Mira Dancy, Orchid Pose, 2014
NSFW: Sleek exclusively serialises Badlands Unlimited’s newest erotic novel – Cara Benedetto’s “Burning Blue” – in its entirety after selecting an excerpt for our current issue. We’ll publish a new part online every week accompanied by Mira Dancy’s paintings. “Burning Blue” belongs to the Badlands’ “New Lovers” series devoted to publishing all-female-penned works of erotica that explore the complexities bedevilling contemporary life, culture, and art today.
Part Three: We At Last
“Here,” the low voice admitted itself to an uncaring crowd.
She couldn’t believe her ears. That voice, she knew without a doubt, belonged to her long lost past. She looked at the name again. “Patricia Martin?” she repeated, looking up into the spotlit classroom. Fifty-nine faces peered back. One refused. Trish looked directly at the wall as she answered roll call for a second time: “Yeah.”
Josey delivered the rest of her introduction to the class in quiet shock. She spoke at fever pitch, as if she were giving the last message to the last person on earth. She spoke desperately hoping that Trish would hear her regret, the total emotion that lived inside her.
It had been seven years since Josey saw Trish. Seven years since Trish had fled into the night on her Vespa. Seven years since Josey had lost her one true love. Her face began to swell and redden under PowerPoint transitions as she thought about their poolside affairs. She kept her eyes down, grateful that the room was dark. She knew that by now she looked old, or worse, felt old, old and humiliated.
After class, the seat was empty.
That night Josey had a message waiting in her inbox. It was cryptic and aloof. Just like Trish.
Hey Jo, I didn’t know you taught. You changed your name too. Maybe we can catch a flick after class sometime. -T
www.patriciaherrerafilms.org
Josey clicked on the link. It opened to several movie trailers. Some of the films Josey recognized. She’d seen them screened during feminist film night at the university. They were film shorts, full of twisted sex scenarios, and all made by Trish. At the time Josey hadn’t recognized Trish as the director, because just like Josey, Trish had also changed her name. Josey suspected they had different motives in doing so. Josey went back to her maiden name, her mother’s last name, after the divorce went through. Trish was younger, and who knows, married?
The films were great and Josey was very impressed with Trish’s recent accomplishments. Why was she in her class? Did she really not know Josey would be teaching it? It was all crazy and Josey had to get to the bottom of it, for better or worse. She switched to SMS.
So nice to hear from you. I’d love to catch up. Café Loup tomorrow? Sent.
Buzzzzzz. I’ll be there. Will you be wearing that black skirt again?
Josey smiled to herself. I’ll be wearing a white apron and whiskey-flavored lip gloss. Are your lips chapped? It’s cold outside.
My lips are wet and my fingers are dripping blue hues. This keyboard won’t survive the flood.
Trish had turned it up a notch.
Good thing my hands are weatherproof. Do you still give orders as well as I remember?
Depends on the grade. See you at the bar, Professor. Bring your laptop.
That night Josey dreamt in an aquamarine haze, images of water and women fluttering over her loosely bound eyelids:
The Vespa vibrated between her thighs and she squeezed the body that drove her into the hot night. The woman’s hair smelled like honey and almonds. She leaned into her neck; it was stiff and cool to the touch. They rode facing the future, desirous of its darkness. They somehow knew where the road led.They just needed to keep steady, to believe that their desire would last, that they were worth it. Josey felt the Vespa begin to float on loose gravel. No. The bike wouldn’t skid this time. She wouldn’t let that happen. She tightened her hold on the machine with her thighs. The driver continued to speed steadily forward. Josey had to hold it together. She had to.
She woke feeling a soft pull between her legs. She had come in her sleep and her cotton panties were soaked. She half expected the bed to be covered in blood, but her juices were milky and held a fresh scent of spring blossoms.
She decided not to shower and threw on a black sweater-dress that hung closely to her curves. She let her hair go unwashed and loose, streaked with soft grease. She left her panties at home that day, and removed all proof of a manicure before sauntering to school like a kitten to fresh milk.
Josey lectured languidly. She let her eyes swoop over the crowd. She was careful not to focus on the dark haired beauty in the first row glaring at her. She moved with steady assurance. She felt good; she was ready to meet her match, finally.
Trish was wearing all denim, her hair cut short. She wore loads of eye make-up. Josey sensed her smirking throughout the entire class period.
Josey had to keep herself from calling on her for answers. She wanted to hear that voice again. She wanted to stare her down as she attempted to answer. She wanted to play.
Josey had never slept with a student before and had no tolerance for what she deemed an abuse of power. Now she felt that same power surging over the crowd. The class was under her electric spell. Josey was an erotic master teaching her disciples how to come in the longest and most intense possible way. Like teachers of ancient Greece, she begged for their pulsating youth. She was in charge and needed to keep the scene bloody. Everyone was welcome. Teaching is erotic, she thought. How boring of her to backhand its possibility into a hole in the ground, as if it were all just wrong.
