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he growled, and put his mouth over her small satin panties. The heat of his mouth bled into the fabric like a stain.
    “I’m not a prude,” she managed to say, plucking at his wide shoulders.
    “Yeah?”
    She nodded, silent but gasping for air. He tugged her panties and she arched her hips for him. Would her heart give out before his mouth finally touched her? No. Because there it was. On her pussy, licking and pushing at her until she threw her head back and let him eat her any way he pleased. This was better than being in control.
    “You don’t scare me.” He pushed his fingers deep inside her and curled them. The room swayed a bit.
    “I know.”
    “You’re bossy but not scary. At least to me.” Curl, curl, curl went his fingers. Flick, flick, flick went her cunt. Heat flooded her limbs, her hair swished.
    Close. So very close.
    “You don’t need to be that way so much. Calm down a little. Unwind.” Oh, she would unwind, all right. Right here. Right now.
    “Yes, you’re right. Yes, yes, yes!” Philomena cried. She did not need to be so rigid. Looser and more relaxed could be good.
    She tugged this big Billy up and attacked his zipper. “Look, I’m not a closet sex person.”
    He nodded. Helped her trembling hands.
    “But you… You are…what? Magical? Brave? Maddening? Whatever. I’ve been having dirty fantasies about you, and now…” The pants were down and she took him in hand. Big, hard, warm.
    “And now what?”
    “Now let’s do this.”
    He laughed softly and kissed her again. His mouth tasted like vanilla and mint and her. He moved between her thighs, pushed at her, hooked her leg around his waist. Slid in effortlessly and started to move. Philomena had to grit her teeth not to come right there. “See how soft you can be?” He pushed into her harder.
    “Yes.”
    “See how flexible you can be?” He thrust higher, faster, holding her bottom in his big hands. He angled her, and the head of his cock bumped her G-spot perfectly. Philomena was grateful for his size, because her knees sagged and he held her up.
    “Yes, I can be. I do see. I need to…”
    “What?”
    “…ask you…”
    “What?” His mouth settled on her—kissed her, bit her just a bit too hard and in the perfect way.
    “Can you fuck me harder?”
    “That I can do, Ms. Troll.” And he did. Harder, faster. He drove into her until she scratched at flannel and stubble and man and came hard. Again. Heart racing, lips kissing.
    “Philomena,” she said.
    Philomena did not care that her dress was crooked or her hose were ruined when she left the closet. She did not care when a clod of dirt fell on Mrs. Tasselmeyer and her knitting books. She did not care when Small Billy walked over her. Or Middle Billy. Or Big Billy, who stopped to smile down ather and wink. Tapped his watch. A few hours and they’d go out for drinks. And then maybe food at her place. Or him at her place.
    When they started the sander directly overhead and her patrons complained, Philomena just smiled her secret smile, because she might not be scary and she might be small, but big had definitely been the right word for Billy. Big Billy.

David
Kristina Lloyd

 
    It’s hot today. I have a problem with the heat because I sweat and my sweat is pink. Pink sweat attracts notice, forcing me to flee to another town to preserve my secret. But damn it, I like this place and I want to stay.
    When I was mortal over forty years ago, I was a woman who lived for parties, sunshine and attention. I would dance barefoot on beaches on warm summer evenings, and late at night I’d still be there, laughing around a campfire with my beautiful friends, hippies in beads hoping to save the world through sex, love, peace and hashish. I look at my generation now and wonder if we couldn’t have tried a little harder.
    But no matter. They’re not my generation anymore.
    My sweat is pink and it’s a problem.
    A passerby tosses a coin onto the cloth at my feet. Quite a pile I’m