Erotique, Issue 5
Cover by Molly Kiely
Welcome to Erotique, Issue 5!
Boredom, after a while, becomes physically painful. I have watched so much Jeopardy that I am good at it, even at American history and anagrams. There came a point when I turned on the XBox and there were no games I hadn’t won. My life up until now had been a relentless cycle of hockey-school-hockey that had segued smoothly after college into the current pattern of hockey-work-soccer-hockey-workworkWORK. Now, all my time is free.
Hat Trick, by Butch Lee Rivers
The Capitol Club hadn’t changed in ten years, and Derrick Cavenaugh wondered if that was good or bad or inconsequential. It had been quite the progressive bar when it opened—Turkish themed, with pillows on the floor (!) for seating—but now was just another Jagermeister-stop along the Pike-Pine corridor in service of the weekend Millennial wilders from across the lake and Issaquah. He trudged upstairs and squeezed past the throng at the Moroccan-tiled bar to step out onto the open-air balcony with its tiny wrought iron tables. Ten years ago, cigarette smoke might have tickled his nose out there; ten years ago, the sunset view of downtown Seattle would have been unobstructed by construction cranes. Derrick ran a hand through his hair, which had also been thicker the last time he was here. He had no idea why Bernice had chosen this place for her party, but there was nothing to do about it now; he opened a glass French door to the laughing group of youths splayed within, and forced himself to smile.
“Dare!” Bernice was supine against sage-colored silk pillows that set off her chestnut curls and creamy skin to incandescence. “You came!”
Bernice Pegs Her Dare, by Paullette Gaudet
We delight in the pastimes of the night.
But oh, what splendors are committed in light!
“What’s that you’re reading?”
“Must be wonderful stuff.” Remarkable poetry indeed, to make the eyes sparkle so excitedly and the face flush.
Couplet, by Colleen Leah
“Harry? Oi, Harry!”
Harry Thompson rubbed his eyes and raised his head groggily from his desk. The desk was piled with papers, all covered in his own scratchy handwriting: assorted sketches, diagrams, notes, and doodles. He rubbed his eyes again, then peered at his twin, stifling a yawn. “Joolz? Izz’at you?”
I Am Always Touched By Your Presence (Dear), by Rory Ondine
The argument started over a movie, the rerelease of one Gretchen and Steve saw on their first date in college. Gretchen had watched it again on video, and did not want to see it a third time. Steve said he was angry at her lack of sentiment, but Gretchen knew he was really upset that she had not been delighted at his good memory.
The Slap, Paullette Gaudet
I was cumming. My lover was still pounding into me, the thick shaft driving deep into my depths as my stomach clenched, my pussy tightened and I came hard. God, I came so hard with hips slamming against my ass, still red and stinging. Strong fingers dug into my hips, holding me tight and still while I came, making sure I didn’t move, couldn’t escape the almost unbearable pleasure.
Reversals, by Raven Ramsey
The blur of traffic passing her on I-15 matched the blur of events that brought her to this dusty California highway. She had been walking all night and half the day, her thumb poised eastward. Sarah James winced and rubbed her cheek, which was still bruised beneath the blemish cream. It was his favorite place to hit her. Sarah had far different reasons for mastering makeup than most 18-year-old girls. The last 24 hours raced through her mind like a high-speed train with frequent stops. Still feeling the bruises from last week’s beating, Sarah was acutely aware of the danger signals as she arrived home the previous night. Deanna James was face down on the couch. The rubber cord still encircled her mother’s arm like a loose bra strap. Leonard held an empty bottle of Jack Daniels. Thousands of white dots littered the TV screen. Leonard pounded the set with his free hand. He jerked around to face her, bloodshot eyes glaring.
Unfallen Snow, by Anne Namyr
The first time I watched porn with a girl was with Lauren, who was safe because she wasn’t my girlfriend and I wasn’t sleeping with her.
It was a late ‘80s thing, called “Fly Me” on VHS and was a stewardess fantasy that took place around a fictional airline. They had stock footage of airplanes and some dialogue scenes inside what looked like a real airport and there were the prerequisite scenes in “first class” in which the stewardess delivers coffee, tea and blowjobs that looked like it was shot in someone’s garage with some spare airplane seats rigged up. There were also layovers in anonymous hotel rooms. The fashions were ridiculous with bouffant hairdos and the women wearing garters and stockings that you never saw anywhere else except in Victoria’s Secret ads, and ridiculous wooden acting that elicited laughs and derision from Lauren and me rather than the intended horniness as we fast-forwarded through the sex scenes to get to the “plot” while hanging out in Gary’s empty apartment.
On Or Around Lauren, by Roger Leatherwood