I vacillated a tad on what to post today. As always our subject is so wonderfully open to interpretation. Recently I've taken to co-authoring some dark erotic romance pieces with my sister from a different mister, Sassie Lewis. So I thought about discussing those works, but they're still embryonic (a little TOO embryonic considering the impending submission date on one of 'em!)
I also considered waxing lyrical about the sensual pleasure I find from the dark side of skin tones. While I adore everything from pale white to so-black-it's-almost-blue when it comes to skin colors, for a couple of decades now it's been the caramel-to-coffee range especially which has fascinated me.
And then it occurred to me... I have a short piece, published in the "Gritty" anthology (edited by the amazing and powerful Sommer Marsden and cover art by yours truly!), which combines both parts. A story with darkness at its heart, and with a gorgeously brown-skinned heroine.
Please be aware of two things before reading, though...
a) it's an entirely consensual piece, but is potentially confronting in its physicality; and b) I wrote it in 2010, so it was my best work at that point. I do believe my mad skillz haz improved since then.
By Willsin Rowe
I hadn’t seen Rowena for a couple weeks. I only ever found her when we both needed it. When her need called out to mine.
I’d just wheeled my daughter, Amelia, into her classroom and wiped her mouth clean. I waved goodbye and tried to believe she might one day wave back.
Lost in my reverie, I nearly tripped over Rowena and her son. She sat on the asphalt, her back against her car, her wiry arms locked around Michael’s body. She was singing in her haunting molasses tones while he rode out some kind of fit or tantrum.
I squatted in front of them, tried to get Michael’s attention, maybe break the spell, but he wasn’t seeing anything outside his own head. Rowena smiled wearily at me through the shuddering of her son’s body.
It passed quickly enough, and she took him to class. She nodded at me just before she went inside, and I checked my watch and drove away.
She arrived at her house to find me waiting, leaning against the hood of my car.
“Stu,” she murmured. “You lost?” Her smile showed so white against her skin.
“I was. Now I’m found.”
She brushed past me and I fell into her wake. She closed the front door behind me and I took off my shirt. She simply watched, admiring the freckled white colour of my skin as I adored the earthy brown of hers.
She ran her hand through the light sprinkling of hair on my chest, strutted past me and up to her bedroom. I kicked off my shoes and socks, tore away my jeans and prowled naked up the hall.
When I arrived she, too, was naked. She stood staring at the pictures of Michael on her wall. She had her hand out, touching the frame of her favourite one. In it, he was smiling broadly, helium balloons all over his wheelchair and with his face painted like a lion. He was four in that picture, and he’d never been outside the hospital.
She meticulously straightened the frame, still gazing sadly. I slowly reached out and drew her hand away from the wall.
“He’s a happy boy,” I murmured. As if that balanced the picture.
She turned to me, her eyes sinking straight to my crotch. “He ain’t the only one.” It was like a switch inside our skulls whenever we got together. Quantum shifts in emotion.
I smiled with only my mouth. Stuck my chin out.
“Do your worst.”
She appraised my erect member for a moment, then lashed out, slapping it sideways and turning a big patch of the pink skin red. I hissed, my smile tightened into a grimace, but I stood my ground.
“Is that it? Think about Michael’s father. Where’d he go?”
Her luscious brown lips curled into a cold sneer and she made a two-handed fist, pounded my shoulder and sent me tumbling onto her bed. She jumped on after me and swung her flesh club into my other shoulder before butting her knee up between my thighs, resting it right under my balls.
Her stained hardwood eyes rolled, looking everywhere but into the cold grey of mine, and then she growled. She spat thickly on my straining cock and licked the back of her hand, fingers and all. She straddled my hip, her moist slit kissing the ridge of bone. She ground her clit against the hardness beneath my skin. She pressed down with her wet fist on the belly of my cock, ran her knuckles up and down. She clenched her other hand and started rubbing her face like a cat, squeezing out empty tears and wilfully distorting her handsome features.
I started muttering toxic nothings at her.
“And where are your parents? Why aren’t they helping?”
She ground her teeth and twisted the hair around my nipple. My hip was greasy with her scent and my skin was tingling all over.
“When did they drift away? It was when Michael was born, wasn’t it?”
She curled her fingers around my shaft and squeezed it, right below the head. She brought her other hand down and began to choke it. She spat curses all over my skin, all over the room, all over the world.
“Cunt! Lousy fuckin’ cunt!”
She slid her slit off my hip and slapped her mouth down on my chest, biting at my nipple and still spurting the foulest language she could conjure. She dug her nails into the tender skin of my shaft and drove her knee back up into my crotch, pushing my legs further apart.
Her tongue poked out, jarringly pink against the cocoa of her skin, and she licked down through my hair until she had half my straining cock in her mouth. She pulled on it like it was life and I balled her sheets up in my fists. Still she was cursing but no-one outside her would ever know what she was saying.
She licked down the shaft and took one of my balls in her mouth. She gnawed at it with her lips while she scratched her nails down my thighs, leaving crimson welts. I don’t know whose balls they were for her, maybe her ex’s, maybe her first boyfriend’s, maybe even God’s. It didn’t matter. She was hurting them exactly how she had to.
Her armpit rested over my knee as she worked. Without warning I lifted my leg and rolled her onto her back. She came away from my balls with a slippery sucking sound that almost made me come.
She landed heavily, her breasts quaking, her raisin nipples making me dizzy. I leapt onto her and held her hands down beside her head, my knee right where hers had been. I rubbed it up and down on her slit and she stared hard into me and hissed crazy threats and promises of hell on earth before she spat on my chin.
I squeezed her wrists and wiped my face on her hair, opening my throat to her. She licked from collar bone to jaw and sucked on my larynx, drawing a moan straight out of me and into her.
