Got a Minute?, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Foreword
Introduction
FLASHERS
PINK
SQUEAKY CLEAN
A QUICK DIP
THE OTHER SIDE OF SLEEP
THE TEST
HIS FIRST
HIRED HUNK
FRENCH POSTCARDS
THE RIDER
WAKE-UP CALL
THE VAGUE LANGUAGE OF SEX
EVERY NIGHT
TRUCK-STOP QUICKIE
CASE OF THE HORNYS
HUNGRY FOR LOVE
SWIM
WHAT SHE HATH DESERVED
THE INTERIOR VIRGIN
WHEN MY BOYFRIEND IS AWAY
AS SHE WAS TOLD
THE PERFECT SEASON
MUFF DIVER
WATER LOVE
FLYING
THE COVERS OF BOOKS
A RIVER WITH TWO MOUTHS
MARKS, REVIEWED
TASTING KATE
RUN-IN
FONDUE NIGHT
GLORIA
PERFECT
THE WRITER’S MUSE
STUDY BREAK
A TRUE STORY
FROM BITTER TO SWEET
BART AND RANDI
PLEASING
SATURDAY AFTERNOON STEAM
THE MAGAZINE
HOW TO SPANK ME: AN OPEN LETTER TO MY FUTURE LOVERS
ALLEY OBSESSION
WATCH AND WAIT
TRANSFORMATIONS
A NO-WIN SITUATION
HOLLY’S FANTASY
COME FROM BEHIND
SHORT-LIVED LACE
SALACIOUS ROBINSON
BACKROOM SALLY
SHE LIVES ALONE
RESEARCH
THE WINDOW
THE BEST CURE FOR JET LAG
NAILS
FENCING WITH DISCIPLINE
THE LAST GOOD-BYE
WHAT KIND OF A SLUT ARE YOU, ANYWAY?
ON YOUR BACK
ABOUT THE EDITORS
Copyright Page
For SAM
Sex is a shortcut to everything.
—Anne Cumming
Love vanquishes time. To lovers, a moment can be eternity, eternity can be the tick of a clock.
—Mary Parrish
FOREWORD: EPICS IN INSTANTS
Thomas S. Roche
“The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.”
—Rabindranath Tagore, “Fireflies” (1926)
There’s a lot to be said for truly epic sex. I mean sex that goes on for hours, even days. I mean the kind of sex that leaves your legs rubbery, your muscles burning, your mind blown, your skin tingling, your breath coming short—it leaves your libido quivering and rapturously murmuring, “Mercy?”
I mean the kind of sex when if your best friend, coworker, hairdresser, barber, barista or other confidante asks you “how was your weekend?” you can’t utter even one filthy word of the truth—’cause you’d be locked up for lewd and lascivious before you made it through the first syllable. So you flash that little smile recognized by best friends worldwide, and roll your eyes and say, “In-fucking-credible.”
Good erotic literature is built on sex so legendary it fixes in our memory, whether because it happened and was too damn good to forget, or because it’s what we dream of. Erotic literature portrays, at its hottest, sex so good it might devastate us if we had it every day—or would we say, “Thank you, Sir, may I have another?”
But not all good sex lasts a weekend, an evening, or an hour. There’s been a lot said already this century in praise of the quickie—just as, in our increasingly time-pressured world, there’s a culture of six-word memoirs, flash fiction and entertainment delivered in three minutes on YouTube. I could write of “epic quickies”—rabbitfucks so good you think about them with rapture for years or even decades afterwards. But what I really want to argue is that there’s no real difference. The epic three-day fuck is built of quickies as surely as The Iliad is built of words. Sex that enriches your life, whether it’s fast or slow, is built of moments.
Epic sex springs to life not fully formed; it is made of every touch, every taste, every scent, every sound. Good sex is grown in a hothouse, often from seeds unpredicted. It springs to life from the caress of a single finger down the back of a thigh, out of the ecstatic feeling when that last stubborn button goes “ploink!” and the dress slides down her back. It’s built of single seconds, each one lonely, waiting to be joined like a string of perfect pearls.
And while we’re at it, epic sex itself is not the only thing built of moments. The moments themselves build an epic too few of us ever really appreciate—the hopefully decades-long story of your erotic life. Those moments can happen when someone you’ve never met before says, “Please?” and you say, “Yes,” and afterward never get a chance to ask her name. It can happen without touch: on the train you glimpse a businessman reading Penthouse Letters, Fanny Hill or The Story of O behind his U.S. News & World Report; his eyes see yours; he knows you’re watching; maybe he smiles. Erotic instant achieved; no money shot necessary. It’s over before you know it, but it lingers, forever changing you.
You want an epic? String together a thousand of those isolated moments of unseen eroticism, and you’ve got one. Open your heart, your mind, your libido to them, and you’ll find those moments and more—likely as many of you want, and maybe more than you can handle (or thought you could). You’ll find your moments, and have time enough.
