thigh high tights.

“Brilliant? Body glue?”

“Little bit, it might get chilly later. Shall we?” Robin Hood gestured toward the party and I fell into step with her. We walked quietly for a hundred feet or so, breaking through the tree line with a growing sense of companionship. When I could see the party, though, my fingers tensed on my cup and I stopped walking.

“You OK?” she asked.

“Yeah. I just...don’t really feel like heading back. I was kind of using the bathroom run as a time out.”

“Ah the party time out. That’s a favorite of mine. Were you very naughty to deserve one?” she smiled when she said it and her eyes actually sparkled. That’s total bullshit, who has eyes that really sparkle? Sparkling eyes are a movie trick.

“Not yet.” Huh, so I guess along with the sparkling eyes the whole mouth with a mind of its own thing is real, too. That was a new one on me!

Robin Hood took a breath and pivoted her body back toward the flickering torches ringing the party space for a moment. Cocking her head she spoke low but clear, “Would you like to be?”

I laughed, although it was more of an accidental snort, and she took a step forward, her shoulders squared away from me. I opened my mouth to speak, choked on my own tongue for a second and finally got out, “What did you have in mind?”

“Seriously?” she demanded.

I swallowed hard, “Yes.”

She held a hand out and I took it. From there we took a different path back into the trees. Visions swam in my head of Sherwood Forest with shelters made of branches and hideouts camouflaged beneath leaf-covered rocks.

A minute later we arrived at a picnic table. The ground around it was littered with matches, rolling papers, beer cans and hamburger wrappers. Not a merry man in sight, though. Gently sweeping some of the debris out of the way with those fabulous boots my Robin Hood hopped up to sit on the table top, pulling me carefully forward. Keeping me close with the pressure of her knees on my hips she reached up to pull back the voluminous hood.

“Don’t...” I started.

“Just the hood.” she assured me.

I helped her smooth it back the rest of the way. Her hair turned out to be thick and not quite curly, more deeply waved. It hung just below her shoulders and had been pulled off her face with a head band. It might have been brown or auburn but I couldn’t make out specifics in the moonlight. Fortunately I could sink my hands in it and feel it sliding silkily over my fingers.

“Mmmmm, nice,” she encouraged, tilting her head back slightly. When I leaned over to run my fingers right to the ends of her locks she was in a perfect position to kiss my neck. She didn’t, though, she licked it. Short little strokes like a cat lapping up milk. It tickled in the most delightful way. I kept working with my hands but tipped my neck off to the side to give her more canvas.

Suddenly she bit down, hard, right near my collar bone. I yelped and felt her chuckle a moment before she sucked the bite. I smoothed my hands along her shoulders and enjoyed the feel of her bare skin all warm from the cloak. Her tunic had short sleeves and wide arm holes that invited my inquisitive little fingers in.

Meanwhile she was moving lower to take advantage of the deep neckline of my dress. I’ve always been impatient and had wormed my way under what felt like a camisole to home right in on one of her nipples. It was only beginning to harden so I ran a fingernail over it, a little harder than was perhaps polite. She twitched ever so slightly but didn’t stop me so I started in from the other side.

She did, however, take that as permission to up the ante. She hooked just a finger into one side of the casually pleated bodice of my gown and pulled it aside. Then she licked my breast in one wide stripe across the nipple and pulled back to watch it harden. Moving back took her out of my reach so we both watched. I could have cut glass and it felt fantastic. So I pulled the other half aside.

“Do it again.” I commanded.

She quirked an eyebrow at me.

“Please?”

She obliged.

Somehow that centered my brain just a bit and I remembered the not-leggings. Bending a little to one side I grasped the bottom of Ms. Hood’s tunic and raised it, tucking the hem into her belt.

“So that’s the real secret, eh?” I asked. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. I pressed her shoulder a little to get her to lean back. She tossed a look behind her just to make sure there wasn’t anything dangerous back there and propped herself up on her hands.

At first I just lay one hand on each thigh. I wanted to feel how warm they were. Then I pressed them open and tried to move out of the way of the light to see what she was offering. Her hair was closely trimmed and formed into a  comfortably wide triangle. I could see the lips of her.

Stepping closer I hovered over Robin Hood, face to face with my hands still calm on her thighs. Her chin tilted up a little but I think it was instinctive rather than a choice. I brushed my nose against hers, sniffed her neck and finally kissed her. Our closed mouths melted together until she reached up and grabbed the back of my head. That was the signal to open and taste more deeply. The way she pulled challenged my balance, so as I shifted to one foot I palmed her between the legs almost to catch myself before I fell over.

She was sizzling hot but still unopened. As she traced my lips with her tongue I drew my hand upward, dipping my middle finger into the folds below. It came out wet just at the tip. “Mmrr,” I heard her say.

Pulling back a fraction of an inch I asked, “What?”

“More!” and her legs opened wide.

Down again and then up I let that middle finger sink in enough to release the juices from her. Now I could rub them up and down, making her deliciously slippery and coaxing her clitoris from its hood.

“Oh!” I exclaimed.

Everything stopped.

“You OK?” she asked as I swore.

“Hang on, sorry.” I had to scramble in a very unladylike way to haul all the folds and flutters of that stupid dress up and get to my cell phone, vibrating in a holster on my thigh. “Hello? Hello?” I was breathless.

“Oh no, it’s OK, I’m fine Siobhan.”

Robin Hood wasn’t moving, she just watched me.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“No, I did go to the bathroom but there...was a line and I got to...talking to someone,” that eyebrow raised in my direction again, “and I just didn’t realize I’d been gone so long.”

“I’ll be back soon, promise. Just want to wrap things up here.”

Hood giggled. It was cuter than I thought it would be.

“I am, Siobhan, honest. I am.”

I hung up and stared at the artfully disheveled party girl before me.

She smiled indulgently. I smiled back, more embarrassed than anything. “My friend. She brought me here. This is her dress actually. I’m just visiting fro...”

“You are what?”

“Visiting, I said, sorry...”

“No, you told her ‘I am, honest, I am.’ You are what?”

“Oh,” I looked down at my phone. I had to look at Ms. Hood to tell her, though, “She asked if I was having a good time.”