Four writers for the price of one blog
The Several Meanings of No
A possibly erotic masterpiece by Will Crimson
The boys are separated from the girls. We sit in a classroom.
‘No,’ says a mature woman in a tight dress. ‘When a woman says ‘No,’ you have to listen.’
And I ask myself, why would a woman say no?
I’d stolen my way through playboys and penthouses. I lift my hand, face red and heart racing. She’ll know but I ask anyway: “How do you know if a ‘No’ means ‘Yes’? The other boys laugh. They think I’m joking. She doesn’t. She says there’s no difference. ‘No’ means ‘no’, she says. There’s no such thing as a ‘no’ that means ‘yes’.
I wonder what she tells the girls.
Le Villanelle de ‘Non!’
Confused if I should stay or go,
I asked again and Chloé said,
“What don’t you get when I say ‘No’?”
Monique liked girls. She was (although
She never kicked me out of bed)
Confused if I should stay or go.
Lucinda liked fellatio
But bit and nibbled giving head.
What don’t you get when I say ‘No’?
Adele was quickest with an ‘O’
But afterward she sprawled half-dead;
Confused if I should stay or go.
Camilla’s ass was shaped just so
But when I tried it there instead?
“What don’t you get when I say — No’!”
—Show me something, he said.
—Like what? She asked.
―Do you ever look at Playboy? He blushed furiously.
She giggled, then looked at him skeptically.
―Seriously? she asked.
She sat back on the palms of her hands, cross legged, deciding.
―Yeah. My brothers. Why? It’s not like I’m gonna’ sneak you into the house to look. I’m not gonna’ show it to you. You know what would happen if we got caught?
―You like it?
She paused again, then made another decision.
―Kind of. Yeah. Sort of, she answered.
—So, is that it?
He leaned back on his own palms, legs straight.
—I could bring it next time, she smiled slyly.
—What do you mean ‘why’?
—Cause’ you’re better than any magazine.
She blushed furiously and bit her lip.
—No really, he added. You’re better lookin’ than anything in those magazines.
—I’m nothin’ like’em.
—You’re more like’em than you think, and better too; and you still don’t know what it is I wanted you to show.
—Why not? he asked.
Then she took her turn hesitating.
—You mean my titty?
—If you take yours out.
But she smiled wickedly and drew her T-Shirt almost over her breast, just short of her nipple.
—Wanna’ see more?
His jaws clenched. He was hard. No girl had ever seen him hard. Now a girl wanted to and that made him harder. He unzipped. His cock sprang upwards. He didn’t say anything and neither did she. She stared at his cock. She lifted her shirt over her nipple.
—No, you’re tit. Does it get hard when you’re turned on?
She paused, deciding again.
—Take off your shorts.
—I wanna’ see your cum.
—Masturbate and I’ll show you my pussy.
The girl stood, never taking her eyes from the boy’s. She wanted to look at the looker — to see what he saw. She shimmied her shorts over her hips, pushed them down to her ankles, then sat, cross legged, looking at the boy as he looked. She didn’t know what to do with her hands.
—Do you want to masturbate?
—No, she answered.
—Are you turned on?
—Just hurry up.
The more she showed him, the faster the boy’s right hand moved.
—Do you want to touch it?
But then she reached. He stopped, staring, waiting. Her thumb and forefinger touched and squeezed just below the inflamed head, because she wondered if it would really feel like a bone. He inhaled as if he’d been shocked. She flinched. Semen streaked her face, breasts, and arm and quick bursts. The boy fell onto his back, staring at the ceiling. The girl wanted to do what the boy was doing, but didn’t.
—Do you have a towel?
