Mirrorworld Girls

I say: "Alright now?"

And she nods, blinking tears still.

"Hate that. Evil things."

And you brush the hair out of her face, behind her ear which is hot and red, and you brush her black-tears from her cheek, cup it with you palm and try to look into her eyes, which at this moment, this absurd moment, seems absolutely necessary. Instant intimacy.

About here is where you kissed her.

Like it's helpful.

What you did was lean forward into her face, brushing her tiny nose with yours, and your stubble tickles her top lip just enough to make her smile, make her bite her bottom lip and pin it there with her teeth. I'm wondering the whole time if this is the right thing to do this second, if she wants me to kiss her or what, all doubt and shy sad eyes. And then she bites her lip, and it's all it takes for me to know. I'm real slow, this way.

And you cupped her cheek, brushed your cracked dry lips over her nose, over her cheeks, over that taste of fresh salt and ash, and you kissed the corner of her mouth, fleeting and imperceptible, and as you pulled away she turned her face, trying to meet your lips but finding only air, her lips moist and parted.

And about here is where you kissed her.

The one thing in your life you didn't fuck up.

This girl who is all sex and shadows, all butterflies and lunar cycles and school-shirts, you know straight away that she hasn't kissed many people. Her lips part without moving, or move without parting. And I am shy. I am delicate and time-taking, not out of a sensitivity, a romance – I am just horribly, horribly shy. I take her bottom lip between mine, and suddenly forget what I am supposed to do with it. But it is cosmic, it is television static. Her dry lip uncrumples itself in my mouth, and her tongue slivers hesitantly, sort of runs almost imperceptibly along your top lip and you perceive it still since you perceive everything at this particular moment, perceive her arms unsure and confused about where they should be until they sort themselves out and wrap around your neck, perceive her wet eyelids shut lightly and my own still open, still bearing down on her in anomaly and the play of light on her face all spiderwebs and desire.

And she kisses me back, suddenly, abruptly and deeply, running hands through my fucked up ugly hair and sort of melting into me, feel small and perfect breasts pressed into my stupid chest as I pull her into me from the small of her back, pulling her shirt up absently but with no goal other than flesh, than my palm running desperately over the fine peach fuzz and the plunging parentheses that bracket some unspoken sentence leading into the crack of her perfect butt, run my palm up her spine and pull her into me with hand spread between the shoulder blades of her tiny frame, hips of a little girl, other hand running desperately through her hair and pull-pushing her mouth into my own.

She dips her tongue into me like some wet pulse.

My lips leave hers and find her cheek, her eyelid, her neck, seek them urgently and with reprieve, and – fuck me – her lips right by your ear, you hear the tiniest growl. Mmm, thing, husky. I wrap my arms around her tiny waist and sit up, our heads over each others' shoulders, her breath heavy in my ear. I sit us both up and hold her for a while, feel the rapid rise and fall of her breasts against me, nipples hardened between us, and we catch breath. Her legs wrapped around mine, her cunt weighs heavily on me yet makes no move, no quiver. It is only warm and reminding. The room smells of sex and dustmite and vaguely of cigarettes. Her ear is hot against my cheek, and I feel her push my head aside with hers, planting absent kisses on my neck and collarbone. They are soft, and warm, and I feel them in my knees.

I feel like saying something. She and I wrapped up together and facing away, my feet tucked snugly under her soft butt, cock angry and ground heavily against the fabric between her cunt and I, I searched myself for something smart and cool to say. Something James Bond would say. Or Groucho Marx.

I think she was looking for something too.

It's hard.

So we both of us stay all shut up, and she plants these tiny, kinky, fairy kisses down my throat, tongue scratching down my sandpaper neck, me looking at the ceiling until she stops, suddenly, unsure, my shirt collar some dead-end in the roadmap down my torso, and I'm thinking then about how different she is. That coy deal, the knowingness is sweated out somehow under the musk of Eros and she is a different person suddenly; she is something more like myself, and I am something different, for the first time feeling like any kind of teacher at all.

And I'm sitting forward, lying her down all squelch of vinyl, feel her shaking under my palm and deadly nervous, this sheen of cold sweat all over her. I lie down on top of her, the couch barely room for us as I kiss her again, hungry, eat her face like fruit as I slide my hand over her tum, up under her shirt and peel her apart again, hiking it up slowly as she wraps her legs around me, grinds her butterfly against my hardness without even knowing about it, animal stuff, my denim head catching her pliant lips through her cotton, feeling her sex open up to me, despite all obstacles, some proxy act of sliding along me.