She’d contemplated teaching in safe spaces and how people used one another, but she never considered how love could bridge those fundamental learning gaps. It was true that Josey had never had a student that didn’t love her, but Trish was a special student, and the taboo only added to her growing desire. She knew she risked her reputation but she decided to worry about that after she’d had Trish in every position she could imagine.
Trish glared at her teacher. Even she was shocked by the amount of rage she still felt when confronted with Josey and the horrible rejection of the past. Trish had moved on, but seeing Josey in person was hard. She knew it’d take a moment to get over this thing that she was feeling. She imagined a few violent scenes that kept ending in something highly erotic. She had to face it, she just couldn’t kill Josey in the end.
Josey was still sexy, even sexier than she remembered, but something had changed. Josey was more confident, serious, and the hollows of her eyes earned. They spoke to Trish of pain and loneliness and also of being okay. Because that’s what people do. They get okay with age.
Trish darted out of the class and decided to walk to Loup. It was just a few minutes away and she needed that time to work out what exactly she wanted from Josey. Trish regretted the flirtatious texts she sent the previous evening and she needed to get her thoughts straight.
Trish sat at the end of the bar, her back to the door. Trish had been a regular at Café Loup for the past year and become pals with her favorite bartender, Jake.
“Hey, Jake
, I’ll take a bourbon on ice.”
“Sure, doll. Everything okay? You need another stool?”
“Yep. Tonight I have a hot date with the past. This one nearly killed me.”
“I’ll make sure it’s extra hard then.” “Which, the stool or the drink?” “Both.” Her famous half-smile returned. A few minutes later Josey waltzed in like she owned the place. “Hi, Jake, hi, Dennis, hi, Arora.”
“Hey, Pretty!”The owner kissed her cheek. Jake gave Trish a sidelong look as Josey seated herself next to Trish. Trish winked and returned her gaze to Josey’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar. “I’ll take the same, Jake. Thanks.”
Jake turned his back to them and prepared their medicine.
“Did you walk? I was going to offer you a ride, but you disappeared.”
“I walked.”
“So, what brings you to town?”
“I live here. Moved here about a year ago. Came to take some classes that were more to my liking.” She paused and looked Josey in the face. Their eyes met. Josey could stare anyone down. Trish looked away, into her drink. “How’s life with you? Did you become the famous artist you always wanted to be?”
She knew she’d touched a sore spot, and she regretted saying it. It proved her bitterness at how things ended between them. Whatever, Trish thought. She can take it.
“Um, yeah, well no. Not really, actually. Turns out I wasn’t cut out for the famous thing. Turns out I couldn’t really paint anything or anyone, after I left you.” Trish nearly choked on her drink. Was this the same woman that bailed on her without any sign of emotion whatsoever? Was she joking? She looked up at Josey’s reflection in the mirror to see if any of these thoughts rang true. Josey kept her eyes on the bar as Trish inspected her like a lie detector. It was true, Josey looked ragged in a way, and she also seemed absorbed by what she’d learned. Humility, Trish thought, works wonders.
“Sorry to hear that. How’s Asher?”
“He’s gone. Left me six years ago.”
“Oh. Sorry again.”
“It’s okay. I deserved it all. As you know.” Trish took a long swig from her glass. “What about you, Trish? Seems like you’ve become a fairly well known, up and coming filmmaker in certain feminist circles. Impressive. And you changed your name.”
“Yeah, I married a Martin. Figured love is as good a reason as any to change one’s name. But who wants to talk about that?”
Now it was Josey’s turn to choke. Wow, she thought to herself, things really have changed. She inspected Trish through the looking glass at the bar and it all checked out, as far as Josey’s intuition was concerned. Could she still throw herself at Trish as she had planned? She decided to let the drinks decide which action felt best.
After their relationship status updates, they both eased up. Somehow they trusted one another and the topics shifted from feminism to art to documentaries to mockumentaries to everything impersonal. Everything that wouldn’t, or couldn’t, touch their hearts. As they talked, the women realized that they were still in love, and that their love was born from the love they felt for the world. The love they shared came from sharing itself. And each woman knew, independently from the other, that this was the greatest kind of love.
In the end the drinks did decide. As Josey helped Trish with her jacket, she couldn’t tell if it was the bourbon or the proximity to Trish that made her swoon. She needed to confess her feelings before she passed out, or worse.
“Trish. I need to tell you something. I need to tell you how much I still think about you, about us. I regret what happened. How I left, why I left, everyday. I need you…to know that. I also need you, but at the very least…I need you to know.”
Trish watched Josey with a deadpan expression and said, very slowly, “Josey, I can’t do this. I killed you years ago. I can’t bring you back to life now.”
“Please don’t put me there. Don’t compartmentalize me. Please. I need this. Acknowledge that there is something that only we have. That no one else could ever touch.”
“Josey. Please. Let me go.”
Trish stared at her for a few more seconds before turning to hail a cab.
Josey was left alone in a street that once held two. She looked down at her black flats and big feet. She knew that Trish couldn’t be hers, but she needed to say it. She needed to ask. Even if it was too late.
I’m sorry I wasn’t what you wanted when you needed me most.
