by Неизвестный
Gretch
“Great class, everyone! Good job getting your asses here, and I expect to see you again tomorrow.” The cheeriness of the instructor grated on my last nerve. Who has the right to be in such a good fucking mood on the worst-hungover day of the year? And who has a right to look so fucking hot in that tank and shorts?
“You did a good job. Why haven’t I seen you in my class before?” he said to my ass as I was bent over stacking my steps and weights. Seriously? Hot instructor man with the tightest ass I’d ever seen was talking to my flabby bottom? Quickly, I straightened up and through my sweat-matted bangs mumbled something about New Year’s resolutions and all that.
“I hope to see you back tomorrow. I’m Ben,” he said, holding out his hand. My eyes lit on his fingers, long and well-formed, caught a glimpse of the smooth skin of his palm, traveled up his well-muscled forearm popping with veins to his powerful shoulder and finally landed on his soft brown eyes, crinkled with a smile. I meant to just shake his hand and thank him for the ass-kicking workout, but his touch gave me goose bumps and I felt my nipples rise and harden against the tight fabric of my sports bra, and I silently thanked Nike or whatever other goddess had the smarts to pad those things so well.
“I’m Gretchen. Thanks for the righteous ass-kicking. If I can walk tomorrow, I’ll see you then.” I gave him a wink (where the fuck did that come from?), dropped his hand, and left the classroom. My thighs burned, my arms ached, my abs screamed, but all I could focus on was the wet spot forming between my legs that had nothing to do with the hard workout I’d just subjected myself to.
Home again, I peeled off my gym clothes and the cool air raised gooseflesh, reminding me of Ben’s touch in the gym. In the mirror I watched my nipples tighten and flush. Fuck he was hot. Grabbing my favorite glass toy and vibrator, I stretched my aching body out on the bed and ran the cool glass head over the heat of my pussy, smiling at how slick and open I suddenly felt.
I pressed the buzzing silicone to my clit, and my mind drifted to the image of Ben’s round, tight ass flexing as he led the step series. My breath grew labored, as though I were back in the classroom, pushing through the pain. My pussy had a mind of its own, its desires sending fantastical thoughts to my brain with each twitch and tingle. And then I was back in the classroom, alone with him, the music pounding…
Ben stood behind me as we switched from the step series to weighted squats. I held the dumbbells on my shoulders, my stance wide, my back straight, and began to sink into the squat.
“Your form is nice but needs a little correction,” he whispered into my ear, close enough for me to smell the salt on his skin. He gripped my hips from behind, pressing his fingers into my skin and pulling my ass ever so slightly toward him. As I sank deeper into the squat his hands slipped over my ass to the tops of my thighs, caressing that sensitive spot below the swell of my cheeks. “Feel the hamstring work as you rise back up, tighten your glutes, control the movement,” he rasped, his fingers again pressing into my skin, his palms cupping my cheeks as I rose to standing again.
“Again,” he said, not moving his hands. I watched us in the mirror as I readjusted my stance and slowly sank into another squat. This time his hands moved to the inside of my thighs, the edges of his fingers grazing my pussy lips through my tight shorts. The backs of his hands pressed against my inner thigh muscles, which quivered with the exertion. “Control on the way up, Gretchen. You must keep your thighs tight as you come back to standing,” he whispered, and I felt a bead of sweat roll down my neck and between my breasts.
Slowly, I rose from the squat, and as I did, my thighs pulled his hands together, his fingers squeezing my throbbing cunt lips together between my legs. “Nice, Gretchen, very nice. You have excellent control in your adductors. Excellent strength.” And at that I flexed my thigh muscles, squeezing his fingers tighter against me, my swollen clit pressed tightly between my lips.
“Down again, Gretchen,” he commanded, as I relaxed my thighs and again moved into the squat. Ben reached one hand forward, placing his palm on my lower belly, the heel of his hand pressed into my pubis, and he sank to his knees as I went down. His other hand settled between my asscheeks, and he held my pelvis sandwiched between his palms as I pushed my ass into the squat. “Excellent form, G. Your hips are tilted at the perfect angle,” he growled up at me. “And push into the floor and up.” I moved as directed, bringing my pussy in line with his face. The juices were pooling between my lips, and even I caught a hint of my arousal.
