Tastings

Neil Gaiman

He had a tattoo on his upper arm, of a small heart, done in blue and red. Beneath it was a patch of pink skin, where a name had been erased. He was licking her left nipple, slowly. His right hand was caressing the back of her neck.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He looked up. “What do you mean?”

“You seem like you’re, I don’t know. Somewhere else,” she said. “Oh… that’s nice. That’s really nice.”

They were in a hotel suite. It was her suite. He knew who she was, had recognized her on sight, but had been warned not to use her name.

He moved his head up to look into her eyes, moved his hand down to her breast. They were both naked from the waist up. She had a silk skirt on, he wore blue jeans.

“Well?” she said.

He put his mouth against hers. Their lips touched. Her tongue flickered against his. She sighed, pulled back. “So what’s wrong? Don’t you like me?”

He grinned, reassuringly. “Like you? I think you’re wonderful,” he said. He hugged her, tightly. Then his hand cupped her left breast, and, slowly, squeezed it. She closed her eyes.

“Well, then,” she whispered, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said. “It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful. You’re very beautiful.”

“My ex-husband used to say that I used my beauty,” she told him. She ran the back of her hand across the front of his jeans, up and down. He pushed against her, arching his back. “I suppose he was right.” She knew the name he had given her, but, certain that it was false, a name of convenience, would not call him by it.

He touched her cheek. Then he moved his mouth back to her nipple. This time, as he licked, he moved a hand down between her legs. The silk of her dress was soft against his hand, and he cupped his fingers against her pubis and slowly increased the pressure.

“Anyway, something’s wrong,” she said. “There’s something going on in that pretty head of yours. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“It’s silly,” he said. “And I’m not here for me. I’m here for you.”

She undid the buttons of his jeans. He rolled over and slid them off, dropping them onto the floor by the bed. He wore thin scarlet underpants, and his erect penis pushed against the material.

While he took off his jeans, she removed her earrings; they were made of elaborately looped silver wires. She placed them carefully beside the bed.

He laughed, suddenly.

“What was that about?” she asked.

“Just a memory. Strip poker,” he said. “When I was a kid, I don’t know, thirteen or fourteen, we used to play with the girls next door. They’d always load up with tchotchkes—necklaces, earrings, scarves, things like that. So when they’d lose, they’d take off one earring or whatever. Ten minutes in, we’d be nude and embarrassed, and they’d still be fully dressed.”

“So why’d you play with them?”

“Hope,” he said. He reached beneath her dress, began to massage her labia through her white cotton panties. “Hope that maybe we’d get a glimpse of something. Anything.”

“And did you?”

He pulled his hand away, rolled on top of her. They kissed. They pushed as they kissed, gently, crotch to crotch. Her hands squeezed the cheeks of his ass. He shook his head. “No. But you can always dream.”

“So. What’s silly? And why wouldn’t I understand?”

“Because it’s dumb. Because… I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

She pulled down his jockey shorts. Ran her forefinger along the side of his penis. “It’s really big. Natalie said it would be.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not the first person to tell you that it’s big.”

“No.”

She lowered her head, kissed his penis at the base, where the spring of golden hair brushed it, then she dribbled a little saliva onto it and ran her tongue slowly up its length. She pulled back after that, stared into his blue eyes with her brown ones.

“You don’t know what I’m thinking? What does that mean? Do you normally know what other people are thinking?”

He shook his head. “Well,” he said. “Not exactly.”

“Hold that thought,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

She got up, walked into the bathroom, closed the door behind her but did not lock it. There was the sound of urine splashing into a toilet bowl. It seemed to go on for a long time. The toilet was flushed; the sound of movement in the bathroom, a cupboard opening, closing; more movements.

She opened the door and came out. She was quite naked, now. She looked, for the first time, slightly self-conscious. He was sitting on the bed, also naked. His hair was blond, and cut very short. As she came close to him he reached out his hands, held her waist, pulled her close to him. His face was level with her navel. He licked it, then lowered his head to her crotch, pushed his tongue between her long labia, lapped and licked.

She began to breathe faster.

While he tongued her clitoris, he pushed a finger into her vagina. It was already wet, and the finger slid in easily.

He slid his other hand down her back to the curve of her ass, and let it remain there.

“So, do you always know what people are thinking?”

He pulled his head back, her juices on his mouth. “It’s a bit stupid. I mean, I don’t really want to talk about it. You’ll think I’m weird.”

She reached down, tipped his chin up, kissed him. She bit his lip, not too hard, pulled at it with her teeth.

“You are weird. But I like it when you talk. And I want to know what’s wrong, Mister Mind-Reader.”

She sat next to him on the bed. “You have terrific breasts,” he told her. “Really lovely.”

She made a moue. “They’re not as good as they used to be. And don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not changing the subject.” He lay back on the bed. “I can’t really read minds. But I sort of can. When I’m in bed with someone. I know what makes them tick.”

She climbed on top of him, sat on his stomach. “You’re kidding.”

“No.”

He fingered her clitoris gently. She squirmed. “Nice.” She moved back six inches. Now she was sitting on his penis, pushed flat between them. She moved on it.

“I know… I usually… do you know how hard it is to concentrate with you doing that?”

“Talk,” she said. “Talk to me.”

“Put it in you.”

She reached down one hand, held his penis. She lifted herself up slightly, squatted down on his penis, feeding the head inside her. He arched his back, pushed up into her. She closed her eyes, then opened them and stared at him. “Well?”

“It’s just that when I’m fucking, or even in the time before fucking, well… I know things. Things I honestly don’t know—or can’t know. Things I don’t want to know even. Abuse. Abortions. Madness. Incest. Whether they’re secret sadists or stealing from their bosses.”

