Posts Tagged ‘Sex Scene’
I do love my social media, don’t get me wrong, but it’s always good to know where the things you love can come back and bite you in the butt, no?
So, a lovely friend of mine sent my this message through Facebook the other day:
In the nicest most polite way possible, I was on stumbleupon, and apparently, my friends (more importantly, what they follow) are displayed. Not that I care/judge one way or the other, I’m just not sure if YOU were aware. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, please disregard.
Which is, of course, how I reacted.
Now, I don’t use Stumbleupon, but in setting up the social media widgets for my blog I’d interacted with it in the past, and I think it’s one of those things that if you’re on Facebook it knows who you are and the names of your still-unconcieved offspring too. So I raced over there in a panic to find out what in the world my friend had seen.
What I found was that I’d “stumbled” on Sex Scene, an Anthology. Now, I’ve got no problem with that, I’m in it. (No, not like THAT.) It’s an anthology of literary fiction. From the book blurb written by the editor, Robert James Russell:
Sex Scene: An Anthology aims to decontextualize sex, asking the reader to look at the act itself as not only a form of art, but also as the very basest of human urges.
The problem was caused by the fact that the tags applied to it were “porn” and “pornography.” (I’m not going to get into the erotica vs. porn or art vs. smut thing. Let’s just say this one ain’t for the kiddies.)
What all this boils down to is that my friend went to Stumbleupon and saw “Leah Petersen likes pornography.”
No mom, it’s not me. Promise.
No, oh god no please no please stop. Stop no I need you to stop please I don’t want it I don’t I don’t. Oh god don’t. Don’t, stop no don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t.
I spotted him across the club. He looked OK, maybe handsome. Not that it mattered, anything better than repulsive would do. My pride nagged at me and I decided not to settle for less than cute. Anyway, if Don heard about this—which was not the point—it would really suck if the guy had been a dog.
I watched him a little longer and, yeah, he was definitely cute. He would do.
This was not about Don. It wasn’t. Well, it wasn’t for Don at least. I wasn’t trying to pay him back for leaving me for that blonde bitch. I wasn’t trying to make him jealous or show him I was desirable. Don would probably never hear about this. It wasn’t one of our regular clubs. I wasn’t likely to see anyone we knew.
This was for me. I wanted to be rid of him. I wanted someone to screw me until I couldn’t see straight. Pound every thought of Don out of my head, wipe his caresses off my body. I needed to be fucked.
The guy across the way saw me looking at him. I swear they can smell it, a girl who’s willing, or at least considering being willing. Really anything north of adamantly opposed. He turned his head and yelled something to his friends and started to cross the dance floor.
In the flashing lights I could see his hair was brown and I was glad. I hoped he had brown eyes too and his name was something like John or Michael. Something forgettable.
I was standing at the bar and he came over to stand in front of me. He leaned against the bar on one elbow the way they do in the movies, and apparently in real life too. He smiled at me, smarmy and confident and suddenly I felt a stab of revulsion and thought no, I don’t want to do this. But he leaned in and put his mouth to my ear and yelled “What’s your name?”
I love to have my ears kissed. He hadn’t kissed my ear but his lips had brushed against them just enough, silent promises of kisses and maybe his tongue and oh god how I wanted it.
He was still leaning close, and with my mouth against his ear, maybe he’d heard me over the painful throb of the bass and the music.
He leaned back and smiled again. Maybe he realized he’d smiled like an asshole the first time or maybe it was just chance but that time his smile was kinda nice.
“Wanna dance?” he yelled.
I shook my head and leaned in. “No. I wanna get out of here.”
He pulled back, probably quicker than he meant to, and a shit-eating grin spread across his face. That look of I’m-gettin-some that every guy gets when they know they’re in and they probably none of them realize they’re doing it.
My gut twisted with nausea and for a minute I couldn’t stand this guy. But he slipped an arm around my waist and I went.
He cast a look back at his friends and mouthed something, but I didn’t care what. Outside he was leading me toward the parking lot but I stopped him.
Before he could say anything I reached up and kissed him. His lips were soft and plump. Not firm like Don’s. I met his tongue and melted into a long, deep kiss. Don had kissed like a donkey licking your face and I needed tonight’s guy, this whoever, to kiss me like I’d been dying to be kissed for the four years that having Don was enough for the face-licking kissing not to matter.
His tongue was velvety and glided against mine, the way I remembered from before Don, and I made a noise that was something like a whimper but more like a sob.
Whatever he made of that he put both arms around my waist and pulled me against him with his hard-on shoved into my abdomen. My breasts tingled in response and that sort of back arching you don’t even do on purpose that pressed my breasts harder against him, my nipples aching to be touched. But this wasn’t where we needed to be and I pulled back. The kiss had been a test and he’d passed.
I took his hand and pulled him toward the parking lot. He got the message well enough and caught up with me. He steered me toward the passenger door of his car. One of those sleek little things that guys get because they’re too practical to get a sports car or too broke. He opened the door for me and I was impressed in a distracted way. He was either trying to guarantee his action for tonight or he genuinely had those old-fashioned manners. Whichever. I didn’t care.
There were some papers on the floor near my feet and I looked away as fast as I could. Not for any virtuous reason. I was just overwhelmingly glad all of a sudden that he hadn’t noticed—or hadn’t cared—that I hadn’t asked his name. I didn’t want to know.
There’s an attention getter. Go on, how many of you came here just because of the title of the post was “Sex”?
So is this to be a salacious, racy, tasteless post? Nah. Not this time.
This post is about a new anthology called Sex Scene.
Oohhhh, erotica. Porn.
Not exactly. Not at all, really. It is explicit, even erotic, but it’s deeply moving as well. Here’s a little blurb from the editor of the anthology, Robert James Russell:
Sex Scene: An Anthology aims to decontextualize sex, asking the reader to look at the act itself as not only a form of art, but also as the very basest of human urges. The result is a cacophony of unique perspectives, cultures, styles and scenes—from soft and romantic to deranged and hardcore—that invites you to leave any hang-ups behind and actively engage in conversations about the all-too-often taboo topic, showing that, perhaps, we are not so different after all.
With stories by:
Cover Image by John Vestevich
And let me tell you, these authors blow my mind. Incredible talent. I’m honored to be included.
Go on, check it out.