From the book Dirty Girls: Erotica for Women (Cleis Press) by Rachel Kramer Bussel. On sale now, and worth it.—N.B.
I wasn’t expecting to meet the sexiest guy in New York City during one of the hottest days of the year, but sometimes the best things come to those who wait—in line, at a bodega, in the middle of August. I could see the last bag of hard, cold, perfect ice just waiting for me, at the end of the line like my own personal pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, and my whole body shivered in anticipation. I clutched the magazine I’d been holding close to me to cover my nipples, which were sticking to my skimpy tank top. It had been too hot for a bra, too hot for anything but the barest minimum of clothing, hence the tank and a skimpy black skirt that fell loosely against my hips, exposing just the tiniest curve of my belly. My nubs hardened even more when I caught sight of that vision of beauty bound within a large plastic bag, cube after cube practically speaking to me as I stood there dripping, melting, burning.
My short skirt clung to my body as much as the minimal scrap of fabric could, molding to my ass and hips as I stood there, sweltering. I tried to fan myself with a subscription card from the magazine, meanwhile fantasizing about jumping naked onto a pile of ice, the vision momentarily slaking a tiny bit of the heat suffusing my body. It was one hundred and five degrees for the third day running, and everyone in town was feeling the burn. Like a fool, I’d taken an apartment without air conditioning back in January, figuring I could install it when I needed it. Ha, I thought, no such luck. By the time I could afford it, the heat wave was upon us, and an air conditioner was as rare as a pot of gold—or the perfect boudoir partner. I wanted that ice, and I wanted it bad.
Then something up front caught my eye. I’d have noticed the ripped hunk anyway, the one in just a tight, white tank top, frayed jean shorts and sandals, the ones whose muscles were perfectly chiseled, sculpted into his arms as if planted there by the gods, not the kind you get from copious, overdone workouts like many of the bulging guys you see staggering down the street here, like the weight of their extra firmness is too much for them. His body was lean and natural, like he’d always been able to heft huge bags of ice or swooning women with ease. Then I took a look as the guy swiped the chilly bag, my own personal treasure, scooping it into his arms as easily as if he were picking up a pack of peanuts. I kept looking as he took what was rightly mine, cradling the cold bag against his incredible body. For a moment, I imagined him cradling me in his arms in the very same way, then tossing me over his shoulder and carrying me off to his bed. I didn’t know who to be jealous of more, but one thing was certain—I wasn’t giving up on either one. At that point, it wasn’t just a matter of desire, but of survival. Everything about this hunk was perfectly proportioned, and when he wiped the sweaty swoop of hair off his forehead, I caught a glimpse of pale, piercing, incongruous blue eyes. I shivered, despite the store’s lack of air conditioning, then marched forward, as proudly as I could in my elevated flip-flops, wishing I’d worn heels that could click authoritatively on the tiles.
“Excuse me,” I said, tapping him on the shoulder, “but I think you’re holding my ice.” I put my hands out, as if ready to accept it. I had absolutely no claim to the large bag of frozen water, seeing as how he’d gotten to it before me fair and square, but I wasn’t just hot and cranky anymore—I was horny. The heat felt different now, less oppressive and more sensual, like it was tempting me to melt into a puddle on the ground or strip off all my clothes.
He gave me a onceover, a very slow eye-fuck that took in every inch of my body, from my cropped red hair, freckles, deep brown eyes and lightly glossed lips, to the tiny gold hoops in my ears, my shoulders on display from the thin white tank top, to my nipples, which I knew were visible through the skimpy layer of white. He kept on looking, moving on down to my loose black skirt, lingering there as if trying to figure out what kind of panties I had on (white mesh bikinis, but he couldn’t tell), and on to my long, lean legs, strong from hours of strolling up to Central Park from my East Village apartment and hiking across boroughs, reveling in the views from the Williamsburg and Brooklyn Bridges. I’d always thought treadmills were cheating somehow, robbing walkers of the fun to be had from zooming through nature, even citified nature, in a new pair of sneakers. I was grateful for all that strolling as he took in my thighs and knees and taut calves before reaching my just-pedicured, magenta-painted toes, sitting prettily atop my flowered pink elevated flip-flops, which gave me a few more inches over my 5'7" official height.