What she says in my ear between some great deep breathing jag is – "What are we doing?", a wonderful smirk in it, some incredible submissive whimper in my ear. I push her shirt up, rough palm sliding as I sit her hem up and over her breasts, seen finally as I sit up to look at her, snow-pale goddess, little girl breasts pushed down tight by her bunched up T. I trace my fingers around her nipple, watch them screw up tight and attentive under my touch and the cold. All that curious time, staring at her through the window, nipples hard on the balcony.

She stares up at me, deep breathing and glassy eyed as I close the distance with my stubble, my delicacy melting as I knead urgently her breasts, lightest tug on nipples between forefingers and eliciting desperate shivers, moans loud now into my mouth between our kiss. I sit us up and she lifts her arms, my little girl, her hair a mess, and I slide her shirt up and off and hold her to me, she working my buttons till I feel our skin meet for the first time. Something electric in it, her apple breasts dragging up and down my chest with ragged breath. Holding her tight as I bite her ear, spearing my tongue into it as she giggles, and Joy whispers –

"I like that..."

She bites my neck then and I close my eyes, this strange give and take deal, lips suck heavily at me, my pulse in her mouth as she reaches for my fly, some awkward teenage struggle with buttons and zippers as she reaches into my boxers. Moving so fast, all of it, some drunk and lusty sleepwalk. She wraps her tiny hand around me and untucks, frees me, my cock pressed tight between us now, sensitive underside playing at her bellybutton, slight and perfect paunch. Her arms wrap tight to me, mouth eating hungrily at my neck and collar bone as I'm staring down the shiny expanse of her back, her hand just this lightest touch as she slides up and down me, wet with precum, tracing veins with her fingertips, making me crazy. I'm staring and staring at her back, the peach fuzz and the parentheses, and I slide my hands over, into her skirt, pulling aside the flimsy elastic of her panties and over her perfect ass, kneading softly as she bites and licks at me, my fingers exploring her crack and down, down, finding her wetness and bringing up some sudden intake of breath, a gasp.

"Ug." Strange, that same disdain re-evaluated. Ug the contextual hermaphrodite. She saying - "Bold of you." Growling.

I dip my finger into her from behind, the wet of her all over my hand as I slip inside her, digit reaching up as far as I can, pressing into the rough of her inner walls. Ug. She squeaks her knees further apart on the vinyl, her lips splitting down the middle to my intrusion, opening for me. She pushes her ass back into my hand, light downy hair brushing at my knuckles as she's sitting further onto my palm, seeking me, my finger brushing some tender membrane as her walls swallow at me, contract around me.

Again, "Ug," louder now. Whispering then - "I really like that..."

"You're so wet." – that was me.

She whispers – "Duh."

Wet sounds, our smell all around us.

I pull her to me, falling back into the couch, dust and ash and a thousand lonely farts pluming from the cushions. She sprawls on top of me, breasts mashed into my chest, kissing me, and I'm sliding my hands to her ass again, flipping her skirt up and around us as I slide her elastic down and over her skin, her panties slipping over her ass and she helping, lifting leg up over me and kicking them off her ankles to sit back down on me, naked and glistening in the hot-cold. No questions, only silent consent. Where are we? How far can this possibly go, my theft, my fraud? Worst kind of rapist, the trickster, feeder, some strange date-rape deal.

Joy moves slow now, looking me straight in my eyes, all hair and shadows as she smirks and shifts forward, straddling me, knees on either side of me. These kisses, this hungry eating of face is us avoiding looking at each other, lost in a moment. Mind separate from body. But her sitting on me, naked and breathing, skirt rumpled up around her hips, she looks straight at me and I melt. No more lies. She sits down on my hardness, nothing between us now and eyes never leaving mine, me holding to her hips while she slides slowly, imperceptibly as her puss opens up around me, her lips wet and splitting open around the crown of my cock. I sigh – such need, that touch, our sexes together, sliding along one another. What I wanted. She presses my cock to my belly, wet underside of my crown rubbing firmly against her clit, tiny white thing, straining, her hands on my chest. She moans with each pass of me, loud now, shyness evaporating, exhaled with every ug. The weight, pressure between us, I feel like I'm inside her, fucking her. I reach my hands up to hold her breasts, propping her up like some urgent ragdoll thing as I tug her nipples, fucking back up into her now as we slide along each other, finding our rhythm.