“Let’s shift, G. Time for single bent-over rows.” He stacked the bench high enough for me to bend over, placing my palms flat on the surface, and placed the weights on either side. “Ten reps, right side.”
I shifted back a few steps and lifted the weight. My face was so close to my cunt that I could almost taste the tart saltiness of my come. I lowered and lifted the weight as Ben steadied my hips from behind. “Isolate the lats, control the weight,” he said, running one hand up from my hips to my shoulder blade under my Lycra top, pressing the heat of his hand into my slick skin. I lowered the weight, inhaling slowly, measuring my breathing. I felt the clenches in my pussy as I did so, my arousal rising with each breath.
“Concentrate on your pecs, they’re doing some of the work,” he whispered, his hands slipping around to my chest, his fingers working their way under the strap of my sports bra. His hips pressed into mine and I felt the thickness of his cock between my cheeks. I raised the weight, exhaling sharply as his hands moved over my breasts, catching my nipples between his fingers. “And lower, G. Good set.”
But he didn’t move his hands, and he pressed his cock harder into my ass. I began to move against him, my hands flat on the bench, circling my hips against his, grinding against his hardness. His hands pushed my bra up, freeing my tits from their strapped-down prison, his palms hot on my skin, my nipples caught tightly between his strong fingers.
“Good work, Gretchen. Let’s stretch your abs.” And with that he lifted me up to standing and pulled me back against him, watching my reaction in the mirror as he pressed his palms hard against my breasts. My head rolled back onto the hard planes of his chest as I arched my back, pushing my ass harder against his crotch, feeling the pull in my lower abs down to my pussy.
“Down on the mat, G. On your back.” I slipped down his body to the floor, on my hands and knees, my hard nipples grazing the floor as I lowered down. I pushed out into upward-facing dog, holding it for a moment, and watched Ben’s eyes lock on my exposed chest. “On. Your. Back,” he growled. Obeying, I lay down and rolled over, my workout top and bra pushed up around my throat and framing my breasts while Ben stood over me, his trainers straddling my legs. His strength and power bore down above me, and he looked like a well-built giant staring down at me. Ben dropped to one knee and lifted my leg, pushing my knee in toward my chest. “This is a great stretch for the glutes, Gretchen. I know you’re tight there,” he said, easing my thigh closer to my naked breasts. I felt the stretch in my hip as he lifted my ankle and began to straighten my leg. “Now your hamstrings,” he continued, leaning into me as he stretched my body.
My leg draped over his shoulder and suddenly it was his chest pushing against the back of my thigh, and I could feel the outline of his cock brush against my leg through his tight Lycra shorts. He leaned into me, placing his free hand by my head, and ground his pelvis against mine. His swollen head lodged against my pussy, and with each thrust he…
“Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck!” I screamed, bucking my hips as the power of my orgasm forced the slippery glass from my cunt and I lost my grip on the vibrator that I had smashed into my clit. I squeezed my legs and rolled to and fro, absorbing the contractions that wracked my body, feeling the satin wetness coat my thighs. After a bit my breathing calmed and my body cooled, but my brain remained lit up with the idea of Ben.
January 2, 2012
6:30 a.m.
Goddamn my thighs hurt. I can barely move. That bastard Ben brok
e me yesterday. (Oh fuck, how I want him to break me!) How the hell am I supposed show up at his class again today? The smell oozing from my pores won’t be workout sweat; it’ll be the desperation and odor of self-induced sex that still clings to me. Crept into workout clothes. Crept out the door.
7:30 p.m.
Not a word. Not a single fucking word. No “Hi Gretchen, good to see you again.” No “Wow, Gretchen, good job getting through another hard class today.” No watching my ass as I slowly and carefully stacked my steps and weights. Fuck you, Ben. Fuck you and your perfect tight ass.
10:00 p.m.
I did it again. Only this time I was in the shower with the nozzle set just right…
I went to the locker room after class ended, stripped, wrapped a towel around me and headed for the steam room. Technically the steam room was coed, but every time I’d been in there it was girls only, and girls only wearing towels. As was often the case, I was the only one, and I stretched out on the heated tiles and felt the warmth sink into my aching muscles and into my bones. I lay there for a while, my mind wandering, until I was brought back to the present moment with the blast of steam that filled the room with its thick fog. I heard the door open, but I couldn’t see who came in. Again I closed my eyes and drifted.
