Love, sex and interminable pop-culture references

Category: Fiction

Fiction by ILB

Fiction: Lift Kiss

It’s cooler and quieter here in the lift. As much as I purport to enjoy a good amount of heavy rock, even I have my limits. Despite the fact that this will empty me out into the street, this small – and, thankfully, empty – room is a welcome respite from the club.

Sketch of Amelia, the girl in this story, in her wheelchair. Art by ILB drawn during Eroticon Live! 2016.
I kept the sketch to hand!

I take a deep breath, eyes closed, to centre myself. When my vision clears, the buttons on the wall blend into a smudge of illuminated blue. I need the ground floor to get out. I wheel to the corner, but can’t reach any button. Maybe I’ll have to wait. I grope in my bag for something I can use to press it. Why didn’t I bring my vibrator with me, like I do on business trips?

There is a soft, but worn, ding as the doors clatter open and he staggers in. Is he drunk? No – just tired. I can tell.

Our eyes meet.

I’m used to people looking – it happens. This, however, is different. He’s looking at me. Not my chair. Not the ‘phone I’m clutching in my hand. Not the shawl I’ve got covering my knees. Me. He’s looking at me – from my electric blue hair to my heavy red boots. He’s taking all of me in, and it’s quite clear he likes what he sees.

Oh, get a grip, Amelia. There’s no indication of that. He’s just weary at the end of a club night and looking at the girl in the wheelchair. There’s every indication that he doesn’t like you at all. Or notice you. The fact that he’s holding your gaze is probably just coincidence. I mean, look at him. That scrappy grey T-shirt doesn’t suit him. Those grey joggers have a hole in the knee. He’s hardly presenting himself well to you.

What would it be like if he wanted to kiss me?

Kiss me, that is. Not fuck me. Kiss me. If he wanted to do that I’d let him. He’d have to bend down a bit, of course. Maybe he’d gently cup my chin with one of those hands and tilt my head upwards. Our lips would brush together — no, mash together — and I’d hear him breathing heavily as we kiss. I’d reach out with my tongue. I bet his feels good – tastes good, even.

And they could dance together. Do the tarantella even if I can’t move my legs. There’s always a way.

He’d thread his fingers into my hair and he’d pull a little and then we’d break the kiss and there’s a trail of saliva breaking between us and he’s taking his shirt off and I’m unhooking my bra and he’s reaching out for my heaving breasts and the lift is broken so we can’t leave and fuck me I can’t stop I’m so wet so so so wet just bend over and kiss me please oh please oh

“Please…”

I’ve said the last word out loud. I have no idea how long he’s been looking at me. However long, it’s not been long enough. My shock back to reality coincides with a dull thump from the club downstairs.

I’m on fire.

“Do you want some help?” he says, in a voice like honey. “I can press a button for you if you want.”

Without waiting for an answer, he takes two steps forwards, leans over me and presses the ground floor button. His press has some finality to it. For a second or two, my view is full of him and only him. The scrappy tee and grey joggers stretch as he leans.

I can see every curve and contour of his body…

Ding, says the lift. The doors force themselves open and a welcome rush of outside air hits me from the busy street outside. He’s standing back, clearly waiting for me to leave first. What can I say?

I settle for a nod, this time roving my view over the entirety of him. Maybe he’s blushing as hard as I am. It’s difficult to tell in this light.

I wheel out of the door, down the corridor, through the lobby and down the ramp. As I begin to wend my way home through the milieu of late night workers and early morning risers, I have the biggest smile I have ever produced plastered firmly to my very kissable face.

[Inspired by Charlie Powell's session at Eroticon Live! 2016. See, I do write things I promise to - eventually...]

Fiction: Jungle Tales

16,000 years in the future…

“You’re sure this is the Sahara?”
“The map says so, doesn’t it?”
“But my senses tell me differently. It’s so… humid. And wet. And I don’t remember there being a rainforest here, either.”

I began to unbutton my shirt, almost by instinct.

“Thank the North African monsoon,” she said matter-of-factly. “Its northward migration helped with the fertility.” She tossed her discarded tee casually on the floor of the pod. “The extinction of humanity couldn’t have hurt, either.”

I couldn’t argue with that, although I had assumed, until that point, that some other invasive life form would have done whatever it could to ensure that the arid desert remained the blasted wasteland it had once been. As I cast my eyes across the vast swathes of jungle that reached past the horizon, even from this height, it turned out I was wrong.

