All tagged sexy


My husband—he’s a butcher—and he brings home the best meats. Livers, he likes those best. And he watches me slice them into long strips. I cook them up for him and I skin potatoes and other vegetables, put them in a pot and let the juices run together. He doesn’t lick his lips because he’s not an animal, he says. Says animals belong in a pot. He’s a man, he says. Just a man. A man who has an affinity for bloody meats and buckshot.


The smell of the powder they release in a pouf on our faces starts the alchemy, my third favorite scent. While getting our makeup done, Dave and I usually talk about our kids. He was such a kind man and his priorities were clear. His family came first and fucking came second.


We had spring rolls and greasy noodles at a Vietnamese restaurant that night with a friend of mine by the name of Tammy who was always trying to seduce my girl. Tammy had a couple of cool blonde femmes in sundresses and heels with her who spent the evening acting like her groupies. Tammy used to own a gay bar in the French Quarter. Now she owns a crummy gift shop there, close to Canal Street, where it always smells like garbage and Daiquiri vomit. 


She wasn't allowed to have candy, so she kept it hidden in her top dresser drawer. Her mother made her dress in church clothes whenever company would come, and each time Connie would sneak a taste. It became her silent sacrament.

Getting Off

He hadn't even touched me yet, nor I him. Which wouldn't have bothered me had I not now been thinking of porn for the last twenty-nine minutes we had been sitting in his car. When we said our fifteenth goodbye, he slipped past peripheral and came into focus. The way he parted my lips with his, almost made me forget about the blaring saxophone.


Sarah still believed she could make it off the bus without pissing herself. The doors were right there and if she could somehow unclench long enough to propel her body to the front of the bus, maybe she could haul ass off of it in time. On nights like this one, after surviving the hellish shift that she had, Sarah figured karma owed her one. Shit, her whole life was already like one of those Cracker Jack prizes—useless crap getting in the way of what you’re really after.


She climbs in my lap, cups my face, and lowers my head to the floor as we make out. It would be really hot and intense but her hair keeps getting in the way. She sits up for a moment to put her hair in a ponytail, and I feel something hanging on my cheek where she just touched.

Banged by an Alien Again

We didn't have very much, but only because I'd discovered there was very little I needed. For instance: clothes. I liked to walk around the spaceship naked, to watch my alien watching me, his eyes big as plates.

Casual, Flux

Ruxxian analysis shows their sex talk is mostly Class C: hypothetical, with an occasional bent toward flirtation. They are my first assignment after having started at Orcon. I enjoy their conversations and I find Boy 41 moderately attractive, so the observation process has not been unkind to me.


When my wife and I separated, we decided to split the dog half-n-half. Lengthwise, so each of us could enjoy at least half his little face, and have only half as much shit to deal with.

Visitor, Transistor

I’ve worked at the video store for three months, and I know all of the customers already because everyone is a regular. If you aren’t a regular, you don’t come here. You go to Blockbuster and rent Blu-rays or DVDs. Only regulars still rent VHS.

Blue Movie

Did you see that? That was the third nurse to go by. They’re rubbernecking, OK? They’re not used to seeing me with family. I get more visitors than most, but they’re all a certain type, you know. Well, maybe you don’t. You’re a sweet girl, I can tell


We can be teenagers again in 1985. You are a beautiful computer hacker riding her moped and infectious laugh to my house in Arlington, where I am a champion Ms. Pac-Man player with a pocketful of quarters. We will use my Tandy 1000 to dial into the Pentagon because we don’t know the difference between binary fission and love. I’ll accidentally launch a cluster of missiles at the USSR because we don’t fully understand that there is no difference between Inky, Blinky, and thermonuclear war. The FBI will take us into custody and call in the army to destroy everything. We’ll be saved when you persuade the President to let me have one last crack at a kill screen. As everyone watches those bombs spread their hot brand of death across the globe, we’ll make out while everyone remembers to forget we are in the room.

The Irish Girl

The Irish girl with flecks on her cheeks balances on the wooden fence post. Beneath her, an old horse corral. In front of her, a gawking teenage boy. She’s walking a tightrope past him, her arms outstretched, one bare foot in front of the other. She says, You staring at my feet? Because I know you wouldn’t dare look at my ass.

Desert Island Records

An indigo sky held Aquarius, Pegasus, and faintly, Grus amongst the less-discernable, ancient creatures; explosions from eons past that fluttered through a thinning atmosphere over the Pacific. The last rim of daylight was gone and the water that sopped the sand at their feet sparkled black and foam stuck to their toes.