Hide and seek, p.1
Hide and Seek, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Epigraph
Foreword
Introduction
INTRODUCTION: SHOWING OFF IN STYLE
COUNTING THE DAYS
RED LIGHT, GREEN LIGHT
THE CORNERS OF MY EYES
INTERVIEW WITH A PORN STAR
OPERATOR 84
GLINT
THE CRAZIEST THING
FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE
THE ASTRONOMER
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
VISUAL MEMORY
A GIRL, TWO GUYS, AND A SEX TOY
OPERATIC ECSTASY
BEHIND THE WHEEL
SHE GRINDS HER OWN COFFEE
PEEPING TOM, DICK, AND HARRIET
UNDOING THE LACES
CRUISING
ROOF FLASHING
WATCHING
NOT A VOYEUR
LIKE THIS
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
ABOUT THE EDITORS
Copyright Page
Also by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Passion
Orgasmic
Smooth
Please, Ma’am
Please, Sir
Fast Girls
Best Sex Writing 2010
Bottoms Up
Peep Show
The Mile High Club
Do Not Disturb
Best Sex Writing 2009
Tasting Her
Tasting Him
Spanked
Yes, Ma’am
Yes, Sir
Rubber Sex
He’s on Top
She’s on Top
Crossdressing
Best Sex Writing 2008
Caught Looking (with Alison
Tyler)
Also by Alison Tyler
Frenzy
Afternoon Delight
Best Bondage Erotica
Best Bondage Erotica 2
Luscious
Pleasure Bound
Playing with Fire
Never Have the Same Sex Twice
Hurts So Good
Open for Business
Exposed
The Happy Birthday Book of
Erotica
Heat Wave
The Merry XXXmas Book of
Erotica
Naughty or Nice?
Red Hot Erotica
Slave to Love
Three- Way
Caught Looking (with Rachel
Kramer Bussel)
Got a Minute?
Love at First Sting
A Is for Amour
B Is for Bondage
C Is for Coeds
D Is for Dress-Up
E Is for Exotic
F Is for Fetish
G Is for Games
H Is for Hardcore
I is for Indecent
J Is for Jealousy
K Is for Kinky
L is for Leather
They flee from me that sometime did me seek With naked foot, stalking in my chamber.
—Sir Thomas Wyatt
Golly jeepers Where’d you get those peepers? Peepshow, creepshow Where did you get those eyes?
—Siouxsie & the Banshees
FOREWORD: OPENING DOORS
As the stories in this book make clear, it’s what leads up to sex, and where it happens, and the connections between the people having sex, that fuel passion and sexual imagination. Although it’s pleasurable enough to run through a pornographic loop in a masturbatory moment, the truth is that most sex takes place in context. Around any given private moment of intimacy, there are always people outside the door, literally or figuratively. But for some of us, it’s occasionally more fun if the door is wide open.
Growing up, I never felt I could have enough privacy. Masturbating in the one bathroom in our three-bedroom house, I always dreaded hearing the doorknob turn. Lying in bed, I wasn’t comfortable so much as thinking the dirty thoughts that kept sizzling in my brain.
As I got older and had opportunities to finally act upon some of my prurience, I loved making out with boys at parties. I loved that everyone could see that I was hot for somebody who was hot for me; and when other couples were making out, I loved watching them. I loved letting go of the fear of being caught. I reveled in being watched and in watching people.
When I was on my own, I dated musicians who were often on the road, sharing rooms with other band members. As a result, we’d all watch each other have sex with relative strangers. Having wanted sex for so long, I was incredibly grateful to be having it, and excited to watch other people having it. It was like meeting a celebrity and saying, “Sex! It’s so awesome to meet you! I’m your biggest fan!”
I became obsessed with having sex in public places, always seeking the most outrageous spot in which to be discovered—a grocery store bathroom, the front seat of a car on the highway while the driver had to keep his eyes on the road, and on the steps of the state capitol (where my partner and I were caught by a security guard, who calmly let us go). I had one rock star boyfriend to whom I frequently suggested that we get to the arena early and have sex in the middle of the stage, although the truth is that I would have enjoyed having him bend me over onstage right in the middle of a concert.
I repeatedly experienced a force between the observed and the observer (even if the observer never materialized), a quantum energy that added to the physical thrill. The characters watch each other, touch each other, taste and tease each other, and finally, fuck each other, all with the added vibrations of observers.
In the stories in Hide and Seek, a porn star describes why being displayed while having orgasms is the perfect job for her. A musician and his wife put on a show that brings audience participation to a new level. A woman in an office spends several days brazenly teasing and being teased by a window cleaner, with the glass creating a seemingly impenetrable barrier that results in an even more lascivious display once it is finally broken. All of these scenarios allow us to identify with both the exhibitionist and the voyeur, to feel the rush of privacy disdained at last, of conventions unbound, and of propriety denied. Sometimes the strongest bond between two people (or three, or four, or…) is the knowledge that they’re not alone. In this book, that rush occurs over and over again, in front of that wide-open door.