The boy sat up. He took off his red sock. Then both left without a word. Horrified. Both vowing they would never do it again. No, he would never look at a girl like that again; and no, she would never force a boy to do that again. Never. No.
after hiking with her boyfriend, hands and muddy
The Erotic Dictionary
No No, adv. [OE. no, na, AS.] Nay; not; not at all; not in any respect or degree; — 1. A refusal by the use of the word no; a denial. Usage: “No, kneel; suck.” Having to do with discipline, submission, obedience, training. “No, swallow all of it.” 2. No; — a negative answer to a question asked, or a request made: “’May I come, Sir?’ she begged. ‘No,’ he answered. ” See also Yes. 3. Number; — the number designating place in an ordered sequence; as, orgasm no. 2. [abbrev.] Associated with spanking or whipping. “’How many?’ he asked. ‘No. 13, Sir!’” 4. adj 1: quantifier; used with either mass nouns or plural count nouns for indicating a complete or almost complete lack or zero quantity of; “No, you’ll get no cocks but up your ass.” 5. An affirmation of submission. Of or related to Role Play, and esp. D/S: The submissive, clinging to sheets, biting her knuckles, digging in her toes, may, while her Sir’s cock is in her ass, cry ‘No!’ when forced to orgasm; and in these contexts ‘No’ be may understood as ‘Yes!’.
‘No’ in One Sentence
her long, wet ‘No—’
could not also—
The O in No
Intaglio is the word I think of — a beautiful word. But O’s may be found in more than words. There are two O’s in handcuffs (depending on the kind). They may also look like Q’s. Handcuffs may involve many more O’s than two, and that is the virtue of handcuffs, because in handcuffs there is choice and no-choice. Choice and no choice — there are three O’s in that phrase. The choice of the giver, and the no-choice of the one who wears the handcuffs. An Open-Mouth-Gag begins with the letter O, a capital and makes an O out of woman’s mouth. I wonder if that is accidental? It is uncertain as to whether this O refers to the woman or the man’s, though more likely the man’s, and the Open-Mouth-Gag may contain more than one O. Swallowing, by the way, contains one O. One O for each swallow in fact. And that is a neat question: Is an orgasm singular, or plural? Is each twinge, spasm, or spurt “an O”? A man or woman may say ‘O’ many times during an O, and so that makes me think there are many O’s in Orgasm — which, by the way, also begins with a capital O. But getting back to Open-Mouth-Gags. These may, on occasion, also result in a woman’s O, but that would be a very special and enviable O. There is also an O in Dildo. Do you think this is an accident? The O comes at the end of the word, which reminds one, perhaps, that the Dildo must penetrate deeply if the last letter is to have its effect. Alternatively, perhaps the Dildo must be withdrawn and and inserted again and again, as though each insertion, if firm, pushes another O inside the woman until so many O’s (the letter I mean) become unbearable; but in a way that is an agony of pleasure. Each O makes her muscles strain with another until one last thrust, one last O of the Dildo, is too much for her open legs. She cannot contain the thrust of one more O. Her staining muscles give. They burst from her, one after the other, in a paroxysm of pleasure — each spasm the slipping out of another ‘O’. The cock may have the same effect. Of course, the observant will note that the word cock also has an O in it, coming in the middle. And the middle is the best place for the cock’s ‘O’ to come. Note also that a cock opens the middle of a woman’s thighs into the shape of an ‘O’. The exact shape of the O varies according to the thickness and peculiarities of the cock. Some assert the most effective way to force a woman’s O’s from her thighs is from behind, the depth of the O’s insertion being assured. Returning to the subject of hand cuffs, it may be noted that spanking, in and of itself, seldom produces O’s. This, the observant will note, is because spanking has no O’s in it — as with the words ‘whipping’ or ‘pain’, though as with spices that may be unbearable if sampled singly, the addition of such spices to any dish, in proper proportion and subtlety, may induce powerful olfactory and orgasmic results. The mingling of a spreader bar to hand cuffs and whipping may be considered an additional spice. Whipping, it should be noted, may produce intaglio-like reminders. Clit, cunt, pussy and nipple do not have O’s in them, nor does the word submissive. The importance of this observation cannot be understated. The words Dom or Dominant are the only words in this relationship permitted to have O’s — or give them. It is when a woman is handcuffed, open mouth gagged and made submissive by a spreader bar, that the Dominant may enter her and discipline her. Please note that the words: “Please may I, Sir?” do not contain an O, as is suitable. The Dominant’s response, ‘No.’, does possess an O an may accompany each thrust. In the phrase, “Please, Sir, I can’t stop!” it will be noted that the first O appears, appropriately enough in the word ‘stop’. The No’s that follow may be understood as ‘Yes’ when accompanied by thrusts, but it is in the No’s, that the O’s are found. After she is suitably broken, the student of O’s will be well served if he remember the O in ‘afterglow’ and, most importantly – Love.
