The night was just getting started. In the master bedroom a male friend introduced me to his latest girl. She was young, tall, and her skin was a light, creamy, almost golden honey color. Her short hair brought out the beauty of her big brown eyes and full lips. Everything about her matched her sweet name ... Honey. She even sweetly asked me to make sure that she would be okay; this was her first s.e.x party.

I started kissing and undressing her. She kissed back, took my top and bra off for me. I was going to make sure she was better than okay! She asked what I wanted her to do. To her surprise I told her that what I wanted most was to watch her suck off our boy. He smiled, and she gladly got onto her knees and started sucking and spitting on his d.i.c.k. I made my way onto the floor and lay on my back between her legs. My mouth was almost close enough to breathe on her c.l.i.t but my head was far enough up that it allowed me to watch her taking all of him in. I rubbed on her c.l.i.t over her lace panties, mimicking the speed and cadence with which she was sucking him.

When I couldn't resist the urge to taste her anymore, I pulled her panties to the side, parting her p.u.s.s.y lips with my tongue and plunging in until I could feel her p.u.s.s.y envelop my mouth. I was starting to really get into her when I felt someone down by my waist trying to pull my thong down. Yes, this was a s.e.x party but it didn't mean it was a free for all! I slid out from in-between Honey's legs to see who was bold enough to be touching me without consent. I was about to get to cursing when my eyes focused in on Tina's.

I looked behind her and around us. As I sat up she came closer. She straddled my legs, knowing what I was thinking. She whispered, "It is just us girls. Neither of our husbands is in this room tonight. These two here only seem to be using the edge of this very big bed."

It was time to see if my c.u.n.t was right about women. I got back on the bed wearing nothing but a black thong and six-inch red stilettos. Tina went over to the dresser to get her "bag of tricks," which she brought over to the bed. Tina was known for the bag of tricks that she always brought to parties. I knew that the bag usually contained condoms, lube, and a double dong-the rest of the contents would soon be part of my carnal knowledge.

Tina let me take her dress off. She had absolutely nothing underneath but that soft dark chocolate skin, amazing b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and her very smooth, fully waxed, p.u.s.s.y and a.s.s. Tina was great at reading my mind because in the instant I thought about my mouth and her p.u.s.s.y, she was already leaning me back onto a pillow to squat over my face. Her sweet wet box just inches from my face, I put my hands around her waist and brought her closer to me. I sucked on her c.l.i.t as I penetrated her with two of my fingers. She moaned. I used the tip of my tongue to pull the hood of her c.l.i.t back and I sucked harder. She moaned louder. I placed another finger in her as she squirmed a little.

I pulled out my fingers, exchanging them for my tongue. My nose was rubbing her c.l.i.t. Her box smelled and tasted like the most sweet feminine perfume that nature could compose. I wanted to suck every ounce of juice out of her but she had very different plans. Just as I started to get so f.u.c.king hot and wet off her taste and could almost feel myself come from pleasuring her, she stood up in the bed and turned around toward my feet. I thought, "Yes!" I was so ready for her to get into the 69 position on top of me! But she didn't.

Tina reached for the bag of tricks next to my hips and started pulling things out. She sat between the bag and me so I really couldn't see what she was preparing. She grabbed a couple of pillows from the head of the bed. She placed one over whatever she had just been messing with. She then kissed all around my p.u.s.s.y before pulling my thong down in the most fluid move I had ever seen. She spread my legs open, reached for the second pillow, and hinted for me to raise my bottom up so that she could place the pillow underneath me. Tina had her bag of tricks ready and had me just where she wanted.

Her mouth went toward my p.u.s.s.y as her hands reached up towards my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She teased, pinched, and pulled at my hard nipples as her stiff tongue darted in and out of my p.u.s.s.y. The more I enjoyed it the rougher she would be on my nipples. My p.u.s.s.y was sloppy wet. I wanted more. I wanted her to have her way with me. I wanted whatever she had prepared for me underneath that pillow. Tina wasn't ready to give me that yet. She slid her hands down my inner thighs, tickling them with her long nails.

