We Were Kids

“We were kids,” I told her over coffee. “We didn’t know what we were doing.”

 

“Don’t try to brush it aside just because we were young. And besides we didn’t do it terribly. Considering the chemicals rushing through our bodies and the thoughts rushing through our heads, we weren’t bad at all. I bet you’d give anything for a kiss like that again.”

 

We hadn’t seen each other in fifteen years, but somehow we came back to each other instantly. The touch of her hand, the smell of her perfume—still Chanel—and the rise of her lip when she poked fun at me were as familiar as the taste of the coffee.

 

“I’m just saying, we where what? Fifteen? We fumbled through everything, and I’m sure I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing, other than being desperate for your skin. Hell, desperate for your attention. Desperate for anything at all.”

 

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a moment, the look on her face so clear and easy that I almost loughed.

 

“You were sixteen. I was fifteen,” she reminded me. “And someone being desperate for my skin the way you were, would be… I don’t know what it would be. All I know is that I miss that longing, that worry, and that sense of wonder when everything was new. Christ, you must have spent an hour between my legs the first time, listening to me moan and as you tried everything you could think of to do with your tongue. There’s a lot to be said for enthusiasm. When was the last time you went down on a girl like she was magic?”

 

It was my turn to close my eyes and try to remember her taste. Try to remember the unbearable anticipation the first time I slid her panties off her hips, saw her brown curls and soft lips. Try to remember my heart beating like is hasn’t in years at the simple possibility of kissing a thigh and hearing a moan.

 

“We never even fucked,” I finally said, wondering as the words left my mouth if they meant anything at all.

 

“We didn’t think we were fucking, but we were so wrong. Your tongue, my hands, you knee between my legs, hell, it was all fucking. Your kiss was fucking. Your fingers in my hair were fucking. I don’t think we did anything else, even when we simply held hands beneath the table at dinner.”

 

“We were young,” I mumbled again, trying to remember the present. There was no point in nostalgia. No point in trying to get something back that we lost years ago. There was no point.

 

“Close your eyes,” she whispered, leaning in closely. I put my mug down and my whole body tensed as I sat upright. I had no idea what she was going to do, but my heart wouldn’t stop, and my head was spinning.

 

Without a word her mouth touched mine, her tongue pushing between my lips in a kiss that was tender, strong, and without any skill at all.

 

“What was that?” I asked, when she finally pulled away.

 

“That was me fucking you,” she said with a smile.

-gny

 

Who Wants to Live Forever?

When I close my eyes I can remember what the Island looked liked before the Dutch arrived.


With everything that’s changed, I’m still surprised to find that the biggest is the smell. They say that the nose is the best memory trigger, and they must be right, because when I sit in Washington Square Park and close my eyes everything returns at the same time. I grow dizzy at the scent of cedar and elm, and while the sounds of birds are deafening, the earth and the air take me furthest away. Some people get distracted by the smell of rain on hot pavement, or even coffee in the morning. The perfume of an ex-wife or bread breaking takes them back to a time when they might have been happier. But for me it’s just dirt: rich, thick, dirt in its many forms. The mud smells warm and wet, and the brown flaky dust near the riverbank is salt and leaves. The dark red clay smells of fur and sex, and if I keep my eyes closed for too long I worry that I won’t be able to return.


But when I open my eyes the visual takes over, and I swear I can see the trees rising from the earth. I can feel the wind on my skin, and when I breathe in it’s air that you have never tasted. Yes it’s clean, but the word doesn’t come close to the reality of it. We think of clean air as empty. But empty air is about as delicious as distilled water, and as unlikely as well. When you breath clean air you breathe pollen and dust. You breathe in sun and water, and your lungs hurt as the oxygen fills them. Clean air is alive.


I lick my lips, desperate for that memory, and I try not to worry about the people around me. But even they vanish as I watch—and feel—the forest grow up around me. I can smell woodsmoke and tanning skins. I can hear music somewhere in the distance, and when I touch the earth beneath me everything is connected. There are squirrels, yes, but also deer and fox darting in and out of the brush with so little fear I find I envy them. Hawks soar through the sky above me, and there are more kinds of insects than anyone has bothered to count. When I finally bring my hands up from the dirt and rub my temples, the people return and the sounds of cabs honking is deafening.


I can barely make out the smell of a burned pretzel from the cart on the street.