Jo Weldon
New York City
INTRODUCTION: WATCH AND LEARN
Oh, yeah, I like to watch almost as much as I like to be watched. Almost.
—Radclyffe
I am always watching. Memorizing. Capturing. I pay attention to everyone around me, growing silent sometimes in crowds so that I can be sure I haven’t missed something important.
I eavesdrop.
I spy.
Can’t help myself. So I don’t even bother to try. And that’s what made reading the stories for Hide and Seek so fucking hot. I was eavesdropping once more, able to view the fantasies—my favorite types of fantasies—right up close. What I especially like about the voyeur/exhibitionist fetish are the two halves of the puzzle. The way they fit so neatly together. The stories in this book fit just as well…
Do you want to watch your woman pick up a hot guy to fuck?
Lizzie and Next Big Thing danced; they danced closer, bodies brushing. They kissed, and they retired to the bar. They shared cocktails. They felt each other out with conversation. They kissed some more. His hand slipped to her ass. At some point he asked for her number. She told him she had a boyfriend, but she was allowed to play around as long as he could watch. (“The Corners of My Eyes”)
Or do you want to get busy in the cab ride home, while the sultry female taxi driver watches in her rearview mirror?
I can tell you’re going to come, and now we’re clear of the midtown traffic, hurtling down Eighth Avenue at a breakneck pace. It’s almost like the cab driver is in competition with us, trying to see if she can get us where we’re going before we can finish. (“Operator 84”)
Would you like to fuck on the beach while strangers watch you with binoculars?
I ought to be outraged at the thought of somebody spying on me while Gavin and I are making love, but the idea’s got into my head now, and I’ve a feeling it’s stuck there. Instead of tilting the parasol so that our distant watcher—or watchers—can’t see us, I get up, take hold of it, and twist it around out of the way so it doesn’t obstruct their view. And while I’m up here, I lift my arms and do a sort of supermodel thing, pushing my hair back from my face in a way that makes my boobs rise in my bikini top and salute the sun. (“Glint”)
Or do you desire being the one peering out a window?
She bent her head back and cupped his cock in her hands and tipped it up. Then she opened her mouth.
Thomas breathed in short, hungry bursts. His whole body pressed into the telescope, rocking it with the rhythms he was seeing. (“The Astronomer” )
You can be on display for a crowd full of anonymous, hungry watchers:
All around the room were windows—ten in all, with black slats covering them. Soon, a person would be behind each window. Customers who had paid would watch the slats go up and see into the room where we were standing. This was so they could watch us make love. There was no way for us to see into the rooms. Each window was a two-way mirror. They could see in, but we couldn’t see out. It would give the illusion of privacy. (“Peeping Tom, Dick, and Harriet” )
Or is it enough to simply think people know what you’re d oing, to wonder if they know?
She was standing before she knew she had done it. She should take her purse. Should she take her purse?…She took out her wallet. She put it back. She picked up her whole bag again. Was Silvio watching? Was his daughter? (“She Grinds Her Own Coffee”)
Better yet, why choose? Hide with the characters in half the stories, seek with those naughty players in the other. Get turned on by them all.
At least, that’s what I did.
XXX,
Alison Tyler
INTRODUCTION: SHOWING OFF IN STYLE
Compared to all the other sexual acts one could engage in, voyeurism and exhibitionism may seem a bit passive. Watching, spying, ogling. Teasing, flaunting, putting oneself on display. But the characters in Hide and Seek push the envelope by finding new and inventive ways to spy and be spied on, letting us know just how active, enthusiastic, and passionate they have to be to get what they want the most.
From windows to rooftops to webcams, these naughty boys and girls take pleasure wherever they can find it. That might be in the backseat of a cab, knowing the driver’s clocking every move, or putting on a live vibrator sex show for one’s husband. They might be going about their workday, only to find that a stranger has a little show-and-tell of the adult variety in mind.
I tend to think that all writers are exhibitionists of some sort, begging readers to feast their eyes on our most salacious output. We want people to watch us get naked as we explore our deepest fantasies, the kinds that make us blush and squirm and shift in our seats. We want to offer up a piece of ourselves to you, letting you look to your heart’s content. But we writers are also voyeurs, constantly absorbing everything around us, our eyes zooming in on the pertinent details, the little moments that make sex all the hotter for their simplicity. We notice the details, and we want you to know that we’re watching your every move. Don’t think that sigh or ankle crossing or primping or cleavage or erection has gone unnoticed; we’re watching and we like what we see.
