Jan van Rijn - Mein Leib
I point to my right nipple and to my mouth. This isn’t
so hard to understand and she reacts right away and takes Lena’s nipple in her
mouth. All without looking away from me for even a second.
Even though I find that she could really show a little
more imagination and initiative, her fixed gaze suddenly turns me on. Her mouth
wide open on Lena’ nipple and her large quizzical eyes. I make sucking and
licking motions with my lips. At the same time I look at her hand meaningfully
while I slip my own inside my pants.
She stops for a moment puzzled, probably thinks that
I’m starting to masturbate now with their image in front of me but then she
understands and slips her hand inside Lena’s waistband.
You need to do a complete check. I have this date
tonight, I want to leave a good impression. Ever since I’ve known that today
will be our first time, I feel funny, different than usual.
Maybe you’re nervous, I suggest.
Bullshit. I’m never nervous. It’s purely physical.
When I walk it feels different, when I stand, and when I sit, too. You have got
to check it.
She drops on the bed, puts up der legs, her knees
together like a roof ridge.
One moment, I say. I fumble with my belt, unzip and
kneel in front of her.
But you have got to be honest, promise? She has put
one arm under her head, looks at me through her legs.
Sure, boss. I bend her knees apart, pull her close by
her legs, place her calves on my shoulders.
I can’t feel anything unusual, I say, as I slide into
her in a single motion, almost a little too fast.
Maybe that minimal resistance one often meets in the
beginning is missing, this small rejection following the opening up, I think
but don’t say it. Everything fine, I say instead.
Shut up, she shouts at me. You can’t judge after two
seconds. You’re supposed to feel not talk.
I shut up obediently, move back and forth.
Slides nicely, I say, but bite my lip right away in
order not to be shouted at once more.
She gracefully ignores it, waits a few seconds, lets
me continue my motion.
Slides nicely? She repeats.
Voices from the Corridor
A Collection of erotic tales and visions
by Annemarie Ryders & van Rijn
The Voices from
the Corridor are a collection of erotic fast fiction, each one preceded
with a drawing as a highlight and key. The primary story element is the text,
with the illustrations and graphic compositions used as essential stylistic
devices to convey atmosphere as well as interpretation. So the book is really
an illustrated narrative and, but provides features from Comic and Graphic
Novel.
The strongly sexual color of the motifs show distinct
references to the scope of Pulp and Low Brow, not fetish fixed yet distantly
related to Stantoons, Hentai and other sex comics but much more extensive and
ambitioned in terms of the text.
The episodes depicted, at first seemingly disconnected
and isolated, take place in an uncertain time and space within the environment
of an erotic club of sorts of unclearly mysterious ambience. The narrator's
character is a hermaphrodite and one of the attractions of the place. She lives
and works there, as a woman mostly, and in the course of events finds herself
in a confusing plot of similarly vague definitude as her own gender.
The reader participates in the events like a voyeur.
He is presented by quite an abundant panorama, lush and exaggerated like a look
into a kaleidoscope. Yet, on the fringes of this view, places of increasing
opacification and darkening are noticeable.
Van Rijn's illustrations which Dian Hanson has
described as "…very pretty, very elegant, but fully explicit …", are
the starting point and pivot of Annemarie Ryder's tales. Behind the alias hides
a German author who has worked as a writer in various areas for more than ten
years and has received various awards. Humorous, ambivalent, full of surprising
turns and paired with an extraordinary fresh and relaxed depiction of sexuality,
Ryders here comes up with the lyrics to an enigmatically flowing tune, remnants
of a dream: Voices from the Corridor.
You’ve never seen her flesh so exposed, it sits there as
if peeled from a rind, all swollen, doubled in size. You press your tongue into
the burst fruit, slide it across the slit, meet the little kernel that waits
there, hard as a rock, for its finder.
Her thighs tremble, she presses her pelvis in your
face, lets your mouth, your nose, your chin sink into mounds of flesh. She
sucks air sharply, moans, drips, you lick it all up, you won’t miss any of it.
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