While she was sucking my c.l.i.t, one of her fingers was f.u.c.king my p.u.s.s.y. Two fingers. Three. She removed them all, lubed them up, cuffed them close to her pinky, and she pushed all four into me. I let out a hushed scream. She laughed but continued as I kept trying to back away. She pulled out her fingers, and kissed then licked my p.u.s.s.y very gently. She was just making a show of playing nice for just a moment. She placed herself next to me in the bed, and pulled the hair off my face before kissing me.

Kissing her was unlike kissing anyone else before. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were touching up against mine, driving me wild with even more desire for her. I didn't know what I was supposed to really do next, so I just continued to kiss her as her hand stroked my c.l.i.t. She asked if I wanted to continue. I said yes. She asked if I was open to trying whatever she had in mind. I told her that I was all hers. She smiled, winked, and went in for another kiss. We kissed for what seemed like forever. Her mouth on mine, her tongue playing with mine, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s on mine, our thighs and p.u.s.s.ies now rubbing ... all of it was making me melt into that bed.

"Remember, Baby Girl, you just agreed to anything I have in mind!" Her words scared me but filled me with even more desire for Tina. Where was this going? I looked to my left, I saw Honey on all fours getting f.u.c.ked by some Latino guy that obviously spent a lot more time working on his chest and arms than his abs. I saw our boy still sitting on the edge of the bed but now he had a blond riding him. The blond was moaning and yelling over to the guy with Honey asking if he was enjoying her p.u.s.s.y. I looked around the bed and saw several half-naked people watching, some masturbating. I was still rather new to this world so all the spectators started to make me feel uncomfortable.

I was mentally counting the number of single dudes in the room masturbating when I heard a grunt. Tina fussed at someone, and then Honey whispered. Tina was yelling at some guy that wanted to join in. Honey came over to me and started kissing my face. Tina did not like intrusive single males trying to join in during parties without consent.

This night though, Tina was too focused to let some dude ruin her good time. She was about to show him who was in charge. She pulled out the double dong from underneath the pillow and said to him, "Unless you want to share some of this with her then I advise you to back up!"

Tina reached into her bag, pulling out two condoms. She put condoms on both ends of the dong then gently commanded, "Baby Girl, will you get in position for me? Honey, why don't you come here to me."

I bent over, arched my a.s.s up, and waited. Tina started fingering me to see if I was ready to play her game. She smiled, "Oh, you want this, don't you?" I did.

Honey's mouth was full of Tina's t.i.tty as Tina started to tease me with the dong. She rubbed it against my c.l.i.t. I could feel the texture and lubrication of the condom on the dong. She went on to part my p.u.s.s.y lips with the dong, rubbing the tip of it up and down my v.a.g.i.n.al opening but always went back to rub my c.l.i.t. She put just the head in then pulled out. She did it again. Then she put it in fast, hard and deep. I could feel the bottom rim of the condom and I wondered how much of that dong was in me or how much had the condom rolled up? I was really scared about all of this!

She worked that dong in me slowly but firmly for a few minutes as Honey played with her p.u.s.s.y. I was enjoying what Tina was doing to me but I enjoyed what Honey and her were doing just as much. They started to kiss. Tina's hand slowed down as she continued to penetrate me with the toy. She pushed it harder and deeper when Honey bit her lip. She told Honey to get into position, too. Honey got on all fours directly opposite of me. Slowly she backed into the other end of the dong as Tina held it firmly for both of us.

Tina held it into place and encouraged us to enjoy ourselves. Honey and I started to let loose on the dong. I felt Tina let go of it. Honey was moaning and really getting into backing into the dong. I was nervous but her moans were forcing me into action. She thrust back. I thrust back. We kept going at it until our b.u.t.ts were touching. Tina kept encouraging us to keep on, then started rubbing my c.l.i.t. Honey moaned louder and said Tina's name. I thought how yummy, Tina was rubbing Honey's c.l.i.t, too. I let go of the anxiety I was holding on to. I worked the dong faster. I worked it deeper into me. I worked and Honey worked until not only were our b.u.t.ts touching but now our p.u.s.s.ies were rubbing, too.