In many of these stories, characters are made to wait, wish, and fantasize. There’s no telling just when your favoring Peeping Tom will return to rake his eyes all over your body and make you feel naked even when you’re not. There’s no telling when she’ll bring home a plaything and offer him to you for the price of a sex show. There’s no telling when you’ll find yourself in public, in flagrante, being seen—and savored. The opportunities for quality viewing or flaunting of the sexual sort can’t be called up as easily as pay-per-view. You have to strike while the iron is hot, or keep your eyes peeled for the hottie who can’t wait to strip down just for you. It’s this search for the perfect partner to complement their kink that makes so many of these stories soar. Without an accomplice, they’re just putting on a solo performance, but having a pair (or more) of eyes trained on you while you get off can bring out the inner porn star in all of us.
So instead of passivity, maybe what the successful voyeur and exhibitionist need is cunning, timing, talent. Yes, it’s a skill you can be good at, knowing when to push your lover to give you more and when to back off. Knowing when it’s okay to forget about the opera on stage and create your own right there in your seat. Knowing when that blow job she’s about to give you is just too picture-perfect not to capture on film. Knowing when to stay put and pass on a threesome in favor of seeing her writhing in the arms of another man. All these tricks of the trade and more are revealed in this steamy collection of stories where anything can happen.
And if you want to test your own talent for showing off, don’t just hide this book at home tucked away under the covers. Go ahead, I dare you, and read it at the park, on the subway, on an airplane. Read it where you know people will be watching. Or read it in a corner of a busy room where you can raise your head between stories and train your eyes on the person you most desire. Maybe you’ll discover you’re a natural.
Rachel Kramer Bussel
COUNTING THE DAYS
Saskia Walker
Thank God it’s Friday. I’d been counting the days off—and, boy, had they ever dragged. But I figured that if I could get to the end of the first week, I could maybe make it into week two.
Maybe.
I just had to prove I could last through my one-month contract. Biting the bullet and taking an office job had been the absolute pits in the first place, but I couldn’t drift from college course to college course any longer. The time had come to quell my rebellious streak, tame my multicolored mop, take out my nose ring, and don an acceptably smart outfit. What a crime, I thought to myself, when I’d packed away my usual, much more alternative wardrobe and headed for the temp agency.
The job I was assigned to was deadly. I was audio-typing debt-collection letters for a junior lawyer, and William had been junior forever. He stumbled into my office, blushing to the roots of his remaining few hairs, and deposited a stack of files and tapes on my desk. That was day one. Since day two, he’d left the stacks on my desk before I even got in, presumably in order not to have to make small talk with me, and then disappeared off to who knew where. Maybe he was expecting a simpering office mouse, not a frustrated rebel who responded sarcastically when he mentioned the pleasant weather we were having for the time of year.
Well, what did he expect?
The weather was outside the tinted windows and I was trapped inside. There was no decent company to chat with on breaks, and there wasn’t even any eye candy in the vicinity. The building site opposite my nineteenth-story window was too far away to make out anything. That would have been something. All I got was a drifting tide of muck curtaining my window courtesy of the builder’s activities—no brawny guys to check out. Perhaps if I brought in a pair of binoculars I could get a better look, and if I got a better look, that might break up the monotony.
Mostly there was just me and Audrey in the offices. Audrey was the senior administrator, and she sat reading magazines and filing her nails all day in the reception. She looked down her nose at me condescendingly whenever I came out of my cell for a coffee. The highlight of her work schedule seemed to be shuffling wannabe-divorcées into the senior partner’s office, giving appropriate murmurs of concern to their irate monologues about truant husbands. I wouldn’t have been able to keep a straight face. Perhaps that’s why I wasn’t on the front desk.
Looking at the clock, I stood up. It was nearly midday, time for my third caffeine shot of the day. I was about to step out from behind my desk when darkness descended and I froze. A shadow had fallen across me from behind, from the window situated behind my desk. The shadow moved across the surface of the desk. My heart beat faster as I tried to make sense of it. Nothing had broken the light falling in the window all week. What could it be?
I turned and took in the sight that met my eyes. Standing in a suspended safety cradle was a window cleaner moving a large squeegee over the surface of the glass with a rhythmic agility, all the while watching me and grinning cheekily. He winked, obviously well aware he’d given me a fright. I managed to return his smile and wave at him, snatching up my cup from the desk to cover my awkwardness.
Something interesting had finally happened! And, yes, he was interesting. Ruggedly good-looking, with several days’ worth of stubble—tall, well-built, and bleached blond. He went about his work in a showy, nonchalant way that made it look like a warm-up for dirty dancing. He moved his entire body as if dancing to the music he was listening to on his headset, and rode his massive squeegee easily over the surface of the glass, his biceps flexing, his torso riding firm and strong beneath the T-shirt he was wearing. Sexy! My blood pumped quicker when I noticed he was eyeing me speculatively, from head to toe. I leaned one hip up against the desk, toying with the mug in my hands, eyeing up the sight. Well, why not? He was doing the same.