 

—GNY

Fuck Me College Boy

“My mom’s coming to party this weekend.”


We were weeks away from graduating college, and Lisa’s mom had been coming every month or so to get drunk with us and do stupid things. She was fifteen when her daughter was born, so while she was older than us, she wasn’t much older. The fact that she could drink us all under the table, brought good beer with her, and was at least as hot and crazy as her daughter made it that much better.


They appeared at my room after drinking all afternoon in the woods. They were exhausted, drunk, and soaking wet.


“We got back twenty minutes ago, jumped in the shower together, then came right over,” Lisa mumbled as her mom slipped an arm around my waist. It took me a moment to process it all.


“You jumped in the shower together?”


“Saves water,” she said, and then she was gone. She stumbled off to the kitchen, and I was left with Megan and her strong arm still wrapped around my body.


“So, handsome, what’s next?”


It was a messy kiss. I mean, we both leaned in, and we both opened our mouths, but it was as romantic as a freight train and just as noisy. But in the middle of it I managed to lock my door, lose my shirt, and pull her onto my lap without hardly stopping.


“You gonna fuck me, college boy?” she asked, pulling her shirt off as well.


“Do you want me to fuck you, Lisa’s Mom?”


She slapped me and then kissed me again, and we tore at each other’s clothes as we fell back onto the bed. By the time I had two fingers inside her she was biting my neck and growling in my ear.


“I’m not gonna to suck your dick,” she whispered. “But you are going to shove this up my ass and make momma come.”


I barely managed to get a condom on, but she didn’t seem to care one way or another. She moved on top of me, and pinned me down as she guiding me into her pussy. I kept trying to move, but it was clear I had nothing to do with it. She rode my cock for less than a minute before sitting up on my lap and leaning back. She rubbed me against her wet lips before positioning me against her ass.


“Right there” she whispered as she started to push down. I held my breath as she opened up around me and it was clear this was not a new thing for her. By the time I was all the way inside her, she was screaming and pounding on my chest as she bobbed up and down. Two fingers circled her clit as she fucked me, and I may as well have been in another room.


“Fuck me, college boy,” she screamed. “Fuck mama’s tight ass.”


And then she was coming and scratching the shit out of my chest as I lay there wondering what the fuck was happening. She kept screaming, but suddenly there were two voices and a very loud fist on my bedroom door.


“Are you fucking my mom up the ass?”


We stopped instantly and neither one of us moved.


“Are you seriously fucking my mom up the ass? I’m going to fucking kill you both!” And then there was more pounding, more yelling, and Megan was moving again like she didn’t care. She covered my mouth as she fucked me, and she was laughing the whole time.


Two minutes later she was standing up and pulling on her clothes. She grabbed me by the hand and shoved my jeans at me, completely uninterested in my raging hard-on that hadn’t left.


“Come on, ass-fucker,” she said, pulling me to the door. “Momma needs another beer.”

 

—GNY

Not The Most Faithful

Kelly was so thankful for his help that halfway into the first bottle of vodka she began to kiss him. It took him a moment to realize what he was doing, and then like a good friend, he pushed her away and tried to stand up. He looked at me with the open arms of apology.

"Dude, I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

It’s fine,” I said. “She’s just emotional. Besides, ever since the other night she’s been wanting to get a piece of you.”

Don’t tell him that,” Kelly said frowning at me. “He’s dating Rachel, and even though she’s not always the most faithful girlfriend, he doesn’t need to be hear about me wanting to fuck him.” She was sitting on his lap and rubbing his chest, and the combination of the smoke and the drink was making us all a little slow.

What do you mean, she’s not the most faithful?” he stammered.

Don’t worry about it. I think it’s great that you’re dedicated to her even if she doesn’t feel the same way.” She kissed him on the cheek, and I noticed that she had absentmindedly unbuttoned her shirt half way down her chest. Her small breasts were clearly visible each time she turned.

What do you mean she doesn’t feel the same way?” Marcus looked back and forth between us and I moved closer to them. 

I didn’t want to say anything man, but Kelly’s right. Rachel is sweet, but she’s still hung up on that guy from high school. I don’t think it means anything, but she was going over there tonight. She said she missed just being tossed around sometimes. I mean, she thinks you’re super sweet Marcus, but you know what she’s like.”

