by Alison Tyler
When the effervescent Kristina Lloyd came up with the idea of a Midsummer’s Day flasher contest, I thought, "Great. We’ll get our readers to supply the smut for us! And then I’ll go through and pluck a winner from the slew of sexy selections." But, damn. I had no idea how difficult this would actually be. I’m only supposed to choose one? Who was the eejit who made up that rule? Oh, hell, it was me. Well, I definitely didn’t expect to find such bounty. So forget one, I’m picking the following four:
Profound shyness hid G’s beauty. She was the star grad student yet an idiot about love.
One day in the library our eyes met. After we fucked she asked shyly, “How can I thank you?” “Let go.”
A week later, she asked me to meet her at a hotel. I passed it daily on my way to the university.
When I arrived, she opened the curtains, stripped, and pressed her breasts against the window. I entered her. Fifty feet away, cars raced by on the freeway. Those glancing up saw everything. If only they could have heard G’s screams.
Two blocks from the pub and he can't - won't wait. Sod the bed, sod the rain. Sod it all. Sod him.
They stumble into the alley, and he devours Andrew's mouth, pulling his lover's cock from his pants. Eyes wide, Watch the lust-laid-bare by the flickering helium. Watch the rain drizzle down his face, taste the want, take the need. Amuse Bouche. Appetiser.
Andrew surges, damp, hard--harder into his squeezing fist; there's a groan, then another, rising, rising. Rhythmic. Regular. Ready. Ready. Steady. COME.
His fingers take the bounty, shared between them before the rains steals it away.
Mardi Gras. Midnight. Swarms of sweat-soaked bodies lined along the streets. I'm pushed into an alleyway, pushed against a rough, stone wall.
Two masks. He was only hazel eyes and a cleft chin. He lifted my skirt, prodded thighs apart, dug three fingers inside me, filling me up like air into newly blown glass.
"People can see us," I said through a sharp gasp.
He placed a long finger to my lips, and slid his shorts down. Japanese lanterns loomed high over our heads, and he fucked me as drunk gagglers peered into shadow and rocking light.
By Sacchi Green
We were Dharma Bums,
Hanging with Kerouac and Ginsberg,
Jailbait chicks high on the Road and the Word.
Lip service was all we paid to how they were hung,
Swallowed up, instead, in the urgent mysteries
Of each other.
We played their game of Yab Yum, silent, still,
Close, closer, never touching,
Breast not quite to breast, cunt to cunt, nipples seeking nipples,
Hunger pulsing hot and slick between damp thighs;
We pierced each other with blue-hot sparks of longing
Until need broke down the will, the game well-lost,
And bodies clutched at joy with tooth and claw.
Honorable mentions go to:
Craig, for the lovely line “Cleanliness is overrated”
Jude Mason for the memorable statement: “You got me hornier'n a three peckered toad.”
And to Jeremy, for fucking us in the blog comments. Best 115-word shag I've ever had.
Winners, please email your contact information to msalisontyler at yahoo dot com.
You're a thousand minds, within a flash
Saturday, June 23, 2007
by Alison Tyler