Girl Fever Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Introduction

  LOOK AT ME NOW, YOUR HOLINESS!

  ANSWERING THE CALL

  A WET PUSSY

  AN HOUR

  GOOD MORNING

  SHE WRITHES BENEATH ME

  OH CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN

  AT THE HIP

  CLEAN SWEEP

  TASTE OF MY WOMAN

  OFF AND ON

  CLOTHES MAKE THE WOMAN

  YAB-YUM

  LOVE LAS MUERTAS

  SYSTEM

  PROJECT RUNWAY

  I DO

  SHANE

  SIX MINUTES OR IT’S FREE

  IN HOT WATER

  LOVE ON A REAL TRAIN

  THE SECOND TIME AROUND

  ROUTINE

  DEFENSELESS

  COASTING

  FRONT-DOOR SEX

  IGNITION SWITCH

  DRESSING DOWN

  SIGNATURE

  THE AIRPLANE STORY

  BACKSTAGE NERVES

  IN THE BUSH

  WHAT NEXT?

  THE VIRTUES OF BEING FORWARD

  PIERCED

  FINAL EXAM

  STIFF PEAKS

  BIRTHDAY DANCE

  DESPERATE MEASURES

  AN EXPLANATION

  FLOATING IN SPACE

  FREEWAY FALLING

  THE FLIGHT HOME

  PATIENCE

  TRAIN WHORE

  IN THE CLOSET

  BORN TO RIDE

  THE REAL THING

  FEMME’S THE BREAKS

  IN THE SCULPTURE GARDEN

  WHEN LIFE IS INTERESTING

  COWBOY DIRTY

  SAUCY CHEEKS

  LAST MINUTE

  BREATHLESS

  CARAMEL

  CATS AND DOGS

  MINA’S TRAIN RIDE

  SEASON FINALE

  AUTOCORRECT

  LURE

  LITTLE MISS GOODY TWO-SHOES

  SUBMISSION LETTER

  STACKED

  SNOWBOUND

  WRITTEN ON STONE

  HERE AND BACK AGAIN

  I WISH I KNEW YOU

  HEAT LIGHTNING

  ABOUT THE EDITOR

  Copyright Page

  INTRODUCTION

  Sudden sex is what you crave when your need is too great to wait. For this collection, I asked writers for short, hot, intense writing to satisfy this kind of hunger, and they gave me all that and more. These stories are concise yet fully rounded, just right for a mouthful or a handful, and always delivering the Full Monty. Quick to read, best savored in single doses, they pack intriguing characters, stimulating action and even food for thought into small packages bursting with sensuality.

  The authors sweep you along for sex not only in planes, trains and automobiles, but on roller coasters, carnival rides, elevators and ferries as well. If a grassy knoll or traditional bed is handy, that’s fine too. You can find sex in zero-G, underwater, in a canyon, in a closet, even in the kitchen. Shanna Germain’s “Answering the Call” shows us games EMTs play in an ambulance, while Victoria Janssen’s “The Airplane Story” crams us into the metal-walled bondage of an airliner restroom. Sommer Marsden makes the very best use of “An Hour,” Allison Wonderland gets it “Off and On” in under ten minutes, and Tigress Healy offers “Six Minutes or It’s Free.” But there’s more to it than speed, and the sixty-nine pieces in Girl Fever by skilled writers such as Cheyenne Blue, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Delilah Devlin, D. L. King, Anna Watson, Jean Roberta and scores of others offer characters you’d love to fuck, evocative settings and sizzling stories that can captivate and surprise you, as they did me, all the way to seduction.

  Sacchi Green

  Amherst, Massachusetts

  LOOK AT ME NOW, YOUR HOLINESS!

  Cheyenne Blue

  If only the pope could see me now.

  My face is mashed so far into Christie’s pussy that my world consists of curls of hair and bitter salt. I am falling so far into her, entering her body face-first, a parody of rebirth. Juice on my face, glistening lips. I lean into her, bite gently.

  She gasps, returns the favor. My thighs clasp around her head and she pushes a stiffened tongue up into my cunt. The outward spiral sweeps me in and I explode in an indigo wave.