I couldn’t tell if he liked what he saw because he stuck out one chilled, dripping hand and said, “And what exactly is your name, my dear?,” while keeping the ice hugged close to his chest. I looked up at him and shivered again, before I even shook his hand, from the way his eyes seemed to read my every thought. When our fingers met, I gripped his hand tightly, afraid of staggering.
“Doris,” I said, wishing for the umpteenth time for a sexier name, a Katerina or Veda or even a simple Amanda. I often wished I had the guts to simply christen myself anew each time I was introduced to someone I wanted to impress, but knew I’d get caught in my own web if they ever tried to flag me down with my fake name. So Doris it was, even though I’d never really felt like a Doris. I was a girl who’d do a cartwheel on the sidewalk, even now, at thirty. I was liable to flash my boobs at a party just for fun, run through a sprinkler in a new dress, or creep into a graveyard on a dare. When I was ten, I vowed never to be as matronly as my name would imply, and the contrast seemed to amuse him.
Without returning the courtesy of introducing himself, he said, in the huskiest voice I’d ever heard, part radio announcer, part Isaac Hayes, “Nice to meet you, Doris. Now, we have a little problem here, because as far as I’m concerned this ice is all mine, and you know what they say about possession being nine-tenths of the law....”
I stepped closer, resting one manicured hand on the ice, enjoying the chill that traveled through my fingers and digging my claws into the gleaming plastic. “I was never all that good at math,” I said, laying my long-abandoned Southern accent on as thick as I could, “but I’m pretty sure that means there’s one-tenth of this ice for me, isn’t that right?” As I said it, I fished out a cube and held it in front of his eyes like a hard-fought treasure, a girl’s pirate booty on our mini summertime ship. I took the piece of ice and slowly brought it over to my exposed chest, rubbing it against my hot skin and immediately feeling better, especially when I saw him stare intently while I dipped it down below the neckline of my tank top, taking a tour between my breasts before emerging back onto my visible skin. I rubbed it around my chest, then tossed my head back and stroked my neck with the quickly-melting cube. I’d been dreaming about giving myself an ice-bath all day, though had thought I’d be doing it in private.
I had cooled myself off enough to slake that initial bout of heat that had been plaguing me since I stepped into the un-air conditioned store, but another, better kind of warmth had quickly spread through me once I started talking to the sexy stranger, one that started from inside and spread outward. One that ice alone simply wouldn’t be enough to chill. I had a small puddle with a tiny bit of ice, no longer a cube, still in my hand, so I just went for it—I held out my wet palm to his lips. “Want some?” I purred, my voice letting him know, if I hadn’t already, that I was offering much more than water. Instead of taking what I was sure had to be his big, rough tongue, and lapping up my offering, he took my hand, brought it up under his shirt, and pressed it against his chest. When I was done marveling at how strong and solid his muscles were, I thought I felt the beating of his heart.
He held his palm flat against the back of my hand as the water dribbled down his chest. Then he slid my hand along the firmness of his body, down his torso, and out from under his shirt. I let it drop back to my side as if in a daze, the chilly numbness belied by a special tingling matching what the rest of my body was feeling. I’d gone into primal, animalistic mode; all I cared about was getting the two things I most wanted in life at that very second—the ice, and the man, but not necessarily in that order.
