by M. Christian
She had sighed and spread her legs wider.
June gently brought one hand up and pulled her cunt lips apart, spying with almost childish delight a pink clit the size of a marble in a sculpture of black and pink lips, almost smoking in the cool air of the kitchen. Of course she had licked. Of course she sucked and kissed and stroked it with her tongue.
June had forgotten her name almost the instant it had been told her. She called her Betty because she looked kind of like a black Betty Page.
In the same, now empty, kitchen: Betty came.
Now empty. June got up and wandered back into the rest of her apartment. Not the same, but the same kind – pair of slightly yellowed panties on the hardwood floor next to her stack of Bay Times newspapers. The same old, barely working Mac Classic her father had bought her. Same old futon on the floor. Same Pier One rattan blinds. Same sketch Fish had done of her at the Folsom Street Fair. Same tiny stack of playbills with her name on it.
It kind of scared June when people reminded her that they were only together for two months. It seemed longer. Lots longer. Betty was the kind of girlfriend she thought she always needed. Looking at the futon, with its discolorations, stains and lumps, it was too easy to feel her again. Standing, as she always seemed to, so that she was just touching June’s hip or arm.
June sat and absently flashed through the newspapers, trying not to think about the bed. Betty.
Lots of luck.
One night – oh, boy – that night: it was their second week together so, naturally, Betty had hauled over most of her stuff. They had gone long into the night prowling through her records, books, tapes, clothes, sharing stories about them or June’s similars – when this thing of plastic and nylon webbing had come out of one box.
“Haven’t you ever?” Betty had said, digging in another box for the main part of it.
June hadn’t. Wendy had been a kind of old-world dyke. Plastic or meat it was still a cock and she wouldn’t have wanted any part of it. June had actually been interested for a long time but never had the opportunity – and after Wendy had left she had pretty much lost interest in much of anything.
Betty found her cock – a pretty, stylized blue thing that looked more like a gizmo from a science fiction movie than a penis. Maybe that’s what made it easier for June. As Wendy protested in the back of June’s mind she kept telling the phantom: have you seen a cock like this?
Buckle, snap, synch. Condom, lube . . . “Bend over, dear.”
“Waitaminute,” June had said, feeling out of control, “who wears the pants around here?”
“You do,” Betty had said, stroking her penis, “but I have the cock. Now bend over, or do I have to call you bitch?”
“No, sir!” June snapped in sarcasm, but added in a much smaller voice: “Take it easy with that thing; I’m a virgin.”
“Now this is going to be a novel experience,” Betty had said, all smiles with enthusiasm, “I’ve never deflowered a virgin before—”
June had suddenly been aware of a different part of her: a part that wanted the cock and Betty behind it, sure, but wanted it because of Betty. She instantly knew what it was all about, the surprising desire to feel the plastic penis in her cunt. It wasn’t just hornyness. It was love. She wanted to be wanted by her
It almost made her cry. It was something she thought she’d left when Wendy had left to find someone even more subservient. Having it back was almost too much for her to handle: the fear that it could go again.
Slowly, June had stood up on the lumpy futon, unbuttoned her jeans, and then, teasingly, dropped her panties. She did it slowly because while it seemed that all she and Betty did was fuck, the magic of their bodies hadn’t rubbed off yet. She had loved to get naked in front of Betty, watching her eyes dance and hunger for her.
It was a little chilly in the apartment, so June left her T-shirt on.
“Make like a doggie, love,” Betty had said, “It’s easier that way.”
Slowly, kind of scared, June had: she got down on the futon, first on her hands and knees and then – ’cause her arms started to ache – leaning down on a pillow.
“So pretty,” Betty said from behind her.
The kiss was kind of a shock. June had been so psyched to receive the brilliantly blue silicone dildo that the one thing she hadn’t expected was the butterfly kiss of Betty’s lips on her cunt lips.
