As editor Lauren P. Burka says in her introduction, “All erotica is the story of sex breaking free from biological need to become the co-conspirator of pleasure.” Never is that more apparent than in the sharp-eyed, sharp-minded stories she has selected for Up For Grabs 2, the second volume of gender exploratory erotica she has brought together by asking the question “What happens to sex if we let go of every assumption we have about gender and start from scratch?”
Have you ever dreamed of being so close to the people you loved that you could share your identities, your emotions, and your pleasures? M. Christian has written a story just for you. Do you crave the touch of intersex flesh so much that you will set aside everything you believed about your own sexuality? Raven Kaldera has got you covered. What would the future be like if we had an option beyond male or female, where “it” is not an insult? Elizabeth Thorne takes us on a tour. In a harsh future where the meaning seems drained from life, will gender still matter? Ask Zachary Jernigan. What would happen if our sexualities were defined not by our gender but by specific body parts? Find out what sex is like for a “mouth” in M. Svairini’s story of the same name.
- Table of Contents:
- The Bell House Invitation by M. Christian
- Lover of the Whore of Babylon by Raven Kaldera
- The Verb for Change is Sex by Zachary Jernigan
- The Sex of Therapy by Elizabeth Thorne
- The Isle of the Dead by Thomas S. Roche
- They Don’t Make ‘em Like They Used To by Laura Antoniou
- Wer-What by Esmeralda Greene
- Mouth by M. Svairini
by M. Svairini
She had a name, but tonight she would just be Mouth.
How delicious and perverse it felt to be addressed just by her gender, her primary genital area. Only a mouth. And the outfit that Will had sent her to wear emphasized that status. Mouth salivated as she stepped into the red latex bodysuit. Her feet slid into the six-inch stilettos that protruded from the suit’s two lower limbs. She pulled the sticky material up her plentiful body, stretching it tightly over the rolls around her hips and waist. Her fingers wiggled into gloves, and built-in kneepads let her know the position she’d be expected to take for the evening, if she was lucky. The jumpsuit was so tight that it was nearly translucent in places. The only opening was a hole in the hood, framing her dark, round face.
She painted on her bright red lipstain, shuddering as the moist aphrodisiac gel touched the six sensitive neuro-crystals in her lips. They sparked and sparkled. Almost of its own will, her tongue responded by shifting against the insides of her teeth. She heard herself panting lightly as she licked the sweet t-spot on the roof of her mouth. Perhaps she should masturbate to orgasm, just to take the edge off so that she could manage the hour-long ride on the Tube to Will’s place in peace–?
But then she looked at the clock: 7:45. The station was only minutes away, but in stilettos, she should give herself the extra time. And the outfit had one more piece: a mysterious triangle of red silk, with small metallic hoops attached to two of its corners. Earrings. She placed the one ring in each earlobe so that the veil fell just below her nose and across her mouth. The silk brushed against her lips so lightly that she felt naked. She would have to be careful of the wind that sometimes picked up when the trains came. She imagined a breeze lifting the veil, exposing her genitalia to everyone…Stop it, she told herself firmly. But she was already wet, and she swallowed hard.
* * * *
Mouth was old enough, just barely, to remember when people had lived up on the surface, before the Emergency. Children now grew up fearing the surface Tubes, and most of the younger generation preferred the slick new tunnelpods that allowed riders to avoid the view of Up There. There was even a movement to shut the Tubes down, with activists claiming they were riddled with air leaks that the government was covering up. Mouth didn’t get involved in politics–her day job working for the Executive didn’t allow it, for one thing–but she hoped the Tubes would stay open. She had always loved the red swirling air and fog, the ghosts and dragons you could imagine you saw out there, how it looked as if you could swallow and lick at the constantly shifting shapes, and they would taste of strawberries, blood, sex. She was already gazing out the thick plexi as she stepped onto the train, so at first she didn’t realize people were staring at her.