"You're fucking me," she says. "Pretend you're fucking me."

"Why pretend?"

"Shut up. Keep fucking me."

"K."

She moves faster, leans down, planting her hands either side of my head and staring over my shoulder, singular and purposeful now, working herself into something apocalyptic. Tiny breasts bounce heavily on my chest. I'm staring over her shoulder, biting her, sucking at her collar skin and watching her ass rippling, motion of waves, some tempest. Joy pants in my ear, close. I take hold of her, my hands on her ass, pulling her roughly into, onto me, my fingers prying her apart. She's wet here, her moisture everywhere, and I play my finger over her wetness, slide over her tiny asshole, pushing softly while she makes noises in my ear, fucking violently on top of me.

She slides forward too far on me somehow, lost in it, my cock sliding up and underneath her, her sex running over me, so close to her warm opening until I'm out the other side, cockhead slipping up and into the folds of her ass, resting against her asshole. So tight here, my cock blind and stabbing underneath her as she grinds harder and faster into my bush, hands gripping tight at the vinyl, her hair falling all around my face as she begins to kiss me wildly, speaking between breaths, into my mouth, saying,

"I love how you feel there."

"This hurts a little."

"Don't stop, don't stop."

Feel her clit burning against the length of me, tiny thing, she reaching a hand between us and working herself, faster and faster on me, my cock always so close to slipping inside her, her entrance swallowing at my head. I bring my head down to her chest, licking at her breasts, nipples, taking as much of her into my mouth as I can, and she's clasping at my hair, holding me to her. And all at once she arches her back, a cat, me watching her hold her breath and stare at the ceiling as she's sent over the edge, pulling at my hair, her chest and neck breaking out in a blush, holds me so tight. And her orgasm is the quietest thing. Everything in her body tensed, all types of me bunched up in her fists, feel her legs tighten around mine until it's all too much and she falls into me, her long breath let out. Wet, so slippery between us, Joy still rocking slowly, urgency ebbing as she breathes deep, sated, sheen of sweat all over us.

"Hum," a sigh, spent.

She bumps her head into mine, we hold tight, just that delicious pressure, her wetness weighing down on me, cock flattened between us. Just breathing, loud, the only sound.

"Hi," she says, finally.

"Hi." Smiling.

"What just happened?"

"Weird."

"I liked that. Lots."

"Good. You hurt me."

"Good." Kissing me, a little, stolen things. I bite her cheek, her dimple. Eyelashes tickle at my nose, long sleepy blinks. She looks so young, now, so very naked. I pull her close, feeling protective, paternal. So small, Joy.

"Always wondered. About you."

"Did you."

"I think maybe I tease you a little."

"It's not hard."

"And you!", swatting me, this amazing smile. Laughing, "you took advantage of me!"

"Um."

"You got me drunk! You tricked me, playing shy and sad eyed."

"I am a good actor."

Joy sits away from me, falls back onto the couch. Knees spread, obscene and wonderful, vertical smile between her legs yawning wet at me, lips puffy, red. She plays absently with my hardness – still there, unbearable ache – holding me to her puss, liking me there. She stares at us, playing me up and around her opening, widening her smile with my crown. Her lips kiss at me.

I haven't cum. This terrible aching deal. I'm holding completely still, letting her play.

"You do tease me."

She smiles, little shy now, biting her lip. Softly, "I do. Just scared a little, maybe. I want you inside me."

Playing with me still, staring at me, she holds me at her opening. So warm here. Just holding me there, unbearable. I've never been harder, cock straining, needing so badly to be in her, to cum. I push forward, slowly, almost imperceptibly, no more than a centimetre, and my crown slips past that tight kiss at her entrance, widening her smile, just the head of me inside her. Joy gasps, her head back, surprised, back arching but hips still, pulling away from me a touch but keeping me there, denying any more of me. So tight there, feel her muscles working my head, swallowing around me. This little growl from Joy, deep in her throat, but still holding away from me.

"So good. Just – still, hold still. Don't move a minute."

"Ok?"

"Just, very – hum – very big. Nobody here, before you."

And I knew, of course, but how easy to forget. Feeling like a thief, and she is so beautiful – strange, these urges; hold her, protect her... but to protect from what? From me.