The feeling of the condom on the dong made it seem like a man was in me. The feeling of Honey's wetness mixing with mine drove me to the edge. I started to moan. Tina went back into her bag of tricks and pulled out some finger cots. She slipped one on each of her index fingers. She got really close to us girls. She started to rub my perineum. I a.s.sumed that everything Tina was doing to me, Honey was getting, too. That thought was so intense that I let out a moan and a tiny gush of fluid from my p.u.s.s.y. Tina slowly rubbed my a.n.u.s with her finger. She was just tickling it all around. Gently. Slowly.

She looked at me, then looked at Honey. I felt cold lube on my a.s.s right before Tina penetrated it with her protected finger. She rubbed my p.u.s.s.y through my a.s.s. She was twirling her finger in there as Honey and I f.u.c.ked ourselves and one another faster and harder. Tina was finger- f.u.c.king our a.s.ses. We were about to reach climax when Tina pulled her fingers out. Honey let out a sigh. I asked Tina to not stop as I tried my best to see how much more I could rub my p.u.s.s.y against Honey's wetness as that dong jammed deeper into me.

Tina wanted to remain in charge of the entire situation. She wasn't going to let me come until she was ready. Tina rubbed my booty, gesturing for me to pull forward. She took control of the dong again and pulled it out of me. Honey gave her a sweet longing look, but Tina pulled the dong out of her, too. They kissed for a minute then Honey walked off with our friend.

I sat up in the bed and saw the crowd we had attracted. A pair of couples were on the bed near us, naked, masturbating one another as they waited for the show to continue. The scene around us scared me, but all my c.u.n.t would let me think about was coming. I focused on Tina, who was not phased by anything that was happening around us. She removed the cots from her fingers. She pulled out a wipe, cleaned her hands quickly, then went right back into her bag of tricks.

I knew it was time to just give in to her, so I got into a supine position on the bed. She got on top of me. She kissed and kissed me. She pulled out chocolate body paint and a brush. She dipped her brush into the chocolate, and my body became her canvas. She painted me with chocolate from breast to breast, then down my belly. She licked up all the chocolate that was on my outer l.a.b.i.a. Tina kissed all around my lips without even getting close to any of the chocolate. She was missing it on purpose. She crawled back up towards me. She kissed and kissed me.

In those moments of losing myself in her kisses, I realized that I was indeed bis.e.xual and not just curious. I had forgotten that Tina was a woman. I had forgotten I was woman. I had forgotten that we were in a room full of people watching, masturbating, f.u.c.king, and lurking. I had forgotten everything. I was totally into the act, into the pleasure, into the pa.s.sion that we created together. I did not want to stop enjoying Tina and I especially wanted to please Tina. The fact that we were two women enjoying s.e.x with one another was lost on me as I kissed her back and melted into her feminine beauty.

Tina smiled. I smiled back. She went into her bag of tricks one last time. Tina pulled out a vibrator, placed a condom on it and penetrated me with it. She worked the vibe in and out as she tenderly sucked on my c.l.i.t. The vibrator was set on low. In and out. Barely in. All the way in. She used it to rub all the walls of my p.u.s.s.y. She then turned the vibrator on high. She penetrated me faster and harder. It vibrated as she penetrated me with it. My legs started to shake and go weak as she sucked harder on my c.l.i.t. The vibrator in me at full speed, her making sure it was in as deep as it could be and her mouth loving my c.l.i.t, I felt a rush run from my b.r.e.a.s.t.s to my c.u.n.t. My toes curled. Tina pulled the vibrator out.

