The Last Night (Asher & Jesse #5)

The envelope from UT Houston stayed hidden in Jesse’s file cabinet for a week before she even had the nerve to tell Asher it had arrived. The other rejection letters from Seattle Pacific University and Seattle University and University of Washington were thinner, only containing one page and a quick ‘thank you for your application,’ a band-aid ripped off clean and swift—but this one from UT was thick. That had to mean something, right? That was a good sign. Jesse wasn’t really even sure she wanted an MFA when she applied, but then when there was more than no chance at all hiding in her very own drawer, she is pretty sure she wants nothing else in the world more.

Except …

“Asher, call me back when you get this. Love you baby.” Jesse leaves a voice mail. Asher is probably still with clients, 6pm on a Tuesday, but it was worth a try before Jesse goes in for her shift at the store.

Would Asher go with her? Would she want to? What if they got married? Is that crazy? What if they broke up? How would sex ever be this good with anyone ever again?

Jesse’s mind raced with stress and change and all the options in the history of options that ever there was. She finally stripped her jeans and boxer briefs off and dropped them next to her bed, pulling her vibrator out from the box on the bookshelf that held her harness, Shilo packing and playing cock, and the nipple clamps that she’d brought from Asher’s house, and she pulled back the covers and slid between the sheets. The bed had a chill underneath the fabric, something that turning up the heat never seems to help, as if the bed had a secret draft that is always letting out warmth. Maybe that’s why they always stay at Asher’s house.

Jesse put a pillow over her forehead and eyes to block the light, wanting to only feel and let her mind think and wander. She turned on the vibrator and touched it to her cunt, using the broad side of it to work the wet out of her and ease her into wanting.

She thought about Asher, whose dresses and layers of skirts and fluff of fabrics make her mouth water and palms sweat. And that one shirt of Asher’s, thin as the skin of dried grass, the one she always wears with extra bright colored bras under so everyone knows it’s on purpose. Jesse thought of that time she’d crawled under the table, dug through the layers of crinoline in Asher’s princess-cut dress, and worked her mouth up Asher’s stockings until she reached the wet between her legs and lapped and lapped until Asher banged on the table and squeezed Jesse’s head with her thighs so hard that Jesse couldn’t hear anything. Jesse was so dizzy with lust and permission, so intoxicated by Asher’s bold shamelessness, so in love. Just the memory made her almost spill over the edge of orgasm, so it only took another minute for Jesse to put the vibrator in exactly the right spot, and come.

After Jesse got off, she fell asleep, dreaming that she was swimming out to an expansive horizon on a perfectly calm sea. Her swimming was easeful, as simple and known to her body as walking, as calm as laying in the grass under dappled sunlight through bright green leaves. She woke refreshed and clear, and put the envelope and looming decision out of her mind, holding instead to the expanse of blue as she squeezed back into her tightest and stretchiest skinny jeans, and headed to work.

Jesse knows she’s not supposed to want Asher to beg her to stay, but she hopes she does. She’s not supposed to want Asher to drop her whole life here and come with her, but she wants that too. Maybe she’s supposed to want to stay, but she doesn’t. She’s been in Seattle her whole life. It’s comfortable, easy, simple. But since Asher, and since the kind of sex she’s been having with Asher, Jesse’s world has been split open—like it was thrown off of something really tall. So why not reassemble it in a new configuration? She hates the dreary rain, hates that she can never quite get warm and always ends up shivering in the dark under clouds splashed orange with city streetlight glow. She wants tropical fruit and thunderstorms and a thriving metropolis. She wants to discover who she’ll be when she’s states away from her narcissistic step-mom who has never quite allowed Jesse to separate, and who still expects “this gay thing” to be a phase. What would happen then? What if Jesse could remake herself from scratch? The idea feels like a betrayal somehow, a secret she shouldn’t reveal for fear of being so shamed she’ll never share herself, even to herself.

“Got your message. Meetings ran late. Still coming over after work?” Asher texts Jesse after her shift starts, so she doesn’t reply until she’s off the floor for her break.

“Sure. Be there around 10, I’m closing.” Jesse texts.

“Bring your dick, I really wanna get fucked hard tonight,” Asher replies right away. Jesse hesitates. She doesn’t have it, will have to go home to pick it up. She isn’t sure she can get it up to fuck, but then again, Asher always seems to be able to inspire her, even after almost a year together. But sometimes it feels like it doesn’t matter that Jesse is the one fucking her, that as long as Asher gets fucked, that is the real desire.

When Jesse goes back to her apartment, past where the neighbors doors are always leaking pot smoke, up the stairway with the lamp out and around the dark dark corner where Jesse always holds her breath, slides her key into the lock that always sticks, she grabs the strap-on and the harness, the nipple clamps, and the thick envelope from its hiding place in her file cabinet, and pulling the hood of her sweatshirt up, she heads back out into the grey Seattle night.