  My lover, my partner, my life, I chant in my head.

  Deviant, sinner, the morally fallen, the pope chants in return.

  Christie and I lie together, sticky thighs entwined in love.

  She reaches for the bedside table, pulls out the purple dildo. “Has the pope issued a statement on sex toys?”

  “Not yet,” I say. “But I’m sure he’ll get around to it eventually.”

  “Want to fall farther from grace with me?”

  In answer, I take the toy and rise up, straddling her legs.

  Look at me now, Your Holiness.

  ANSWERING THE CALL

  Shanna Germain

  The back of the ambulance is no place for fucking.

  It’s small, for one thing. It smells like cleaning fluid, latex gloves and sticky tape. It’s clean, sure, but it’s clean for someone else. Namely the patient-to-be. And illegal? We won’t even go there.

  But Barrie and I can’t help ourselves. Every single time.

  For me, it’s that goddamn uniform she wears, navy blue to match her eyes, the way she’s always buttoned all the way to the very top and you can still see the hollow of her chin, the beat of the pulse at her neck. Her belt too—black leather, wrapping her hips, the way it carries so much. Med scissors, knife, beeper, a single rubber tourniquet. I dream about her taking that belt off, the scissors, the rubber. I dream of her beating me black and blue, angling the scissors along the inside of my thigh, wrapping my wrists with the pale rubber tube. But that’s not the way Barrie does things.

  I let Barrie fuck me because I want her so much. I let her fuck me in the ambulance because every damn time she gets in the back wearing that uniform, it’s like I have no choice.

  I don’t know what her excuse is. I’m just a driver, in my blue slacks and my white button-up. My mouse-brown ponytail. Maybe she just gets bored. You can only sit in a parking lot so long, waiting for a call, before you’re itching for something to do––all that pent-up energy with no place to go.

  Like this morning. We’d spent four hours waiting, half our shift with not a single beep, not a single call across the radio, not even a false alarm over at the old folks’ home. Barrie had her legs on the dashboard, some thick-ass book on her lap. But she wasn’t reading it. She was singing to the radio, some song I didn’t know. Barrie’s older than me, almost a decade, and she likes those old hippie folk songs, the kinds of things my parents used to listen to, way back when.

  I thought were going to go through one whole shift without getting in the back. I thought I could roll back to the station without smelling like sex for once.

  Then the song ended, and Barrie started smiling like she does when she’s got a dangerous idea.

  “You know the best way to get a call?” she asked.

  I was afraid to even guess, especially since I figured I knew the answer. Didn’t matter—she was already taking my hand, slipping through the little doorway between the front of the ambulance and the back, dragging me with her. And who was I to resist, with that round ass leading the way?

  “Down,” she said, giving me a shove onto the stretcher. So wrong on so many levels. And maybe that, and not boredom, was the appeal for her.

  I was already down the stretcher on my back though, and hardly about to argue. All Barrie had to do was start ordering me around and I was wet. Which wasn’t a problem now, but it was starting to be a problem on calls. Barrie would say, “Help me get him on the stretcher,” and I’d instantly be soaking
through my uniform. Even a simple, “Turn right” from her gets me going these days.

  I wanted to touch her, but I knew better. That isn’t the way Barrie does things either. She’s touch, but not be touched. There’s probably something important in that, but when she starts touching me, I can’t think about it too much.

  I wrapped my fists around the straps used for patients, tried to keep myself still. Barrie had one leg on either side of the stretcher.

  “They really…” she said, pulling open my slacks and then tugging them down over my hips, “…need to let drivers wear skirts.”

  “That would be…” I started to say dangerous, and then her fingers slipped under my underwear, touched the already wet space between my thighs, and I forgot the word.

  She has good fingers, sure fingers, the kind of fingers that should only belong to piano players, emergency paramedics and mythical lovers. Into me, out of me, the same rhythm, the same surety I’d seen her sew people up with.

  Sometimes I just look up at her when she’s finger-fucking me, at those blue eyes staring down, at the sly half grin on her face, at the concentration with which she sinks her fingers inside me. But mostly it’s too much, watching her watch me, and so I just close my eyes and feel everything.

