An anthology of fetish fiction by John Yau

By John Yau

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The day on which he spoke was warm, sunny, the auditorium a Page 31 robin's-egg blue. The speaker entered the hall, doors swung behind him. A hand held his hat, another ran through his hair. ''It's almost as blue in here as it is out there," he said. I hoped the two of us could travel to North Africa where some Arab tribes use mud to build entire cities, or even visit some of those aviation clubs they have in Paris. I later saw the public speaker in the wings. It was as if he were looking into somewhere far away, perhaps in the south, perhaps in the past, the sky maybe.

Robert browsed a bit, bought an ashtray that was molded to imitate a coiled snake, then walked out. " "Yes, you sell things, don't you? " The girl went to the back of the shop. A curtain parted and an old Jewish man came out. The bottom two buttons of his shirt were missing and you could see his hairy belly. He seemed friendly enough. " "Well, not really. " The old Jew went over and began touching the mannequin, touching the dress, the arms. "Let's see ... I think I can let you have this ... thing ...

He moved his hands slowly up her body until he was holding her around the ribcage, a thumb on each nipple. He moved the thumbs back and forth, hardening the nipples under the stretchy purple-flowered material. His face tilted up. His two watery eyes right behind each thumb. "Yes, this is how it goes. Like this. " "I know, um, 16 is sort of late for my first bra, but my mother still thinks I'm not old enough," she said, making her voice airy and higher. The flowered underwear was wet between her legs.

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