Never Say Never Page 3

  In my story “Pierced”—it’s the excitement from even the teeth of the zipper parting, the knowing what’s going to happen:

  He turned her sideways, unzipped the skirt, let the fabric fall. Now she was half-naked, and that felt wrong. He understood, pulled the T-shirt up over her head. This was better. Totally naked, with her silver-ringed tits on display, her belly button decorated, her body so pale and pretty.

  At the other end of the fetish is stripping where people might see. In “Wrapping it Up in Public,” which I wrote nearly two decades ago, the narrator describes her girlfriend’s desires:

  She needs to be taken in this manner, roughly, in public, exposed. It’s the only way she can really get off. She is the truest exhibitionist I’ve ever met.

  What does it take to bring exhibitionism into the bedroom? And isn’t that an oxymoron? How do you expose yourself when you’re all by yourself? Sharon Wachsler has the answer with “The Trick in the Mirror”:

  On standing, I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror. The autumn air had wind-swept my hair and put roses in my cheeks. This morning Dana had whispered, “You make my blood run hot,” and I’d scoffed. But now…

  I let my hand fall to my full breast, caressing myself. Nobody knows what I’m doing in here, I thought. My clit tingled.

  Pulling off my sweater and bra, my breasts hanging heavy, I remembered that party trick that used to drive the college boys wild. What had they seen? What would Dana see?

  Staring into the glass, I lifted my breast, tonguing my areola, teasing my nipple until it puckered and glistened. I sucked myself deep, thrilling at the combined sensation of watching and feeling my mouth tug at my nipple. Dana is right outside. She could walk in any moment. I flashed hot all over, imagining her on our couch watching me, groaning, reaching between her legs.

  I smelled my wetness. I could smear my own juices on my nipple and suck it off—taste myself—while Dana watched. If Dana was here. I buttoned up and hurried outside. With a quick good-bye, I pulled Dana home, murmuring, “Did I ever show you what I learned in college?”

  Start with tiny steps, simply reveling in the way you feel when you undress for yourself before moving on to the watchful eyes of your lover.

  In “Performance Anxiety,” a story I wrote for Coupling 2, the main character is nervous, but she works up to the thrill. When you feel safe with only each other as your audience, you can begin to let loose. Really strut. Make the most of every article of clothing that you remove:

  I stood and stripped, feeling him watching my every move. Then I slid into the champagne-lace number and tossed my hair back. I was not about to admit this to Josh, but I found myself getting excited.

  In The Trade, which is a novel in parts I’m currently writing, the characters discuss what it would feel like to be exposed:

  Killian had started by circling the topic slowly, “Do you ever think about having sex while people are watching?” He often slipped the vision into my psyche while we were fucking, murmuring dirty things when we were in the shower, or raising the idea while screwing me on the rooftop. Right now, he was thrusting into me from behind, while I supported myself on the windowsill.

  “Maybe people are watching,” I responded, my eyes shut in case I was telling the truth.

  “But to know,” he said, breathing against my neck, his cock so hard inside of me. “To know for sure that they were watching, touching themselves, getting off when you reached your limits. Wouldn’t that make you come?”

  Many authors understand the base excitement of writing about exposure. Liza Bennet says: “This is a scene between my husband and me, and the setting was an exhibitionist/voyeur’s delight: a sex party. Our interactions were strictly one on one, but the setting made for perfect opportunities for exhibitionists and voyeurs alike.” The piece was originally posted on Liza’s blog: alwayseachother.blogspot.com.

  I don’t have to keep quiet. At first I pant, short breaths, sharp inhales. A sound issues from somewhere deep in my chest. As we climb, as he pushes me higher, I don’t stop. He knows I love it, he knows my body has given in completely. If I hold my breath nothing happens. If I roll with it and let out what comes naturally, everything syncs and the roll toward orgasm is unstoppable.

