Anne’s Sex Diary (Part 1)
April 17, 2009 in Sex Diary, Wordsmoker Short Fiction
(for reference/context: Victoria’s Sex Diary Part 1 and Part 2)
8:30 a.m.: Victoria’s still sleeping. Her black hair masks her face in tendrils like a seaweed veil. You’d think it would tickle her and she’d brush it away, even in her sleep, but apparently she’s too far under. I use my little finger to gently pull it away, tendril by tendril; I enjoy watching her face emerge, as if coming into focus. Her skin is such translucent, porcelain white, her hair so dark against it – nothing like my fine blonde floss and the boiled-pink cabbage rose it frames. I’m not sure why I’m already awake, but I decide to try to make the best of it, and the best of these moments before she wakes up and busies herself with leaving. I luxuriate in laying the whole length of my body against hers, smoothing my lumpy imperfections into a seam joining us like panels in a floor: dovetailed. Or, wait….there’s another word for that. I gently nestle my face into the nest of hair at her nape and my hand into the nest of hair between her legs, squirming against her body in order to feel the pleasure of coming to rest against her again. She turns toward me, eyelids fluttering slightly, and some of my fingers slip almost inadvertently into her as she does. Oh, now I remember. Tongue-and-groove. Good Morning, You. I can’t remember now which one of us said that.
Read the rest of this entry →
Noon: Have you read this article? It’s diabolical! Elise slapped it down on the little table we were sharing in this dingy, off-campus coffee shop. We were here because Elise didn’t want to be seen. I glanced down at the photocopied bundle that had nearly knocked over my gritty iced espresso. Oh right, that one. 
8:30 a.m.: I’d always thought it would be my dream to wake up with a woman’s fingers already inside me, the smooth back of her hand rocking gently against my clit as her lips brushed against my neck. I’d always thought it would be bliss to roll over out of my sleep and into such warmth, one form of dreaming bleeding into this other as our bodies ran like adjacent watercolor washes, soaking the sheets. But to tell the truth, when I found myself suddenly in the midst of this fantasy made real, an unexpected resentment bubbled up as I rolled into Anne’s embrace, an initial resistance that I had to fight down like a stifled yawn as I nuzzled her to signal my return to consciousness. Good Morning, You. I can’t remember now which one of us said that. We ended up shuddering a good bit as we rolled over each other in our deliciously impossible attempts to enfold and be enfolded simultaneously, but neither of us wanted to exert the effort necessary to come. I finally just picked an arbitrary point at which to declare the tumble over, covering Anne’s mouth with mine, my lips brushing hers as I murmured, Girl, I Gotta Get Up.
In which we say goodbye to Jenny and the details of her life…
In which Jenny tells us the details of her life…
In which Jenny tells us the details of her life…