Shades of No
The first ‘No’ may be black and white. The next, or the next ‘No’ after that may be a shade of gray. And then another day, a ‘No’ may ‘come’ in colors, smells, and shades, in hues of wetness, textures, cries and subtle declamations. It’s hard to say, but I know ‘No’. It’s changeful, playful, and lover, on your lips, there’s no ‘No’ without a little ‘Yes’ where my ‘No’ goes.
The Yes of No
Will: Good morning, Monique.
Monique: Good morning, Will.
Will: Do you miss Paris?
M: I love America. Paris, I don’t miss so much. The city is not like it used to be.
W: You said you had a fantasy you wanted to share?
M: [She smiles, sheepishly, then collects her thoughts.] Yes.
W: ‘Cause you knew I was writing this?
M: [She nods.]
W: Okay, tell me about it.
M: [She licks her lips, then inhales.] So, I’m home. My husband is not yet. Another man has broken into our house. I have been taking a nap and then next thing I know there is a man holding my neck. My cheek is against the sheet. He talks, quietly, and with, how do you say? – menace? He is pulling the sheets off. He tells me he has heard me talking with other women at work, that I complain my husband shows no interest in me.
W: Do you know the guy who’s broken into your house?
M: Yes. No. A bit. What he looks like does not matter; but I know, of course, I would like the way he looked and dressed if I saw him.
W: So what happens next?
M: He yanks my head back by the hair. He is pulling the sheet down. He tells me to put my hands behind my neck and then, when he has pulled the sheet over my ass, he spanks me. Viciously. And he keeps spanking me so until I become desperate. I don’t know what it is he wants, but I’ll do anything. I am half crying and half yelling. I spread my legs. I lift my ass. I show him my pussy. I am panting. And then he says to me that my husband does not deserve a cunt like me. My ass is red and stings. I cannot stop lifting it, as if to cool it in the air, and then inhale sharply as his fingers penetrate it. I hold very still. My ass is lifted as far as it can go, no? But then he removes his fingers and spanks me cruelly so that I am almost crying and my ass is lifting and falling. Then he penetrates me with his fingers again and this warns me to follow where is fingers go. I nod, snivelling, and I grip his fingers with my pussy no matter where they go. I submit to him. Utterly.
W: And then?
M: And then he tells my husband will soon arrive. He lifts me by the hair. He is behind me. His fingers are still my cunt so that I walk almost on my toes, my ass lifted. I dare not disobey. I follow his fingers into our living room; he has prepared it. He fastens my wrists above me to chains in the ceiling and spreads my ankles with a spreader bar – a bar that force a woman’s legs to remain open, no? And he does this in front of the living room window. I am spread like this. I can do nothing. I am naked. And I am like this when my husband arrives. He is almost at the front door when he sees me through the window, and sees the other man behind me. He rushes to the window. He bangs on the glass. No! he shouts. He hear the, how do you say — the intruder? — laugh behind me. The intruder stands behind me. He reaches round, watching my husband over my shoulders, and slowly digs two fingers into my pussy. They are wet. It is a web of wetness that he wipes on my lips, on my nipples, and at the base of my abdomen, at my womb, as if to show my husband the purpose of this wetness, the need. I am helpless, no? I cannot hide the truth from my husband. The intruder will not allow it. Though I pretend, my lips and nipples glisten with the truth – and the circle of wetness already cools at the base of my abdomen, like an accusation, no? But not accusing me. Accusing my husband. I struggle, twisting my belly and hips, but I cannot close my legs. When my husband sees me like this, he grows frantic. He bangs at the window. He runs to the other windows of the house. He sees me through the kitchen window as the intruder dips his fingers into my pussy again and this time uses my wetness to smear his own cock. The wetness of my pussy, my smell, my womb, on another man’s cock – ready to penetrate the source of that wetness. This makes my husband desperate. I hear him, frantic as before. No! he cries. No! He tries other doors and windows but they are all locked! Quickly he races to the living room window. The intruder spanks me now. He will not permit me to hide the truth from my husband. Again, I do not know what he wants, but that is a lie. I lift my ass, I spread my legs though I cannot spread them any further. My back arches. I show him my pussy – the intruder who stands behind me. Take me! I say this as a woman who speaks with every part of her physique, but will not say it. No! cries my husband, who has not seen me for so long. He is like a child, his hands and face pressed against glass. He begins to understand, no? The lids of my eyes are heavy. My nipples are heavy. My intruder whispers to me ‘Show him!” But I do not understand. ‘Show who you are. Submit!’ Then he whispers. I shake my head violently. I cannot do this! But he spanks me until I must. I glare at my husband. He has betrayed me, no? I urinate.