*

Two hours later, Asher is worn out and giddy with endorphins and Jesse is sleepy but still wet and swollen. Asher works her mouth on Jesse’s clit, sprawled naked between Jesse’s open thighs, sheets and blankets long tossed onto the floor, tangled around the bed. Asher bends her own knees to lift her feet in the air, parting Jesse’s cunt gently with her fingers, and expertly uses the smooth inner parts of her own mouth to suck.

Jesse is having trouble letting go and relaxing, but coaxes herself through it gently in her own head. It’s okay. You’re safe and you can do it. Just focus on how good it feels. It feels so good. Give her direction if you want more or less of something. She’ll listen. It’s okay.

She doesn’t need to change what Asher does, once she can relax. Asher has done this before, not tons, but probably a dozen times in the last year, and enough to get a feel for what Jesse’s body craves and how she likes to be touched and tongued and held. Asher works her mouth, gently sucking, flicking her tongue over Jesse’s clit, tugging and parting and opening. It feels to Jesse like it is taking her a very long time to get off, and she tries not to let her brain yell at her for being so slow, so unresponsive. It’s okay to take a while. This isn’t a race. Nobody’s in a hurry, Asher’s not in a hurry, she tells herself.

When Jesse finally comes, Asher’s arms are underneath Jesse’s thighs, Jesse is pushing her cunt hard into Asher’s mouth, her hands on Asher’s head and tangled in her hair. Asher is sucking and flicking with her tongue and pulling with her fingers. Jesse feels all that tension well up and up and up in her, until her pelvis feels so full of pressure from all sides, inside and outside and all around, until something gives way and it pours open, her whole body shuddering, crying out, gasping, moaning Asher’s name.

Asher softens her touches and rests her head on Jesse’s thigh for a minute, then wipes some of the wet from her mouth and slides up next to Jesse, tucking her head onto Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse kisses her, tasting her own musky sweetness and just some hints of Asher’s orange and cream lip gloss.

“Was that … okay?” Asher asks finally, in a small voice.

“So good,” Jesse moans out the words, limbs still liquidy and soft. “I love how you use your mouth. I love how you hold me so well. Thank you. That was … just right.”

Asher snuggles closer. “Good. I want to do it how you like it.”

“I know,” Jesse yawns, body spent, wrung out, tired from her retail shift and from staying up late last night finishing an essay. She wants to bring up the envelope, the future, what they’re going to do. She wants to ask Asher what she thinks, what she wants, what kind of life she could possibly envision them having together, what her next tattoo is going to be. She wants to hear Asher brainstorm about places they could live or adventures they could take, elaborate meals they would make together for brunch on the weekends, what kind of TV shows they would watch while they were winding down from their jobs and lives and stresses of being queer in the world. She wants to brainstorm herself about poems she’ll write, essays she’ll submit to online magazines that will go viral and say important things, teachers she’ll work with, kinky conferences they could attend together. She wants to do all these things. With Asher. Asher, the girl who lit a fire inside her pelvis and told her exactly where it belonged. Asher, who instigates and entices, with a flip of the hair or the way she turns her knee in or how she spreads her legs. Asher, who isn’t shy, and isn’t afraid of looking at the truth.

“Goodnight,” Asher whispers, and puts out the light, kissing Jesse on the cheek and settling back in. Asher’s thick blanket has magically been pulled up over them both.

Jesse can’t get her mouth to open and her eyes to wake enough to form words, let alone to say them aloud, but she is ready to talk to Asher in the morning. Jesse starts drifting to sleep even as she’s imagining what she’ll do: She’ll get the envelope out, she’ll tell Asher it arrived, they’ll open it. And they’ll figure out what will happen next. Together.


Featured image from Crash Pad Series Episode 89: Hilt & Rusty Nails.

Winner! Pleasure Panties

And the Pleasure Panties go to … Alphafemme!

Um, HOT.

If you need some inspiration, or to kill some time, or are a voyeur (like me) and like to read about other people’s public sex stories, I highly recommend reading through some of the comments on that giveaway thread. It was really fun to watch them roll in … and y’all are pervs! So many naughty stories of public exhibitionism, almost getting caught, and not being able to wait a minute longer.

And if you love reading the Sugarbutch comments, you can always subscribe via RSS to the comment feed.

Congrats, Alphafemme—I will be emailing you for your mailing address.

Review: Liv vibrator

As of 2/8/16 This product is no longer available at Babeland

I’m not a vibrator connoisseur, I’ll just go ahead and disclose that right now. I couldn’t really tell you just by turning on a vibrator if it is more or less strong than another one from memory, I find it challenging to give them a number based on how strong their buzzing is. It’s even hard when two of them are right next to each other – unless one is the Hitachi Magic Wand, pretty much, which is of course the Grandmother of all vibrators.

And I do like my Hitachi, I do. It is a fairly standard go-to for quick-and-easy jerk off sessions. My nightcap, if you will.

But …

When my roommate is home, the Hitachi has quite the vroom-vroom-vroom engine that is really not so subtle. Especially at three in the morning when my whole building is quiet.

So I’ve been vaguely searching for a decent vibrator which would be very quiet, but strong enough still to get me off fairly quickly and easily.