“You’re sure this is safe?” I asked, as I fumbled with my belt. “Nngh,” I added helpfully as I gave it a heftier tug. It dug into my midriff as I eased it open. My trousers slid off easily, though, to my relief.

“Safe? Of course it’s safe! We’re fifty metres from the canopy!” she laughed. “Even if one of the unmentionables that survived the eruption…”

An eerie, ululating call came from below. She continued unabated, unhooking her bra as she did so.

“…that survived the eruption did notice us, how could they do anything? We’re up here.” Dropping her bra in my lap served as a reminder of exactly what we had come here to do. Trust me to become distracted by science, although not all of me was distracted by the chittering of nature above the soft hum of the hovering pod. That was judging by the rapidly increasing stiffness making it difficult to keep my pants on.

I’ve never been able to resist her breasts. I love their form, their shape and their weight in my hands. They compliment her small frame perfectly. Add in the sweeping red hair, the sparkling green eyes and the tireless tongue and I still don’t know why she’s in the least attracted to the shambling mess I am.

She catches me looking. It’s perhaps the first time I’ve been distracted from the North African Fertile Growth. Someone in a white coat decided that the term “Sahara” carried too many negative connotations; I may not have agreed with him, but there was certainly a lot of fertile growth going on at the moment.

“So don’t worry,” she stressed, moving closer. “You worry too much.”
“I suppose I just think a lot,” I murmured.

She was far too close. I could feel the tickle of her hair, crackling with static. I could breathe in the scent of rosin and woodsmoke that I always associated with her. I could see the peak of her stiffening nipples…

“You need a distraction,” she whispered in my ear, “a distraction from your stress.”
“So distract me.”
“That’s what I needed to hear,” she mouthed, alighting deftly on her knees. “Keep an eye out for any other pods, will you?”

And I sat in my seat, the force of nature spread out below me, life continuing apace from every corner, while she closed her lips around the burgeoning shaft of my cock.

[Inspired by Wikipedia's timeline of the far future and my earlier fiction, Dinosaur Boy. There may be more of these at some point - this is fun!]

Fiction: Dinosaur Boy

164 million years ago…

“You’re sure this is safe, right?”
“Safe? Oh, it’s not safe. Of course it’s not safe. We’re surrounded by dinosaurs. But we’ll be all right. I just wanted to be out here for a while.”

I lay back on the bed of ferns, grass having yet to exist. The heat of the day was scorching; the air thick, like breathing soup. Closing my eyes, I could hear the chittering of insects and distant call of dinosaurs looking for a mate. Everything around me I found completely intoxicating. Take me away here and I’d make the most beautiful fossil.

“I don’t understand why you even wanted to leave the pod,” he said nervously, tugging at a loose leaf as he sat by my side. “There are carnivores here. Wait too long and we’d be attacked by a Tyrannosaurus or…”
“Wrong time period, baby. In this era, the top predator is Allosaurus. And they won’t come here, into the open prairie. Even if they do, we can take shelter in a herd of sauropods. Diplodocus is pretty good. No natural predators.”
“But how would we get back to the pod?”
“It’s not going anywhere without us now, is it?” I let out a sigh. “We can take our time.”

I’d had the foresight to bring my sunglasses. It was bright, because of course it was. With them on, I could watch a Rhamphorhynchus winging its way through the wild blue. I hadn’t decided on wearing anything else, though, so I wasn’t. The pod was clean enough and we were the only ones here.

I will have to admit to the fact that my breasts look amazing with sweat dripping down them was one factor in doing so. He looked less comfortable naked, but still good. He’s always been a little awkward, whatever he’s in. Or out of.

“Aren’t you learning anything?” I asked dreamily. “Isn’t that what the institute wanted us to do?”
“Well, I learned that dinosaurs did a dawn chorus. That’s kind of new information.”
“They evolved into birds; what did you expect them to do, sing Uptown Funk?”
“You’re such a dick, Louise.”

Dick. Now there’s an idea.

“Look, there’s a Brachiosaurus,” I said, pointing one out. “Largest land animal ever. No predator’s going to come anywhere near a Brachiosaurus. We’ve got all the time we need. Now come here, and let me show you something.”

He hesitated, but we both knew where this was going. I could have sworn he’d been ready from the moment we stepped out of the pod. I’d even been wondering how good he felt under a brilliant Jurassic sun.

He let out a little “oof!” as he positioned himself between my glistening legs, making me giggle. I cleared my throat as he let out a silly shuddering gasp as the head of his cock teased my slit.