W: You pee? Why?
M: It is the ultimate act of submission. There is nothing for me to hide, no shame. It is a complete surrender, no? And then, even before I have finished, he penetrates me. One thrust, and he fills me. I feel him, all of him, as if his tip touched here [she points to her solar plexus]. When the softness of a woman’s womb, her whole belly is filled by such rigidity, it is a feeling like no other. It belongs there. His thrust are like jabs, deep, and masculine. He fucks me from behind so that my husband may see what a cock does to me: my hips, my abdomen, my nipples, my lips and eyes. I lift my pussy behind me, to receive as much of his thrusts as I can possibly receive, and orgasm, when it happens, is sudden and powerful. My whole body shudders and grips the spurts of the intruder. He fills me as I orgasm. I am helpless. ‘No!’ says me husband.
W: And then?
M: And then the intruder releases me. He tells me to turn around, on my hands and knees. Tells me to clean him with my tongue. I have been dominated, no? His sperm is inside me, and so I obey him. In my fantasy, he has filled and claimed my womb, and so I submit to him. I give myself to him. I belong to him. I turn. I kneel as he instructs me, so that as I lick this man’s cock. I clean him — this cock that has released itself in my womb. As I clean him on hands and knees, my husband can see another man’s possession drip from my pussy. It is, perfect, no?
W: And what does your husband do?
M: It is only fantasy. Perhaps he does nothing as the intruder leaves his house and wife. He is defeated. He says ‘No.’ No. No. No, when he should say ‘Yes. Yes, she is my wife. Yes, I will not allow another man to possess her. There is nothing more important to me than my wife. She deserves more, no? She does not deserve to wonder if I have lost interest in her.’ This is what he should say. ‘I will show her that she is the most beautiful, most desirable woman in the world. I adore her, all of her, her cunt and her nipples, because she is a sexual being. Of course! I will stop at nothing. I will banish this intruder — and this intruder is the fantasy, you see? I will banish him with my love.’ It is not another man to which he says ‘No’, but the fantasy. He peers into the fantasy, that is like my house, as through a window and cries, no, no, no! —- when he should say Yes! ‘Yes!’ but if he says No, No, No, then I don’t know what I will do?
W: Have you shared your fantasy with him?
M: If you ask a child what it is she wants to do for the rest of her life, does she say: I want to have a big, beautiful orgasm every day? No, of course not. Why should she? A child does not think of these things. But what harm if a child were to say such a thing? No? Is it not a beautiful and desirable thing? Do we not, each of us, deserve a wonderful orgasm each day of our lives? Life should be joyful. This is not the only way to celebrate life, I know, but is not doing what we love, each day, also like a wonderful orgasm? An orgasm is our gift to our lover. Such a small thing, so easily a gift. In the automobile, while he wakens, as he goes to sleep, it is almost, I think, more pleasure to me to give him, unasked, the pleasure of an orgasm. I create his orgasm so it is, in a way, my orgasm for him. No? I taste him. I swallow him. I love him. I say, as he orgasms, this is what my love for you feels like within me.