Those moments of beauty, standing alone in the epics of our lives, are the ones Alison Tyler and her crew of dirty dreamers bring to us in Got a Minute?. They’ve mined their fantasies and experiences for diamonds to polish in a hundred, a thousand, or one-and-a-half-thousand words. They’ve given you epics in instants, because that’s what good sex is built of.
If you’ve got a minute, they’ll show you the erotic instants that build the epics of a life spent loving pleasure. In less space than the local paper takes to tell you a car hit a fire hydrant on Main Street, they’ll blow your mind, they’ll make your heart pound; they’ll leave your skin tingling, your breath coming short, your libido rapturously murmuring, “Mercy?”—but not really wanting any.
And the best news? Each new pleasure’s just a page turn away.
INTRODUCTION
Got a minute?
That’s all I need…a minute.
Sixty seconds to grab your attention. To fasten your focus on what I have to say. Here’s the truth: I’ve always had a thing for quickies. For those sexy, heart-pounding erotic encounters, when there’s not even time to take down the panties, to kick off the faded denim. When a lover’s fingers are on you, tearing satiny fabric aside, out of the way. When his mouth is against your neck, or her fingernails are gripping into your back. When there’s hardly even time to whisper, to think, to breathe.
I have a thing for quick sex stories, as well. Capture my attention in the opening line, and I’m yours forever. Turn me on in fifty words or less, and I’ll follow you home. I’ve written fan mail to authors who have pounded out an entire explicit story in a single paragraph, start to finish, prelude to climax. I am in awe.
It should be no surprise that my favorite personal ad I ever saw stated: Man Seeks Woman. So simple. So straightforward. So sexy. You can’t get any more direct than that.
The following are sixty of the shortest—but by no means the sweetest—stories I’ve ever read, from some of the most talented writers in the business. An hour’s worth of fiction from the likes of Saskia Walker, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Michael Hemmingson, Shanna Germain, and a slew of others. Each intense encounter is perfectly penned, and perfectly concise (from under seventy-five words to a maximum of fifteen hundred)—and destined to prove that a slow hand isn’t always better. Sometimes throbbing and ferocious is what’s truly needed to get the job done.
Alison Tyler
February 2007
FLASHERS
Stephen D. Rogers
In the half-light of dusk, they had the park to themselves. They wore matching raincoats and nothing else.
She stepped from behind a tree and flashed him.
He flashed her from behind a trellis.
Their bare skin glowed in short bursts, like two fireflies dancing around each other, until darkness fell and the two lovers finally met and joined on a bed of soft grass.
They took turns watching the stars blink to life.
PINK
Helena Black
From his place facedown on the floor, all he can see are her legs, the shimmery pink of her stockings, the dark shadows where the polish on her toenails peeks through. His hands want to travel the length of those stockings, higher and higher, moving against the softness of material on flesh. He can imagine his fingers creeping up her slender legs, tracing their way around that lacy rim snuggled tight against her pale thighs.
Earlier in the evening she had worn black nylons and now their scratchy-soft cat’s tongue binds him, whispering at his wrists. He loves the slush-slushing sound they make when he tries to loosen their hold, a subtle reminder that he is hers.
He watches her legs as she walks around the room. She moves toward him and his cock strains even further, presses against the hard wood of the floor. He wiggles in a sorry attempt to relieve the pressure building there.
“Be still,” she says, her voice a near growl. And he tries to argue but her approaching footsteps keep him in silence. She squats before him, gentl
He is on his knees now, kissing her thighs, biting at the tender flesh above her stockings and she opens her legs a little more, moves closer to his mouth. She is just out of reach, her hand covering her sex, and he watches as her fingers slide in and out of her warm, wet cunt. He nuzzles against her, tries to push past her hand with his tongue but she backs away from him, teases him more.
She changes hands, holds her glistening fingers out to him and he licks her fingertips, greedily sucking at her juices while the thumb of her other hand works at her swollen clit. Only when he’s squirming and his cock is swollen and full does she open herself to him, giving him what he has been hungry for. His hot breath tickles the smooth skin of her pussy, and his tongue on her clit sends a sharp sting of pleasure. He sucks at her, biting her gently. His tongue plays against her as she continues working her fingers in and out of her cunt. She pushes them deep inside herself, then slides them into his mouth, reaches up to pull him closer, gently urging him on. He dips his head, replacing her fingers with his tongue, and she plays with her clit. They move back and forth between her cunt and her clit, her fingers and his tongue mingling with one another, taking turns. Her hips begin to buck with their rhythm and she grinds against him as she comes.
Her hands are in his hair now and she pulls him away, rolls him over and straddles him, sinks down onto his hard cock. Her stockings rub against his sides as she rides him, the nylons binding his wrists scratch his flesh raw in the small of his back.
She moves in tight little circles, his cock filling her. She plunges onto him, taking him in so deep, and he wants to come. His hips begin to buck beneath her but she pushes back. He is close to exploding when she suddenly stops. She presses down hard, still holding him inside her, but not allowing him to move. She stares at him for a moment and he can feel her cunt tightening around him. He tries to push into her but she slides off. She gets to her feet, stands looking down over him, her cunt dripping, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. Then, without a word, she turns and walks away. He tries to twist around, tries to see what she is doing behind him.