“Go on, you know you want to. When are we ever going to be here again?”
“You wanted to show me something?” he whispered as he slowly eased himself inside me.
“I lied,” I grinned. “But this is good too.”
He started moving his hips, perhaps a little too gently. I met his thrusts with little hip rolls of my own, though, at which he let out little grunts of pleasure. I’d been right, of course… he did feel good. Very good. Just the right size and shape to fill me up. I gave my inner muscles a little squeeze, at which he reared back.
“That’s good. Do that again.”

Squeeze.
“Uhn.”
Squeeze.
“Nuuh…”
Squeeze.
“Fuck!”

As he got faster, and I felt more and more full, I arched my back, my heaving breasts pointing skyward. He buried his face in my shoulder; I let myself enjoy every second, making my own noises now, our combined yelps and screams joining the soundscape of the dinosaurs’ roars and calls.

“Fuck, Louise! This is so…”
“…yeah…?”
“…so…”
“…uh huh?… ooh!… what is it?”
“…HOT!”

And that was it. There was no going back any more. I felt him twitch as his cum started to fill me up. That’s the good stuff, and in that moment, it’s all I needed.

*

In the climate I was much sweatier than I would usually be, even after sex. He looks for all the world like he’s just stepped out of a shower, and from the look he’s giving me, I may well have too. We traipsed back through the prairie, stopping every now and again, before getting back to the pod.

I could practically feel his relief as I closed the pod door. I knew he didn’t feel completely safe. The decompression spray helped us to rinse off everything that covered us, and from somewhere, he found a towel to sit on.

“Right? Back home now? Or do you want to go somewhere else?”
“I don’t know. You choose. Somewhere we’re okay with being naked again. But I think I’ve had enough of dinosaurs.”
“Had enough of dinosaurs? There’s no such thing!”

He gave me a look.

“Fine then, no dinosaurs. I’ve got just the place.”

And as the pod vanished, the Jurassic era continued on outside, no dinosaur in the least disturbed by our momentary intrusion.

Poetry: The Pleasure of Agony

I used to write a lot of poetry.

It was, for a while, my ‘thing’. I’d sit in the library at breaktimes and write angsty love poems while Einstein and Lightsinthesky tried to solve the puzzle of what the inside of a black hole looked like. I never, for a single moment, considered actually approaching the girls I was writing poetry about – that was well beyond my capability – but I did put a lot of my pain into words.

Yes, I was that guy, before you ask. And, no, it wasn’t terrible poetry, it just wasn’t good.

Because it’s National Poetry Day, I’m sharing here one of the first poems I ever wrote, about one of the first crushes I ever had.

You are agony,
Yet the agony you bring I have to endure.
If I’ve decided that I love you then I’ll have to face the consequences.


Trying to look at you, then trying not to.
Trying to cry, then trying not to,
So I can try to look at you again.


The dark is rising,
And all I can think is:
Let them hit me, hurt me,
Let them batter me, beat me,
Let them do this to try
To make me cry.


You will lead me to salvation
By pulling me through the
Inexplicable
Agony
That you don’t mean to bring.


It is through this agony
That I am sad,
Yet at the same time
I am so happy
Happy within the agony.

Fiction: Glimpse

It was quick. Very quick. A flash in the pan, as one might say. But I saw it. I definitely did see it. I can replay it in my mind, even now. Over and over and over again, it comes back to me. I know what she did, and I know how she did it. And even in my memory, the very thought still sets me on fire.

I shouldn’t have seen it. I know I shouldn’t. I wasn’t meant to be party to such a visual treat. I was at the back of the room; she was at the front. I was meant to be busy with something else – I even had an arm curled around the girl I was with. She had her head buried in my chest, listening to my heart beat. I’m pretty sure it was lulling her to sleep. It does that. And I know, deep down inside, that this was the girl I was meant to be concentrating on. I was. I really was.

But, while bending down to nuzzle her hair, my eyes flicked upwards. I caught the slightest glimpse of the girl in the other corner of the room. What she did was extraordinary – a spark of wanton electricity. I’m glad I had somewhere else to look, but nevertheless, I’d seen it. I couldn’t un-see it. My mind was trapped, caught in a loop. My thoughts went places they shouldn’t have gone. I felt dirty. Stained, unclean, wrong. But so, so good.

My girl murmured that my heartbeat had sped up. Not without cause.

[The above was originally submitted to the Eroticon 2012 anthology! Eight years later, here it is, dug up and dusted down, and presented for the first time here – hooray bonus content!]

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