A Knock At The Door: An Erotic Story

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A Knock At The Door

Our eyes met as she popped a piece of spicy tuna sashimi into her mouth.

An hour later and the table is cleared of everyone but us, talking and laughing about everything and nothing in the way only total strangers can. She pauses, tilts her head and asks me if I’m up for a little experiment. A stupid smile takes my face hostage, and I find myself nodding agreement before I can think of all the excuses to say no.

She asks for my email address and says watch for her message, subject line "Knock at the Door", then saunters out. I’m watching her posterior geography in a bit of a daze when I realize—I didn’t even catch her name. Idiot.

I fire up my laptop and check my inbox, just in case...

To: jabberwalker@notmail.com

From: stirstick@geemail.com
Date: 1 March 2014, 8:32 pm

Subject: There is a knock at your door...

You’re sitting in your living room trying to write when suddenly there is a knock at your door. You cross the room, open the door and see:
A) an appliance repair technician

B) a pizza delivery gal

C) a police officer


Welcome to my new series: Choose Your Own Erotic Adventure. Make your choice—then write what comes next ;)

Shit-eating only begins to describe the smile on my face. I hit reply and start to type.

To: jabberwalker@notmail.com

From: stirstick@geemail.com

Date: 1 March 2014, 8:33 pm

Subject: RE: There is a knock at your door...

Fantastic! OK—I’ll play along. Decisions, decisions. C) police officer

My eyes travel upward from the spit-and-polish black oxfords, up the sharply creased pants, pausing slightly at the crotch line before appraising the fitted uniform shirt and the navy-blue peaked cap, and you say, “We’ve had another noise complaint coming from this location. Mind if I come in and take a look around?”

Me: (said loudly) “Of course, Officer. C’mon in—anything I can do to help Vancouver’s finest.” (Closes door and leans in.) “Tell me you have more than 20 minutes this time!”

You say:
A) “We can spend all the time I have talking about what I’m going to do to you,” or
B) “You can shut that cute mouth and loosen my tie.”

I read over what I’ve written and hesitate. My mind is racing with possibilities, but I barely know this woman. I decide to play it cool, and see where she takes it. I hit send.

To: jabberwalker@notmail.com
From: stirstick@geemail.com
Date: 2 March 2014, 8:33 pm

Subject: RE: There is a knock at your door...

I let you loosen my tie. You slip it up over my head, unknot it and offer it back to me saying, “You may want to restrain me, Officer. I’m having the nastiest thoughts right now and could be a threat to public safety.” I shove the tie in my pocket, grab your hands and walk you into the kitchen, eying you the whole way.

I shoulder you up against the refrigerator and grab my night- stick. I stroke the smooth tip along your jawline, across your neck and down your shoulder. It feels warm—almost alive—in contrast to the cold stainless steel of the fridge against your back. You can feel my hot breath against your cheek as the rod rolls down along your arm over your chenille robe, making a detour under the curve of your left breast. My belt buckle presses into your right hip as the oak stick describes the curve of your waist, left hip and outer thigh. Lifting the hem of the pink robe and rolling my nightstick toward your inner thigh, I say, “I’m hungry, babe—what’s for breakfast?”

You:

A) cook me breakfast
B) push me away, throw off the robe, and drop to your knees

C) grab a ball whisk from the stoneware jar on the granite counter and get creative

Holy shit. She doesn’t waste any time. I would never wear a pink robe, but damn. Game on!

To: stirstick@geemail.com

From: jabberwalker@notmail.com

Date: 2 March 2014, 10:30 pm
Subject: RE: There is a knock at your door...

“Are you ordering on or off the menu today, Officer?” I ask innocently. I push off the fridge hips-first, and without losing contact with your belt line, grind and turn slowly until my body has rotated around and my ass is warming the metal on your buckle. Your right hand instinctively comes around my waist, traveling up my belly to rest flat just under my left breast, index finger tracing a line over and above the black lace of my bra.

I apply the whisk to a bowl of half-whipped heavy cream sitting on the nearby counter until peaks start to form. I flick the whisk back and forth, fast enough that there is the occa- sional whirring sound in the air to punctuate the tapping of the whisk hitting the sides, faster and faster. You watch raptly while rocking ever so slightly from side to side against my back.

“I think it’s ready now.” I dip two fingers into the stiff peaks and scoop out a bit of the sweet cream. I reach my hand back over my left shoulder and offer you the first taste. You...


Your choice!

I fall asleep thinking of inappropriate uses for dairy products, hoping that stirstick sends the next installment right away. I’ve been checking my email more and more during the day, as if this will induce the next paragraphs to arrive faster.

Do you want to read more from Best Lesbian Erotica 2015? You can buy from Cleis Press, Amazon, and Barnes & Noble

Story by Ann Keple and Katie King

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