He was staring at us both and his cheeks were getting red. Kelly continued to rub his shoulder and his chest, and she told him not to worry. 

If it bothers you, feel free to take it out on me,” she finally whispered. She swung her leg over until she was straddling him on the chair. “Tom, you won’t mind will you? I’d hate to see Marcus get used like this, and I’ve been dying to feel this big cock inside me.” 

With that she pressed firmly against his jeans and he looked over at me helplessly. She moved her hand up and down him and it was clear he was getting harder. A second later she lost her shirt entirely, and Kelly’s breasts in his face became too much for him to handle. Without another word her grabbed her and kissed her tits with an anger I had rarely seen. He lifted her off his lap and they dropped to the floor as I slumped down against the bed to watch. She had his jeans open in a second, and her skirt was around her waist. She didn’t bother to remove anything else, but two seconds later his cock was inside her and her eyes were closed.

He’s so fucking big,” she whispered. Then she waved me to him. I reached a hand down and rubbed her clit as he fucked her, and she kissed me gently before winking. She bit her lip as she moved up and down, and his hands dug into her skin. He groped at her breasts, and thrust up to meet her as I watched them. 

You know we were just fucking with you about Rachel, right?” Kelly said. Her hips circled above him as she clenched her cunt around him.

What?” he said, only half sure he had heard her.

I mean, she would never really cheat on you. I just said that to get you to fuck me.”

Marcus threw Kelly off his body with so much force she fell on her face next to me. He jumped up, pulling his pants back up around his waist and stared at us. I had never seen him look so angry.

Are you fucking serious?” He yelled at us as he grabbed his jacket. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Both of you? Jesus Christ, I don’t know why I believe anything you fucking say!”

Two seconds later we heard the door slam and Kelly broke out into a fit of laughter. I pulled her to me and kissed her. She crawled up into my lap and the two of us found what was left of the joint and lit it once more. She took a long drag before pulling me in and filling my mouth with smoke. I inhaled deeply before leaning back and closing my eyes.

That was brilliant,” I told her. 

—GNY 

(If you enjoy my writing, you might like my new novel, The Island on The Edge of Normal, now available on Kindle and in Print.)

A Dress She Never Owned

I don’t remember her the way she was.

It’s only half on purpose, but when I let myself indulge in memory I always let in something else.  I let in something that wasn’t her, and wasn’t me, and definitely wasn’t us.  Sometimes it’s the way she talked or did her hair; sometimes it’s a dress she never owned or place we never fucked.  Often it’s just a few words of a conversation that didn’t happen.

I can see her lying back on the bed with a satisfied smile and as she holds my hand lightly.  She just touches me with her fingers as we wonder who will talk first without a hint of worry about the answer.  In my mind’s eye I listen to my heartbeat as she rolls over onto her side and kisses my cheek.  She’s perfect and we’re both too sleepy to close our eyes.

It’s not exactly the way it was, but it’s close enough to be convincing.  It’s close enough to be comforting and warming, and often I don’t even notice what’s missing. 

It might have been just like that.

—Guy New York

A Simple Nostalgia Fetish

I sometimes wonder if nostalgia is sexy because it’s how I fantasize.  When I lie down, or wake up, or crawl into the shower I let my mind wander and see where it lands.  Often the things that turn me on are memories, sometimes real and sometimes imagined, but they always bring back more than just one or two senses. 

I remember the smell of my mother’s living room after my first threesome with the boy from college and my ex-girlfriend.  We opened the windows in the summer afternoon to air it out, but no matter what we did the smell of our three bodies wouldn’t leave and we laughed even as our cheeks turned red.

A few years later I remember waiting for the film to come back, because even though I’d seen your breasts that morning, I wanted to see them in print.  I wanted to hold the photos in my hand and revel in how willing you were to share your body with me.  I wanted to climb into bed with the photo almost as much as with you, because it was new and it was exciting in a way I couldn’t describe.

I remember the sound of my hand on your ass, and the blood rushing to my fingers.  It occurred to me that I had never hit anyone until that very moment and the noise of my hand surprised me almost as much as your moans.  Your jeans were pulled down just enough and the blue cotton beneath them was soaking wet. 

Sometimes I look ahead as well, and wonder what’s next, but the times I lose myself completely are almost always wrapped up in uncertain memories and fragments of moments that can’t possibly be true.

—Guy New York