• Short Fiction

    Rabbit Fur Coat

    Right on time, I passed under the glow of the marquee, a haughty nod at the bored guy slouching in the box office, heels click-clacking briskly across the pavement, sidestepping wind swept leaves and trash. The wind was brisk and I felt the skin of my thighs goose-bump in the evening breeze. The fire exit in the alley was propped open slightly, just as he’d said it would be.

  • Kink of the Week,  Short Fiction

    Souvenir

    “I’m a man of science, Gale. My mind thrives on empirical truths and patterns.” His thumbs dug into my thighs as he stood between my knees, the polished wood of his desk warming against my skin through my stockings. Fishnets, as requested. We’d been talking, dancing this dance, touching for nearly an hour, the penultimate moments of months of flirtation. I leaned back on the heels of my hands, feet swinging languidly aside his legs as he looked at me, one red leather Mary Jane dangling delicately from my toe.

  • Short Fiction

    Such sweet sorrow

    The ever-creative Exhibit A has set a fun task to the erotica community: a writing contest based on lyric prompts from a concert he recently attended. Of the 12 available prompts, I’m working with: “Life is all memory except for the one present moment, that goes by so quickly, you hardly catch it going.” Click through for more info, to read other entries by some amazing writers, or to participate before November 5.

  • Kink of the Week,  Short Fiction

    All the way down

    I knew it was a thing for him. I knew it was a want, maybe even a need, a craving. We’d shared some kinks and proclivities and started to slowly explore each other’s secrets and inner monologues. We’d spent hours with careful touches, whispered questions and permissions, gradually gaining ground and building on our personal catalogue of shared experiences.

  • Short Fiction

    The first four months

    She woke up to the sensation of his fingertips gently stroking her throat as she slept. His closeness bred both panic and comfort, a reaction that had kept them both on their toes throughout her recovery. She recoiled and paused, registering that it was only him, he looked at her in the half light of the early morning with patience and love.

  • Short Fiction

    “Use me.”

    He kneels in front of me before the mirror as he was told, his perfect cheeks are pressed into his heels, the dimples in the small of his back are dramatically shadowed in the low light. These details make my mouth wet and I can’t decide where to look first or longest.

  • Short Fiction

    Begging

    I don’t realize how heavy my sigh is, how slumped my shoulders are. It’s been a long week and I’m grateful to not have plans on a Friday night, glad to be in pajamas at 7pm with my feet tucked under his thighs, curled into the couch, idly scrolling through photos on my phone. I’m comfortable but I’m not content; I’m restless and it’s showing. Whats the matter? His voice is generous, he sets down his phone and puts his hand on my thigh. I meet his eyes. Nothing’s wrong, just a long week. His fingers knead my thigh and he watches me for a moment. What do you need?…

  • Short Fiction

    African Violet – Part 1

    The record circles under her hand, steady revolutions, glossy vinyl spinning. The speakers crackle as her fingertips drop the needle. It catches the groove and rides. Slowly the room fills with sound. Miles Davis, Blue in Green, 1959, a mournful ballad; both visceral and cerebral.