  I push into his mouth and hand. I want. Need. Desperation overtakes me. As open as I have become in the moments since we started, I feel the heat bloom in my chest, my groin, my ass. My body is ready to open farther, and in a rare moment of conscious thought I try to let it all go. What I’ve held tight I now relax. Where I’ve clenched, I release. And the bloom rises, flows and explodes from my cunt. But the heat doesn’t stop, continuing out from the center across my body. I flush all over. I gush on his hand. Involuntarily I clench on his fingers, so hard he can’t move them.

  He strokes me, calming me. Soothing my swollen pussy. Grazing my goose-bumped skin. He presses to me, warming me with his heat. I feel his cock against my thigh, the crease of my hip. Soon it will be his turn.

  I open my eyes and glance to the side. They are watching. They have seen. They have heard. They know now.

  J. Sinclaire writes in “The Cornfield”:

  One road I have traveled could barely be called that. Deep grooves in the earth sown daily by a pickup truck from decades past as it cut its path through the cornfield. The owner of this relic is the one who took me on this road, literally and figuratively.

  Passions stirred before we reached the house nestled within the field. He parked the truck abruptly, getting out without bothering to turn off the engine before calmly walking over to open my door. Turning my body to face him, he pushed me down on the seat to dive beneath my dress and between my thighs with his lips. My back arched, my head driven into the hard springs of the seat as I squirmed from his touch. He lapped at me through my panties before finally pulling them aside. The sun beat down on my legs as they rested on his shoulders and I hazily noted the difference in temperature, my nipples hard in the cold, shady interior of the truck.

  I opened my eyes to an upside-down world through the driver’s side window. Corn fluttered like clouds above a blue-sky sea. To the ebb and flow of corn in the breeze, he thrust inside me and I climaxed around him. The springs in the seat squeaked frantically from the sideways motion they were not designed to absorb as he fucked me. The world did nothing but watch.

  In this edited excerpt from “Strong,” Xan West’s character describes watching a partner climax in front of a crowd:

  “Come for me,” I said, pulling her hair.

  She did, her body contracting, trying to push the baton out, even as I held it there, forcing her to take it. Her eyes were wide and dark.

  “The whole room just saw you come, girl. They know your cunt is dripping, aching to be stuffed full. Their eyes are on you, watching. You can’t hide now, girl. We can see you. You are naked to us.”

  She is so strong. I can’t imagine seeking this level of exposure, this level of vulnerability. She awes me.

  There are so many ways to engage in exhibitionist behavior—from sex parties to open windows, to public transportation. About “Underground Encounter,” Tamsin Flowers writes, “It’s a short story about a girl who has a sexual encounter with a good-looking boy on the London underground.”

  The train rattled over the tracks and our hips moved together in unison; but I was oblivious to our location now. Our combined musks filled my nostrils, and I could feel the pressure building up deep within me. His tight grasp round my waist kept me sliding up and down his shaft, each plunge deeper than the last one, each coursing through me with a sharper frisson.

  Beneath my buttocks I felt his balls tightening with every thrust; his skin was burning mine and every touch felt like a branding. Deep within me the reaction reached a critical point and an explosion tore through me, shock waves billowing through every muscle and nerve fiber, a trail of searing pleasure ripping my body apart. At the same moment I felt his hot cum firing up into me as his hips spasmed against mi
ne and he arched his back in the seat. A long, low groan was muffled between my breasts, even as my own whimper was drowned out by the noise of the train.

  Chart your own journey into the mirrored world of voyeurism/exhibitionism at the pace that feels proper for you. If you’re not ready to peel off on a downtown train, sit next to your lover during your next commute and whisper all the filthy ways you’d like to fuck. When you get home, take the fantasy to the bedroom and pretend everyone’s watching.

  They can see you. Can you feel their eyes?

  TANTALIZING TIPS

  •Take turns playing the exhibitionist and the voyeur. Who knows which role you’ll enjoy the most if you don’t give both a chance?

  •Describe a fictitious situation to your partner. While making love, pretend that there are people watching. Paint a verbal fantasy using words alone.

  •Go out on a date and engage in a steamy PDA.

  FICTION: EXHIBITIONISM

  BRING ME THE DARK

  ANGELL BROOKS

  Dear Diary,

  Well, after fifteen years, Daniel finally got it right.

