by
Jessica Holter
I fucked a man for twelve years, and the only stick that could make me cum ... came with AA batteries in a brown paper bag from a little pink boutique that squatted on a dismal Oakland street. I hid the clear plastic drill, complete with a rotating head and spinning pearls from my man, beneath the underwear in a drawer beside the bed we shared. My "Friend", as I liked to call the thing would comfort me in the morning after I had suffered through a long night of cumlessness, feeling my lips swell with pain and want between my legs.My man never seemed to notice, or care for that matter if I had experienced a pleasure similar to his. He seemed to believe, in his arrogance, that I derived some euphoric ecstasy from tasting the bitter nut of him spill over my lips onto my tongue. He believed it. So I believed it. I thought my pleasure was in seeing him pleased. I knew no balance.That is, until Jewel.Jewel was not the type of girl any man was attracted to beyond a romp between sheets, if she was ever lucky enough to be offered the comfort of his bed. More often than not, she serviced them like luxury cars through detail shops in back seats, hotel bathrooms, elevators, the alley way that stretched behind the exotic dance club in which she teased them. Before services were rendered she was ... well paid. We sat Indian style, facing each other on a mohair rug in the middle of her living room in an Emeryville high-rise as I tried to concentrate on the words rather than on the lightly glossed pouting lips that spoke them. The most horrid of stories laced through the silk of her sultry voice inviting me to lick her wounds clean, soften her hardened heart with a tender female hand. "I only fuck men for money," she said delicately, placing an electrifying hand on my knee that sent shock waves through me. But, she said, she did not consider herself any more of a whore than the wife of a Wall Street banker she boned in the bathroom of an airplane once. Jewel gave me pleasure I had never known before that day. In her embrace I found peace and as her tongue penetrated my essence, tears flowed into my ears muffling my cries of passion and her moans of hunger. Rivers of ecstasy oozed, filling her, parching me. With wet sloppy kisses she moistened my mouth. I smelled my womanhood on her breath, her lips, and on the caramel skin of her face. In that solitary moment I understood the unrelenting thirst for pussy. I wondered longingly, silently, as my mouth and fingers scrambled to her core, if she would taste as luscious on my lips as I had tasted on my own.I do not know where Jewel is today. Maybe married, maybe dead, maybe both. She confessed she would marry a man someday, have babies, cook dinners, die slowly....As for me, give me pussy or give me death.