W: But your husband?
M: I want a lover who desires me, a jealous lover, for whom my orgasm is a divine thing. That is not so much to ask, no?
to work because swallowing she can’t
In This Sense
Note: Nay in this sense may be interchanged with yea. “Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom’s heir.” –Shak. [1913 Webster]
Showered, long hair wet, aren’t you surprised to see me!
Home in the morning! Here you are, on hands and knees, the fly of my dungarees against your ass; my unexpected cock, through the fly, embedded in your moisture. But no, what is it about a girl on hands and knees, fucked from behind? You weren’t expecting, I know, but it’s always the same. What is it? Do you know you do it? The nook of your spine says ‘Yes’.
Here’s my pussy. Your spreading knees? ‘Yes!’. But the sheets twisted in your fingers? No! Your gaze is stunned and wide-eyed — ‘No!’— looking as if for escape. You twist. You scrape. You gasp. Your mouth makes the ‘O’ of a ‘No!’ that sounds like a Yes! Your cries are married to my thrusts — each like a ‘No!’ and like a — guess!
Where to escape?
Your thighs are wider. Your nipples are swollen. Your head goes down and your ass goes up.
But the linen between your teeth! But your toes in the quilt! You toss your long hair. You’re up. You’re down – your slender elbows founder. No! says the stretch of your belly. But I hold you by the hips. Why else do they flair? No, I won’t let you go. No, no matter what — cry, claw, and swear — my cock stays where it is. You know where. No, I won’t let you go till I’ve showered you inside — until you’re as sweet inside as out.
What does your orgasm say?
‘Yes’ or ‘No’? You seem surprised! So shocked! Did you know? It can’t be. The way you stiffen. The way you inhale! The way your eyes turn to the sky, the way the muscles of your belly comply. A ‘no!’, a ‘yes?’ or another, fading ‘no’?
Your thighs weep.
And then my ‘yes’s’ — filling, engendering, flooding your ‘No’s’. What are they then? Should I apologize? If I didn’t know, but I do. There’s something in you. Let it be our secret, our gift, our almond and orange, our salt and paprika, our ‘Yes’ and our lover’s ‘No’.
After Pablo Neruda’s One Hundred Love Sonnets
Bitter love, I invite you into my house;
But you scatter the floors with a fragmentary moon
And stain my sleeplessness
With the unbearable absence of your fragrance.
Empty room, curtains spilling the silken remnants
Of your kisses — O inutterable loss,
I await you at my table – I peel the orange;
The supple rind; the moist flesh I part and ply with fingers.
Who then if not you? The Azelia
Cannot quench the thirst of the laborious sun;
The petal flings herself at the butterfly’s delirium—
Love is sorrow too. But the soul is like water;
And in another season’s flower and
Come a half-familiar hour, I’ll ask again if you’ll say – ‘Yes’.
The Story of NO
She ollied over the granite curb. The wheels of the skateboard sang on the sidewalk. The boys were in awe. How they wanted her! No, she said, and no, not you. No, only a man, a god is worthy of m—
—What are you looking at? her boyfriend asked.
—Nothing. Just. It’s beautiful outside and inside it’s homework and the library sucks.
—A big one.
—Do you really want to suck a big one?
The walls were breached.
The Trojans’ ferocity was unstoppable. Now they were claiming their “legitimate booty”, the riches and property of their enemy. Weren’t daughters the lawful ownership of men— their fathers, husbands, brothers and masters? Weren’t women “property”? And wasn’t a woman useful as wife, concubine, or slave? Woman. The spoil of war. The defeated men knelt before her, eyes cast down, her hips, nipples, and womb no longer theirs.
The Trojan ripped open her tunic.
—Do you see what belongs to me?
The men groaned with regret. Then the soldier led her away. The girl half stumbled ahead, stumbling to a room.
—No! she pleaded.
—Get on your hands and knees.
—Show me your pussy, woman.