She put her face deep into my p.u.s.s.y. Penetrating me with her tongue over and over as I came on her face. Her tongue penetrating me. My p.u.s.s.y lips around her mouth. It seemed like she wanted to crawl up into me, like she wanted my juices to drip into her pores. I let out a tremendous moan, the dam broke, my c.u.n.t gushed out warm wetness. My p.u.s.s.y and body convulsed. I only came like that when I was fully able to be myself s.e.xually.

Tina licked up the juices out of my c.u.n.t as I squirmed. She licked up all the wetness around my p.u.s.s.y. She sat up. I sat up. We pa.s.sionately kissed one last time before she walked out. My desire for women had left me a pleased victim of Tina's bag of tricks!

"Fundamentally, I started writing to save my life. Yes, my own life first. I see the same impulse in my students-the queer, the mixed blood, the violated-turning to the written page with a relentless pa.s.sion, a drive to avenge their own silence, invisibility and erasure as living, innately expressive human beings."

- Cherrie Moraga Avery Ca.s.sell Bio Avery Ca.s.sell has been creating written and visual art about s.e.x for over 30 years. He is currently working on a memoir, an ill.u.s.trated children's book, and an erotic novella.

Min-Interview How did you start writing about s.e.x? How does it differ from non-erotic writing? I started writing about s.e.x to amuse myself. Most of my writing includes s.e.xuality or gender. My memoir includes a lot of my s.e.xual history, and my children's picture book's focus is on being differently gendered. I tend to write lushly, so even my non-erotic writing contains much in the way of sensuous details.

Do you write in multiple genres and, if so, why? I am working on poetry, erotica, memoir, comics, and children's picture books. Each medium has a specific set of tools that propels the narrative, so I try to pick the best tool to suit the job. Besides, variety is fun.

Do you write under your own name? Why or why not? Do you have any concerns about publishing erotic work? I write under my own name and have done so since my 20s. I've been out for decades as an artist who works with uncomfortable subjects and s.e.xuality. It has placed limitations upon me, but it keeps me honest.

What's the inside scoop on your story? I really did date my mother's ex, a composer of Turkish avant-garde music. I have a soft spot for both trains and tough butch d.y.k.es, and secretly want to have a liaison on the Orient Express with a dark stranger. Call me if you want to take a train trip!

The Train Trip Avery Ca.s.sell I ended up traveling from Ohio to New York City with my mother's ex- boyfriend. We called him the Turk; he was from Istanbul and composed discordant, meaningful, modern music. She had dumped him for writing bad poetry and leaving it under the windshield wiper of her VW in the Indiana State University student parking lot, and he had driven to my house in Ohio in an effort to understand my mom's motivations. I couldn't tell him a lot, but did let him know that he wasn't alone and that she had dumped plenty of men. I don't know if that rea.s.sured him of his virility, but he decided that he wanted to be my boyfriend instead. He took to lying on my living room floor, listening to the s.e.x Pistols, and keeping me in cheap wine. I was alright with this, and when he suggested that we take a train trip to New York City, I agreed. He bought tickets, I turned a trick for spending money, copped a handful of Talwin in case I got bored, and we met at the downtown Amtrak station.

Let me be totally clear: I was not nice. I was 24, belligerent, and beautiful in a kind of f.a.ggy punk way. I had dropped out of art school and was working in a p.o.r.nographic bookstore. I spent my days handing out quarters and hooking businessmen up with each other during their lunch hour, drinking take-out white Russians from a styrofoam cup, sealing dirty magazines, and reading Crime and Punishment. I liked to slip on a Dolly Parton wig and pretend I was a man saving up my pennies to get a s.e.x change. It got me an amazing number of drinks in the local gay dive. I would hint demurely that I couldn't wait to get that big ole thing chopped off, my new friend's eyes would get enormous, and another drink would slide over the bar's battered wooden counter. Other times I was a skinny nelly f.a.g with my short red hair slicked to one side and in a suit and vintage tie.