  I don’t have to tell you how dreary our sex life has been, which is unusual considering the amount of porn he watches and the amount that I read. But he’s never really up for trying anything new. I mean, he talks a good game, mentioning threesomes and the like, but he’s never taken any steps to try to make it happen. (How do you go about setting that up anyway?) I thought for sure we were doomed to a life of quickies and rough sex. Yes, rough sex can be a turn-on, but sometimes I’d like to have him take his time, work his way up the ladder instead of just diving in and going for broke.

  Foreplay has been nonexistent. A few brief fondles of my breasts before bedtime and a poke-poke in the ass to let me know he’s in the mood is pretty much all I get lately. TBH, these days an orgasm isn’t even a guarantee unless I’m doing it to myself. And that happens so often I’m thinking of running away with my vibrator collection.

  So, imagine my surprise when I got home from work last night and found a gift waiting on the bed for me. It’s not my birthday, and Christmas is six months away. But really, there’s never a bad time for a gift. Inside a pretty pink box was an exquisite lingerie set. As I held up the delicate bra, a note fluttered to the ground. Picking it up, I read the flowery script: Wear these tonight under something short, sexy and elegant. Be ready by seven.

  Talk about things that make you go hmm. But I was willing to play along. So I went upstairs and drew a nice hot bath. As I sank into the bubbles, I let my imagination wander. Where were we going? To the theater? Or our favorite fancy restaurant? Dancing? I let my hands slide down my wet body, a dull throbbing building up between my legs. I took the razor, lathered up my mound and carefully and thoroughly shaved my pussy. With a gift like that, I knew I was getting lucky. As I shaved my lips, my clit begged for a bit of attention and I allowed myself a few strokes, just to build up my anticipation further. I could have gotten myself off with the showerhead, but I felt that would be cheating Dan out of something he was obviously going through a lot of trouble for.

  I did all the things women do to get ready for a hot date. I moisturized every bit of my body, painted my nails—both sets—and then padded in front of my closet, toes in the air, trying to decide what I had that was short, sexy and elegant.

  I decided on my red “Audrey Hepburn” dress. It wasn’t scandalously short, and definitely not tight, but it was sexy and elegant. The lingerie fit me perfectly, which was a surprise, because Daniel is usually clueless at picking out clothing for me. The satin and lace combination of the bra was comfortable, not itchy, and the satin panties were a dream. I was thinking he must have gotten them at a discount store: they didn’t look cheap, but there was a little disc in the crotch of the panties, right about where my clit was. They must have forgotten to take out the antitheft device, and I giggled as I thought about having to go through one of the stores with that still there. It would at least make the search interesting.

  After picking out jewelry, using makeup I hadn’t worn in ages and sliding into my kitten Mary Janes, I sat at the door, waiting. I nervously tapped my feet, checked my watch a dozen times, and laughed out loud at myself for acting like I was going on a first date.

  When the doorbell rang, I just about jumped out of my skin. At the door stood a tall, elegant older gentleman, and there was a limo parked in the drive. “Mrs. Miller, I presume. My name is Stanley. I will be your driver this evening.” He helped me on with my wrap, and held my elbow as he led me to the car.

  Soft music was playing in the background. Another note was waiting on the seat next to me.

  The champagne is chilled, the strawberries fresh. I will see you soon.

  “Wow,” I muttered to myself. Daniel had better hope he set this all up, because whoever did was definitely getting fucked tonight. I poured myself a glass and settled against the plush interior as I lost myself in the lights of the city flying by. The champagne was going to my head, and I was feeling wonderful.

  We stopped in front of a large black building. Stanley helped me out, bowing slightly. “Enjoy your meal, Mrs. Miller.” It was so formal, I almost curtsied in return. A door opened at the side of the building, and a woman all in black was standing there with a knowing smile on her face.

  “Mrs. Miller? Welcome to Le Chat Noir.” My panties got damp. Dining in the dark. The newest trend at the hottest spot in town. She put my hand on her shoulder and led me inside the pitch-black room. I could hear others around us, chewing, talking and giggling softly. Without my sight, it was kind of scary, but very sensual at the same time.