The Trojan warrior thrust her into the room.
—I’m sorry, said the second librarian of Alexandria. Were you looking for a study room? We’re having a presentation in 15 minutes.
The warrior mumbled an apology.
• The Passionate Shepherd to his Love
—We can’t, said the mortified shepherdess.
—It’ll just take a minute.
—But what if somebody finds us?
The bronzed youth looked over the grazing sheep and rolling green meadows. A soft breeze tussled his curly black hair. His angular hips were sleek and muscular.
—Who will see?
—You’re sure it’s empty?
—But why do you want me to go in?
The shepherd’s hovel was a little stone shed with a wooden roof and a smoke charred chimney.
—Because it’s spring.
The girl’s eyes grew wide. The young man took her hand and pulled her reluctantly toward the shed.
—You can’t! begged the girl. Like a ram? Is that possible? How will you? It’s too — I can’t! You like a ram and I like an ewe? No! she stuttered. No!
—You’re a girl, said the brash youth.
—No! she pleaded again, but he pulled her into the secretive dark of his hovel. She covered her eyes in the nook of her elbow. Surely he wouldn’t do to her what a ram did to an ewe! Would she make noises like an ewe?
—Here, said the shepherd boy.
Then he was behind her, tugging at her long braid until she knelt, palms over her eyes. He lifted her dress over her youthful hips. Then he pushed her forward, a rough boyish hand between her shoulder blades, the other widening her knees, cupping her belly, and lifting her buttocks. She fell forward onto her hands and elbows.
—Like this? she breathed.
And then the boy’s ram began to fill her. She groaned a plaintive — No!
—What are you doing? asked her boyfriend.
The girl bit her lip and rose back to her knees.
—Sorry, she muttered.
—I swear, he looked the door behind them and unzipped his jeans. Open your mouth.
—No! O God, no! No please, not the tentacle!
—I mean, wow, rumbled the horrible Tentacle, it’s like you’re off in your own world, having an imaginary conversation; like I’m not even here. Ewes? Rams? Do you know how that makes me feel?
But the girl couldn’t answer. The monster filled her mouth with the first of its rigid, seeping tentacles. She’d been alone in the library too long! They had tried to warn her. There were little clues. Don’t you want to take the book home with you? the librarians had asked. Don’t you want to study at home? You’ll be so much more productive. But no one had warned her of the horrible tentacles that roam the corridors of libraries—literate, refined, and polymathic—but with an insatiable taste for the occasional girl.
She couldn’t scream.
No, the monster had her where he wanted her — on her knees, a tentacle holding her wrists behind her back, another in her mouth. She could do nothing but gaze up at the monster — shock, fear, and utter helplessness. She involuntarily swallowed as the tentacle sunk into her throat. She was immobilized by her mouth.
—It’s like your head’s in the clouds, rumbled the Tentacle. You don’t even care about me.
The tendril-like tip of a Tentacle snaked between her parted thighs and looped through the bottoms of her panties. Her hips wriggled, her back coiled, but there was nothing she could do to stop it from pulling her panties down. The tip of another tentacle tapped her on her forehead.
—I’m not just another one of your boyfriends, the creature gurgled.
Knocking! The panicked and horrible monster frantically withdrew from her mouth and zipped its tentacles.
• The Return of the Trojan
He unhitched is leather buckler and doffed his brass breast plate.
—Get on your back, he ordered, lift your knees and open them.
The girl stared at the soldier’s magnificent scars, wrists at her back. How many women had he subjugated? How many wombs had submitted? His cock was huge and scarred from battle. She panted with fear. The warrior knelt between her silken legs and bent knees. He reached under her neck, gripped her hair, and drew back her head.
—It’s not like I ask for a lot, snarled the gruesome warrior, but it would be nice if you could just be present.
—No! pleaded the virgin. I’ll be defensless if you spurt in me!
With a mighty thrust, and tug of her hair, the warrior’s battering ram pierced the girl’s defenses, plundering her womb. The girl’s spine curled upward, off the dirt of the filthy room, her mouth opened, her stunned eyes rolled upward.