"Mmm," that growl again, smiling. "But you like that. Yes? Nobody here before you. Something you can teach me."

She tightens around me, clenching her entrance, that ring, and it is my turn, some growl sounding in my throat. I'm hearing traffic, the street outside trying to force it's way in, into our little cave. Mine and Joy's. She squeezes me again, smiling, liking my reaction.

"Good?"

"Amazing."

"You're close?"

"Mm."

"Not too close?"

Maybe. I am something dangerous, just now, this tremendous effort of holding still inch deep inside her, wanting nothing more, so close to some seminal apocalypse. Her walls milk at me again, my mind nothing but mantra. Don't blow it don't blow it. I'm staring between us, both of us propped up on elbows, facing one another, her puss so tiny. Light downy hair, mousy, somehow belying the dark business playing shadow games all over her face. A duality in Joy, woman-girl thing. Her lips puffy, folding inward with my intrusion.

She shifts forwards, just a touch, swallowing me further, tipping her hips up and pushing onto me till I reach that membrane again, feeling that resistance. I'm letting her, watching her face as she concentrates on our sexes, on our singular sex, that wet and perfect tangle of us, pubic hair tickle and moisture. Watching her watching us, biting her lip, a light brush of pain in her, some uncertainty written in her spiderwebs. My cock feels like porcelain.

"Just hold still OK? Let me."

"Hurt?"

"Little. Nice though. I need you."

And slowly, she shifts forward, closing the distance, her tightness rippling down me, my china cock sliding past her resistance, all of them, and we're both of us letting out this silent sigh, she whispering, fuck. She buries me inside her, she making every move, taking her own time until I feel my crown pressing heavily against the roof of her, filling her out, such pressure, her walls all around me, clenching me. Her hair tickling into mine, our hips meeting in some long wet kiss. Resting there. She plays her hand through the sweat on her tum, both of us holding still, deep breathing.

"This is where you are," playing fingers over belly button, around her lunar cycle. "Deep. I love how you feel there." Whispered, her little girl voice.

"Mm."

I pull away from her, an inch, watch her lips distending, skin on my cock pulled tight inside her, length of it shiny with her wetness. This cute pouty thing on Joy's face – "Give it back", she's saying, and presses herself forward onto me, hard, burying me again. Ug. Fucking me. She reaches for my hands and we pull each other up, sitting, her legs wrapping around me, impaled on me, her ass settling into my lap. I'm grabbing her there, her butt, wonderful soft thing, pulling her onto my cock as we begin to move together, slowly, feeling every ripple of her cunt, the rough of her walls. Incredible smells. Her head over my shoulder, she whispers something in my ear, indecipherable, a complete other language, and together we're finding our rhythm, her breasts jiggling lightly on me, nipples dragging along mine, her ass in my palms and guiding her, pulling and pushing at her, my thumbs in her parentheses, my fingers deep in her creases, her folds.

Index on a mission, seeking her little rosebud. I press into her there, wet with both of us, hear her gasp as I push into her asshole, feeling my cock on the other side of her, that slow grinding. Her asshole tightens around me, knuckle slipping past, finger rasping at her walls.

Joy whispering, "We're so bad." This wicked smile dimpling in my neck.

Whispering, "You're fucking me. Keep fucking me."

Traffic noise on the street, car horns, time outside seeking admission, acknowledgment. There's danger there, in these two times co-existing. Car horn time and our time something completely different, the danger in their deviation. We can't even hear it, hear only our bodies sliding over one another, breathing. She's pushing me down onto the couch suddenly, knees spreading wide as she lowers herself onto me, her tiny breasts bouncing between us as she plants her hands on my chest, rising and falling on my cock, riding me, fucking. Control again, that confusing duality. Her hair all over my face, hair in my mouth, our eyes lock once more, Joy gasping these tiny gasps, me growling some tiny growl. So quiet between us for so urgent a thing, her hips tumbling into mine, waves pounding some stupid hairy beach, her ass bouncing in my lap, tum and breasts sliding over mine, all sweat and heat in our meeting as she bears down on me, faster, her breath growing short. She is chasing something, but what she chases this time is mine, my pleasure, selfless and natural, staring at my face and loving my reactions, knowing how close I am. Wonderful.

And again, that car horn pulling me back from the brink, it's blast becoming downright arrogant.