Novel Experience (Sara Miles) Read Online Free Page A

porn to watch?”
    “Lesbians?” I ask, then nod in understanding. “Bums?”
    “Bums. I need bums.”
    * * *
    GAIL EXHALES A LONG BREATH and squirms in her seat. Her skirt has worked itself up her thighs. I don’t tell her that I find them as much a turn on as the men’s bums on the television, though I’m tempted to. Now, wouldn’t that make life complicated? Not only is she a friend, but a married friend.
    We’ve done this before more times than I can count, usually after bad days. Drink, watch naked men on TV, get hot and bothered and then wank together. We’ve been friends for fifteen years, and basically know everything there is to know about each other. Nevertheless, I’m sure she has a few small secrets like mine, but I doubt either of us would be shocked by them.
    “That bit, in your book,” she says, her head lolling just a little drunkenly. I notice that her glass has suddenly become empty yet again.
    “Oh, come on,” I say, exasperated. “We’ve been over this.”
    “It was the hottest thing I’d ever read,” she says. It comes out like an admission, like she is revealing a deep, dark secret. Like I said, I’m not shocked. “I mean, I’ve had fantasies before, but Christ I had to take a shower after that. I can’t look at a man’s butt without thinking about it. And you know me.”
    I do know her. As far as I know, she is as vanilla in the bedroom as they come. Oh, she’s done some things with men that might be considered unusual, but nothing crazy. And she’d done it for them, not because those things had done anything for her. At least, that’s what she says. For instance, her tale of once being tied down to a bed had come out as comical rather than erotic. I, in contrast, am the kinky devil. The woman with dreams of big dildos and sodomizing men. No one seems to understand that isn’t me. Not really.
    “Sorry.” I am. I love Danny—he’s the nicest, kindest, most generous man I know. I never feel that variety of jealousy that some women get when their best friend gets married to a hot guy. I know he is a bit too timid in that department for my tastes. Sometimes I feel bad for her. The thought of Gail mounting Danny from behind gives me a little thrill, though—her toned thighs slapping against his tight, muscled ass. I feel the knot of tension in my groin begin to loosen.
    “I’m not sure I want to actually do it, it’s just the thought of it.”
    I understand. I mean, I felt the same way when I wrote it. I’ve written sexy bits before, but none of them had made me go off and masturbate. I’ve read erotic fiction and gotten off before, but I had never managed to turn myself on like that.
    My head is caught somewhere in the cloudy space between the mindless porn and the more engaging movement of Gail’s skirt. My brain farts out a bad haiku:

    naked bottoms dance,
    Gail’s skirt slides ever higher.
    my trembling thighs part.

    Eventually she’ll give up the pretense and just go at it. I watch her thighs, occasionally switching my view to the television. In my mind I picture the scene in my book, with Nara, my protagonist, convincing her latest conquest to submit to her desire. Some men would do anything for a good fuck, but Nara didn’t want what they wanted. She wanted control, over her job, her life, everything in it. Men, other women. Mostly she succeeded. She was the anti-me. That feeling of power is an illusion—something that takes Nara another few hundred pages to figure out. Still, illusions have a power of their own. I imagine myself in that position, a man kneeling in front of me, exposed, the toy strapped tight to my mound, a plug in my ass, and the pounding of his spread cheeks against my hips as I thrust into him.
    Alright, if Gail isn’t going to start, I am.
    I unbuckle my belt and scoot my pants down. I'm wearing my comfy panties today, which makes me not just a little self-conscious. Not granny panties or anything like that, but they aren’t the