Janel carefully set down her mug of genmaicha in its accustomed spot on the bookshelf, between a well-worn copy of Delta of Venus inherited from her mother and an equally worn thesaurus. She had one more task before settling in for an evening of reviewing erotica submissions for Lush Stories: choose the night’s background music. Definitely a vinyl night. Sleet and falling leaves outside; tea and analog in the dim, cozy, cluttered flat. No jazz tonight. No classical. Something with lyrics and a bit of a mood. Nodule’s first album, Nocturne. While at university, Janel had adored that record. She had lent it to a friend, who soon after was not a friend. Now she had a pristine copy from the used record shop, but hadn’t been in the mood to listen to it until tonight. With the record spinning, Janel dropped the stylus in place with a satisfying little pop from the speakers.

Every day

You dive without me

Swimming free

Every night

I write your story inside mine

Words and fingers

Sweet white wine

Snuggle in on the old sofa. Glasses on. A sip of tea, temperature perfect, the businesslike smell of toasted rice. The first story came up on the iPad. Janel immediately recognized the author—a widower from Cheshire. He could spell, and his stories always had a distinct touch of humor, often unintended. This one involved one sweet, red-cheeked, pale-skinned lass and her two beaux, a three-way in a tent under the stars. Not bad, actually. Janel would gently suggest trimming an extraneous flashback and modernizing some of the slightly outdated vocabulary. This writer always incorporated all of her suggestions, with gratitude, and his stories (their collaborations, really) were popular.

The second story was from an American. A mess of scrambled grammar, and a trite plot. Anal fucking next to a Miami swimming pool in the first and last paragraphs. Throat fucking in between. Somehow, he—no, she—managed to make it all rather dull. Janel decided there was nothing salvageable here.

We lose contact after dark

Colors fade where lovers played

I reach out to feel your skin

Find a cold thing dead and grim

Did I choke you out too long

Can I breathe you back again

Story three was from a new member, location unknown. User name Tau Lepton. That was a physics term, wasn’t it? Nothing to do with sex at all.

Janel smiled as she read the opening sentences. Quite a coincidence. It took place on an autumn night in a London flat. The main character was simply called J. She was anticipating the arrival of her lover, a stunning, long-legged, raven-haired model named R. When R arrived, J was already wet with excitement. A detailed undressing scene. Mm. Well written. Janel loved well-written lesbian scenes.

Janel found herself getting excited with anticipation, much like J in the story. A sharp rap at the door startled her, drawing her out of the story as though she were being rescued from drowning. She was not expecting any visitors.

What you won’t admit you want

Is here before you raw and willing

Pin me down and call me cunt

I’m your fantasy

Put your hardest dreams inside

Make a hole where none exists

Claim my soul and drink me dry

I’m your fantasy

She could see a young woman through the peephole. Not someone she recognized. But she opened the door.

A stunning, long-legged, raven-haired girl was standing there, her hair glistening with damp from the sleet outside. She was certainly beautiful enough to be a model. Janel glanced back at her iPad, which was softly glowing on the arm of the sofa.

“I am so, so sorry to bother you. I’m Ryann, your neighbor just above. I’ve stupidly locked myself out. My boyfriend will be home in half an hour. Well, an hour, at most….” The girl paused, clearly fishing for an invitation. It was damp and drafty in the corridor, and Ryann was not dressed for the weather. She was wearing a slim black skirt, heels, a silky, copper-orange blouse, and a lacy black choker. All suspiciously similar to clothes J had removed from R in Tau Lepton’s story.

“Of course!” Janel said. “Come in and wait here. Make yourself at home. I’ll get you some tea.”

Ryann thanked her profusely and stepped inside, exclaiming (seemingly sincerely) how nice the place was. “So many books! I love to read. Where did you get that chair? It looks so comfortable. Trevor likes stark leather and chrome things. But I would prefer something more like this.”

Janel went through to the kitchen and reheated the kettle. This was such a strange night. Like an origami bird, folded in on itself. Ryann called from the front room. “Your record is done. May I play the other side?”

“Yes, please!” Janel replied. Her voice sounded too loud in her own ears.

I see heaven teasing me

Heaven isn’t seeing me

Janel came back to the front room and stopped abruptly, nearly spilling the tea. Ryann was holding the iPad, reading intently, a little bemused smile on her face. “Did you write this? It’s very good. Quite hot.”

“No. I didn’t write it.” A pause. “Did you?”

Ryann laughed, a slightly raspy laugh that thrilled Janel. “It’s on your tablet, isn’t it? But this R person. Rather like me, don’t you think? Have you been spying on me, by any chance?”

Janel just shook her head.

“You must like girls, then. To be reading this. I do like girls, myself. I would have guessed you to be straight; but sometimes it’s hard to tell, with the smart ones.”

Janel set the mugs down, using old mail as coasters. She cleared her throat. “Didn’t you mention a boyfriend, just now?”

