Wednesday, 4 November 2009

The End Is The Affair

No more Quickies. No more Wicked Words. No more Sex with Strangers, in Public, in a Shopping Trolley on Your Hols, or any of the various configurations. No more Seduction, Liaisons, Misbehaviour, or Sexy Little Numbers.

It ends with an affair. The Affair, in fact - the final multi-author anthology from the monolith of reading pleasure that is Black Lace.

My story in this book is called The Interview, and here is a taster for your palates:

"Unlike the ruthlessly clean-shaven Ralph, Aaron has a trace of stubble and I find I want to rub my face against his sandpapery skin, rub him on to me. His lips are firm, his breath warm, his body warm, his embrace firm, all firm and warm; it is comforting first, then it is arousing. He allows his hands more license, letting them wander all over me, down to my hips and across my bottom, then his fingers walk slowly up my spine, finally grazing the nape of my neck until I feel ready to kiss harder and longer and fuller.

I try to push him, try to crush him but it is deliciously difficult to make any impact on that hard flesh; I try to devour his mouth with my tongue but he just captures it and beats me at my own game. I try to merge into him, to force myself through his pores, but the bruising bulge beneath his midriff keeps our centres apart. Sooner or later it is going to demand attention in no uncertain terms, and now is as good a time as any.

‘I want to take off your underpants,’ I say hoarsely, gasping for air.


I unveil the beast, which is large, maybe larger than Ralph’s, though I’m no judge – I rarely look it in the eye. I flinch and look up into Aaron’s eyes again.

‘Don’t you like it?’

‘I…I’m sure it’s…very nice.’

‘Nice? No, Jacqueline, it’s not nice. It’s a greedy selfish bastard that will ride roughshod over you to get what it wants. It’ll make you feel good, but so does cocaine, and nobody says cocaine is nice.’

‘I’m sorry. I’ve said the wrong thing. I don’t know what I should say.’

‘You don’t have to say anything yet. Touch it. Find your way around.’

The surrealism of the situation is not lost on me. Adonis stands bare-naked in my living room and I’m worrying about the etiquette of handling his…um…you know.

I put out a hand and tap the side of it. It is hard and stiff and springs back to attention straight away. There is a bead of moisture at its head. I still can’t look it in the eye and I blur my vision a little, avoiding its frank stare. My fingers drift downwards, outlining the heavy sacs beneath, then weighing them in my palm.

‘Grab it. It won’t break,’ urges Aaron. I hesitate, so he takes hold of my wrist and moves my hand back to the shaft, prompting me to wrap my fingers around its girth. I find I quite like the feel of it; the skin is velvety and malleable, even as it stands proud, and my hand spans it comfortably. I begin to stroke it, trying not to loosen my grip, moving my other hand down to squeeze the sac.

I look up to see that he has shut his eyes and thrown back his head; an encouraging sign, so I speed up a little. His eyes open and he coughs a little before saying, ‘Perhaps you should taste it too.’

‘Taste it?’

‘Yeah. But you have to ask me. Ask if you can suck it for me.’

‘I can’t!’

‘You can. Just say it! Don’t think about it.’

‘I…can I…no, I can’t.’

My hand seizes up and I look away, feeling tears well up. Why can’t I just say the words?"

Will she be able to say the words? You'll have to read the rest of the story to find out!

But don't just read mine! There is plenteous treasure behind the cover lady's lavender shift dress - treasure that includes: Charlotte Stein; Elizabeth Coldwell; Portia Da Costa; Kyoko Church; Shanna Germain; Primula Bond; Rachel Kramer Bussel; Janine Ashbless; Gwen Masters; Alegra Verde; Izzy French and K D Grace.


  1. Suddenly I can't copy and paste, but I just wanted to say that the paragraph about cocaine made me sit up and applaud when I read your story Justine. Excellent!

  2. Brava! So rich with perfect details, and the expert pacing guarantees that we're on the edge of our seats. Having seen your excerpt and Janine's, I feel that this antho must be so wound up with sexual tension that I'm surprised it's not shaped like a pretzel.

    "I rarely look it in the eye."


  3. Thank you so much, guys! I think there could be a market for pretzel-shaped erotica, Jeremy. The technology must be out there somewhere :D.