The Turk and I left on a chilly, rainy Wednesday. I had not been on a train in years and was excited. I was dressed jauntily for adventure: a 1940's olive double-breasted men's suit, a white Arrow shirt, wide silk tie, and black old lady shoes. I harbored secret fantasies involving the Orient Express, mysterious pa.s.sengers, and afternoon tea, but was under no illusions about the Turk. I expected tedious monologues about the evils of capitalism, and the ability of modern music to overthrow the dominant political paradigm, but was willing to shove drugs down my throat if he became unbearable.

We settled into our seats. They were covered in maroon tweed, and I happily sat next to the window so that I could watch the scenery. I have always loved looking out of windows when traveling, watching phone poles, trees, and towns pa.s.s by. I liked being a voyeur, especially when the object of my intent could not see me looking.

The Turk begin to talk about his latest composition; a lengthy thematic piece about the suffering of men due to their inability to experience the spiritually transformative ritual of childbirth, and the subsequent wound formed because of that lack of power of creation in their lives. He finished the explanation of his piece by smashing two hardboiled eggs together in a grand gesture involving flying egg debris. I had finally had enough. I narrowed my eyes in contempt while smiling; not the easiest facial maneuver to pull off in the best of circ.u.mstances, and made more difficult by the clashing of the of the Talwin and coffee in my system. I was p.i.s.sed off that we were only in Pennsylvania, I'd already needed to take drugs, and that the Turk seemed to have endless vocal energy. I wondered if I could get away with slipping some Talwin in his beverage just to knock him out, but thought better of it. Knowing my luck, it would just make him barf and talk more slowly, and then I'd be stuck with a vomitous, smelly, and even more ponderous Turk.

I stood up, announced that I needed to go to the restroom, and walked down the narrow train aisle to the end of the car. The train swayed gently, making me conscious of my hips. Standing opposite the restroom door was a woman. She leaned nonchalantly against the wall, smoking a cigar, her black boots spread just far enough apart to make me aware of the line of her thighs as they met at her crotch. She was wearing a worn black leather jacket, tight black jeans, and a white tee-shirt; a butch Marlon Brando, one of my favorite j.e.r.k.-.o.f.f. types. Her salt and pepper hair was cut close, and she had sensuous curly lips, a square jaw line, and blue eyes. She looked directly at my mouth, and then her gaze traveled down from my neck over my chest, hips, and down my legs. She then looked up unswervingly into my eyes, winked, and vigorously ground out her cigar with her boot heel. Her eyes sparkled with electricity. I gasped. She leaned into the wall, hitching her hip up into a swagger, and then pushed forward to where I stood, one of my hands on the restroom door. We stared at one another. She was incredibly hot, and I'd never f.u.c.ked in a train restroom. I smiled, bit my lip in antic.i.p.ation, opened the restroom door, and nodded at her to follow me. We walked into the restroom and locked the door with the metal slide-latch with a smooth click.

I turned to her to make one of my typical somewhat snarky come-ons, but she was on to me. She quickly shoved me over to the sink, keeping her leather clad hands on me until my a.s.s was resting against the faux pink marble. The sink was stained and there was a faint odor of cheap pine disinfectant in the air. The room was small and felt kind of hollow, like a cave. It would probably be a great place to practice yodeling, if that was what you needed to do during a long train trip with a boring Turk. It was beginning to look like a great place to f.u.c.k, too. I was finding it hard to breathe. I had come to think of this woman as "Marlon," and Marlon had me firmly by the upper arms, with her knee jammed between mine, spreading my thighs apart. She loosened her grip with one hand, unknotted my tie and started to unb.u.t.ton my shirt. I was getting wet and squirmy, but every time I wiggled, the hard edge of the sink reminded me of my precarious perch. She gave a little whistle when she saw the dog tag engraved with "Sir" hanging on a chain between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She growled and nipped at my shoulder, pulling my Boy Scout belt out of my pant's belt loops in one long swing. I love the sound of a belt being quickly removed, and the whoosh of the belt made my knees buckle just a little. Reaching around, Marlon tied my wrists together behind my back in an impromptu knot, the bra.s.s buckle dangling against the sink counter.

