i read this over breakfast and almost dropped my toast. :)
Free erotica! But also I need help.
I have some medical stuff coming up at the end of the month that I can’t afford, and although I’m far too proud/obstinate to just put up a donation ask, I’m comfortable putting up some free erotica and including a tip jar. That way, even if you’re not interested in erotica and you’re just a lovely person, I can still pretend I was providing something in return.
Also, I think this is going to be a bi-weekly series. I have a history of endlessly working and reworking stories until they’re so large that they can’t ever be realized. (The Exile, for instance, was cannibalized from the remains of a story I did 11 drafts of over the course of 6 months.) So this series is going to be one draft, one revision, and done. Shove it out of the nest and move on.
Anyway, on to the porn!
Shove It Out Of The Nest Stories #1: Secret Identities
by Rachel K. Zall
Jean’s lips part just a little as Linda hunches over a pillow in front of her. Linda’s arms stretch as though she is reaching for the bars of the headboard, though with the scarf tied around them she could hardly reach elsewhere.
The scarf is wool – neither of them wears silk – red with a pattern of yellow chevrons, knitted by Jean’s daughter. Jean watches Linda’s muscles strain at her bonds and hopes that her daughter’s knitting is built to last. Jean’s not sure how she’d explain it to a daughter who has never been told why her parents divorced so close their 40th anniversary , who probably has no idea her mother likes women. How do explain that to the grandchildren? How do you even bring that subject up? Certainly not by explaining that a woman you met in the grocery store damaged a handmade gift while arching her back and pulling in frustrated helplessness.
“Now then,” Jean says, tightening the warm leather straps of the harness around her waist, “are you going to scream? I prefer to know these things in advance.”
Linda sticks out her lip defiantly, but she fumbles through her mind trying to think of what the right thing to say is. Her late wife never had any interest in tying Linda down; this is all new. Should she promise to be good? Threaten to scream and be exquisitely tortured for it? How did those fantasies practiced with a belt go when she was 16?
Linda sucks in a deep air of embarrassment – how can she not know things like that at her age? When she was 20, she was sure she’d know everything by 30; at 30 she was sure she’d have it by 40; at 40 she set a more modest goal of 60. And now poor 59-year-old Linda, living in a freshly renovated body and trying on new lovers as the pain of mourning recedes to muffled ache, realizes she doesn’t know any of the answers anymore.
“Do you want me to scream?” She asks, calmly as she can.
Jean smiles. “Good,” she says, “very good. Yes, I think we should let the neighbors know what we’re up to, don’t you? I do so enjoy jealous neighbors.”