The Big Book of Submission: 69 Kinky Tales
Flying High: Sexy Stories from the Mile High Club
Free sexy deflowering erotic romance short story from my book Only You, which is on sale today for $1.99!
It's been such a busy week I haven't had a chance to post here that my anthology Only You: Erotic Romance for Women (though of course, as always, any reader of any gender can appreciate this book!) is only $1.99 on Kindle (US).
To make up for that, here's most of my story "For the Very First Time" below. I post links to all my sales and writings on Twitter and Facebook and you can also sign up for my newsletter at left or at rachelkramerbussel.com for contests and the latest news. I've updated my website with most of my events (it'll be fully caught up soon), and am gearing up for my September 11th Los Angeles erotica and nonfiction sex writing workshops which are open to anyone, followed by attending and moderating an amazing panel on sharing our sex lives on the page and the stage at CatalystCon, then teaching erotica September 20th at SHE (Sexual Health Expo) in New York and teaching again at Nomia in Portland, Maine on October 21st from 7:30 pm-9 pm - the Maine workshop is limited to 20 people and you can sign up by calling the store at 207-773-4774. Plus stay tuned for a Washington, DC erotica workshop!
Table of Contents
Introduction: Very Happy Endings
Driven Angela Caperton
Overcome Alyssa Turner
Forgotten Bodies Giselle Renarde
In the Doghouse Hanna Martine
Autumn Rain Michael A. Gonzales
The Love We Make Kristina Wright
In-Flight Entertainment Catherine Paulssen
Republicans Don’t Like Kate Dominic
Mom’s Night Out Lolita Lopez
Slow Fire Donna George Storey
The Nude, Stripped Naked Jeremy Edwards
Edge Skylar Kade
Unfolding K D Grace
Married Abigail Grey
Cook’s Treat Elizabeth Coldwell
Hollywood Romance Veronica Wilde
Matters of the Heart Tenille Brown
September Song Anna Watson
Saved Cassandra Carr
For the Very First Time Rachel Kramer Bussel
From "For the Very First Time" by Rachel Kramer BusselRead the full story plus all the others in Only You, just $1.99 on Kindle today!
Dean and I are snuggled on my couch, half watching TV, half feeling each other up. We’ve been dating for two months, a long time for me to go without sex, but I’m comfortable with the way the night is going. We’ve already decided that he’ll sleep over and spend the weekend. He’s done it before, and I’ve stayed at his place, but this night feels more momentous. I know something is going to change, and I feel that charge of something new and thrilling, of anticipation, in the air.
We watch some cheesy sitcom, and then I move to sit on his lap. I don’t usually do that with guys, because I’m six feet tall, and even when they’re tall (Dean’s just two inches shorter than me), it quickly becomes clear I’m not some petite little thing who can fit cozily on their laps. They have to commit to it, to make an effort, to really want it. I’m not offended when guys prefer side-by-side cuddling, but this time it feels right to be sitting on Dean’s lap, feeling his hardness beneath me.
I’m getting so turned on I don’t even mind that it’s not, actually, the most comfortable position. I’m slowly sinking into him, our bodies merging. If I shift a little, his breath catches the back of my neck, making me tingle. Dean doesn’t seem to mind, and his hand lazily plays with the waistband of my new pink mesh panties through the silky fabric of my gray dress. I’m waiting, eager, practically climbing the walls. My desire is like that much of the time: content to lie dormant, until it makes itself known and won’t take no for an answer. Of course I’ve used my assortment of sex toys during the time we’ve been dating, and the four months before that when I was lazily single, not eager to seek out someone new, content to wait and see. But six months is a long time, and I’m horny and oh-so-ready. I’ve been trying to be the girl here, the one who waits to get seduced, the one who lets the man feel manly by making the first move, even though that’s not normally my style. I don’t know if I really believe in all that stuff, but it’s sort of like religion, to me; if there’s a chance that believing is worth it, I’m in, and I’ve found that even the most enlightened men can easily fall prey to being the macho man, the seducer. I’m always willing to try something new, and from the times I’ve felt Dean’s cock through his pants, it’s one worth waiting for, though by now I’ve waited long enough.
We met just when I’d been ready to consider looking up an ex for a roll in the hay. I saw Dean and simply couldn’t look away. He was so stunning that I couldn’t help but go over to him after hearing him sing at my local café, where we’re sometimes treated to the likes of a Shawn Colvin or John Prine, but more often get the up-and-comers. I don’t generally bother with younger men, but Dean’s voice and delivery said to me “old soul.” Too many guys in their twenties and even thirties are so cocky they think every woman, even those totally out of their league, was put on earth just to blow them. That type will hit on me, but shrink away when I demand a mere modicum of commitment.
But Dean was different. He was handsome, but not so perfect that he was arrogant, at least from what I could tell as I watched him strumming his guitar. So many performers have that ego thing down pat, but he had the shy, earnest look of a busker, one who was more comfortable in the bowels of a subway station than on a stage surrounded by drinks and laughter and flirting. It was almost like he was singing these soulful, tender, beautiful songs to himself, with his eyes closed, his body thrown into each song. He launched into a Richard Thompson cover, “Beeswing.” He didn’t try to do the accent, but he sang with all his heart. When he got to the end, the line, “Well I wouldn’t want her any other way,” I could tell he was thinking of his own version of that song’s eccentric heroine, and I found that I wasn’t jealous of his girl who got away, but curious. I wanted him to rest his head in my lap while I sat on the floor next to him and he told me all about her, and then I could kiss him and make it better. He was sitting back in his chair, legs clad in worn dark blue jeans spread slightly, foot tapping along, eyes intermittently lost in memory, in song, and there, present, with us. He was beautiful, and the crowd could tell he was someone to be silent for. He made me want to curl up next to him, on the ground, if need be, and I smiled in a way I don’t seem to do all that often in New York City.