She looked at me, smiled wolfishly, leaned forward and kissed me once, pulling my lower lip out with her teeth. I leaned into her helplessly, unable to grab her with anything other than my legs and mouth. She yanked at my belt, which dug into my forearms each time I tried to get closer. I wanted to take off her tee-shirt so I could see her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and contemplated trying to rip the shirt off with my teeth. It looked easy enough to do in the movies, but every time I tried to grab at her shirt with my teeth she growled softly and slapped me. The slaps felt like some kind of tropical flower blossoming under my skin; a quick retort and then spreading heat. It was becoming way too easy to forget my intentions to remove her clothing. The cold faux marble was heating up against my a.s.s. I wanted to open up my a.s.s cheeks and rub my a.s.shole against the counter. I tried to move my wet c.u.n.t closer to something, anything. Every spot in my body, every bit of skin, felt so tender and needy. I felt like a cat in heat, but couldn't get any relief. She had my arms tied back, and although she had my legs spread, she was being very careful not to let my c.u.n.t touch anything. She started growling and biting my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. My legs were shaking in jerky movements by now, but Marlon was determined to prevent me from getting the stimulation that I desperately wanted. Each breath I expelled became a question, and that question was, "When will you f.u.c.k me? When will you fill me?" She pulled abruptly at the belt, causing the bra.s.s buckle to clang noisily against the counter top, and causing me to moan in antic.i.p.ation. The sounds bounced around the small room.

Unexpectedly, she fell into me and wrapped both arms around me, warming my back and sides. I could smell her armpits and their s.e.xy odor, so close to the fragrance of an aroused c.u.n.t that all I wanted was to wrap my legs around her waist and pull her inside of me. Suddenly we started kissing. Our lips matched exactly, and we threw ourselves into the kiss with our entire bodies. We kissed using our lips, our tongues, and our breath. I could feel the sharp bristles of her faint moustache, and rubbed it against my lip, letting the poky hairs send electric waves of desire to my c.u.n.t. I must have groaned especially loudly, because the next thing I knew she had her leather gloved hand cupped over my still-pantied c.u.n.t. I groaned, "Please." She pressed little harder, and smiled devilishly. She was pushing full on against me, but it was impossible for me to move any closer or control her movements. I was extremely frustrated. And I will let you know right now that just because I wear a tag that says "Sir" does not mean that I don't get what I want, and usually when I want it! OK, sure, she was exceptionally hot, but there are limits, and I was reaching mine. I sighed and wiggled more, trying to tempt her into touching my wet c.u.n.t.

Just then, Marlon reached over and pulled my panties to one side. I saw a flash of metal. She had materialized a little pocket knife out of nowhere, and was slicing through the crotch of my underwear. I was having a difficult time deciding whether to rock my hips up towards the blade, or stay as still as possible to avoid any unintended damage to my bits. The choice made me whimper and twitch, but she cut my panties open quickly, leaving the knife to fall to the tiled floor. As the knife fell, Marlon's fingers parted my l.a.b.i.a and she plunged one finger into my dripping c.u.n.t. Alternatively slapping my face and twisting my nipples, she added a second finger. I was trying to f.u.c.k her back, grunting as I thrust my hips up and grabbing her fingers with my c.u.n.t. I wanted her inside, as deeply as she could go. I could feel her adding more fingers, and I bucked up against her hand, begging her to f.u.c.k me. She was still growling, and my dog tag dangled between us. By now, she was slapping my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, while twisting her hand inside of me. Each slap made me gasp as I opened myself to her. I was opening my chest, my c.u.n.t, my mouth, my voice. All I wanted in life, in this moment, was this glorious f.u.c.k in this dingy rolling train bathroom; my c.u.n.t surrounding her hand, she f.u.c.king me and me f.u.c.king her. I thought about growly bears and Kathy Acker and the song she sang about the blood of his rose. I f.u.c.ked Marlon's hand as if we were on our way to another planet, and we were bears or dogs or some animal, something dangerous and inflamed. Her hand f.u.c.ked me, and I felt my belly roll, spasms of f.u.c.k energy pa.s.sing up through me as I roared and came. My c.u.n.t tightened with a gush of wet spilling up and over.