Slowly, worshipfully, Betty kissed her again and again: on the cheeks of her ass, on the little knot of her asshole, on her puffy outer lips, and then, with a little skillful positioning, on the little dent where her cunt lips started and where her clit lay hidden.
“So very pretty,” Betty had said, massaging June’s cunt with a smooth, slightly cool hand – rubbing her mons and lips and thus her clit in its folds and valleys of very warm skin (and getting warmer). It was the kind of touch that June loved even more than a hard, driving jerking off; having her tits really worked on; nipple sucking and biting. . . it was a kind of gentle, worshipping touch that was almost unfamiliar. Wendy had done it, very early on in their relationship, then tossed it aside as she got bored.
June had missed it.
Betty had been so gentle, so tender with her touches and kisses that June almost didn’t realize that the cock was entering her. It was warm, not too big, and definitely not persistent. It had felt, in fact, like Betty had just sort of parked its condom-covered plastic head just outside her cunt and was just sort of letting it be there as Betty stroked and gingerly touched June’s back, thighs and ass.
June had been so caught up in the gentleness of something she had always considered harsh and probably painful . . . fucking . . . she almost didn’t notice, didn’t pick up, that Betty was talking.
“Such a beautiful woman. Such a gorgeous woman. Oh, God, I look at you and I get all wet. Yeah, my pussy, too, but me, inside, too. I get all warm and squishy when I look at you and touch you and . . . God . . . I get all gold inside, all sunlight and hot and tingly—”
The cock had slowly started to ease inside June, to make its way very slowly and very sedately into her cunt. In some way it reminded June of taking a dump – backwards: the sense of being filled, or being stretched by something warm and slightly resident. It wasn’t an unfavourable feeling but it was . . . different: fucking and sex before had always just been quick and flickering things like tongues and fingers – not big solid things like plastic cocks.
It was unique, but something, June knew, there on her lumpy old futon, that she could grow to like. A lot.
She was filled, she was empty, she was filled, she was empty – the transition from just being occupied by Betty’s cock to being fucked by Betty’s cock was so smooth that, at first, June really didn’t know what was going on. The sensation was warm and rhythmic, like her whole ass and cunt were breathing with the dildo – like she was expanding and contracting with each thrust. Heavy, warm surges ran through her and she had found herself panting into the pillow she was resting on. Her legs started to ache.
She must have said something, because Betty had taken a few careful moments to adjust her – putting a pillow under her tummy and moving her legs so she was more flat-out – before easing her cock back into June’s cunt.
It was like floating in a boat, June had decided as Betty fucked her. Gentle, warm waves on a lightly moving sea. She liked it. She wasn’t going to come – no way – but it was like a kind of internal massage.
“Try rubbing your cunt,” Betty had said in a voice laced with a kind of aerobics pant.
Thoroughly committed, June had done exactly that. She snaked her right hand down to her clit and found it delightfully hard and wonderfully wet from the juice and lube that had dripped down from her slurping cunt. Since she loved it usually when she jerked off, her left also went to her left nipple where she found it, also, incredibly hard. As Betty fucked her she started to really get down and nasty with her clit as she rubbed and pulled at her nipple.
Oh, boy – she remembered thi
nking as the first of five deep and rumbling comes surged through her. She also remembered the leg cramps and the embarrassing huge wet mark on the pillow where she had been drooling in excitement.
Slowly, cautiously, because of her raging leg cramps, she had turned over and hugged Betty. A delightful surprise awaited her as she did so: in her arms, Betty had her own hand down between the harness and the plastic cock, and was furiously working her own clit.
Holding her, feeling her fiery heat, Betty came.
That was then. June got up from the futon and her old newspapers and tried to think without thinking of Betty. Even though the tiny black girl had been pretty thorough about taking everything of hers it was still painfully hard not to try and think of her. Every room brought back flashes of wonderful times: tea and talk, tears and hugs, and comes – lots and lots of comes.