The other riders looked away quickly, of course, and technically her dress was impeccable. Her sex was covered, which was the important thing. Others wore far less than her: across the aisle a girl sporting a loincloth was nearly kickboxing in her seat, absorbed in a personal portable holo-game, while further ahead, two people wearing only aprons over their rear parts were alternating between whispers and outbreaks of giggling. But the fabric they wore was standard issue, thick enough to conceal their respective genitals…not sensual and flimsy like the bit of red silk that barely covered her own hole.
And besides, they weren’t mouths, as 75% percent of legal prostitutes and 99% of illegal prostitutes were, according to the report Mouth had copy-edited that morning for the Executive. Of the four genders, mouths were the most likely to be arrested for crimes of perversity and solicitation; the most likely to drop out of school; yet ironically (she had nearly laughed aloud reading this line) the most likely to report “high” or “extremely high” levels of Life Satisfaction. Translation: Mouths do it better.
But respectable mouths avoided the taint of perversity, wearing gender-neutral colors and outfits that covered all of their parts. At work she dressed like everyone else: loose-fitting dress or pantsuit, headscarf wrapped just below her nose. In that quasi-uniform, no one was supposed to know if you were cock, pussy, ass, or mouth; all four genders were equal in the eyes of the law.
Somehow, though, everyone always knew. And Mouth could understand why restaurants had developed separate eating areas for mouths, even why coworkers excluded her from friendly lunches. If a mouth ate in public, it was awkward for everyone, easily crossing the line into blatant exhibitionism. Soon after her own Sorting, Mouth herself, used to going out with friends for ice cream, had found herself writhing in pleasure publicly as Chocolate Chip Creme de Menthe overwhelmed her newly Enhanced organ.
The Enhancements, ironically, were supposed to create equality. A century ago, around the same time the toxins on the Surface had banished people underground and all reproduction to the laboratory, neuro-sexologists had discovered a way to reroute all of the body’s pleasure nerve endings to a primary area of choice or inclination. At puberty, you could choose, based on preference or a demonstrated inclination, whether you wanted to have your strongest pleasure center be your cock, cunt, ass, or mouth. Within a couple of generations, there were four genders instead of two, so patriarchal pronouns were phased out; everyone was now a she. Still, perhaps the human tendency toward hierarchy could not be averted altogether…
An older woman brought Mouth back to the present by plunking awkwardly down in the seat next to her. She wore just a knee-length pleated purple skirt, and Mouth was fascinated by her pale wrinkled teats hanging low on her torso, overlapping the waistband of the skirt by two or three inches. The woman noticed Mouth’s gaze, and her eyes ran up and down Mouth’s body in return, taking in the latex, high heels, kneepads, and finally resting on the delicate red veil. “Headed for an exciting Friday night, are we, dearie?” she leered.
Mouth nodded politely before looking away. After a moment, the woman put her hand on Mouth’s thigh and began to grope her, and Mouth did not stop her. Why should she? It felt good, and Will had given no orders regarding her activities before the party. After a few moments, the woman took Mouth’s hand and placed it on her own crotch, where Mouth felt a bulge that had not been there when the woman sat down. So, she was a cock, then. Mouth pulled back her hand, wanting to keep it legal; touching someone’s primary genitalia in public was a crime.
The woman paused, perhaps uncertain if her fondling was still wanted, so Mouth parted her legs and inched forward slightly as encouragement, and soon she felt fingers stroking her tightly outlined labia. These were usually no more sensitive than her toes or fingers, ever since her own Enhancements in puberty had rerouted all of her pleasure-nerve endings to her oral cavity.
But now, anticipation had sensitized all of her skin, so the fingers felt enjoyable. No one could see Mouth’s tongue flicking at the perfect spot on her palate. Amid all the vibrations and sounds of the Tube, only the woman touching her felt the shudder that briefly overtook Mouth’s whole body.
Out the window, the fierce filthy air shaped itself into teeth, lips, bodies merging and parting like flames.
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As editor Lauren P. Burka says in her introduction, “All erotica is the story of sex breaking free from biological need to become the co-conspirator of pleasure.” Never is that more apparent than in the sharp-eyed, sharp-minded stories she has selected for Up For Grabs 2, the second volume of gender exploratory erotica she has brought together.