As soon as I could catch my breath, I started giggling. Marlon was smiling, too. We held one another, slowly becoming re-acclimated to the train bathroom. She untied the belt from my arms, and filled a paper cup with water for me. My throat was sore and rough from so much carrying on, my panties lay in tatters on the spotty floor, and there was a wet spot on my trousers. Her tee-shirt was un-tucked, with a large damp spot in the center. She helped me pull my pants up, I tucked in her shirt for her, and we shared a smoke in the bathroom. We both washed our hands of our s.e.x smell. The mirror was cracked along one side, and there were phone numbers and messages written on the wall next to the toilet. We didn't say much, but once we were done smoking, we left the restroom together. I waved bye; she turned left and I turned right.

I made my way unsteadily back to the Turk. He picked up his monologue where he'd left off, later demonstrating the subtleties of the modern avant-garde Turkish movement by complicated paper napkin folding and burning. f.u.c.king Marlon got me through to New York City without having to take any more Talwin. You know, not to get all philosophical or anything, but sometimes a f.u.c.k is just a f.u.c.k, and sometimes a f.u.c.k is a reminder of the power of life. This was one of those reminder f.u.c.ks. I kind of wished that we'd exchanged numbers, or at least left messages for one another on the restroom stall wall, but we didn't do either. Anyway, every time I see a train, I think of Marlon and I get hot as h.e.l.l.

"I think the one thing I want to say about my writing is that I really do it to give voice to certain kinds of s.e.xual diversity and s.e.xual desire and pleasure, and I don't pretend that I cover the waterfront, so if anybody is listening out there and has ever thought, I don't see very much of this thing in print, [whisper] start to write!"

- Carol Queen Scott Bentley Bio Scott Bentley's most recent book is a collection of photography and text: All Around Noise: Studies in Framing, Synecdoche and Juxtaposition (Cariuna, 2014). Some of his translations appear in New American Writing (#18 Lies about the Truth, 2000) and The Pip Anthology of World Poetry of the 20th Century (Vol. 3)-Nothing the Sun Could Not Explain: 20 Contemporary Brazilian Poets (Green Integer, 2003). Poems appear in 580 Split, and/or, Chain, Fact-Simile, Lyric&, New American Writing, Otoliths, The Raddle Moon, Rampike, Syllogism, Vanitas, and other publications. Bentley has an MA (UC San Diego) and an MFA (Mills College). He teaches at California State University East Bay.

Mini-Interview How did you start writing about s.e.x? How does it differ from non-erotic writing? As I see it, in the end every thing holds some relation to eros; as such, most of my writing has some sort of erotic twinge, but I started writing this particular piece more or less on a dare.

Do you write in multiple genres and, if so, why? I'm not too sure that I acknowledge genre in any real way. Writing's writing. Good prose, in fact, starts as poetry. I'm not patient enough to believe in time, and stories require that belief in time: beginning, middle, end. As such, well, the story arc's something I don't know much about. My latest book, All Around Noise: Studies in Framing, Synecdoche and Juxtaposition (Cariuna, 2014) is a photo/word collage. Moreover, if you take something like the Brazilian martial art of capoeira, well, what is it exactly? A dance, a song? Genre's a mistake. We all ought to look toward becoming cross- dressers to freedom.

Swirl Scott Bentley Excerpt from Swirl: Pro- Noun per (Voice en Trapeze by Scott Bentley ... after a while I slip out of your nuance.

You rise up and turn around, stern toward me.

And you lock back down onto this narrowly, now resurrected c.o.c.k. His vigor becomes the site of the falling out, the look we parted, giggling, between friends. Dazzle me with your girly throw and catch.

Let us wed and then, if you wish make game on the world while I, alone, explore things.