He stepped closer, and I had no idea what was about to happen, when the clerk cleared his throat in an unmistakable sign of annoyance. He didn’t need to say a word. My cooled-down cheeks heated up again, and I stepped away from the man who still hadn’t given me his name. I snatched the bag and threw the three dollars down on the counter. I would have stalked out, but I was too turned on by my unexpected encounter with the ice man, plus I didn’t feel it was totally fair to abscond with his ice. Alright, the real reason I paused and looked over my shoulder was to make sure he was watching. I let the heavy bag drop down to my side. It’s hard to feel seductive in the kind of sweltering heat that makes any attempts at fashion or hairstyling, or even smiling, pretty much moot by the time you get down the stairs. But he’d managed to make me hot in the best kind of way, and he, and I, deserved some kind of reward for it. He walked over to me, swaggered really, his eyes boring into my body like he wanted to see inside.
He purposefully brushed against me so the ice touched my legs. “Ready to cool off . . . with me?” he asked, stepping around to stand in front of me and stare deeply into my eyes. I melted, again, his for the taking. And take me he did. He slipped a hand into mine as naturally as if we were a long-time couple off for a lazy stroll, but there was nothing lazy about the tingling our joined hands set off throughout my body. I almost didn’t notice the blazing sun and thick humidity, because I was so focused on touching the sexiest man I’d ever seen. I wasn’t sure whether to look at him or at the ground or straight ahead, and didn’t even know what anyone else seeing us would think of me in my ratty clothes paired with this absolute hunk. I didn’t really care, but it felt so surreal that I kept my head down and didn’t say a word, lest I stammer something utterly ridiculous and nix what promised to be the highlight of my summer.
Thankfully, we arrived soon after. I was totally aroused, but slightly nervous as well, not that he’d harm me in any way, but I just didn’t know what to expect. What if the climax of our day, so to speak, had already happened as I traced myself with ice before his, and the storekeeper’s, eyes? I needn’t have worried. “Relax, sit,” he said, guiding me to a sumptuous chair, conveniently placed right in front of his working air conditioner, before whipping off his shirt. I only got a brief glimpse of his firm, muscular chest before I sank into my new throne and relaxed instantly, forcing any doubts from my mind. He stayed behind me and pushed my head forward slightly so he could massage my neck, his powerful fingers digging into my sweaty skin, pushing deep, their effect rippling through my body. It almost felt like he were touching my pussy, and when his tongue brushed against the back of my neck, I shuddered, almost crying out as I gripped the sides of the chair. The chilly air blowing against me, combined with his magic hands and hot tongue, had my nipples hard.
I forgot about the fact that I didn’t really know him at all. Sometimes, in a city of millions of strangers, you just have to take a chance and let your body make the decisions for you, as I’ve learned over the years. And my body was saying yes, please, more, harder. I leaned forward, offering him my skin, and he accepted, lifting my top over my head. I liked having my back to him, a sudden bout of shyness making me want to keep my breasts to myself for a few moments, let him get to know them slowly. He took his time, leaving his hot breath on my neck and shoulder blades, suckling on each earlobe, until I felt once again like I was melting. Somehow, despite feeling like I was going to die from heatstroke earlier that day, I wanted the heat this man was causing inside me, I wanted him to make me burn with desire.
He kept going, saying little save for grunts, moans and murmurs of approval as he wet my backside with his tongue. “Put your arms on the side of the chair,” he said, and I instinctively did as I was told. Simply responding to his order sent shivers all along my body as I waited to see what he’d do next. What he did was beyond anything I could have imagined. The first shock of it had me clutching the chair arms so tightly I thought I might break them. He’d taken an ice cube and began rubbing it against my skin—starting at my belly, right above the droopy waistband of my skirt. I squirmed, ticklish, yet also overwhelmingly turned on as trickles of icy water dripped down my stomach while he moved the melting cube against my belly. I didn’t know if he was going to head south or north, nor which one I preferred. My entire body was calling out for this stranger’s touch.