“Oh, yes! Trevor. I suppose I’m bi, actually. Trevor likes anything female that isn’t old and decrepit. We have fun. He would like you, I think.” Ryann appraised Janel’s body, head to toe, and apparently decided she was neither old nor decrepit. She carefully placed Janel’s iPad on the arm of the sofa, sat down, took a sip of tea, and patted the cushion next to her. Janel sat, as close as she dared.

“Last Thursday, I brought home a Dutch girl for dinner. A new intern at the art gallery—so pretty and sweet, just a touch plump, with bright blue eyes and red hair down to here.” She placed her hand on Janel’s butt and left it there. “You could say Trevor and I had her for dessert. He was particularly excited. His cock usually has a little upward curve, but when he’s completely turned on, it’s perfectly straight. I whispered naughty things in her ear while Trevor managed to work himself into her. The look in her eyes was indescribable.”

“Be specific,” Janel said automatically. “Was Trevor in the Dutch girl’s pussy, or her ass?”

Astonished, Ryann laughed. “You are unique. It was her pussy, since you asked.” Janel blushed.

With her free hand, Ryann stroked Janel’s hair, looping it around her finger. The little bemused smile was back. “We have time to make out for a while, before Trevor gets here. If you like.”

 I would like, Janel thought. She nodded.

Ryann kissed Janel as though she were searching for her soul. As if she wanted to hunt down any doubts and kill them before she could possess Janel. They’re already gone, Janel thought. You can do anything to me. Anything.

When Ryann came up for air, Janel whimpered, feeling abandoned. “Bedroom?” Ryann breathed. Janel nodded.

Absence makes the heart stop cold

Stitch yourself to me

Keep me young until we’re old

Stitch yourself to me

On the bed, a bounce, a giggle, and then to the serious agenda of exploring one another’s bodies. Ryann effortlessly peeled off Janel’s soft old T-shirt and gasped with delight. (Knowing she would be in for the evening, Janel had ditched her bra directly after dinner.) Another deep kiss, while Ryann pinched Janel’s nipples, much, much harder than Janel was expecting. Her arms jerked involuntarily and her back arched. Pain and pleasure did their perfect dance. Ryann kissed and nibbled, neck, shoulders, and breasts, and Janel drank it all in until it threatened to overflow, and she had to give some of the pleasure back. She pushed Ryann away, unbuttoned the sleek blouse, and unfastened Ryann’s bra.

Ryann’s breasts were smaller and firmer, the nipples tiny and tight. Her skin was almost luminous and impossibly smooth. She had a spectacular Japanese tattoo from her right shoulder to just above the right breast: a temple and cherry trees. Delicately done; it must have cost a great deal. For a brief moment, Janel wondered where boyfriend Trevor might be. Fuck him, she thought, if he exists at all. She almost laughed out loud. And she proceeded to remove Ryann’s skirt and panties. Why wait?

By the time they got into a sixty-nine, they were already so turned on that the climaxes came quickly; first Janel came, and that in turn triggered Ryann. Back and forth in perpetual motion. Then, needing to merge into one, they shifted so they were pussy to pussy. Janel had thought this position might be awkward, but it was fluid and natural. They might have been rehearsing for years instead of meeting for the first time.

The view from this angle was spectacular. Ryann’s long, slender legs and delicate feet, the toes clenching as their clits meshed together. The delicious curve of her hip. The perfectly trimmed crescent of black pubic hair hovering over her pussy. The toned stomach muscles that began to contract rhythmically as they got closer and closer to coming. The closer they got, the more they tried to slow down, to make it last, until finally it was impossible to resist any more, and they were drowning in each other.

Nothing had ever made Janel so high. She was devastated, dehydrated, reduced to ash, and, finally, utterly exhausted. She just had the strength to spoon with Ryann’s radiant body, draw a sheet over the two of them, and contentedly cup Ryann’s breast in her palm. She murmured happy, random things. Was love mentioned? Perhaps. And Janel passed into dreamless sleep.

When she awoke, with wan sunlight at the edge of the blinds, she was in the same position, but hugging a pillow. Ryann was gone.

No.

Not in the bathroom. Not in the kitchen, making them breakfast. No doubt, Ryann was upstairs with Trevor. Sleeping in. Fucking Trevor. Janel felt a hot flush of jealousy of a man she had never seen. Then she remembered: at one point the night before, she had doubted whether Trevor even existed. Her face changed. A desperate feeling trickled into her stomach.

The Nodule album was back in its sleeve, put away. Tea mugs were rinsed and drying in the kitchen. She had no memory of doing these things.

It took time before Janel had the courage to pick up her iPad, still on the arm of the sofa. The file was still open. And, as her heart had feared—had known—the story by Tau Lepton was gone. After the wretched mess from the American was a teen story Janel had never read. She closed the file and re-opened it. The same.

And she knew. She knew that the upstairs flat would still be vacant, as it had been for two months, since old Mrs. Hagermann had moved to assisted living.

Wherever you are

I'm home for you

Wherever I am

You live there too