Excerpted from From Porn to Poetry: Clean Sheets Celebrates the Erotic Mind

by Susannah Indigo
(12/05/01)

"Take a deep breath, Rikki."

She smiles, inhales, and tries to relax.

"Now, slow down and tell me again," Alex says with a laugh.

"Oh, Alex, I won. I really won! I got the letter today, and I'm going to Italy. Thank you for all of your help."

He leans back in his chair behind the big mahogany desk and watches as she is barely able to sit still in her seat. "Rikki, you look like sixteen when you're this excited."

She blushes. "I'm glad that I'm not. I never could have written that story without my years of experience. I can't believe it."

"Come here, Rikki. I haven't seen you in almost a month."

She looks up in slight surprise. Dr. Alex Russ has always been friendly to her, but he's never looked at her in quite this way before. She steps over toward his desk, still bouncing with excitement, unable to quite discern the look on his face, that handsome bearded face that has cajoled and laughed with her through so many of her writing struggles.

"Sit up here on my desk. Let's talk about what you wrote."

Rikki blushes again. A tale of sexual obsession was her choice of subject matter for the winning entry. The theme of the contest had been "The End of the World," and what would truly matter when that time came near. She had ditched her original ideas about survival and gone for what she knew.

"I'm pretty sure I was the only one to turn in an erotic story of domination and possession for my entry," she says. "But what else is there, when you strip away all of our pretenses?"

"Rikki, I have to tell you -- talking about sexual obsession for those two months with a thirty-two year old woman who just dropped in to audit my class has been the highlight of my year."

Perched on his desk, she pulls the folds of her full forest green silk dress over her stockinged legs and crosses her ankles primly in front of him. "Well, you helped me a lot. Like we talked about, the only themes that really matter are sex, religion, death, and art."

"I've thought about you and your story day and night, and I have a secret to share with you."

Forgetting the writing contest for now, she begins to notice Alex's deep voice reaching her in strange ways. "A secret? I love secrets," she says, trying to laugh it off.

"Look at me. I'm quite serious. I want to act out your story. With you."

"Oh my."

"Yes, exactly. It's all I thought of every time you left my office."

"I don't know, Alex, what are you saying?"

His eyes lock on hers, and she begins to feel the need for his hands on her, somewhere, anywhere. "I want to feel it. I want to know if one person can truly possess another. Your writing is so clear, so erotic. We're going to take that journey together. Nothing else matters. We can think of it as the end of the world."

"Maybe it won't work in real life?" she asks, feeling the wetness growing between her legs.

"Rikki, I can see it on your face. You want it as much as I do. Ask me to act out your story with you."

"We both have real lives elsewhere. And, we both know how it ends."

"It doesn't have to end that way. We can stop whenever we want to. We can create our own little secret world. Go close the drapes."

Alex lights a single candle, places it on the coffee table, opens a bottle of wine and pours two glasses.

"Do you like Coltrane, Rikki? You must."

"God, yes, I listen to him all the time when I write."

He starts one of her favorite CDs, "The Last Giant."

"Come sit on the floor with me, Rikki, and let's talk. You look nervous -- tell me what you're thinking."

"Oh, you know. You know. I don't know if I can do it."

"Unbutton the top button of your dress."

She pauses.

"Do it."

She slowly reaches down and undoes the first button.

"That's not near enough. Undo another one."

She unbuttons the next pearl button on her dress, exposing the top of her cleavage.

"That's beautiful. Tell me you can do this."

She just smiles.

"You'll learn, every time you come into this office."

"Yes."

"Much better. Now, tell me what you're wearing beneath that lovely dress."

Rikki looks down shyly and says, "I'm wearing a white lace bra."

"Does it fasten in the front?"

"Yes, it does."

"Good. Never come to me again wearing any other kind of bra. Reach inside your dress and unfasten it."

She reaches down and unclasps the bra, freeing her breasts, feeling the hardness of her nipples against the silk of the dress.

"Beautiful. Now, what else are you wearing underneath?"

He still hasn't touched her. She tries to move over towards him, reaching for a more comfortable level of normal affection.

"No, Rikki, stay right where you are. I want your eyes on mine while we do this. I want you to be uncomfortable, to find an intimacy that's so easily bypassed by everyday sex."

She sits back down crosslegged, looking directly across the coffee table into his eyes. "Yes, Alex."

"Answer my question."

"I'm wearing thigh-high stockings, and panties that match the bra."

"Stand up."

Another pause.

"Do it."

Rikki rises and stands in front of him. She begins to sway to the music, to follow the rhythm as he talks.

"Lift your skirt up to your waist and hold it there."

He sits before her and watches as she gathers the full skirt up around her waist, exposing her ass.

"Take your panties off for me."

She reaches down and slips off her panties, dropping the dress from her waist.

"No. Lift it back up. And spread your legs."

Hesitating only for a moment, she follows his instruction.

Alex lays her panties aside. "Here are the rules, sweet Rikki." He finally touches her thigh, stroking gently up and down, never touching her pussy. "You will come to me twice a week, just as you did when we were working on your writing. But you will come in the evening, and you will plan on spending the night. You will bring nothing with you."

Trembling, she stands before him, as he kneels, stroking and examining her.

"You will never wear panties. You will never wear jeans. You may wear any kind of skirt that you choose. When you enter my office, you will walk over and close the drapes, then come to me wherever I sit. You will lift your skirt, for inspection, without a word. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do." The wetness begins to flow and she closes her eyes for the moment.

"If I call you and ask you to dress some other way, you will. You will tell me erotic stories when I ask. You will make them up on the spot if I so choose."

"Yes."

"We're going there, Rikki, we're going where the couple in your end of the world story went. We're going to where nothing else in the world matters but our desire for each other. No matter what it takes. And we will give each other everything."

His fingers are dipping into her slowly, withdrawing, coming to his lips as he tastes her wetness. He stands up next to her, holding her with one arm, and places one of his wet fingers deep into her mouth, running it around her tongue. "Taste, baby. Taste my finger." He opens her mouth wider with the force of his finger, running it across her teeth and down into her throat, fucking her mouth with his finger as though it were his cock. Her head drops back, lost in the intimacy of a single finger invading her mouth.

"Drop your skirt down, Rikki."

She opens her eyes in surprise as he withdraws his finger.

"That's all for today." He blows out the candle, walks away, and opens the drapes.

"I'm so proud of your winning that contest. I'll see you here on Tuesday at six sharp." He picks up her white lace panties from where they lay and tosses them in the wastebasket.

Rikki sits in her car and shakes, feeling her bare bottom touching the leather seat. This is crazy -- this is the craziest thing I have ever considered. We both have lives. It was just a story. Just fiction. I'll write him a note, that's what I'll do. I do have it in me to do this, but God, if I do, if I let go into this kind of sensuality, I'll never get back. I'm going to go home, get out my stationery with the roses on it, write him a note thanking him for everything, and then I'll never see him again. It was just a story.

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