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The Metro
The metro car lurches slightly, its momentum causing Carolyn to brush against me ever so slightly as we grip the poles to keep from toppling into each other. There is electricity to her skin, I can almost feel it radiating off of her.
“It isn’t about the sex,” she says softly, the last word nearly a whisper as we hold the handrails tightly. There’s no sitting room.
“Well, what is it about then?” I ask, more loudly.
Carolyn blushes immediately beneath her glasses, tugging at her shoulder-length brown hair as she speaks. “It’s about the trust she had in him, and how once again another politician ruins his career over a mistress.”
“It’s rather helped some of them,” I counter.
“Fewer, and farther between.” She’s looking straight at me again now. A safer topic, one with which she’s intimately familiar. Politics. “I don’t have to start making a list, but generally it is pretty bad for a career…which as an aside provides me some small continued faith in humanity.”
I, always the devil’s advocate, have to counter. “But look at all those men that have come out stronger in the end…even in some cases the wife. Look, I’m certainly not advocating men cheat on their wives, especially politicians who are theoretically supposed to be representing us to the world. What I am saying is that your example of what’s-his-face isn’t the only scenario of how that situation can end for a politician.”
As an afterthought, I pause and look carefully into Carolyn’s expression, riding the momentum of the conversation. I won’t miss this opportunity. “Besides,” I say, “maybe the wife would have wanted to join in.”
I feel the sting in my arm from her fist just as I finish my sentence. “Sonofabitch, that hurt,” I curse under my breath, secretly smiling to myself. She’s feisty when she wants to be.
And yet when I look back down at her, Carolyn is smiling at me with her slightly downward expression, her left hand wrapped around her right hiding the pain from the attack. “How many more stops?” she asks sweetly, as though nothing just happened.
“Two,” I answer, feigning anger.
It’s officially a date.
The Bar
“Who the hell ever heard of studying at a bar, anyway?” she asks. She’s had two cocktails, and she’s a lightweight.
“Well, you did agree to it. I’d have welcomed better ideas.”
“I agreed to it because you know all too much about the history of the French National Assembly. And I can put up with your endlessly snarky attitude enough to use it. Have I mentioned that I’m one semester from my Master’s?”
I can’t help but smile, and though I know I’m walking on thin ice, the sentence just flows out of me. I’ve had two cocktails as well. “Seems you are the one with the attitude now. Vibrator broken?”
I’m ready for it this time, but nonetheless my arm stings. And yet, she responds.
“For your information,” Carolyn answers slowly, her cheeks red from the alcohol, “it is in full working order. And unlike men, it doesn’t quit on me halfway through.”
I can’t help but laugh, despite the drink in my mouth. Hearing Carolyn talk like this is something akin to seeing Billy Graham do a George Carlin routine. I tell her as much, waiting for another semi-lighthearted punch, but it doesn’t come.
Carolyn turns serious for a moment, frowning. In the space of a second, I watch as disappointment flashes across her face, replaced by a smile that must be forced. A moment later, I understand why.
Their names are James, Paul, and Wendy, friends from PSI 250. I learn this in the space of minute as introductions are made post-recognition. I’ve had no classes with them (being a history major), so Carolyn is our only reason to know each other. Awkward and not what I had planned. Might even have to live up to my somewhat exaggerated (though still competitive) knowledge of the history of the French National Assembly. I turn back to the conversation.
“Would you like to sit down with us?” Carolyn is saying. She gives me a sideways glance, one I interpret as “I don’t really want them here…but what am I supposed to do?”
“Oh, thank you!” says Wendy immediately, taking a seat at the booth next to me. My textbooks are brushed aside.
As the conversation begins, I realize that Wendy is very likely the complete opposite of Carolyn in every way. A confident, radiant blond, she wears contacts and appears to utilize a plethora of make-up. In other words, she’s hot, and she knows it.
I can’t stand her.
As I join the conversation as best I can (they are talking about which professors are best for the next series of classes), I note that James and Paul are a little better than their blond bombshell companion. James is tall and broad-shouldered, a would-be jock if not for his Clark Kent classes and his apparent affinity for discussing international politics.
He’s asked me a question, I realize, and I manage to deflect without answering, as I didn’t catch what he said. He nods, seemingly satisfied, and turns to Paul for more gaziantep escortlar interesting conversation. If Wendy is Carolyn’s opposite, so is Paul compared to James. His skinny, almost feminine features contradict with his apparent love for everything hockey. His accent says western Canada, if I haven’t lost my touch. I note that his black hair contrasts sharply with pale skin, a natural Goth if he chose to embrace it.