We anoint your c.o.c.k awakening before us.

We can see the head widen and thicken. I can't resist.

I have to try you. Your potlatch in my mansion droves lost ranger in the backseat. I l.u.s.t to pull you inside me, f.u.c.k you everywhere.

Slurplick and delightful. A distant hara.s.s.

Or the wing of a hummingbird tw.a.n.g.

O, how I want your girlyc.u.n.t your girlhalf bad boy.

O, slap it. Slap it against my eyelids, against my a.s.s. Slap it, until she throbs and pauses. Tingly wiggle seeks sloppy red f.u.c.k pole.

... and I think. Finding your spot I listen to your groundswell fathoming this freedom, so silly as you peer up at the mirror. Upon entrance, I tongue you into a babble. Uncover the fossils, the facets. She can see it all, the last lick and cuddle: the century in chocolate. Chipotle.

I, now can form a question. Do you swear not to tell?

Wrapped up so cute and I, like your b.a.l.l.s, my a.s.s, am in your panties, boxers.

This battleground. Undress us ...

And then with a plunder to peel back the p.r.i.c.k. Already, the early sunrise.

Track around her wattage, deeply and hard. Harder. To worship at the porch-light of your tribe, strapping.

From under a veil we reveal your itchy-b.i.t.c.hy d.i.c.k.

Flick it, quickly like a nipple. I stick her just a bit and blanket planks across his fledgling girth, queer across the benchpress. How you must between those painted fingertips pinch-hit. I want you, a s.p.a.ce in bed to polish with wine stain splurges as we writhe, writing us up, looking to be reminded just exactly where to hold on.

Grip us together tighter, still.

My c.o.c.k can't ever, quietly, and quite know the limits. To scream and then flare up, slowly.

I show myself out before you invite me back in, bring your profligate down to this level, hinting.

A salacious scene let's work out into (You're not-I gather-any longer shy in my demise.) the magnet of the tide gone west with every wild sense, saloon. Lick and suck that scampi tramp while I frolic at the ridges with a girl's tongue.

If you could you'd swallow me, make me yours. But physics and gravity defy.

Our c.o.c.ks already nearly ruined the pomegranate split apart in the squab territories, down over the squalid juices, flooding your fingers sticky seedlings.

... regions hard as gla.s.s. Her legs wrapped around his neckline with palms on the bed she leans to. Rush me, wanting me further and harder inside this rusty mood. You pound and muster.

We kiss, fainting. Trust.

The only one on the runway clad in clear neon jet.

What if our p.u.s.s.ies were sun spots among flowers?

Huddled in a puddle gritty sw.a.n.k to mandate a satellite constellates my cla.s.smate. Like two lovers, shy, in a ritual acquaintance of bodies, bookends.

The curve of a spine, stuttering at that ...

little freckle just off the banks on onto her Psalms secret spasms the way he rises to accept my mouth.

Breathless, you say "f.u.c.k me"

in a whisper; yes, no avoiding the strength of our retro interiors of secret obsession in depths of understanding that for millennia have brought us to these extremes, one body needing to come into another-as if, for but a second, beauty, to merge a machine, pumping, one only, gasping for air, for more-born again and again, direct and singular in loss, gaping, endlessly.

Today I almost came right in front of the Gap. Right there on the sidewalk. I just want to float in this l.u.s.tpuddle and bathe you at night in my p.u.s.s.y dump.

Get a purchase and grind 'til I lay there so far ... you'll lose your ground.

My pulse busting sockets, waiting for his d.i.c.k, his digits, his blanks on my gauge to recover. Dizzy into fellows. It's difficult to say, the possibilities of measure seem so numerous. To please my baritone drop that speed-o.

Hold on tight. X marks the spot! I'll have to let go now and then I twist with my teeth. Let's say we pack my satchel while you draw my page. I kneel at the torture in my mouth, the dirty flinch. And we feel lost as my hand fits, trembly, around her terrible mounds. Yet I know where to go, instantly.