I’d tried to play it cool after the show, but I’d still stammered my way through greeting him. Pushing forty, you’d think I’d have a clue how to talk to a man—or in this case, man-boy—but that ability had forsaken me. Thankfully, Dean agreed to dinner the next night, telling me he loved greasy spoons. I couldn’t remember the last time a guy had told a truth like that, rather than trying to impress me with the latest trendy boîte. Over burgers dripping with grease and fries with even more, we talked and talked and talked. The place is open twenty-four hours so they didn’t care that we stayed from nine ’til three in the morning, as long as we kept ordering coffee. He reached for the bill and I noted the twenty-dollar tip he left, impressed. He offered me a ride home, and even though I usually walk or take the subway, I agreed, wanting to spend more time with him, as much as I could get. I’d expected him to pin me to his car, even though our conversation was more cerebral than flirty. We’d made out, for another hour, and his hands had gone up my shirt but he hadn’t tried to get me to come home with him or to come home with me, just dropped me off like a gentleman. I soon discovered that’s exactly what he was—a gentle man—and I’d been trying to make him a little less gentle as the weeks turned into months.
I knew he was busy with shows most nights and trying to woo record label A&R types the rest of the time, so I didn’t push him. This was a weekend we’d set aside for ourselves, and instead of the hassle of going away, we’d settled on a staycation right at my apartment. Phones and computers off, our focus would be totally on each other, which I’d taken—or at least, hoped—to mean lots of blazing-hot sex. I’d gone to get waxed and while I usually leave a landing strip of hair in front, this time I told my waxer to take it all off. “Someone special going to see?” she asked.
Sometimes I get a little freaked out by too much conversation in the salon, but this time I was happy to wax on, if you will, about my new man. He was so sweet and sexy all in one, and I even gave her a postcard touting his next gig.
So as I’m sitting on his lap, I’m waiting for him to make his move, and then finally I just go for it. “Dean,” I say, sitting up, looking him directly in the eye, blocking his view of the TV. “I want you. By which I mean, I want your cock. In my mouth, in my pussy, everywhere. I thought you’d have figured that out by now. I dream about you. I touch myself and think about you. Don’t you want me?” I ask, noting a creeping edge of whiny neediness entering my voice.
“Oh, my god, of course I do. I can’t believe you’d think otherwise.” He pauses, and I settle into his lap again. He tries to look away, but I steer his gaze directly toward me. “Okay, I’m just gonna come right out and say this and if you don’t want to see me after this I totally understand, but I hope you will. I’ve never done this before. I’m a virgin. And I’m worried that someone like you will be disappointed.”
Whoa. I turn to look at him, but now his eyes are closed. I stroke his cheek tenderly, suddenly protective of him—not his virginity, which I very much plan to take, but his heart. I’d known right away this was “serious,” but not until this moment exactly how serious. “Look at me. Open your eyes.”
He does, his body trembling. “Dean, I want you—all of you. It’s okay. I’m not expecting you to be like anyone but yourself. Do you understand that?”
He nods, but his eyes seem cloudy still, like he doesn’t really get it. “Look, baby…do I want to sleep with you? I can’t lie—yes, yes I do. Am I going to push you to do it sooner than you’d want to? Of course not. I want you, not some random cock. I want the whole package.” I don’t say that I’d had plenty of other more experienced packages, and here I was, forty and single, and so over the guys who were cocky enough to think they owned the world, or at least, New York City.
He stares at me for a long time, and finally a small smile appears on his face. “The whole thing? Are you sure you can handle it?” His laugh is soft, but definitely a laugh, as he takes my hand and presses it tight against his hardness. Then neither of us speaks, and the enormity of what we are about to do washes over me. If I weren’t sure I wanted him—him, all of him, everything from his curls that seemed to melt through my fingers to the omnipresent stubble on his chin to the elaborate snake tattooed along his arm, every strum of his guitar and every brooding, beautiful look—I wouldn’t keep touching him. There’d been times in my life when I would have “fucked like a man,” as they say, taken what I could get, what I wanted, and then moved on. And while I desperately want him at that moment, his cock is just a part of what I want. I do want everything—I’m greedy like that—but I don’t want it by any means necessary. I wouldn’t want to use him for sex and move on, leaving him, shattered, to write a song or even an album about the bitch who broke his heart. I’m suddenly more hungry than horny, hungry for the look he is giving me, the heat that is penetrating through our clothes. If you can be hungry for a hint of forever, that’s what I am.
But we are here, now, and I can’t know what will happen, if I will break his heart or he mine. The best laid plans and all that, but still, I can’t worry about every possible eventuality. You can live in fear forever and never walk outside your door, never take even a baby step into the unknown. If he’s willing to take that first step with me, I’m ready, too. I know that when I stand and pull him up and toward my bedroom, I’m not doing so as some wise-woman courtesan intent on teaching a new young thing tricks he’ll use on other women. I’m not trying to teach him anything, but simply to share myself with and indulge and love him, for as long as we are able to.
Labels: Cleis Press, ebook, ebooks, erotic romance, erotic writing workshop, Kindle, older woman, Only You, Rachel Kramer Bussel, sale, short stories, short story, virgin, virginity
posted by Rachel @ Sunday, August 30, 2015
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