—I mean, growled the merciless soldier, the least you could do is make eye-contact.
He shuttered the doors and windows.
The smell of a man filled the darkness. One minute she had been on the floor, and now? Hands and knees. She felt the youthful shepherd behind her. His palm pressed at the small of her back, causing her to present. His other hand held her by the hair.
—Don’t look, whispered the Shepherd soothingly, you don’t need to look. We’ll do it the way the animals do it.
—What do you mean?
The youth gently lifted her skirt, exposing her vulnerability to the dark. She began to pant, soft, high-pitched, and nervous.
—No! she pleaded. Please. No!
—That’s it, cooed the shepherd. Just like that. Good girl.
She inhaled! Oh! That kiss! Just that soft kiss where nothing had kissed before. That kiss that didn’t stop, that pushed; that opened; that hand that tightened in her hair; and that kiss, unrelenting, that made her dig into the earthen floor, that made her widen her knees and ready her womb; that kiss that opens and that smoothly penetrates the moist folds of a woman. Her moan reverberated in the shepherd’s den. Knowledge filled her. She rutted like the rams and ewes — a male in her young womb.
—Can you keep it down? asked the shepherd.
—Don’t stop! begged the girl, her voice filled by his cock. I beg you. Don’t stop! Fill me!
• Tentacle Inseminates his Victim
—Please, she begged, it feels so good.
—I’ll give you animal! Thundered the monstrous cephalopod.
The cruel crossed her wrists at the base of her spine.
—What? she cried. No! Not there!
But there was nothing she could do. She grunted and shuddered, eyes white as her bowels grew heavy with the ‘tentacle’ worming and coiling it’s way in.
—I just feel like you don’t pay attention to me anymore, rumbled the merciless creature, like I don’t mean anything to you.
—No! the helpless girl gurgled, not like that. Please don’t make me. Not like this! No!
Another tentacle twined round her neck and parted the lips of her mouth. Filled. Every feminine opening — mouth, pussy, ass. Then? Somewhere deep in her bowels a pricking, a tickling like the tip of a tentacle just before the dark, breathless night of orgasm wracks her — and the creature’s inseminate is injected.
—Where are you going, gasped the girl, you can’t leave me like this.
—We just don’t connect, rumbled the creature. Used. I feel used. You’re just never there for me.
The monster slammed the door.
• The Dewey Decimal System
—Can I help you, asked the research librarian, a slender, middle-aged woman with a bun.
The girl wished she hadn’t worn a skirt.
She squeezed her bare knees together as if she had to pee. She could feel the inseminate bubbling through the lips between her thighs.
—I need a new boyfriend.
—Oh, said the Andorian archivist, it’s green antennea twiddling. We’d be glad to help.
—Well, said the girl. I was hoping to find one into sci-fi, definitely fantasy, kind of kinky and maybe into D/S?
—Excellent, the creature answered. We’ll start in the 800’s. We have an extensive collection of boyfriends shelved in the 800’s — one of my favorite sections. Just follow me. Most girls your age are only into sports, high finance, doctors, etcetera. I’m delighted. I think the boyfriends in the 800’s are the most imaginative. By the way dear, it’s okay if you drip.
her thighs, afterward, the smell of freshly cut
The girls are separated from the boys. They sit in a classroom.
‘No,’ says the mature woman in a tight dress. ‘Never be afraid to say ‘No!”
But there is a girl, face red and heart racing, knees tightly closed. The slide show, the illustrations, the impossible heft and length of the thing meant to go inside! She momentarily gnaws her lip, then raises her hand. “But why would any woman ever say ‘Yes’?!?”
The older woman leans back on her desk.
“Because there are two kinds of ‘no’. There’s another ‘no’ spelled ‘know’. To ‘know’ another; to be their lover. Adam knew Eve, his wife. A beautiful way to describe lovemaking. Why? Because by lovemaking human beings ‘know’ each other. Isn’t that beautiful? Lovers who ‘know’ each other, trust each other. They don’t need to say ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. They just ‘know’.”