Even the fucking bathroom, June thought with a sudden flash of anger, remembering that one morning: cold tiles under her back as Betty lowered herself onto her face. It was an odd scene, one she, again, would never have thought of. She also remembered that they hadn’t talked. It had just sort of happened the same way that first time in the kitchen had happened. June had been taking a piss. Betty had just stepped out of the shower. Betty walked over to her and asked June to towel her off. June had, then kissed her lips and then the younger girl’s nipples. There was such joy in Betty – like it all was just a game of come and come again. She didn’t seem to worry like Wendy had, about right and wrong things to do and enjoy. Betty had just drifted from one fun thing to another.
The fun, for instance, in hauling June down to the cold tiles and carefully lowering her sweet little cunt down onto June’s face. It was kind of scary – to have someone, no matter how tiny, hovering over your eyes and nose and mouth and tongue. But then it started to kick in for June, and she felt an explosion of pure, crazed hornyness: Betty was using her, shoving herself down onto June’s tongue and eagerness.
In the hall, looking into the now dark bathroom, June didn’t even have to close her eyes to experience the taste of Betty’s cunt – the heady perfume of her excitement. She remembered waking up many mornings to that smell on her lips and fingers, permeating even the time she spent away from her.
She remembered the bathroom, the gentle weight of Betty on her face. She recalled the giggles and the sighs that eased and surged out of the little dark-haired black girl as June licked and nibbled and sucked at her cunt and clit.
Sweet music—
Betty’s hands, always busy, always hunting for June’s tits, ass or cunt, had fluttered on the tight skin of June’s thighs, forced then apart with the crazed energy of the very, very excited, and then had started to work on June’s pussy. Betty had been surprisingly deft, considering the feverish licking June had been giving her, and soon June was staring down into the white light of a brilliant come.
Together, they went there. June came from Betty’s fingers.
Above her, Betty came.
June found herself in the hall. Down the stairs was the front door. Probably the one place where they hadn’t played, where Betty hadn’t come. She’d gone, though.
What she said, what Betty said, was pretty well gone. All June could remember was a bad week – bad work, bad parents, bad city – and a fight about . . . something. Maybe she had talked about Wendy. She hoped not.
Betty had gone.
Now, five days later: the little apartment was cold and empty. It was dark and quiet. June, and June alone, slept on the lumpy futon, made coffee in the morning and read her newspapers. No calls came in, and she didn’t feel like making any.
Except one. Now, in the quiet dark.
June’s fingers felt numb. It was hard to admit that she wanted Betty, wanted her back. It was hard to say she wanted anything. It was a scary place – as dark as the apartment was: What if she said no?
But would it be any worse?
Audrey answered on the second ring, her surprisingly deep voice: “Speak your peace.”
“Is Betty there, Audrey?”
“Just a minute, you heartbreaker—”
“Yes?”
“Come. Please come. I want you.”
Betty came.
Regrets
M. Christian
Sitting on a chair, arms on the desk, fingers on the keyboard, words on the screen . . .
Sandy,
I never wanted this to happen. Please believe me. Every day since I met you ten years ago has been delightful. More than delightful, it’s been incredible. You are truly the most wonderful and extraordinary woman I have ever known, and I’m a weak and sniveling idiot for what I’ve done.
Seeing you the first time, when you were working the counter at the Kwiki Mart, I knew you were something special. Not only were you fantastically beautiful, but I could tell that silly, pointless job was just a step on the ladder for you, that you deserved not just to be the night clerk but also manager, or maybe district manager.
Even though I was with that slut Marsha, the moment I saw you I knew that there was a unique and powerful connection between us. When you gave me my change after getting us our hot dogs and two MegaGulps, I felt an electric-like spark between us when our hands touched. I knew right then that we were meant to be together.
I know it was rude of me to wait two weeks before coming back to the Kwiki Mart, darling, but to be honest with you I had spent all that time trembling with fear at seeing you again. I was terrified, you see, that perhaps you didn’t feel the same way about me, or that you’d see me for the quivering little boy that I am deep down inside.