  This time, her two fingers searched out my G-spot, thumped up against it, rhythm like music. Her thumb on my clit, twitch-twitch-twitch. Her breath was quick and sweet on my face, her growl in my ear. Her breasts almost touching me, their curves behind the fabric, the nipples that I’ve never seen. She knew just how long to tease me, how long it took until my clit did that aching, throbbing, on-the-very-edge thing it does.

  That’s when she leaned down even farther, driving her fingers into me harder, faster, her thumb hard-circling my clit.

  “Come for me,” Barrie commanded.

  And how could I not obey?

  I went off at the same time the radio did, both of us blaring nonsense into the air. Mine were swearwords and god words and Barrie’s name and a hundred other things that didn’t have any meaning beyond pleasure. The radio’s were Rig 118 and MVA and priority 1 and What’s your ETA?

  Grinning, Barrie pulled her fingers from me, sucked them clean just like she did when we got cream-filled donuts, the same look of quick pleasure on her face.

  “Told you,” she said, laughing, excited, already making her way to the front seat. “Best way to get a call.”

  It took me longer to get back up front. It’s hard to pull your pants up in the back of an ambulance, especially when your legs are wobbly and your insides are still churning. The whole ambulance smelled like sex, like me.

  “Sirens, lights! Let’s roll, baby!” Barrie slapped her hand against the dashboard.

  And me, I respond to her need. Because it’s what I’m built for, because it makes me wet and wanting, because it’s Barrie and hers is the one call I cannot resist.

  A WET PUSSY

  Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Go over there and tell her you want a wet pussy,” Meri whispered in Eva’s ear.

  “What?” Eva screeched, taken aback. She was still getting used to being out in public with a woman, let alone being surrounded by hundreds of women intent on fucking each other by night’s end. It wasn’t so much the lesbian thing that threw her, as the public displays of affection. Before meeting Meri, Eva’d been on the shy side, the kind of girl who hid behind her brown waist-length hair and freckles. Meri had laughed the first time she dangled all that hair around her naked body.

  “A wet pussy. It’s a drink. I want you to go ask for one. It’s good. Trust me.” Meri winked, knowing exactly the effect her words were having on her girlfriend. She was enjoying the process of corrupting Eva, of turning her from a proper sorority girl into a dyke willing to boldly go places her former self didn’t even know existed.

  If Meri had had any doubts about whether Eva was truly responding to her, about whether Eva really was a lesbian waiting to be discovered, about whether her pussy really did get wet, she’d have taken things slower. But Eva was the one who’d whimpered and sobbed and begged when Meri had taken her home that first night. Her voice was so twisted in its desire, Meri hardly had to ask whether she was a virgin. It was clear that Eva had never given sex much thought, probably because guys didn’t do it for her and the idea of being queer had never occurred to her.

  But she’d responded when Meri had made the first move at a campus lecture a month before, sitting next to her, nudging Eva’s bare arm with her leather jacket–covered one. The past four weeks had passed in a blur, and now Meri knew exactly what Eva wanted, even if Eva didn’t quite know it herself. Meri’s nipples hardened as she watched Eva walk slowly, tentatively toward the bartender with the short dreadlocks and easy smile. Eva didn’t need to know until later that Meri had spoken with Sherry earlier, had given her a heads-up that here was a new girl on her arm, and she wanted to show her exactly how they did things in girl world.

  Meri inched close enough so that she could hear their conversation. “I want a wet pussy,” Eva practically whispered. Meri didn’t need to see her to know how red Eva’s face was.

  “What did you say, darlin’?” asked Sherry. “You’ll have to talk a little louder.” There was a hint of impatience in Sherry’s tone.

  “A wet pussy,” Eva said a little louder.

  “A wet pussy?” Sherry shouted back over the bar.

  “Yes. Please,” replied Eva.

  Meri smiled, knowing that she planned to reward Eva for her boldness. She knew that there was a cause-and-effect response going on right now; saying the words “wet pussy” was causing Eva to have exactly that. She’d bet on it. Eva took a nervous glance behind her, then reached into her tight jeans pocket to pay for her drink. Meri hoped the denim was pressing against Eva’s pussy—her wet pussy. Eva handed Sherry a ten, for the six-dollar drink, and told her to keep the change.

