Suber: The Uber of Sex (Queer Erotica Short Stories)

Part 11: Rachelle & Ana Continued

Leaning against the balcony railing, Rachelle took a sip of the dark red wine. The taste of cinnamon and chocolate was light and subtle under the bitter bite, as light as the warm evening breeze brushing past her cheek.

Nibbling on a naan fragment, she glanced sidelong at Ana, her tall frame bent at the waist, her elbows resting on the balcony. Behind her, the sun had nearly set, leaving blue-purple ribbons on the horizon, almost invisible behind the sparkling city lights. Against that backdrop, Ana's sharp profile made a portrait artist's perfect subject; unknowable, and so alluring.

"What do you like better, the day time or the night time?" Ana looked over the city as she spoke, almost as if asking the urban twilight. It was one of the many questions Ana liked better than small talk. Rachelle liked them better too.

"Hmm." She considered it. "I guess the night. The day time is good, but it can be so..." she searched the skyline for the word, "much. Everything is just—out there. The night time is more mysterious. Everything's there, but you have to look for it. And you only find what you're looking for. It's quieter. But kinda dangerous."

A wry grin turned Ana's lip. "Damn, that's a good answer."

"How about you?"

"The night time, definitely. I like the dark, the shadows. Everything feels more dramatic, like everything's in a movie. I like to take walks at night sometimes and pretend I'm in a movie." She chuckled.

"Where do you walk to?"

"All over. There's a late-night coffee place I go to sometimes. A taco place that's real good. I like to go exploring. I love finding new things. It feels like following a treasure map, kinda." She paused, taking a sip of wine. "One time, I found this weird little place that sold records, books, crystals, antiques, coffee and vacuum cleaners, all in one shop. It was like two in the morning and this little old woman was sitting in the biggest wicker chair I'd ever seen, smoking a joint, and—I shit you not—holding a cane with a skull on it."

Rachelle laughed. "Are you sure you didn't read this in a book?"

"No, no, for real. That's not even the weirdest part. She had this little petrified mouse or a rat or something for sale for twenty dollars. When I picked it up, she said," Ana donned a raspy tone with a mysterious accent, "'that is five dollars for the mouse, and twenty for the story.'"

Turning to face Ana, Rachelle tilted her head. It sounded like bullshit, but interesting nonetheless. "So, did you get the story?"

"Of course. It must've taken a half-hour—I think she was more than a little stoned—but, supposedly, the mouse-rat-thing was an idol owned by a voodoo woman. Women in the village paid her to borrow the idol and put curses on their cheating husbands. The women put the idol under their husbands' beds, then rats would come in the night and chew their dicks off."

Rachelle choked on her wine, coughing. Ana moved back towards the table for a glass of water, but Rachelle waved her down. Ana rubbed her shoulders, smiling. "You all right?"

She nodded, taking another sip of wine. "Did you get the idol?" She asked, her voice hoarse.

Ana blew out a breath. "Oh, hell no. I told her the story was worth twenty dollars, but I didn't have a husband I wanted to curse, and didn't need the idol."

Rachelle passed her a sly look. "Well, you never know. If your parents and your friends get their way..."

A humorless smile slanted across Ana's lips. She didn't respond.

Moving closer, Rachelle slid her arm under Ana's, laying her hand over hers. "Probably better not to have anybody to curse."

"I just don't..." Frowning, Ana stopped.