I turn my attention back to the woman that brought me here. Carolyn is still engaged with Wendy in a deep conversation on whether one actually needs to buy the book for PSI 272.
“God,” I mutter, “she really needs a good fucking.”
“What was that?” I turn to my right to look at Wendy, whose conversation has stopped. She’s expecting an answer
My heart stops for a moment. Did I say that out loud? It’s loud in here, no one could have heard. Either way, I’ve got plausible deniability. At least, I hope I do.
I shake my head. “Nothing important, sorry. So, how far are you into the program?”
Wendy looks at me for just a moment, and an expression I can’t quite read flashes across her face. I swear it’s almost amusement mixed with arousal, though I’m sure that’s the alcohol talking.
When she replies, the look is gone. “About a year,” she says, twisting her hair in her hands. She’s had a couple rounds before Carolyn saw her, it seems. “You look really familiar,” she continues, rambling. “You don’t live up near me in DuPont, do you?”
I tell her no, I live in College Park.
“Pity,” she continues, having almost barely heard me. “I have a nice place over there that I share with three doctoral students. All out of the country at the moment. In fact, we were just on our way over there to hang out and drink cheaper booze. You two want to join us?”
I look at Carolyn, seeing her eyes widen and then look down to the table, hiding behind her glasses once again. I’m not sure what I’m thinking, but on an impulse I give the first reply that enters my mind.
“Sure.”
“Great!” Wendy nearly squeals. Carolyn gives me a sharp look, and this time it isn’t the flirting kind. I let it go. Things happen for a reason…sometimes you have to just go with where life’s momentum takes you.
As we get up, Wendy smiles at me and tilts in to tell me something over the music. Her breath smells of booze, but she’s more coherent than I thought. Only two words come out:
“I agree.”
The Residence
DuPont Circle is a little slice of San Francisco where no one would expect it. The whole area runs on Starbucks and Peanut Sauté, and I’d bet it has the largest ratio of dildos per capita in the DC area. The difference, however, is that these same people work for The Fed instead of Google, and manage budgets instead of art galleries, so they hide it a little better (mostly).
Wendy’s place is no exception. By no means an exceptional piece of real estate, her and her roommates have, just the same, prettied it up with slightly risqué’ sketches and books on Napoleon.
We are sitting in the living area, Carolyn and Wendy on the couch next to one another as Paul, James and I use up the remaining chairs. Carolyn is doing her best not to look miserable, and failing. This isn’t her forte. For that matter, it isn’t mine either, but I fake it a little better.
We are all holding a beer, courtesy of Wendy’s out-of-town roommates. “They won’t miss them,” she says with a smile as she hands one to me and turns around to provide Carolyn with another. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she turned around right in front of me just to tease me. Too bad for her that her type drives me insane. Even as I’m removed from my thoughts to join the conversation, I’m reminded of why I stay away from women like her.
“Come on,” she’s saying to Carolyn, “you must have been a bad girl once. Something you’ve done that you never told anyone before. We all know you’ve got one.”
“Since when,” Carolyn begins, giving me an icy look, “is this called studying? We do have an exam on Thursday.”
“See, that doesn’t count as being a bad girl,” giggles Wendy. “Though, you are getting there. No deflecting. One more round and then we’ll pull out the trusty texts.”
“Fine. Playboy,” blurts Carolyn.
The room becomes silent. “Playboy?” asks Wendy carefully.
“Playboy. I used to read my roommate’s playboy in undergrad. They had good articles, what can I say?”
Wendy’s trying to hold back a smirk. James and Paul are sipping their beers, their own conversation paused as they listen in.
“Is that all you did,” I ask. My tone is completely level, like a lead investigator on Law and Order. “Read the articles?”
Carolyn turns the darkest shade of red I’ve ever seen, and Wendy busts out laughing. Not exactly what I’d been hoping for…but the alcohol is doing funny things to my ability to analyze a situation.
It looks like Carolyn is going to up and leave, but Wendy puts a hand on her arm, still giggling. “You don’t have to answer that, hun, we all know the answer. Hell, I’ve been known to do much worse. No judgment here.”
James and Paul both nod, “I’m a Playboy fan too,” says James, “Though I usually go for the more…racy stuff.”
