Last week saw the release of a new anthology from Cleis Press, edited by the fabulous Sacchi Green, called Me and My Boi: Queer Erotic Stories. I’ve got a story in here – “Loblolly” – which is one of my favourites that I’ve written, and I’m glad to be sharing pages with the likes of Annabeth Leong, Summer Marsden, Sinclair Sexsmith and Kathleen Bradean. Here’s how the story starts…
“Wear something pretty,” she said. “I’m taking you out.”
I’m not great at doing pretty but when Jo asked for it, I wanted to do it right. I looked through my closet and picked a dress that used to be my sister’s—spriggy blue flowers that would bring out the blue of my eyes and a crumpled lace trim that would lead her eyes to my cleavage. It was short but that was good—I knew already how much she liked my legs—and I matched it with an old pair of sneakers. I couldn’t go too pretty, it just wouldn’t be me.
Jo came to the house to pick me up like it was a proper date, which I suppose it was. By the time I answered the door, she’d stepped back and was lighting a cigarette on the bottom step of the porch. She looked good to me—in dark jeans, baggy enough to need the black braces which held them up and a wife-beater that showed off her tan skin and the sharp jutt of her shoulders. She was skinny, boy skinny, but she was wiry with small, tight muscles that made me want to lick her. Underneath the white tank, I could just see the dark circles of her nipples, protruding from the flat expanse of her chest and the “Hello” I’d been about to say caught in my throat. Her bleached hair was cut short and shaved up the back but the bangs at the front were long enough for her to hide behind when she wanted to.
She looked up at me and took a drag on her cigarette.
“Very cute,” she said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. She dropped the cigarette on the path and ground it out with her heel. Then she stepped forward, took me by the wrist and kissed my cheek. “Come on.”
The brush of her lips on my skin left a small imprint of heat and the smell of her cigarette smoke up close turned me on no end.
“You my girl?”
“Maybe,” I said, skipping ahead of her on the path.
She drove a truck and I climbed up on the passenger side, feeling her eyes on the backs of my legs as I mounted the step. There were candy bar wrappers all over the seat and the ashtray was damn near overflowing with butts but the small space smelled of her—and I don’t have to tell you how much I liked that.
She got in and gunned the engine.
“Where’re we going?” I said.
“Out to the forest,” she said. “It’s too nice to be indoors.”
It was a beautiful day, though I’d hardly noticed it. The sun was sharp and Jo flipped down the sun visor against the glare.
“Should we stop and get wine?” I said.
“I got all we need, baby.”
I studied her hands on the steering wheel. Small strong fingers with clipped white nails that stood out from her dark skin. Her grip was relaxed but I loved to watch the muscles and sinews of her arms moving under the surface as she turned corners and straightened up again. On her right bicep there was a tattoo of a pigeon. Not a dove or anything symbolic. Just a common wood pigeon, strutting across her arm, drawn in sharp, fine detail. I don’t know why she had it. On our second meeting I had asked her about the fine white line that ran half an inch down her chin from her lower lip.
“This scar,” she said, fingering the mark, “is where this bird,”—she moved the tip of her finger to the tattoo—”flew into me. Right into me, here, with its beak.”
I laughed because I knew she was lying. If she had secrets she wanted to keep that was fine with me. I had things of my own that I wasn’t going to spill any time soon.
Several miles into the forest, a long way past the main parking lot where families with dogs and children were unloading, past the visitor center and nature trails, we came to the end of the road. There was a turning circle and some gravel standing for cars to park on but we were the only ones there. Jo pulled a basket out of the back of the truck and we set off into the trees.
Walking through dappled sun and shade, the only sound the buzzing and chirruping of insects, I could almost hear my heart humming. Jo was slightly ahead of me and I watched her shoulder blades slip-sliding up and down under her skin as her arms swung loose at her sides. I moistened my lips with my tongue. She turned and caught me watching her.
“Let me take the basket for a while,” she said.
We walked for half an hour and never saw another soul. We were far deeper into the woods than the day trippers went. Jo was striding forward like she had a destination in mind but I remembered, she always walked fast in the city, head down, cigarette in hand. I saw birds but I didn’t know what sort they were—I wasn’t a nature lover and I only ever came out into the forest when somebody else suggested it. But today it was nice, walking through the trees with Jo in companionable silence.
Finally, she stopped and cast about herself some before dropping the basket down at the base of a tall, thin pine. She pulled out a plaid blanket and spread it on the needle strewn ground under the tree and invited me with a gesture to sit.
“This is a loblolly pine,” she said.
“Is that rare?”
She laughed, the sun glinting on her white teeth, a string of saliva glistening between her dark lips. “Commonest tree in the forest, practically. But I just love it for its name.”
I lay back on the blanket and looked up into the branches above me and at the small chinks of azure sky I could see through them. My heart was pounding hard and fast. I wanted her pretty bad.
“Loblolly,” I said slowly, letting the word roll over my tongue. I closed my eyes.
A metallic jangle made me open them again just as Jo straddled my waist. Above me she was holding a pair of shiny steel handcuffs in one hand.
“You’ll be okay with these,” she said. It was more of a statement than a question and with her other hand she caught hold of one of my wrists.
My heart skipped a beat. No, make that several beats. I’d been hanging with Jo for maybe five or six weeks, having sex with her for the last two or three, but I had no idea she was into handcuffs. Or anything kinky like that. I’d never been handcuffed or tied up before.
“Shhhh…” I felt the cold hard steel of the cuffs being pressed against my lips, crushing my unformed words of protest. I wriggled slightly but, although she wasn’t any heavier than me, she had me pinned down.
“You need this, Ava,” she said. “I could see it in you the moment I met you. You need someone strong to take you in hand.”
Anyone who comments on any of the posts in the Me and My Boi blog hop will be entered in a drawing for one free copy of the anthology. You can comment on more than one post and be entered more than once. The winner will be announced and notified by July 5, if not sooner.
Visit the rest of the stops on the tour:
June 12—Sacchi Green— www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 13—Annabeth Leong– http://annabethleong.blogspot.com/2016/06/me-and-my-boi-not-just-hair.html
June 14—Anna Watson— www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 15—Sinclair Sexsmith– www.sugarbutch.net
June 16—Jove Belle– https://jovebelle.com/
June 17—Tamsin Flowers– www.tamsinflowers.com
June 18—Victoria Villasenor— https://breywillows.com
June 19—J, Caladine— http://sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 20—Victoria Janssen– http://victoriajanssen.com
June 21—Dena Hankins– http://denahankins.net/my-summer-of-boi/
June 22—D. Orchid— http://sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 23—Pavini Moray– https://emancipatingsexuality.com/
June 24—Melissa Mayhew— http://sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 25—Jen Cross— http://writingourselveswhole.org
June 26—Kyle Jones– www.butchtastic.net
June 27—Gigi Frost–www.facebook.com/gigifrost
June 28—Aimee Hermann— http://sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 29—Sommer Marsden— http://sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 30—Axa Lee— http://sacchi-green.blogspot.com
July 1— Kathleen Bradean— http://sacchi-green.blogspot.com