He let the chill settle against the cloth of my skirt, clinging to me, before taking the ice and running it up my stomach, between my breasts, then around each nipple. My hard little buds strained forward; I looked down to see them anxiously trying to get his attention. He was crouched before me, staring at my skin as he made it pucker and goosebump, contract and retreat, reach and react. He kept going with that one piece of ice, which had now become the world’s most powerful sex toy. He ignored my nipples and brought it up to my neck, then along the edges of my face, chilled streams of water trickling down my body. He rubbed the cube over my brow, then down my nose. My lips parted into an automatic O, my mind forming an image of his cock as I did so, but it wasn’t his cock he fed me at that moment. He pushed the ice, along with two of his salty, sweaty fingers, between my lips, and I closed them, sucking hard. With each swallow, I tried to pull him in tighter. With the ice lodged against the roof of my mouth, I felt my pussy tighten as well.
I opened my eyes to see his staring right back at me. The air conditioner was blasting onto my neck, my hair tangled against my back, but I didn’t care. He eased his fingers out of my mouth, then pushed them back in, slowly, clearly mimicking what he wanted to do to my cunt. He pushed gently against my tongue, and my body convulsed, the last sliver of ice sliding seamlessly down my throat as I let him invade my mouth. He had me, all of me, at that moment, as I opened up thoroughly for him. This was no longer about simple hot or cold, or ice or air, but about pure, raw, selfish desire. He slipped his fingers out, and as much as I was tempted to clamp my teeth around them and keep them there as long as I could, I resisted. He turned, giving me a view of that firm ass again, the one I wanted to squeeze, but even though he hadn’t bound my arms to the chair, hadn’t given even the slightest order, I knew he wanted me to stay still.
He stepped away for a minute and returned with three ice cubes. He put the smallest one in his mouth and smiled at me the best he could. Then, taking one in each hand, he again started painting my body, treating each arm to a little ice bath before he moved in for the kill. He pushed my wet skirt up against my waist, revealing the panties that were little more than wet rags by that point. I was sure my swollen lips had to be visible through the fabric, had to be daring him, taunting him, begging him to touch them. He did, in his own way. With his left hand, he began rubbing one piece of ice against my nipple, which reacted immediately. With the other, he roamed along my inner thighs. I wrapped my ankles around the legs of the chair, curling my toes for good measure, spreading myself as wide as possible for what I hoped would be the ultimate invasion. He teased me so well I thought I might break the chair as he went everywhere with that ice but where I needed him most.
While the softened edges of one piece of ice rubbed against my nipple, so cold it almost hurt, yet had my pussy pounding out a plea for more, the other smacked against my inner thighs, darting up to the edge of my underwear, playing along my bikini line, teasing me with the promise of relief before dancing away, down to my knee, where it tickled. When he’d made my entire inner legs wet, the water quickly drying against my skin while I remained in my spread-wide position, he brought the remnants of the other cube to my free nipple and pressed each bud against the ice with his thumb, mashing them against the cubes until I cried out again. My face contorted in pleasure as his knee settled between my legs, my clit practically hugging it as he let those two cubes melt into oblivion.
But still he didn’t let me have his cock. Apparently, he was going to make up for his ice-stealing antics by treating me to the finest in icy pleasure known to woman. With my nipples hard and dripping, my lips open, my legs spread and my body primed, he surveyed me, looking at me with eyes that seemed to bore all the way inside me. He certainly didn’t feel like a stranger, and it wasn’t only because I’d given him my name. I didn’t need to know his to feel the powerful connection between us; even if it was “only” sex, it was the kind of soul-changing sex that I knew I’d remember forever. He took one of my hands and placed it on his cock, letting me feel exactly how hard he was. Silently, I stroked him slowly, locking my legs even more firmly against the chair as my pussy clenched in anticipation.
