The Erotic Writer

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The End

An Erotic Quickie




It had to end to begin… – Sia


“Wait here.” She gave me a crooked grin and walked into the darkness. Spring had finally gotten a firm clawhold on the cold. There were cherry blossom petals stuck to my heels.

“Have you gone mad? We’re in the big city, you know. With hooligans and ne’er do wells and all that happy crappy,” I yelled into the alley. My voice slurred happily on two strong martinis and hope.

She hissed me quiet, then giggled from a hidden corner. It was after midnight, but we were in a relatively good neighborhood. We were more apt to meet someone walking their dog than a mugger. “I can take care of myself,” she said. “And you. You know that.”

My heels made an uneven tattoo against the cobblestoned alley, but I still heard the familiar clink and zip. I laughed loudly. A person in an apartment a couple of floors above us slammed their window shut.

“Oops. Sorry!” I yelled up to them. The dark glass winked.

“Shut up!” a pale hand pulled her behind some plastic crates full of bottles. Her pants were already pulled down to her knees. The tails of her dress shirt caressed the soft curve of her hips, but didn’t cover the enticing darkness between her legs. Memories made me list drunkenly into the crates. She helped me up and I saw a gleaming flash of thigh.

[I’d once spent a lot of time there.]

Her breasts pressed into my side. The bottles tinkled a dissonant tune. Something broke. She moved as if she wasn’t half-naked, sure of her loveliness. She helped me up, then held me for a couple of seconds too long.

“Why didn’t you pee at the bar?” I hoped she didn’t feel me shaking. Then she’d know for sure.

“Because I didn’t have to go then,” she said as she carefully squatted in a corner. “If you haven’t noticed, we’ve been walking around and talking for over two hours.”

I hadn’t, but I wasn’t surprised. Time had always flown with her. And consequently, become a bit insignificant once she had gone.

She aimed her stream away from her expensive sneakers and let go.

I knew I should look away, but didn’t. The surprisingly rich, hot scent of her piss was so…intimate. So was the way that she looked up at me and smiled, eyelids half-mast with almost erotic satisfaction. Memories of mornings spent solicitously showering and dressing, just to spend the day in bed made me finally look away. My heart, once so flaccid and empty, was filling fast. After imagining a thousand different reunions, was this how the night would end? The perfume of piss and bruised petals made me dizzy again.

I noticed her curiosity at my bemused expression. “You should make a map of all the alleys you’ve christened in this city.”

“You’re dissembling. Anyway,I don’t think I want to document my issues with holding it in,” she said as she finished up. Still, she knew me well. She shook her bum, looking around instinctively.

“Um, there’s no toilet paper here and I know you’re not gonna wipe with dirty cardboard,” I said, holding up a piece of brightly colored cereal box. “Just pull em’ up and let’s go.” The statement made me a bit sad. Go. Going. Gone.


She made a face. “I’ll get pee all over my new pants.”

“You should’ve thought of that before squatting in an alley.”

“So much for going commando,” she said. Piss dripped down her thigh, making it shine. I suddenly wished I could lick her clean. My mouth watered at the thought of salty tartness with a heart of musk – Musk unlike any other woman’s, no matter how many I’d dared to try.

I threw my purse on the crates and pulled my skirt up above my hips.

“What’re you doing?” she laughed, still crouching.

I yanked my panties down and off in one efficient swoop. She gaped at the smooth cleft between my thighs with a familiar slack-jawed lust. It made me want to do a dance, but I just held out my still-warm underwear to her. “You don’t intend to have me wait here in a puddle of your piss while your choch air dries, do you?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She took my panties dreamily and wiped with the warmest bit, fully aware that they wouldn’t get everything in the first swipe. They were too wet for that.

We both wore bemused expressions as she pulled up her jeans and I pulled down my dress. Instinctively, we knew there would be no more talk of the past. It was a whole new species of desire we felt.

This time, we knew the worth of what could be.

She held out the wet underwear to me shyly. Her gaze barely skidded on mine, but it was enough to make my nipples harden visibly in the balmy breeze. My curiosity to know what she’d learned in the interval made my thighs slippery.

“Just throw those away. They’re ruined,” I said.

She clutched at them momentarily, then stuffed them into a glass jar. The air in the alley was so electrified it seemed to glow. I cocked my head, did an about-face and started walking. She walked out after me, quickly matching my gait. We stood at the mouth of the alley and watched a laughing group of people pass, then walked into the sodium lit night, hand in hand.

About ximenawrites

I undulate in your vision A strange beauty in a world of plastic, collagen and steel The endearing oddball the living, breathing Picasso that you want to figure out but too afraid to venture into my penumbra you cower at the gate, fingering the knob on the door to my most secret place wishing you could find the courage to walk with me love me, just as I am

6 comments on “The End

  1. wordsmithingimp
    February 17, 2013

    “The bottles tinkled a dissonant tune. Something broke.” I love the way your language in this romanticizes what would otherwise strike the reader as something dirty/unpretty. It really syncs you up with the point of view of someone too love tipsy to care.

    • ximenawrites
      February 17, 2013

      “Love-tipsy” Love that.

      Thanks for commenting, Wordsmith.

  2. Alice Bluegown
    February 18, 2013

    “The perfume of piss and bruised petals” – that right there is grungy porn and bittersweet romance neatly packaged in one phrase. Positively poetic!

  3. TFP
    February 18, 2013


  4. willcrimson
    February 18, 2013

    This is so full of beautiful, evocative sounds, smells and tactile sensations. Your writing is always an inspiration. Just reminds me to give our senses their due. The whole scene, besides, is powerfully erotic.

  5. Mzcue
    February 18, 2013

    My heart, once so flaccid and empty, was filling fast.

    Such sweet irony.

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The Obsidian Lens and Crimsonian contain links to password-protected stories from the Erotic Writers with darker themes. For more information on Obsidian Lens, click here. Email William Crimson directly for admission to the Crimsonian.

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The rights to all stories by William Crimson are reserved by William Crimson. The rights to all stories by Monocle are reserved by Monocle. The rights to all stories by Ximena are reserved by Ximena.

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