I reviewed the Laya Spot vibrator a while back, and that’s been a pretty good one on this quiet-but-powerful scale, but now that the Liv vibrator by Lelo has come along, I haven’t picked up the Laya Spot once.

Liv is smooth. Sleek. It doesn’t hurt that it’s black, and silicone, but the silicone doesn’t really separate from the plastic/electric pieces, so aside from just soap and water I don’t think there’s a way to boil it in order to sterilize it.

It’s got three speeds, and a couple different variations of sensations too, including a short-quick-bursts and longer, rolling pulses. It is not too strong, or too big either, but if you like something easy that can be inserted and that buzzes quite nicely, this may just be perfect for you.

The battery for Liv is rechargeable, which in theory is really great but in practice has proven to be a little bit of a pain in the ass, as it seems to lose its charge fairly easily (or maybe I just get off a whole lot more than I realize?) and the last few times I’ve grabbed for it, it has been dead. It’s dead now, actually, and will take a full two to four hours to recharge, and because I want to finish and get this review up immediately (while I am feeling inspired to do so), I’m not going to describe the pulsing as accurately as I would if the vibrator was pulsing away in my, uh, hand, right now.

So that’s a little annoying. It’s great, though, that there will be no awful AA batteries accidentally leaking battery fluid inside my vibrator – which I have had happen.

The price tag on this little bad boy is kinda high, $109, but it is such a high-quality toy. It’s no silver bullet (which was my go-to vibrator for years, and I would go through one every six months or so. Those suckers just don’t last). I haven’t had it for all that long, but it feels like the kind of technology that is built to last, not to be replaced.

The elegance is particularly lovely. It comes in a very nice box with a little silk bag in which it gets nicely stored – and hey, presentation and packaging counts for something. All the more bonus that it delivers so nicely.

Thanks, Babeland.

review: gettin’ off, butch style

How do I love Babeland … let me count the ways.

Well, so first, they asked me if I’d like to review the Papillion vibrator. And of course I said sure, I’d probably review a paper cup for Babeland if they asked me to, and I’ve been looking for a small-but-powerful vibe when I don’t want to power up the Hitachi. The Papillion is a little girly in some ways … the butterfly is not exactly my style, but they don’t really make butch vibrators. But hey, if it works well, it doesn’t matter so much what’s painted on it.

Turns out, part of the proceeds from this sweet vibe goes directly to the Living Beyond Breast Cancer organization, which is pretty darn cool. I didn’t get a cute little butterfly vibe to review, but instead, the fine folks at Babeland sent me a few other treasures – and both in black! Much more butch, I appreciate that.

First, the Laya Spot vibrator. It’s small, cute, discreet, easy to control, pretty powerful. It’s got three different “buzz patterns,” gentle pulses of vibration that are pretty fun to play with. Still not as powerful as the almighty Grandmother of vibrators, the Hitachi (you have one of those, right? It’s up there with the bunny as Toys That Should Be In Every Toy Box). It’s kind of an upgrade to the Silver Bullet – better looking, much more suave, better vibration power, better grip. It’s like the Silver Bullet’s suave older brother who has his own car and comes home from college on the weekends with a different blonde and his laundry. Still needs something else to really get the job done, but it’s a great start, and coupled with a few other goodies – like jacking off with the Share – mmmhoney yes.

Okay, so. The Share double dildo. I reviewed Feeldoe’s version of this dildo recently and wasn’t particularly impressed, but the Share has subtly altered a few things that make a big difference.

The material is much nicer, for one. The Share is silicone, as is the Feeldoe, but the Share is a kind of matte finish which is silky and lovely, where the Feeldoe feels like slick plastic (not so sexy).

I’m pretty particular about how I want to have control of a cock with which I fuck, so controlling a double without a harness was very difficult. The internal part of the Share – the one that goes inside of me – is thicker than on the Feeldoe, and differently shaped such that it stays in much easier. I still have to exercise my kegels a bit, but I can tell that I have a much easier, better grip on it, which – hopefully – will mean that my precision will be better with this one.

Can’t tell you yet, exactly, because I’ve only used it to jack off so far. I probably won’t be busting out the Share with Penny – it’s too long, too thin. And honestly, I don’t know any girls who prefer to get fucked long rather than in girth; it’s that feeling of being stretched open that, in my experience, female-bodied folks want. If a cock is too long, it starts hitting against the cervix, which actually can be painful.

Long & thin is really great for anal play, though … hmm, ideas.

I’ve got a few more things coming from Babeland soon, I hope, which I’m excited to keep exploring. They are very queer- and gender-friendly, many of my friends have worked there in the past, their staff is really super smart and knowledgeable. They’ve gone through some changes in recent years, but they still have tons of great books, resources, and a sex-positive environment to explore sexuality, sex toys, gender, play, sensation. And yes, I know they’re sending me toys and all, but I’ve always adored them – when I moved to Seattle ten years ago their store was one of the first things I sought out. I credit them with much of my adult sexual awakening, and love the work they’re doing.