I first felt his hand on my ankle, and slowly he moved his fingertips along my steam-soaked skin, grazing the skin of my thigh just at the edge of the towel. My breath caught and I froze, enjoying his touch but shocked and nervous at the advance. My eyes were still closed, but I knew it was Ben. Tracing along the edge of the towel, he tickled the flesh hidden just beneath it, moving across the top of my thigh, ever closer to the heat between my legs. His thigh nudged my legs apart, my left leg swinging off the edge of the hot bench. My eyes squeezed tightly together, I took a deep breath and felt the damp heat of the steam room wash over my open lips.
The flat of his tongue pressed against my labia, and the newness of the sensation prickled goose bumps over my skin, despite the balmy temperature. With slow, deliberate pressure the man I was sure was Ben licked me from my dripping hole to my swollen clit, and I could barely stay still on the slippery surface. I felt his hands wrap around my hips, his fingers locking together and trapping me in a wrestling hold. No matter how I wanted to writhe, I was under his control.
And controlled he was, rhythmically licking and teasing my folds with the tip of his tongue, tasting my dripping flesh. His tongue dipped into me, teasing my hole, and a moan escaped my lips. Deeper he pressed into me, drinking my juices as I tried to grind against his mouth. But he controlled me, only letting me have what he wanted to give. His deep caress was followed by a teasing flick across my clit, and the sensation sent a jolt through my cunt, tiny throbs echoing through my pelvis.
Another flick, another throb, another squeal, and then he drew my clit between his lips, sucking lightly as the tip of his tongue circled my hard, exposed nub. His slow lazy circles grew more intense, more insistent, until I felt the blossoming warmth that always hit me…
Right as I came with the shower massager licking my clit, I slid down the wet, hot tile wall and let the water pool between my legs as I shook from the intensity of coming.
No class tomorrow. Go for cardio?
xoxo,
Gretch
January 3, 2012
6:30 a.m.
No class with Ben today. I’m taking the day off. Besides, my whole body aches.
12:30
Gorgeous super-on-sale-but-ill-fitting stilettos resisted. One New Year’s resolution kept.
6:00 p.m.
Who am I kidding? I’m going to the gym.
7:00 p.m.
No class. No Ben. At least I blasted some calories on the elliptical. And had a nice, but lonesome, steam. And exceeded my weekly gym requirement by 50 percent! Two New Year’s resolutions kept!
10:00 p.m.
Omgomgomgomg he texted me! It’s Ben. Got ur # from gym. Stay after tmrw.
11:00 p.m.
Insanely hot fast orgasm, no time for fantasy.
xoxo,
Gretch
January 4, 2012
6:30 a.m.
I’m getting the hang of this workout thing.
7:30 p.m.
Hung out with sweaty gorgeous Ben in the juice bar after class; he had a weird green protein smoothie and I had a faux colada. A girl needs her post-workout carbs. Chitchatted about not much, actually, other than classes at the gym and the smoothie menu. Hmm…but date fixed for tomorrow night and I am so excited! Realizing it will be the first time we’ve seen each other in clothes.
xoxo,
Gretch
January 5, 2012
Noon
Fought off urge to buy ill-fitting stilettos rejected during yesterday’s shopping trip. I have a date! And stuck to one resolution twice!
7:30 p.m.
Blasted calories on the elliptical again. Gym visit goal exceeded by 100 percent for the week!!
2:00 a.m.
Can. Not. Sleep. I’ve tried counting sheep, meditative breathing, even reading a boring book. Time to bring out the big guns. No knickers, easy…
He leads me into one of the private workout studios, the windows frosted to keep prying eyes away. He pulls a mat from the storage cabinet and lays it in the middle of the floor. The lights are dim, and he lights a candle. For a moment I think we’re going to do a candlelight yoga workout because the soft tones of Tibetan bells echo in the background.
