Shaun Levin is a South African living in London. He teaches creative writing and runs No Holes Barred, a gay men's erotica writing workshop. He lived in Israel for many years where he worked as a journalist. His work has appeared in The Evergreen Chronicles, The Gay Times Book of Short Stories, The Harrington Gay Men's Fiction Quarterly, Mach, Queer View Mirror (1 and 2), Best Gay Erotica 2000, and in other publications, academic and otherwise - in England, the United States, Canada, and Israel. New work is coming out in Tales of the Bear Cult (Palm Drive Publishing), Afterwords, and Best American Erotica 2002. The following was published in the anthology Quickies 2. Read more about it at the Arsenal Pulp Press website. EmailShaun Levin.
Making Meringues by Shaun Levin I'm inside my boyfriend, Timmy, when he says: "James, how did you make those meringues?" Our guests have just left and we're on our bed. Tim's on his back and I'm on my knees between his legs. I take a swig from the bottle we brought into the bedroom and I kiss him, wine running into his mouth. Tim's referring to the meringues that held the strawberries and ice cream. I say: "Get your ingredients out first." "Yes?" he says, caressing my chest with one hand, the other behind his head. "You're so gorgeous," I say. Timmy's long black hair is spread out on the pillow. His blue eyes unmoving from mine, his succulent lips shining with kisses and wine. And his armpits. God, his armpits. "You are," I say. "So gorgeous," he says, grinning, clenching his arse around my cock. "And you're so drunk." "Two eggs at room temperature," I say. "A big bowl, a smaller one, sugar." "That's better," he says, taking his hand from my chest, kissing two fingers, bringing them back to my lips. "Now comes the delicate part." "Delicate?" he says. "So soon?" "Separating the eggs." "Ah," Timmy says, his eyes closed, moving his arse in circles, smiling, the walls of his insides pressing against the head of my cock. "Crack egg number one on side of small bowl," I say. "Then let white of egg slide out. Pass yolk between shells until all of white is in bowl. Make sure yolk doesn't break. No specks slipping out with the white." "And if it breaks?" he says, pulling himself up and taking the tip of my nipple between his teeth. "Oh, fuck, Tim," I say, holding onto his back, him onto mine, pushing into him as far as I can go. "Tell me," he says, my nipple still between his teeth. "What if the yolk breaks?" "That old-fashioned cookbook... the cookbook says... it says... it says the best way to.... the best way to remove bits of... bits of yolk is... Ow." "What?" he says, his tongue flicking the tip of my nipple. "What does it say?" "Wet a soft piece of linen, squeeze it dry, then dab out the bits of yolk." "Good advice," he says, lying back. "Tell me more." "Both whites of eggs should be in the big bowl by now," I say. "Take out hand whisk and start whisking whites." Timmy smiles at me, brings one leg over, pushes his bum into my groin, keeping me inside him. We manoeuvre our bodies so I can fuck him from behind. "Whites of egg need to be stiff," I say. "They need to peak." "I love stiff egg whites," he says, on all fours, turning his head around to be kissed. I lift the curtain of dark hair from the side of his face and bring my lips to his. I run my tongue over his gums. Strawberries and dry white wine. "It's so warm inside you," I say, slowing down so as not to come. "What happens when the whites are stiff?" he says. "Timmy," I say. "Do you really want to know all this?" "You know I do," he says. "Keep talking." "Take half a cup of caster sugar and pour, gradually, while whisking whites." "That's a lot of sugar for two eggs," he says. His shoulders are speckled with freckles. His skin is beach-sand from a distance, his vertebrae a range of windswept dunes. His waist as narrow as perfection, like polished driftwood. "You don't have to worry about that," I say, holding on to him from behind, stroking the soft hairs on his chest. "I want pink meringues," he says. "With hundreds and thousands?" I say, close to his ear. "Of course," he says. "Hundreds and hundreds and pink." "Some red food colouring then," I say, lifting my chest off his back, fucking him slowly. "How about blood?" he says, doing that circle motion with his bum. "We can use blood. Two drops. One from me and one from you." "Oh, Tim," I say, almost coming right there and then. "Then?" he says, pushing back into me and pulling on his cock, his face in the pillow. "Spoon mixture onto greaseproof paper on baking trays. Flatten mounds with back of spoon. Leave overnight in oven on low, low temperature." "Then?" his voice muffled. "Then, while they're turning into meringues," I say, cupping his arsecheeks, looking at my cock going in and out of him. "I think I'm going to come," he says. "Oh, fuck, Timmy, oh, fuck," I say. "James," he says. "My James," he says, and comes. I do, too, inside him. I kiss the top of his back and his shoulders as we lower ourselves onto the bed, easing our legs out behind us. I am on his back, still inside him, going soft, stroking his cheek and brushing his skin with my lips. I'm hugging hard earth, peering over the edge of a cliff. I have been here forever. I slip out of him and curl up at his side. Tim's breathing slows down as he wriggles his head under my arm, nuzzling up against my chest. "What should we do with the yolks?" he says, letting sleep take him. "Make mayonnaise," I say. "Oh, my lovely pink meringue," he says, lips against my skin, smiling. "Ah, my sleeping beauty," I say, kissing him good night. Meringues Ingredients: 2 egg whites
Method: 1. Beat egg whites until stiff, dry, and rocky.Serve separately with strawberries and cream, or stuck together with chocolate mousse, perhaps folded into vanilla pudding, and eat immediately. Copyright © 2001 Shaun Levin. All rights reserved. |