I released her hands and tried to roll her over. She resisted, snarling at me. I was bigger and stronger but she fought like a puma, with all the anger she’d balled up since the last time we met. I got her onto her side, but then she wrapped her legs around my waist and flexed her magnificent thighs, twisting me until I fell.
I found my face right in her dark gash and I hooked my hands around the meat of her legs. I planted my mouth over her cherry pink slit and drove my tongue inside her. She squeezed fistfuls of my hair and I called up all the rage from within me. Anger for the future our kids will never have, despair for the future they will. I held the frenzy inside me for a moment then bellowed it into the hot cavern of her cunt. She absorbed the sound and the fury and blocked my ears with her thighs.
I drove my mouth into her time and time again, circled my face in her like she was a shower, like she was cleansing me. I butted her with my cheeks and chin, pounded her hooded clit with my forehead, turned her hot pink hole almost red. She berated me, dared me, demanded that I hit harder. I thought I might break my nose against her pelvic bone, or break her fingers as she tweaked herself.
She pulled her knees up, rested her feet on my shoulders, her entire crotch gaping open for me.
I slipped my tongue down to her ass and slicked her hole. I ran my fist over the gushing heat of her pussy. I dug my thumb under her hood and pressed her clit.
She squealed with ecstatic pain and I drove my body up until my shoulders were right under her knees, my cock pressing somewhere into the heat of her. I pushed blindly, not knowing where I’d end up.
I slipped easily inside her and our backs arched, our bellies sucked onto each other. She sank her nails into the meat of my triceps while I pounded hard into her pussy. She urged me on with insults, no longer looking at me, not letting me think she was talking to me at all. When her words faltered she caught my eye.
“Wha’bout your wife? Who took her from you? The quacks? The Universe? Fate? Call y’self a man?”
I grabbed her leg and hauled her over onto her belly. Her ass poked up defiantly and I worked it with my hands and teeth. I ran my tongue over the warm dusk of her skin and down into the midnight of her crevice, soaking my wet muscle in the humid aroma of her.
She arched her back so hard I thought she might snap her spine. Her ass rode up so high there was nothing left to do but dive back in. I screwed my fingers into the swollen flesh of her hips while my cock plunged deeply into her heat. I slapped at the stretched muscle of her ass, turning dusk to sunset. She battered my pelvis with hers, hissing through clenched teeth, still demanding I defile her further. I drove harder and slapped harder and leaned harder until I forced the air from her lungs. At last the swearing stopped. All we had left was grunting.
I fell forward over her tight, toned back and licked sweat from her shoulder. She collapsed under my weight and I rolled sideways. She rolled the other way and then pounced on top of me, sucking my growling cock back up inside herself.
She dug her knees into my ribs and bounced up and down, pounding the air from me. Her gorgeous breasts carved circles from the air and I clapped my hands around them, squashing them together before I coated every inch of them with my tongue.
She pulled them up and out of my grip, started slapping her open palms down on my chest, leaving huge patches of red. She nicked me a few times with her nails and I lied to her about the pain as I drank it in.
She caught the side of my head with a loose fist and then froze for a shaved second. Her body stiffened all over and her face screwed up. Like a hurdler who’s just cleared the final jump, she fell back into rhythm and ground herself into my crotch, squeezing and releasing until we both tumbled over the edge of a climax the size of Victoria Falls. I burst inside her, all the despair I’d clung to evaporating in the heat between us. She swallowed me whole and turned her face toward Heaven, baying out the dregs of her anger. Our hands entwined and we held on, each of us hauling the other back from the abyss.
We slowly came to rest, the back of her head pressed to the side of my throat, her hands, so brutal only seconds before, now laying like butterflies on my chest and shoulder.
Neither of us said a word, nor even grunted. The breath rasped from our lungs through clenched teeth and flared nostrils. My throat was wet with her tears, my face wet with my own.
It always works this way. It’s something I doubt most people could understand. We take turns to hurt and to be hurt. It’s always superficial, and it’s always - always - private. No bruising, no scratches, nothing that will show in public. No explanations or answers needed.
All I ever am to Rowena is strong and hard. Hard enough to beat herself up on. All she ever is to me is soft and wet. Wet enough to drown myself in. When we strike each other we strike the world, the ugly universe that distorted our beautiful children. When we absorb the pain, we’re punishing ourselves for our failings, our impatience, for the guilt we feel for wishing that our babies were − here comes that word, the one we daren’t say aloud − normal.
Other people, other parents, smile blithely and tell us how strong we are. Like raising kids is easy for them. Like we have a choice. If we had chosen this path, maybe I’d agree. Rowena and I both know we’re cowards. That we’d wave our magic wands and take away our kids’ disabilities in a hummingbird’s heartbeat. Because this is our life, until it ends.
Stuck together by sweat, tears and juices, we laid without moving for a time we couldn’t measure. Sooner than either of us could bear to imagine, we would become parents again. Parents of gorgeous kids who’d done nothing wrong and who loved their lives. Who probably didn’t understand why and how they were different. Whose minds may live in the most wonderful world, but whose bodies could barely function in this one.
Rowena lifted her face and gazed down at me. I ran my fingers up into her lustrous hair and smiled, pulled her down to me. We kissed with a passion that had nothing to do with sex. It was a shared need, a complete and unspoken understanding. A bond that we’d never found anywhere else.
We spent as long as we could with our mouths caressing each other, tender now that the wrath had passed. When the time came, we showered, dressed and hugged, and we drove separately back to school and collected our kids.
Rowena waved lightly as she and Michael drove back out of the car park. I tossed a wave back at her. I knew I wouldn’t see her for weeks or even months.
Until our hurt pulled us together again.