We’re in the middle of the gym, but we’re a thousand miles from nowhere, and Ben lifts my top and pulls it over my head. I reach forward and do the same to him, my gaze locking on the swell of his pecs and his solid biceps. His fingertips slip into the waistband of my shorts and stretch the elastic over my hips and down my legs. Somehow we’re barefoot already. I stand there naked before him, in awe of his strength, but proud of my own natural curves.
I’m not ready to reveal his body completely. I sink down to my knees on the mat, trailing my fingers down his torso, over his waist, along his perfect obliques and around to his ass. I press my hands into his flesh as I press my face into his groin, inhaling his scent and rubbing against his solid cock, still hidden from me through the merest slip of fabric. From behind I tuck my fingers into his shorts and ease them down inch by excruciating inch until he strains against the fabric pulled tightly around him. With a look up to his liquid eyes I free him and wrap my hand around his shaft, pulling the generous head toward my mouth.
He pulls me up, whispers for me to stand. I do as he bids, and his fingers slide between my lips, gliding over my flesh, and first one, then two fingers push inside me. I slide my hand over his cock, squeezing the head and stroking the shaft, running my palm down to his heavy balls and feeling their weight. In the candlelight we explore each other with serious intent and mutual longing. He withdraws his fingers and my pussy aches to be filled. His slippery digits caress my clit and try as I might to remain focused on his stunning erection, I am lost in the feelings erupting between my thighs and sink into his body as I release…
January 6, 2012
6:30 a.m.
Woke up with sticky thighs while using my diary as a pillow and saw an overnight text: c u @ 7
7:00 p.m.
I’m off to meet Ben. So far all I know is the fantasy. Let’s see if reality can match up.
Progress on New Year’s resolutions so far:
1. Pairs of horrible, uncomfortable shoes not bought: two (okay, one, but I resisted twice!)
2. Gym visits: four! Goal exceeded by 100 percent, which counts as keeping two resolutions!
3. New workout classes tried: two! Both led by hot instructor man! Goal exceeded by 100 percent, you know the drill!
4. Nice guys met: one, I think.
5. Relax more: orgasms. Enough said.
Laundry, travel, and eating well will just have to wait. So far it’s shaping up to be a very successful year!
xoxo,
Gretch <3
&nbs
p; SM, OR HOW I MET MY GIRLFRIEND IN A QUEER THEATER
Giselle Renarde
I figured she’d hate drag queens.
In university, I read a few feminist-lesbian papers that were pretty anti-drag. I can’t remember the reasoning anymore. Something about drag performances being reductive and misogynistic, maybe?
Transwomen didn’t seem to like drag queens much, either. I didn’t read that anywhere. It was just my impression from chatting with other queer people. So that’s another reason I figured Lisa wouldn’t be impressed by the drag show at Sisters in Sin Queer Theater.
By training and profession, Lisa was a stage manager. People were always asking if she aspired to be an actor. She didn’t. Lisa liked the backstage bit, every aspect of it, from lighting to sound to last-minute prop repairs. That’s one reason she enjoyed working at Sisters: in such a tiny theater, one person did everything, all the backstage stuff. In a big theater, you’d have had at least one person on lights, someone else doing the sound, even dressers and props managers. Lisa liked to do it all herself.
When I started volunteering at Sisters in Sin, a lot of people asked me that same question about wanting to be an actor. In truth, I only started there to meet other queer people. It’s hard, when you’re not a bar person. Or a club person. I always felt weird just going up to a stranger and talking to them for no reason. I’m a quiet queer. I volunteered to hand out programs at Sisters because it seemed like easy work, not too much patron interaction. Quiet queer work.
The first time I saw Lisa, my knees buckled so hard I almost fell into a gay man’s lap. She whipped from the backstage area, rushed through the audience and disappeared into her dark glass booth at the back of the house. It didn’t matter that Lisa dressed all in black or that she moved like a shadow. I spotted her: tall and curvaceous, a full round face, blonde hair pulled into a neat ponytail. She took my breath away.
“You know that’s a tranny, right?” another program hander-outer said to me.
My heart nearly stopped. That word! I hated that word, and I hated even more that another volunteer, an out-loud and proud lesbian, would speak with such ire about a fellow queer. I didn’t know what to say, so I played dumb and asked, “Who?”