Ravens Gaze

The Paperclip

I sit in the corner of the classroom, yards away from three friends: Vanessa, Mona and Amanda. Vanessa is especially pretty as she daydreams while Mona and Amanda study for the next day's test.

Twisting a paperclip, I accidentally flick it under Vanessa's desk. She sees it and senses my eyes on her legs.

She notices my melancholy face and, bending to pick up the paperclip, plays up her ample caramel-colored cleavage.

Class ends and Mona winks at me as she sees me staring at her ass as she leaves as I always do, Amanda leaving with her but Vanessa taking her sweet time: and when I say sweet, I mean it: the time she takes adopts her skin's sweet caramel appeal.

Vanessa rests her bare feet on the chair Mona's ass had sat in and uses the mangled paperclip to scratch her inner thighs. She slips her feet back into her flip-flops and tosses me the paperclip, winking.

I can feel my face redden as Vanessa smiles at me and leaves. Other than the disinterested teacher playing spider solitaire on his computer I am alone in the stuffy classroom.

I smell what I imagine is Vanessa's perfume in the air as I leave; a gentle smell, not at all like Mona's sharper, sporty scent.

Walking home, I lick the tip of the twisted paperclip, imagining I taste Vanessa's thighs on the metal, though all I taste is metal. I lick it again and again and eventually put it in my mouth and suck the whole thing all the way home with an erection.

The Dance She Began

Mona Gutierrez is a cloth of mocking thorns I wrap around myself when I want to weep through a weak-kneed ejaculation.

Mona Gutierrez is made of my memories of Mona Gutierrez: thoughts that increase the intensity of my masturbatory fantasies.

Neither of us suspected, that first afternoon, in a P.E. class, that the dance she began by stuffing one of her sweaty socks in my mouth as I gawked at her adorable, shorts-clad ass, would last as long as it did. But the dance we danced endured.

Invented But Relentless

In the bathrooms of the houses of my aunts I became a teen. Teen-hood, you see, doesn't happen overnight. It is a long and complex process that has little to do with the thirteenth birthday. Puberty is an insatiable beast that eats children once they're ripe enough to eat. It took its time with me; savoring the taste of the no-tears shampoo in my hair.

The aromas in these rooms were soft and powdery but aquatic. Linens, shampoos, bath towels in a hamper. Thumbing through the magazines in my aunts' bathrooms, I had a feeling of invented but relentless rejection, as if the actresses and models in the magazines were judging me, mocking me, rolling their eyes at my pimply, four-eyed and unrefined desire.

In Fantasies

Mona Gutierrez makes me her maid. Shorter than me, and I'm not tall, she grows beside me, less intelligent in ways but always certain, as I have almost never been. Certainty, like giggling, is given up early on by boys, left behind in the time of budding when puberty arrives, uninvited, gobbling us up like a longed-for dessert.

"Highness," I sigh, "you are succulent. You strip me bare, to my bare ass, and rebuild me, making me your little maid."

Glitter is in her dark sweat.

A kid I knew, a cousin, sent his face into his soup. I'll send my face, like that, into you, Mona, slurping your juices and the juices men have left in you with gratitude, like broth, leaving space and time behind me.

Your brown and velvety legs are my home away from home; lassos that surround me, pulling taut, bringing me in. I still think of that P.E. locker room, and all the locker rooms, filled with painful pleasure, filled with pleasing pain; and there's a restroom in my mind that's fiery with illicit wickedness.

Mona I miss your soccer games. I miss kissing your sweaty-sock-covered calves after, licking little bits of grass off as your teammates laughed at my debased devotion.

Genesis

I've been to the restaurant a hundred times, and each time I'm reminded of the first: the autumn night my family decided to try something new and we went there. The night my masochistic tendencies became an erotic reality.

That night, I shat in the ladies' room, mistaking it for the men's.

A woman was in the restroom with me: a woman who did nothing to hide how delighted she was by my embarrassment as I walked out of the stall, realizing where I was, trying to leave as fast as I could and being unable since she stood in my way, blocking the door and laughing her ass off at my blushing face and the little bulge beginning in my shorts.

"Wash your hand you disgusting little girl," she said. Without a word I did so, noting the redness of my cheeks in the mirror.

"You're in the right place you pathetic little wimp," the woman said, lifting her knee-length skirt to scratch her hairy pussy through her light-brown-but-darker-than-tan pantyhose, "You're an effeminate little shit and always will be. What the fuck are you looking at, princess?" I was looking at her beautiful black pubic hair and largish labia through the translucent fabric of her pantyhose. I was staring at her mouth-wateringly-delicious-looking garden of earthly delight.

I knelt, my bare knees on wet tile as I looked into her eyes. I didn't know why I was kneeling. Instinct overtook me.

"I'll service you in any way you want," I trembled, begging. She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the stall I had been in before. She faced away from me, making me kneel and holding my head at her ass.

"Clean my ass-crack, you disgusting little short-dick pig," she giggled, and I put my tongue into her, gagging as the sharp smell and taste of shit filled my nostrils and mouth, my tongue exploring her rectum, worried that my mother might walk in at any minute and hear our primal moaning.

My rock-hard cock was fully erect at just under six inches as I feverishly jacked off to this stranger's feminine sex sounds.

"You're an effeminate little shit-licker and a bitch," the woman laughed, "Repeat after me! I'm an effeminate little shit-licking virgin!"

She was assuming I was a virgin, of course, but I was, and this was what made me cum. Even as my semen leaked out of my penis and down the shaft and onto the floor and my fingers, I repeated, "I'm an effeminate little shit-licking virgin!"

"No woman will ever want my drizzling little pee-pee in their pussy."

"No woman," I started to weep, feeling truly pathetic, with the taste of her shit still in my mouth, "will ever want my drizzling little pee-pee in their pussy."

"Now clean up and get the fuck out of here, weakling."