Guiding my fingers with his, we eased down his zipper, and one of the most beautiful dicks I’ve ever seen emerged. He shrugged off his shorts, standing totally naked before me, a perfect specimen of manhood. What had I done to deserve this? I marveled. I licked my lips, hoping he’d let me have a taste, but instead, he let me pump his cock, feeling it pulse and harden, before he gently removed my hand, then tugged me upward so I was standing. My skirt fell down again and he lifted it up, but didn’t take it off, tucking its hem into the waistband so I was once again exposed.
He knelt and settled himself between my legs, then eased my panties off with his teeth. I closed my eyes to better savor the sensations, and heard fumbling before more ice found its way to my belly, along with his tongue against the slight curve there while he let the water drip downward. He tugged on my skirt with his teeth, pulling it away from my body enough for the water to make its way toward my sleek pussy. I don’t normally go totally bare, but with this summer’s heat, every added bit of hair had felt like an unwelcome intrusion, and I’d grown to like feeling totally smooth. I was grateful for the decision as the chilled water made a beeline for my cunt.
Finally, the skirt came off, pushed down slowly with his strong hands as he followed the ice’s path with his tongue. Cold and then hot, object and then flesh, had me writhing, bucking up against him, silently begging for more. He could have done almost anything to me in that moment and I’d have craved it, calling out for more as I did. “Yes!” I yelled, as he dexterously shoved his tongue, ice and all, into my pussy. I couldn’t help but sink slightly lower onto him, my hands going above my head even though they had nothing to hold onto but each other as my legs slightly bowed outward. He kept plying me with his tender tongue, the ice’s burning cold sensation tickling my inner walls even as his tongue kept it moving, only giving each tender bit of flesh a momentary hit of its power before pressing into another needy part. And then the ice was gone and it was just his tongue, fat and wide and hungry. Then his nose, too, was there, nuzzling my clit while his hands made their way to my hips to steady me. He feasted on me like I was the answer to all his prayers, while I stood there, letting the blessed heat of his tongue send shivers through my body. I looked down to see his head planted between my legs, but he wasn’t thrashing all around; his tongue was doing most of the work. When he eased it out and sucked directly on my clit, pulling it between his lips, then his teeth, before shoving two fingers deep inside me, I came so hard I thought I’d collapse, but he held me steady, flattening his tongue against my clit as he rode out my orgasm with me.
I should have been satisfied with that, but I wasn’t. I was greedy, and wanted all of him. “Please,” I said, tumbling down to the ground and straddling him, pressing my heat against the proud statue of his cock.
“Wait,” he said, pushing me back slightly, then reaching for another ice cube and making me watch as he ran it along his balls and up and down his dick. I’d never seen anything like the show he was giving me, and it was a sight to behold as the water dripped down his cock until it was totally wet and shiny. He offered me what was left of the ice cube, and I took it in my mouth, before just going for what I wanted and taking his dick between my lips as well. He moaned the moment I let my tongue meet the underside of his cock, my mouth stretched wide in the way I love best. But I eased back, my pussy clamoring for some attention as well. With his eyes trained on mine, he slowly slid a condom over his hardness, then beckoned me forward.
When I sank down onto him, it was like fucking the perfect blend of hard, male cock and ice dildo. He was solid yet cool, and I tumbled forward while his hands went to my ass. We kissed while my still-hard nipples mashed against his. It felt like spontaneous combustion, a rocket boom, an explosion rocking my overwhelmed body, and it didn’t last long. We were both so ready that when he bit my lower lip and said, “Now,” his voice raw and gritty, I came, just like that, for him, for me, for this chance meeting.
Later, we dumped as much ice as his freezer could produce in his bathtub, and laughed to ourselves as we competed about who could stay in the tub the longest. I stayed over that night and, wouldn’t you know, the next day the heat wave broke. It was down to a more manageable eighty degrees, and I left his place to return home, blasting my many fans, wondering if it had been a dream even as my pussy throbbed and my body remembered every second. I never saw him in the flesh again, but believe me, every time I fill my glass with ice, I remember what he did to cool me off, and I smile.—Rachel Kramer Bussel