But I had to see you again, so I risked it. So I got Earl and Frank – and you are so right, beloved, that Frank is a no-good fool who never has and never will amount to anything – to go with me, in case I should be too taken with fear and insecurity at being around you, and we went down to the Kwiki Mart. I know we all acted like idiots, Sandy, but it was all an act. I really didn’t mean to spill all that beer, or make fun of that stupid paper hat they made you wear. I really didn’t mean it when I said that you must have been a loser to be working in a place like that. It was all nerves, you see, because I knew, deep down in my heart, that you were the one woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
It was all a foolish game. All of it. The way I teased you, the insults, when Earl, Frank, and I grabbed the Coins for Cripples jar and pretended to steal it. It was all my way of trying to get to know the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
I’m sorry if I made you cry after we left. I was a rude and self-centered jerk. But I was scared, Sandy. I was terrified that you wouldn’t like or love me the way I loved you. It’s because I felt this way about you that I had to come back after dropping off Earl and that no-account Frank and see you again.
I can see it all like it just happened. I was in the parking lot, nervous and frantic with anxiety, putting on an act of calm by leaning against my car and smoking a cigarette. I must have been there for hours, though to you I’m sure it must have been only a few minutes. Finally, it was the end of your shift and you came out. There you were, my angel, a vision despite that stupid paper hat and ugly striped uniform. I have to tell you, darling, that even though you were hauling a big bag of stinking garbage over to the dumpster, I have never seen a more beautiful and sexy woman in my life.
It was all I could do to stand there and smoke my cigarette. I wanted to take you in my arms and sweep you away, carry you off, and make sweet love to you. I wanted to drop down to my knees and proclaim my eternal affection for you. I wanted all that and more, Sandy, but as I have said, I am a total fool and a complete idiot.
But I did manage to speak with you as you walked over to your car. I know I may have been gruff and rude to you, and for that I am very sorry, but in my heart what I said instead of “Hey, you look kinda hot” was “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” And instead of “Wanna do it sometime?” what I meant was “I want to marry you and take you away from all thi
s, treat you like the lovely woman you are, and shower you with diamonds.”
That first time, in the alley behind the Kwiki Mart, was magical. I know it should have been in a fancy hotel with champagne and roses on the bed, and you should have been in one of those Victoria’s Secret fancy lace panties and bra, but I was with you and that’s all that matters. I remember how beautiful you looked, even with garbage on your tennis shoes and that stupid paper hat on your head. Your eyes were dancing in the moonlight, looking like two gold beads and not like “cheap orange drink in a paper cup” like Marsha says.
It was one of my best times, much better than with any other woman in my entire life – which actually isn’t that many, even though I may have said different to Frank and Earl. I really am a simple and caring soul under my T-shirt and smelly old jeans. That’s what made our first time behind the Kwiki Mart so special, Sandy. I know I may have acted gruff and crude and all, using four-letter words when I suggested that you kneel down on the asphalt to perform oral sex on me, but that was just nerves again.
So many things I’m sorry for, Sandy. So many bad things I wish I’d had the courage and strength to do right with you. Like that first time. I wish I hadn’t been so gruff and rough with you, making you do things with your mouth, then pulling your jeans down, tearing a perfectly good pair of panties, and then putting my penis into you from behind. Even though I’m pretty sure you were having a pretty good time, it wasn’t the first time I wish it could have been. I’m also very, very sorry that I ejaculated inside you even though you had said that I shouldn’t.
I’m very sorry, too, that it was a month before I saw you again. I was very busy going to job interviews, cleaning up my mom’s house, reading books to blind children, and definitely not – never ever, seeing that slut Marsha or doing stupid guy things with Earl and that idiot Frank. But I did come by to see you; stopping in for a couple of Twix bars and a MegaGulp was just a lame excuse. I know that my pretending not to recognize you was a very cruel and mean thing to do, but I really thought I was being funny in a stupid, loser kind of way.