“For example?”

He was all the way in her now, thrusting slowly in and out. Her hands were resting on his shoulders. She leaned down, kissed him on the lips.

“Well, like it works with sex, too. Usually I know how I’m doing. In bed. With women. I know what to do. I don’t have to ask. I know. If she needs a top or a bottom, a master or a slave. If she needs me to whisper ‘I love you’ over and over while I fuck her and we lie side by side, or just needs me to piss into her mouth. I become what she wants. That’s why… Jesus. I can’t believe I’m telling you this. I mean, that’s why I started doing this for a living.”

“Yeah. Natalie swears by you. She gave me your number.”

“She’s so cool. Natalie. And in such great shape for her age.”

“And what does Natalie like to do, then?”

He smiled up at her. “Trade secret,” he said. “Sworn to secrecy. Scout’s honor.”

“Hold on,” she said. She climbed off him, rolled over. “From behind. I like it from behind.”

“I should have known that,” he said, sounding almost irritated. He got up, positioned himself behind her, ran a finger down the soft skin that covered her spine. He put his hand between her legs, then grasped his penis and pushed it into her vagina.

“Really slow,” she said.

He thrust his hips, sliding his penis into her. She gasped.

“Is that nice?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “It hurt a little when it was all the way in. Not so deep next time. So you know stuff about women when you screw them. What do you know about me?”

“Nothing special. I’m a big fan of yours.”

“Spare me.”

One of his arms was across her breasts. His other hand touched her lips. She sucked at his forefinger, licking it. “Well, not that big a fan. But I saw you on Letterman, and I thought you were wonderful. Really funny.”

“Thanks.”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“Fucking?”

“No. Talking while we’re fucking.”

“I like to talk while I fuck. That’s enough like this. My knees are getting tired.”

He pulled out and sat back on the bed.

“So you know what women are thinking, and what they want? Hmm. Does it work for men?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never made love to a man.”

She stared at him. Placed a finger on his forehead, ran it slowly down to his chin, tracing the line of his cheekbone on the way. “But you’re so pretty.”

“Thank you.”

“And you’re a whore.”

“Escort,” he said.

“Vain, too.”

“Perhaps. And you’re not?”

She grinned. “Touche. So. You don’t know what I want now?”

“No.”

She lay on her side. “Put on a condom and fuck me in the ass.”

“You got any lubricant?”

“Bedside table.”

He took the condom and the gel from the drawer, unrolled the condom down his penis.

“I hate condoms,” he told her, as he put it on. “They make me itch. And I’ve got a clean bill of health. I showed you the certificate.”

“I don’t care.”

“I just thought I’d mention it. That’s all.”

He rubbed the lubricant into and around her anus, then he slid the head of his penis inside her.

She groaned. He paused. “Is—is that okay?”

“Yes.”

He rocked back and forth, pushing deeper. She grunted, rhythmically, as he did so. After a couple of minutes she said “Enough.”

He pulled out. She rolled onto her back, and pulled the soiled condom off his penis, dropped it onto the carpet.

“You can come now,” she told him.

“I’m not ready. And we could go for hours, yet.”

“I don’t care. Come on my stomach.” She smiled at him. “Make yourself come. Now.”

He shook his head, but his hand was already fumbling at his penis, jerking it forward and back, until he spurted in a glistening trail all over her stomach and breasts.

She reached a hand down and rubbed the milky semen lazily across her skin.

“I think you should go now,” she said.

“But you didn’t come. Don’t you want me to make you come?”

“I got what I wanted.”

He shook his head, confusedly. His penis was flaccid and shrunken. “I should have known,” he said, confused. “I don’t. I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

“Get dressed,” she told him. “Go away.”

He pulled on his clothes, efficiently, beginning with his socks. Then he leaned over, to kiss her.

She moved her head away from his lips. “No,” she said.

“Can I see you again?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

He was shaking. “What about the money?” he asked.

“I paid you already,” she said. “I paid you when you came in. Don’t you remember?”

He nodded, nervously, as if he could not remember but dared not admit it. Then he patted his pockets until he found the envelope with the cash in it, and he nodded once more. “I feel so empty,” he said, plaintively.

She scarcely noticed when he left.

She lay on the bed with a hand on her stomach, his spermatic fluid drying cold on her skin, and she tasted him in her mind.

She tasted each woman he had slept with. She tasted what he did with her friend, smiling inside at Natalie’s tiny perversities. She tasted the day he lost his first job. She tasted the morning he had awakened, still drunk, in his car, in the middle of a cornfield, and, terrified, had sworn off the bottle for ever. She knew his real name. She remembered the name that had once been tattooed on his arm, and knew why it could be there no longer. She tasted the color of his eyes from the inside, and shivered at the nightmare he had in which he was forced to carry spiny fish in his mouth, and from which he woke, choking, night after night. She savored his hungers in food and fiction, and discovered a dark sky when he was a small boy, and he had stared up at the stars and wondered at their vastness and immensity, that even he had forgotten.

Even in the prettiest, most unpromising material, she had discovered, you could find real treasures. And he had had a little of the talent himself, although he had never understood it, or used it for anything more than sex. She wondered, as she swam in his memories and dreams, if he would miss them, if he would ever notice that they were gone. And then, shuddering, ecstatic, she came, in bright flashes, which warmed her, and took her out of herself and into the nowhere-at-all perfection of the little death.

There was a crash from the alley below. Someone had stumbled into a garbage can.

She sat up, and wiped the stickiness from her skin. And then, without showering, she began to dress herself once more, deliberately, beginning with her white cotton panties, and ending with her elaborate silver earrings.

Table of Contents

Start