My Bisexual Birthday Gift
I thought that dinner was a joke, until I saw my lover arrive arm in arm with another woman and realized that night I was going to watch, touch, and learn.
I thought that dinner was a joke, until I saw my lover arrive arm in arm with another woman and realized that night I was going to watch, touch, and learn.
I accepted a beer with a coworker and ended up trembling in a hotel bed, soaked and begging him not to stop sucking my tits.
I recognized him across the party and never imagined we’d end up alone, our hands trembling and our cocks hard inside my car.
It started as a joke among friends, until she came looking for me in the sand, squeezed me in her hands, and made it clear she hadn’t come to talk.
We sat facing each other in first class, and before the next stop I was already trembling over what she was letting me see beneath the table.
I invented a university assignment to get a soccer player alone, in shorts, and find out whether his legs were as incredible up close as they were on TV.
Every time she pushed open the bar’s door, six men rose at once, as if they had rehearsed the scene hundreds of nights.
The first order came at seven in the evening, and I understood that night I would obey everything without asking, in front of a camera and a man I knew only through his written voice.
When my mother opened the door and I saw who was coming to dinner, my blood ran cold: it was the man I’d been secretly sleeping with for two months.
She locked the door, hung up the “closed” sign, and took him to the back of the shop with a flimsy excuse. What came after, she hadn’t entirely planned.
When the coach asked her to observe the boys, she agreed with a smile. No one suspected the woman in the blue suit had already chosen her two favorites.
That night I lost my money, my underwear, and the idea I had of myself. What happened afterward in that empty park is something I had never told anyone.
I don’t lie about my age or about the gym, but in that reclining chair all of that stops mattering. All that’s left is the soft pressure of her body against mine.
It began with a twisted ankle on the court and ended many weeks later, one night when her house was empty and there was no longer any reason to hold back.
Five minutes trapped between a wall and a throne bearer who smelled of rosemary and wood. I didn’t know his name, but I knew I’d look for him again that night.
We agreed that whoever arrived first would wait in the car. I got there first. Fifteen minutes later, two taps on the window awakened every nerve I thought I had under control.
I sent a photo of my open pussy from the café bathroom. What happened next, in front of that picture window, still makes my legs shake.
That night we went down twenty-two steps into the basement where the sax was playing. What happened down there still hasn’t been told to anyone.
I opened the door for him to shelter from the downpour. I never imagined I’d end up on my knees in front of him, or that his four friends would come knocking too.
Every time I walked into the garage, he looked up before he even heard the door. That afternoon, with the shutter half down, I stopped pretending.