FIRST PLACE:
"The Tiki Tryst" by Saba Bennett
"It's only a faux Tiki head. No spirits live here except maybe a dead gold course coyote," Bruce reassured Maria, his latest freshman find, a lit major who had carefully avoided the "freshman 15" with a steady diet of lowfat Eegee's and vigorous late-night bucket list trysts with her leather-clad lover.
They had so far copulated at Gates Pass, in a coffin at Old Tucson Studios during Nightfall, and in front of God in the Meet Rack's blue room. The Hut's fierce tiki head was #4. Bruce, a sexy 40ish scene fixture whose desert rock sound had seduced her since she'd first seen him pounding the skins at the Boondocks one extended Friday happy hour, led her up the dusty spiral stairs as Giant Sand played yet another reunion set of Tucson classics while a throbbing crowd of patchouli-smelling hippies gamboled before the stage. She clutched a yellowed copy of the Tucson Weekly opened to the Valentine's Day edition of Savage Love. Maria had prepared for this tryst carefully, and as he mounted her lush loins during the crescendo of "Everything Should Come From The Deepest Place," the noise from the vibrating cock ring he wore was drowned out by an extended guitar solo. As the piece ended, a coyote howl from on high confused the upward-gazing crowd, the sort of sound which gives birth to local legends.
SECOND PLACE (tie):
"150 Prosthetics of Every Conceivable Color" by Monica Friedman
"My darling," Valmont huffed into the delicate, cauliflower bud of her ear, "lovemaking with a T-man is scarcely different than with your bio-boys, save for the improvement that my ardor can never flag. Furthermore, should it prove...insufficient...we can upgrade."
From beneath the bed, he withdrew a cedar chest, decoupaged with pixilated dancers cut from the back pages of the Tucson Weekly, removing the lid to reveal a countless assortment of silicone prosthetics of every conceivable shape, size, and color, and plucked up an especially thick, ebony-shaded device.
"Oh!" squeaked Colette, her eyes grown wide above the tender rosebud of her mouth, practically begging for a kiss, which Valmont bestowed upon her.
"Now," he continued, "it goes without saying that should you find my selection intimidating, we can downgrade."
Before he could trade the large black armament for a tiny pink one, she reached out, murmuring, "Now, let's not be hasty."
"New Floor" by Lucy Luscious
My hands caress her perfect buttocks as I thrust inside her. She lays, face first, on the Tucson Weekly, laid out on the floor. I just had the new carpet put in, and she is dripping from the hot tub.
With bestial vigor I turn her around onto her back, her entire body is covered in print. Her feminine V, heat rising from it, has an article about potential tax cuts. I am drawn to it, I feel my great pen grow even more inside her.
She cries out in pleasure, I lick the movie review on her abdomen. Her hands, the Editor's Note, fondle her breasts, which summarize future road construction plans, and there, on her left nipple, a picture of the mayor at a recent press conference, and I cannot help it, as she orgasms I lay my own ink upon her body, and smear the summary of the Super Bowl.
Honorable Mentions:
"2" by Katherine Elizabeth Standefer
It's like seeing God spurt his stuff, this David Mendez bent over, agape, the rim of his asshole shimmering with Vaseline, his sweaty cock full of sparklers. His piss hole quivers under their heavy pack. I torture him with small licks to his balls. He pulls against his handcuffs. "So, who's winning the contest now, David?" I say, holding a lighter to the sparklers, and the heat makes him cry out, the fat head of his wang trembling in pleasure, inviting me closer, like a birthday candle waiting for a blow. My own shlong dangles so swollen it's painful, so I stand, shoving the hot meat into David's warm, waiting mouth, fucking into his face, humping, rocking, as his dick makes firework-circles in the air. "Who's winning?!" I gasp. I think he says, "You," but I can't tell for sure because his mouth is too full of my cock.
"Police Dispatch" by Narda Rivera
ALL TIED UP
Tucson Weekly Headquarters
Feb. 7, 4:00am
Deputies were dispatched to a local newspaper headquarters after a jogger heard loud screaming and groans coming from a small office. Deputies were greeted by a strong odor of marijuana when they approached the building and quickly forced their way in and what they found was surprising.
Editor Dan Gibson, writer Anna Mirocha and columnist J.M Smith engaged in what appeared to be a Ménage à trois party. Handcuffs, ropes, paddles, leather, whips, candles and chains littered the cluttered office. Dan's naked body was covered with whip marks and hot oil. Anna's wrists were handcuffed to her ankles as she was bent over a newspaper printing machine. J.M was dressed in leather chaps and deputies found a MMJ water pipe being used as a sex toy.
All suspects were let go with a warning for disturbing the peace and J.M was cleared due to a legit MMJ Patient License.
"Bullet" by Mark Biery
Karen sauntered into Epic Café, pausing to grab a Tucson Weekly from the rack before ordering coffee.
The place was empty, with only a young woman, also reading a Weekly, seated nearby.
She sat down, sipped her coffee, and looked up to see the woman's eyes peering at her over the paper. Slowly the woman's legs spread, and with a shock, Karen realized that she was not only without panties, but she had a miniature, wearable "bullet" vibrator in place.
Without breaking eye contact, the woman reached into her purse and withdrew a pink remote control. She thumbed a switch and started a quiet buzzing. A moment passed, then another, and the woman's eyelids drooped and she twitched several times, her eyes never leaving Karen's.
A moment later she stood and left, pausing only to drop her Weekly on Karen's table. Circled on the cover was her name and number.
"Plant Man" by Tommie Johnson
The honey-sweet musk drifted from the plant-man as he ensnared her in his vines. A sigh of hazy pollen-soaked air entered her lungs as he pulled her closer with his many tangled tendrils.
The smooth; dexterous growths held her gently, brushing against her hips as they carried her to their master. His eyes sparkled with verdant energy, and a soft smile crossed his lips as he gazed into her. She stroked his bright green body as she got nearer, and they both shared a look of deep; primal lust.
Slowly, writhing; pulsing the vines plunged inside of her. She let out a breathy gasp of pleasure as they twisted, overwhelming her with pleasure even as others were sensuously brushing over her bare skin with their tender green tips.
And all the while, the woman thought to herself, "Hot damn, I need to check the Tucson Weekly hookup section more often!"
