Excerpt: ‘Stranger in the Dark’, by Krissy Kneen

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Stranger in the Dark is a serial erotic fiction from renowned Australian author and longtime Brow friend Krissy Kneen. The story will land in its subscribers’ inboxes over the course of this year in the form of one email per month, and subscribers can write back to Krissy – who knows where this tryst will take you?

The second instalment was dispatched early this week, but if the following excerpt from this week’s instalment makes you want to know more, fear not – new subscribers will receive all of the previous instalments when they subscribe, to bring them up to speed. You can subscribe to Stranger in the Dark and read the rest by clicking here.


Hello again.

I’ll bet your heart leapt at the sight of me in your inbox. I am in your inbox. How is it to live with me inside you?

I mean this figuratively. I mean this literally.

A smile leaps onto your lips in a quick twitch and your heart races.

You blush and the colour flushes your chest.

I don’t fuck like your lover fucks—tired from a day of work, pausing to ask if you turned the heater off in the loungeroom, stopping to switch their phone to silent or to kick the cat off the bed.

You know how I fuck now. You know it in the split of your hips. Deep in the bone of you. I don’t need to tell you, but I will.

My hands are slick on the keyboard. I have been reaching down and slipping my fingers in there, rubbing myself. Keeping the memory of last week alive.

Maybe by now you have found a way to numb the immediacy of what happened. Your body has knitted up over the wound of our sex. You have made peace with the lies. Maybe you are even beginning to believe them.

Let me correct you. Let me remind you what happened between us.

You stepped out onto the footpath. You looked hurried. Work had trampled over you and left you unbuttoned. You turned right, as expected, and I followed, five bodies between us. I caught you in glimpses between limbs and hands and breasts. I saw the thick black cotton of your pants. I watched the rhythm of your thighs, the cleft between them.

You had a coat swung over your shoulder. It was cold enough to wear that coat but you still carried it. I noticed a bruise just visible on your wrist. I saw the flash of purple as you settled the coat more comfortably and my mouth filled with saliva. It was a little reminder that I was inside you. I watched your buttocks lifting, falling. I will be inside you again. I will always be inside you. I picked up the pace and suddenly there were only two people between us. One of them peeled away. I moved closer to you. The man between us shifted towards the edge of the building as if he knew he had to make way for me. I could feel the heat of you as I fell into step, pressed my body close, but not quite touching.

I reached out suddenly, wrapped my fingers around yours. You flinched, leapt away. But I held fast. I had you in hand.

I could see the moment of panic as it all rushed back at you, our first night, the way it worked out. And then a whole month of forgetting.

I could see a remembering so fierce that you swayed, faint with the belly-punch of it.

You were unbalanced. You were leaning away. Only my fingers held you upright. If I had let you go you would have stumbled out into the traffic. Pedestrians moved around us. I stepped closer to you and waited for you to find your feet. My breath in your ear. My voice. The sound of my voice like a dog whistle pitched at the perfect note for your ears. You leaned towards me. Uncurling towards my voice, Pavlovian. Your tongue loosened, your mouth shot suddenly with saliva. My breath touching the little hairs in the secret whorls of flesh.

“Fuck and be fucked,” I whispered.

Unfurling in a rush, your body tipped towards mine.