From his place on the floor all he can see is her pink retreat.
SQUEAKY CLEAN
Shanna Germain
There’s something hot about washing sex toys. And it isn’t just the water. There you are, standing at the sink, running your lathered hands up and down the bumpy blue shaft of your favorite vibrator, removing any signs of last night’s play, leaving only memories. Beneath the soap and the water, the toy is almost alive, the way it shimmies and wiggles beneath the flow, a slippery fish headed upstream.
Flash back to last night: his hands, lubed, wrapped around the head, coming slowly down the shaft, preparing it for you. You can’t remember wanting anything more, anything other than the quivering false-cock inside you, your lover’s hands bringing it slowly, softly to the edge of your thigh, against your lips, forcing the tip inside as you arch your hips, moan, ask for it, please, yes, please. But he makes you wait, makes you beg before he slides it in, the rubber slipping deeper and deeper, whirring its quiet circles of pleasure inside you, filling you.
Your hands are rougher with the toy now, stronger as you stroke the rubber, every last inch, making sure you don’t miss a spot. The rubber is firm beneath your fingertips, and you close your eyes while you wash, imagining your hand around your lover’s shaft in the shower, water raining on you both. Your hands soaped and slippery, sliding down and back up to circle the tip until he thrusts his hips against your curled fist.
You turn the vibrator on and it buzzes alive beneath your fingers, nosing in and out of your palm, searching for its flower, a scent of nectar. You set the toy—wet and humming—against the inside of your arm, and it makes your hips tingle and ache so that you press them against the edge of the sink.
You remember the mornings when he takes you before he showers. You, standing in front of the mirror, nearly swooning as he nibbles your neck before he bends you over the sink. He is quick and a little rough—the way you like it in the mornings—and your whole body seems to lift when he enters you, as though some invisible force is holding you aloft. He pinches your nipples until you look up at your reflection and the sight is enough to make you come.
The toy is clean now, but you can’t help soaping it up one last time, just to hear the motor rumble as your palm runs up and down its length. After a few minutes, you reluctantly rinse the toy and turn off the water.
It’s almost five and your lover will be home soon. You have a sudden image of meeting him at the door, toy in hand. No, instead you imagine draping your body across the couch, feet up along the armrest, vibrator sliding its way between your thighs.
Or you imagine him coming home, you calling out “I’m in here!” when he opens the door. He will come to the bathroom, find you elbow-deep in hot, soapy water, washing the blue vibrator that you used together last night. He will watch you run your hands along its thick shaft, and imagine it is his own cock, stiffening beneath your fingers. Then he will join you, pressing himself to your back, sinking his hands deep into the liquid next to yours.
You like this idea best, and you stand poised at the sink, the vibrator in your hand, waiting for him to enter.
A QUICK DIP
Saskia Walker
What would you say if I asked you out for a drink?” Gavin gave her his best smile.
Adele chuckled, as if he’d said the very thing she wanted to hear.
Once he’d seen her, this new girl manning the reception desk at the gym, Gavin had made sure he dropped by for his workout during her shifts. They’d been teasing and flirting for over a week. Tonight, he’d hung on until closing time, and on his way out she’d flirted with him again.
Now, she leaned over the reception counter with her chest squeezed against its hard surface. “I’d say yes. But…” She glanced around. “There’s nobody here apart from you and me, and I’m about to lock up. Why don’t we make the most of the facilities, before we go for that drink?”
The way she said “facilities” made his cock hard.
She smiled as she stepped out from behind the reception desk and walked over to the door, looking like the star of a wet dream. Her sports top was ludicrously tight over her breasts; her shorts looked as if they had been painted on. She flipped back her shoulder-length blonde hair and, after she clicked the lock shut, leaned her back up against the door. “What will it be? A stiff workout in the gym…?” Her eyes dropped to his belt. “Or would you prefer to pound out a few lengths in the swimming pool?”
He eyed her body with interest. “Would you be wearing your swimsuit?”
“Are you kidding?”
“That’s what I was hoping to hear.” He began to unbutton his shirt.
“Race you,” she challenged, tearing that tight sports shirt up and over her head as she went, heading straight for the staff entrance to the pool area.
Gavin followed, reaching the poolside just in time to see her shorts being dropped and kicked aside. She was sturdily built, with strong, rounded muscles and a shapely bottom that looked like a juicy peach waiting to be bitten. She waved at him and then her behind was displayed in its full glory as she bent over to take a low dive into the water.
“Oh yes,” he murmured, watching as her body flew across the pool, a streak of warm, able flesh.
He stripped off, then dove in, covering the distance across the pool with huge lunges.
“I do like a man who can spring into action when required,” she commented, as he arrived at her side, shaking water from his hair with a quick flick of his head.
“Then I’m your man,” he grinned. He stroked her inner thighs and she moaned in response. His chest rode up against her pussy. He felt her flesh slide down his body as he stood up, her shaved pussy coming to rest low on his abdomen. His cock bounced up eagerly under her.