“Oh Paul, you perv,” responds Wendy. “We didn’t need to know that. Well, all right, maybe it is fun to know.” Everyone except Carolyn laughs out loud, though I do notice her quickly suppress a tightlipped smile.
I’m not sure what is bringing this on, but I’m finding myself looking Carolyn up and down. Not that I haven’t before, of course, but I suspect I’m being more obvious about it than usual. Perhaps the beer is making me existential, but I find myself wondering what is wrong with a society that tells women they must be small, but have giant breasts. Carolyn’s petite figure and sharp curves, I can’t help but notice, often get overlooked.
I turn to the side and note Wendy watching me, thinking back to her earlier comment when we left the bar. A joke, of course, and yet I’m finding myself unable to hate Wendy as much as I did before. She’s sly, this one, in an unassuming way. Much like myself, now that I think about it. A vision becomes clear to me, and on impulse, I speak, drowning out other conversation.
“What about you, Wendy?” I ask. “Sounds like you have many bad girl stories to tell.”
Wendy meets my eyes, and smiles her bombshell smile. “Why, yes I do sir,” she answers in what must be her sweetest voice. “And I’d love to tell them, after another round.”
She gets up and brings back the heavy stuff this time, not beer but shots. We all drink, even Carolyn, though I don’t toss mine back like the others, sipping it instead. This is going to be a dangerous game, I know. Flirt too hard with Wendy and I’m going to piss off (rightly so) Carolyn, but do nothing at all and the vision that flashed before my eyes will fade away.
“So,” asks Wendy, tossing back her hair, “What do you want to know?”
“You,” I say immediately, “And other women.”
Wendy laughs heartily, though everyone else is silent, looking at her. James and Paul are especially attentive, and even Carolyn seems intrigued. “Is that the best you can do?” Wendy asks me. “I’m pretty certain that’s the first question every man has ever asked me.”
I down the rest of my vodka, suppressing a grimace. “I’m not asking you about the time you kissed some girl at a party,” I respond. “I want to know about how you seduce them.”
Time slows down a bit in that moment, as I look into Wendy’s slightly bloodshot eyes, her blond hair sticking slightly to her forehead. She looks at me, and then glances around before answering.
“That,” she says, “is more intriguing.” And then the moment passes and she laughs again, her substantial breasts heaving up and down as she leans forward toward me, showing me all of her cleavage. “But I’m not that bad of a girl,” she continues as her laughter subsides.
“Very well,” I answer. “How would you do such a thing?”
“Oh, honey, for that I’d really need to demonstrate. Words just won’t do it.”
In that moment, all three men simultaneously turn to look at Carolyn, whose eyes grow wide.
“What?” she asks, clearly not having heard all of the conversation, probably worrying about the exam on Thursday.
With that, Wendy stands up and circles around the couch, and we all see Carolyn trying to follow her for as long as possible before the blond woman is directly behind her flowing brown hair. With that, Wendy climbs over the couch with a drunken laugh, right on top of poor Carolyn who shouts out in surprise.
I catch my date’s eyes and smile what I hope is a reassuring message. We can leave if you want, I’m trying to tell her, but if you want to stay…
Her look is too quick for me to gauge a response, as Wendy’s crotch quickly obscures the view of her face. Beneath the tangle of limbs, I’m fairly certain some tickling as begun, because both women begin laughing, almost hysterically. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Carolyn so unguarded, or so red.
In that moment, I realize that it is time.
I stand, slowly, watching the two women laugh together, Wendy’s deep and strong, and Carolyn’s small but sharp. I walk up to Carolyn, sitting on the couch with Wendy on top of her. She’s in a unique position because her feet are in the air, probably trying to avoid Wendy’s hands. In one smooth motion, I grab Carolyn’s feet and pull her forwards, stopping only to latch my hands around her waist and unbutton her pants.
In seconds, Carolyn’s pants are on the floor beside us, and her breath is catching as realization dawns on her. Wendy knows the trap is sprung, and uses the opportunity to press her crotch over Carolyn’s face, muffling her protests.
I reach down and touch the small brunette. It is as I thought. Her panties are soaked. She struggles for a few seconds against us, and then all at once sweet Carolyn’s demeanor changes. I swear that I just heard a moan from underneath the blond on top of her. And now, I know I did.