Mira Dancy, Rape Flower, 2015
The following week Trish wasn’t in class. Josey lectured from the classroom stage like a ghost. She peered out at the students from under limp hair and a broken façade. She had nothing left to give, not without Trish.
She felt newly lost. And then she got a text.
I’m upstate, at our cafe, it read. She went directly to Grand Central Station and got on the next Metro North train.
Once on the train, Coming. Popcorn on the beach?
Sure, I’ll bring the tray.
Josey tried to nap on the train, but she was too excited. She couldn’t believe what was happening. Don’t get too worked up, she reminded herself. Trish had been very clear the other night. Maybe she wanted to clear the air some more. Josey read somewhere that ‘wounds heal in the place they were made.’ Maybe that’s what Trish was doing. Maybe Josey just had one big rejection to look forward to when she got there. Better to not think about it. Better to just let it happen, whatever it may be.
Josey settled on the beach with matches, a blanket, cheese, and crackers. As she collected driftwood she heard the light engine of a Vespa. She started the fire and waited for the elusive Trish to appear. “Nice fire,” Trish said as she fell parallel to the fading horizon line.Without hesitation, she cozied up next to Josey on the blanket. “You always were good at starting fires.”
“Thanks,” Josey said snidely. “Lately I’ve been trying my hand at putting them out. It helps that I’m an old lady.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. Every student in that class has Hot for Teacher on their playlist. You even make institutional critique look good.”
“I do what I can. I have to make up for looks with bravery. That’s why I’m here, in fact.”
“Oh yeah? You shoot to kill these days?”
“In a sense, yes. I have plans.”
“Well, count me out. I know what your plans look like.”
“Do you? I don’t think you do, Trish. I actually don’t think you have a clue what I’ve been through or what I’ve become. But it doesn’t matter. Either way, you’ll find out soon enough.”
“Ha ha. Okay, Joe. Can’t wait.” She gave a flirtatious grin. “So what brings you up here?”
Josey socked Trish in the gut with a soft fist and Trish grabbed hold of her arm, drawing her near. Their faces nearly touched. Trish leaned in and kissed her mouth softly.
They were starving for one another and their hunger dug a hole in the sand as they buffed and polished the shore. Josey’s hands flew under Trish’s cotton t-shirt, her perfect breasts sweaty and heaving. Trish watched as Josey’s mouth sucked at her fleshy pink nipples. She sucked like a baby, letting Trish watch in agony, desperate for more.
Both of their bodies had changed significantly. Trish’s breasts were softer, her nipples longer and more responsive. Her belly had loosened and she had a new scar on the lower left of
her rib cage. Josey kissed the changes, hoping to taste the ways in which Trish had healed. Josey knew that her own body looked different. Her skin had loosened and her muscles had slackened, but she actually liked the way she felt in Trish’s strong grip. It felt right and things were picking up speed between them.
Trish pushed Josey’s face between her legs. Josey hurriedly unbuttoned the Levi’s and pulled them down enough so that she could get her hand inside. She worked her fingers into Trish and increased the pressure, throttling her hard with one hand. Her palm rolled over Trish’s swollen clit. Trish gasped at Josey’s aggressive stroking. “I want you,” she murmured. Josey knelt down and whispered into Trish’s ear, “I have wanted you for seven years. Now I have you and I am going to fuck you so hard you will never breathe the same again.”
Josey got into position and worked Trish’s clit over with every part of her tongue. She recognized the faint smell of blood. Trish had her period. Josey delved in with renewed vigor, the sticky liquid filling her mouth. She loved this woman and desired to know all of her interiors. She imagined she looked like a she-wolf devouring its kill. She became the dripping snout with a quiet howl.
At some point Josey thought she heard voices and saw the headlights of a pick-up truck. She didn’t care, nor did she stop. Nothing would stop her from giving Trish everything she had, everything she wanted.
A few shadows lurked at the parking lot’s edge and she knew whoever it was had a clear view of the two of them on the shore. Josey ripped off her turtleneck, revealing sweaty breasts lit by the moon. Trish sucked on them and whimpered as Josey continued to grasp Trish’s clit between her fingers.
They rolled in the sand and Josey flipped Trish so that she had her from behind.Trish sat up and Josey kissed her neck, yanking her head back as she faced the headlights of the truck, breasts erect, Josey’s fist deep inside. Trish’s pussy was dripping as Josey fucked her harder. Trish was begging to come, and when she did she came hard, howling at the onlookers, the moon, and to Josey, thanking her for the apology that had been so long in the making.
The two women looked gorgeous in the silver light. Breasts and ass cheeks moving in perfect period rhythm to the end of time. No one knew them and they barely knew one another. Their concern was gone with the world at bay. They licked at the coast between their mouths and skin while waves lapped at their toes. Their nail beds yelled for more, they consumed one another. There was no more time. There was only their agreed- upon silence, their lust-filled contract and perfectly fitted envelope. They stared into the night sky and howled like wolves. They found some space there and lived it over and over again and together.
END
Read the forth instalment here
You can order Cara Benedetto’s “Burning Blue” as an e-book on Amazon or iTunes
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