The Mammoth Book of Erotica presents The Best of Lucy Taylor Read Online Free PDF Page B

the conduit. The sensation that he was in the process of ejaculating not just his infection, but his very soul, galvanized all his energy into his thrusts. He fucked her desperately, with the savagery of a man trying to dig his way out of prison, and she was the passage to freedom, to hope. Carving her out with his cock, widening her up until her cunt seemed to expand to suck in the whole world. She was wet and dark and hot, and somehow he was not only fucking her, but seeing her from inside as well – she was a black galaxy pulsing with what seemed at first to be stars, but what he realized were sperm, countless millions of seething, glittering sperm aswarm in her hothouse interior.
    The energy built toward an orgasm. Not yet, his ego protested. For some perverse reason, he wanted to impress this woman, this harlot, this hooker, this bitch, he wanted to fuck her like she’d never been fucked. The excitement intensified, not just in his cock, but at the base of his spine. White energy that burned and blazed, stoking the fire that kept his cock hard as he fucked her and fucked her and fucked . . .
    Then suddenly, there was no one fucking her at all or getting fucked. Nicholas – the fiction of Nicholas – was drowning in Myriam’s depths. What remained was pure silence, a crystalline nothingness marred only by the swelling of his own primitive terror.
    The white radiance of sexual energy blazed like a fiery tree from the base of his spine. It consumed him, reduced him to ashes.
    There was a swishing noise, like fabric rustling, and the sensation of light entering the room with a rush, but he didn’t dare open his eyes.
    For a moment, it seemed every question was answered, every terror assuaged, every evil forgiven. There was no separation. Ecstasy thrilled through his body, his soul. His soul – for he knew now that he had one, that it was his soul that was real, nothing else, not the Nicholas shell he’d accepted as his true self all these years.
    He cried out as he came, opened his eyes, and then recoiled from the shock of what he saw – rows of naked men and women observing him in all his fear and vulnerability. He was no longer fucking Myriam on a bed in that miserable hotel room, but back in the basement room where he’d first seen her, performing on stage before an audience of aroused and worshipful voyeurs.
    Slowly the watchers filed up onto the stage and began the ritual Nicholas had seen the night before, only tonight it no longer disgusted him – their semen streamed into his mouth, his hair, mingled with the come on his own cock, and he didn’t object, didn’t feel soiled or outraged or betrayed, but threw his head back, opened his mouth, and drank their spillage along with Myriam.
    “God,” he breathed, “what happened?”
    And she smiled up at him exultantly, and said, “Yes. Exactly. God happened.”
    The day after the experience with Myriam, Nicholas went to two different clinics and had his blood drawn. A week-long wait for the results at the first one, five days at the other. He could have gone back to Detroit, but the idea never even occurred to him. As long as
she
was here, he would be, too.
    Am I in love with her
? Nicholas thought.
Am I in thrall to her
?
    Not to Myriam herself, he decided, but to the experience she’d given him. For the first few hours after their love-making, the wondrous sensation had lingered. His reality shifted. He felt whole, he felt one with all of Creation. Entranced by the feeling, the
knowing
, that he was not defined by his skin or his mind or his name, Nicholas, but that God Himself was playing peekaboo, peering out from behind his eyes looking at God peering back from the eyes of everyone else. Love suffused him. He no longer hated Sonny Valdez, no longer regretted his past or longed for some fantasy future. For the first time in his life, he felt happy and whole.
    Then, gradually, the ecstasy faded and Nicholas became just Nicholas again – separate and