Things are happening quickly, but I suspect I’ll remember them later in slow motion. All pretenses drop, and my fingers find Carolyn’s clit underneath the thin cotton separating us. Wendy, I realize, is reaching down to her own waist, and before I know it her pants are gone. Oh, and now her shirt as well.
She’s looking at me with that same smile she had when we first met, but now I’m truly seeing it for what it is. A devil in sheep’s clothing, no doubt this one is. As I come to this realization, my eyes tell me that Wendy is wrapping her thighs even more tightly around poor Carolyn’s face, and from the sounds coming from Wendy’s mouth, it seems the protests are over.
I’m not usually a violent lover; I prefer to taste, savor, and enjoy rather than whip and spank. However, in this moment, I can’t help myself. I have to taste the woman who moments before was so embarrassed to admit to reading Playboy. I fall to my knees and grab her panties, the smell of her arousal immediately hitting me as I rip the fabric away from her body. Pushing her legs apart, I taste Carolyn for the first time.
And then, the most interesting thing happens. Just as my tongue laps up Carolyn’s wetness, and continues to explore every inch of her sex, I feel a yank on my belt, and then my pants fall away from me.
It’s an odd feeling, probably not unlike what Carolyn felt moments before, though my arousal at this point is so intense it is probably even more difficult for me to comprehend. Still, I’m far too enamored with my current task to give it a second thought.
At least, until the hand touches me.
I’m not sure how my boxers disappeared, but they did. I don’t remember getting hard, either, but I sure am now. And there’s a hand touching me, running up and down my shaft, playing expertly with the foreskin as I hear myself moan against Carolyn’s sex.
It’s not a feminine hand. I’m beyond resistance. My hips are bucking against it, I realize, as I feel female lips on my forehead. It’s Wendy, and she’s kissing me as Carolyn pleasures her.
I take a breath, close my eyes and then re-open them. I turn to my left, and find myself floored by what I see. James has Paul bent over a chair next to me, and the contrast of their bodies is amazing. James’s hard, rippling muscles press against Paul’s pale, almost feminine body as he presses in and out, the two men fucking almost silently save for the occasional sigh and shake of the body that shows how close they are.
It’s Paul’s hand on me, and I swear he must be ambidextrous, because his other hand is on his own hardness, yet he is touching both of us so furiously I can barely see straight.
Unable to react with anything more than lust, I return to the prize before me. Carolyn tastes so sweet, so pure, that I almost protest when Wendy rolls off of her, and pulls me on to the couch.
Without pretense, she sits on top of me, and I’m overwhelmed by a whole new taste. Carolyn is sweet, pure, while Wendy is…like the devil’s nectar. With every lap of my tongue, I feel the bitterness washing over my taste buds, and yet the aftertaste is enough to make any man (or woman) beg for more.
Now, a new sensation. I realize it immediately. Carolyn is riding me. They are facing each other. I can’t see anything, but I can hear them, kissing and moaning against one another over and over again as my date grinds against me in a way I’d never imagined her capable of.
I don’t know where the two men are, but I can hear them moaning, and I know they are close. They aren’t fucking each other anymore, of that I’m sure, because one is near my head (and Wendy) and one is near my crotch (and Carolyn). I think the two women are jerking them off. At least, that’s the way it looks in my mind, and it is driving me over the edge.
I can’t help myself. I’m pushing myself against Carolyn, furiously, as I use my tongue in every way I know to pleasure the woman on top of my face. Wendy is reacting, so she must be enjoying it. And when I say reacting, I mean that her juices are coating my face, my lips, and I’m forced to swallow her every couple of seconds as she grinds against me, and suddenly stops, shaking above me.
Things happen quickly after that, but yet again I know I’ll remember it in slow motion. I remember warmth, warmth on my lips, warmth around my hardness, and warmth shooting from me. I remember warmth dripping down on to my stomach, my chest. I will realize later that the two men orgasmed all over the three of us, though I don’t think it is registering right now.
At last, I feel bliss, and sleep overwhelming me.
The Aftermath
Its morning, I realize vaguely. I’m in a bed, and not mine. I think I had class this morning, but that’s the least of my worries at the moment. Where are my clothes? Who is this-oh. Now I remember. I touch her features, feel the angles of her body. Carolyn. She’s sleeping next to me, her head on my shoulder, snoring softly.
I slowly work my way out from under her, seeing no one else in the bed as I find a shirt (mine?) and dress. I pass the living room, a scattered mess of clothes and the smell of sex still hanging in the air.
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