  “Stand here for just one moment, please.” I felt an absence of presence, if that makes any sense. I realized it was dark, but it felt like everyone was staring at me anyway. I felt very vulnerable. It must have only been a few seconds, but it seemed like I waited forever until a pair of unseen hands grasped my waist and guided me into a chair.

  “I hope you don’t mind.” Daniel’s breath was warm on my ear. “I took the liberty of ordering for you.” His voice was husky and had my heart doing flip-flops.

  “Of course I don’t mind. Daniel, this is…”

  He cut me off with a kiss. A tender, moist, slow kiss that had my toes curling. A wineglass was pressed into my hand. The full-bodied liquid trickled down my throat, and I felt around for the table. After placing the glass down, making sure it was far enough away from the edge, I reached out, sensing Daniel’s body heat. My hand landed high up on his thigh, and he placed it higher, allowing me to feel his hard cock beneath his dress pants.

  My pussy twitched. “Thank you for the lovely lingerie. It’s very beautiful.”

  His voice was knowing and evil. “Oh, it’s more than beautiful my dear. It’s got a dual purpose.”

  I gasped as my clit began pulsing. So that’s what the disc inside was. He had bought me vibrating panties. And obviously, he had the remote.

  I almost came right then and there. The pulsing changed to a light steady vibe and then shut off. “Surprise.”

  I heard the waiter come up behind me. “Please make sure the area in front of you is clear. Scallops for your appetizer.” His hand brushed against the side of my breast as he set the plate down. My body tingled in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the remote control.

  I shook a little as I managed to find my fork. I could hear the other diners around us. Knowing what Daniel was up to, I was quite sure that he wasn’t the only one making passes at his date. In fact, to my left I heard a distinct moan. It sounded sexual, and my mind sparked at what the cause was.

  Until Daniel put a scallop in my mouth. It was so buttery and tender, it was almost better than sex. I tried to feed him, but he removed the fork from my grip. “Knowing you honey, you’ll stab me instead of the scallop. Besides,” his thumb stroked the tender flesh of my palm, sending a spiral of heat through me. “You’re shaking. It takes steady hands to find the food. Now, open up again.” This tim
e, he fed me from his mouth, sharing the scallop with me. His tongue pushed it into my mouth and licked a trail around my lips.

  I shuddered and chewed slowly and carefully, savoring every bite. My fingers did a nervous walk along the table until they bumped into my wineglass, and I took a deep drink. Placing it back down, I let my hand once again rest in his lap. This time, I was able to find his cock without help, and I stroked it through the material. My mouth watered at the thought of just falling to my knees and taking him down my throat.

  It was such a temptation that I almost succumbed to it. As if he could read my mind, he hit the remote, and my whole body jumped into overdrive. I gasped and gripped his pants. He laughed, taking advantage of my open mouth to shove another scallop in. I chewed this one frantically, as the buzzing against my clit got harder, and to me, louder. I wondered if anyone around us could hear it above their own chatter and the clatter of dishes.

  The waiter appeared at my elbow. “Would the lady like more wine?” I could hear the grin in his voice. Belatedly I remembered hearing that the wait staff here was blind, and therefore more able to hear and smell things that those of us with sight normally wouldn’t. And I realized that he had probably picked up on the sound of the vibrations against the chair. Worse yet, he could probably smell my arousal over the aroma of the food he was used to.

  I blushed hotly, a little embarrassed. As I replied breathlessly “Yes, please,” I also realized that I wanted him to know. It was an incredible turn-on, to share a secret like that with a complete stranger. The wine being poured sounded like a small waterfall. “I’ll just remove the plate now.” Once again, his hand brushed against me, this time just barely missing an erect nipple. “Enjoy.” His chuckle stayed with me as it faded into the dark.

  Daniel’s fingers trailed lightly up my arm, caressing my shoulder before moving to play with my hair. “You look gorgeous tonight.”