  “Thanks, darlin’,” Sherry said, gazing deep into Eva’s eyes and making her blush again. When Sherry had mixed the cold red concoction in a martini glass, she held it aloft for Eva to try. Eva leaned forward and positioned her lips over the chilled rim, then took her first taste, followed quickly by another. When Eva stood back, Sherry placed the drink on the bar, then ran her cool fingers over Eva’s. “Any time,” she said flirtatiously.

  Eva stammered her thanks, then took the drink and moved back toward Meri. “Want a sip?” she asked.

  “Oh, no; my pussy is plenty wet already.” Eva almost dropped the glass, but she kept sipping, getting more and more used to the drink, the bar, the women seemingly on the verge of getting naked all around her. And yes, the wetness that was clamoring between her legs, demanding her full attention. Meri stepped in front of Eva and slid her leg between Eva’s. “What about you? Are you wet yet?”

  Eva felt tears race to her eyes, and she blinked them back. Why was she so sensitive, all over, when it came to Meri? Why did everything Meri said to her make her want to go totally wild? When Meri slipped her hand between Eva’s legs and pressed her fingers against the damp, hot fabric covering Eva’s core, Eva shut her eyes entirely. She wanted to put the drink down but there was nowhere to put it, so she clutched the glass tightly and let Meri’s fingers tease her.

  “How bad do you want me to fuck you?” Meri asked, her breath tickling Eva’s ear, sending shivers down her neck. “Will you let me do it right here, where anyone could see us? How much of me do you think you can take?” The words should’ve sounded foreign, wild, extreme; no one had ever talked to Eva the way Meri did, not even in her dreams—at least, the dreams she’d had before Meri. But Meri made her want all the dirty talk the more experienced girl could dish out and then some. Meri made Eva want so many things she could hardly contain them all in her mind.

  “I want to take all of you,” Eva said, “your entire hand.” She meant more than simply Meri’s fist; she meant all of Meri: mind, body and soul; but that was too much to convey in the middle of a sweaty, loud bar. Besides, Eva had
a feeling Meri could read her mind, from the way she kept her hand in just the right sensitive place and stared probingly into her eyes.

  “I can’t wait, Eva. I want you now,” Meri told her. “Come in the bathroom with me.” For a moment, Eva thought of what her best friend back home would’ve thought. Sex in a bathroom? How tacky! How unsanitary. Eva would’ve thought that once too, but now all her body was telling her was: How soon can we get in there? The ache was overwhelming.

  Soon they were in a stall and four of Meri’s fingers were deep inside Eva. Eva’s teeth were clenched, her body straining, while Meri simply melted into Eva, feeling like she was being given the greatest gift of her lesbian lifetime. For some reason, Eva got to her like no other girl ever had. Instead of telling her that, Meri leaned forward and bit Eva’s lower lip, just enough to feel the corresponding tightening, then opening, below. “Give me your wet pussy, Eva. Give it to me,” she coaxed softly, and Eva did, letting Meri all the way in. Just for a few moments, her fist was there, inside. Those moments were more than enough for them. They both knew there’d be more of them, infinitely more of them.

  They returned to the bar. “Wet pussies all around,” Meri said, and smiled.

  AN HOUR

  Sommer Marsden

  As she was halfway through the bedroom door, the arm reached out and grabbed her. Amy hit the bed, facedown, body shaking.

  “Hey—”

  “Don’t move a muscle, lady,” said the voice.

  “But—”

  “Don’t say a word.”

  Amy tried to shake and tried to cry but all she could do was laugh. Even as the firm hand slid up the inside of her thigh. Even as the stiff fingers plunged into her without knowing if she was ready.

  “Come on, baby, play with me.” It was Joyce’s voice in her ear. She sounded like she was smiling too.

  “Sorry,” Amy gasped. She gasped because that finger pressed her clit and soft, warm lips slid down the back of her neck the way she liked, making her nipples spike—hard and sensitive.