‘No. Not really. Maybe.’
‘You were, you were!’ laughed Sebastian, grabbing Jean by the waist and flipping him over onto his stomach. Sebastian settled his larger body on top of Jean’s and captured his wrists. He put his lips to Jean’s ear. ‘Oh, Jean, you’re such an attention whore! Aren’t you, my angel?’ Sebastian churned his hips against Jean’s.
I rolled onto my side. Jean was trying so damn hard to keep a smile off his face – it was delectable. Sebastian kissed his shoulder and nipped him with his teeth, eliciting a yelp.
‘Aren’t we enough for you, you silly slut? You need to have the whole club adoring you? What a fickle, heartless boy you are.’ Sebastian’s harsh whisper was punctuated with hip thrusts. ‘Such a bad boy. Such a faithless little whore. Fuck, you make me so hot.’
Jean struggled beneath him, eyes closed in a tear-stained face. Sebastian didn’t let up. He pinned both Jean’s wrists against the bed, pushing his body into the mattress. ‘I don’t need to tell you what you are, do I? Do I?’ he demanded, grinding against him.
‘Sebastian?’ I whispered. ‘I think you’re hurting him.’
The laugh came from somewhere deep. He smirked and shook his head. ‘You really don’t know the first thing about our boy here, do you?’ Sebastian let go of one of the wrists and slid his hand between Jean’s chest and the bed. Suddenly Jean cried out and bucked beneath him.
‘Stop it!’
‘Shut up, Shira. You have a lot to learn about Jean.’ His voice was hoarse, full of gravel. He moved again. Jean yelped and squirmed. Freeing his lover’s other wrist, Sebastian threaded his fingers through Jean’s mess of hair, gripped and tugged hard, pulling Jean’s head back. ‘Tell her you like it.’ Sebastian growled out the words like an order. ‘Tell her!’
Jean’s gaze slid sideways, eyes half-closed. He was so turned on it shocked me.
Sebastian sat up, and pushed the covers aside, mostly onto me. With the hand that wasn’t clutching Jean’s hair, he landed a brutal slap on Jean’s ass cheek. ‘Tell her, you fucking whore!’
The gaze slid towards me again, almost vacant. ‘I like it,’ whispered Jean. It was said with the sort of smirking, defensive pride that covers up shame.
‘That’s better,’ said Sebastian, letting go of Jean’s hair. ‘Now suck me.’
Without a single word, Jean got to his knees, situated himself between Sebastian’s legs, bent over his cock, and engulfed its entire length in one fluid motion.
I lay on my side, watching them, feeling like Sebastian was right. Maybe I didn’t understand Jean at all. In fact, I didn’t really understand anything. I was relieved that, whatever had upset Jean, Sebastian knew just what to do to make everything better. It stung me to realize that nothing I could have said would have made a difference. Sometimes, I thought, it isn’t about words.
Sebastian’s hand was on Jean’s head, guiding him down onto his cock, slowly, over and over. He whispered things and stroked Jean’s cheek. Jean was like putty in his hands.
I felt sad and turned on, and fell asleep before Sebastian came.
It was pitch dark in the room when I woke. Disoriented, it took me a few moments to remember whose bed this was.
‘Shira?’ It was Jean, an inch or so from my face. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel his breath on my face. It smelled like Sebastian.
I stretched an arm around him. ‘Hello. I’m sorry I fell asleep. Did I miss anything?’ He snuggled against me, intertwining his legs with mine. I noticed he was hard.
‘I wasn’t sure whether it was okay to wake you up,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve been lying here for a while, wondering if it would be okay.’
‘It’s absolutely okay,’ I murmured, sleepily stroking his back.
He pressed his lips against mine so softly and held them there, inhaling. Slowly, so slowly, he began to kiss. Tiny little presses, growing firmer. It was the sweetest kind of kiss I’d ever had. I felt the wet heat of his tongue flick out and draw a line along my closed mouth. It made me smile and press him closer. I parted my lips and caught his tongue with them, suckling. His heart was racing, thudding against my chest, and I was unsure if it was fear or what, but the hard cock pressing up against my lower stomach suggested otherwise.
‘I’ve never fucked a girl,’ Jean whispered.
‘I know. You don’t ever have to, Jean.’
Was this still a leftover from last night? I wondered. It was a minefield, and I wasn’t Sebastian. I considered telling him that fucking girls had nothing to do with being a man, but I had no idea if that would make him feel better or worse. And what did I know about being a man anyway? I wasn’t even sure I knew what being a woman was about. I decided to keep my mouth shut.
‘I want to, though, with you. Not with anyone else, but with you. I love you, Shira.’
‘That’s not the only way to love someone.’
‘I know,’ he said softy. ‘But I want to be with you the way you are with Sebastian. I want to know what that feels like.’
I gave him a little kiss, partially missing his lips in the dark. ‘I don’t love Sebastian. It’s not the same.’
‘Touch me,’ he whispered, pulling my hand down onto his cock. ‘And I’ll touch you. And we’ll just see, okay?’
I nodded, encircling his cock with my fingers. He reached for me; fingertips brushed over my belly and squirmed between my thighs. I parted them and he wedged his leg between mine.
It was like being with a virgin. Having never been with one, I was unsure of the protocol. I decided the best thing would be to just let him do whatever he felt like doing.
He hadn’t forgotten anything Sebastian had taught him about pussies. And no matter how I stroked him, it didn’t seem to affect his concentration. Certainly not the way it was screwing with mine.
My juices soaked his hand. I stopped him for a moment to gather some of it on my own fingers and use it to stroke him. His hand returned to my mound.
‘You’re wet. I love it that you get slippery all on your own.’ I could hear the arousal in his whisper, and the breathing that stuttered it.
‘Not completely on my own. It’s partially your fault,’ I whispered back, giggling, giving his cock a gentle squeeze.
‘So . . . it’s working.’
I laughed softly. ‘Absolutely. Is it working for you?’ There wasn’t any need to ask. He was pumping his hips slowly, stroking his very hard cock through my slippery grasp.
But he answered anyway. ‘Yes. It’s working just fine. I like the way you touch me. I like it a lot,’ he moaned.
His fingers were timid, careful: a studied replication of what Sebastian had shown him the day before. ‘Jean, are you like this with your male lovers?’
‘No, not really. Why?’
I started moving my hips; I couldn’t help myself. And his cock just slid so nicely through my fist. We were making lovely, wet, squelchy noises. ‘Well, why are you being so careful with me?’
‘You’re a girl. And . . . I don’t know. You seem more delicate.’ He shuddered against me and grabbed my wrist. ‘Oh, Shira! Slower, please, or I’m going to come.’
I eased off a little, holding him more loosely, feeling the ridge of his cockhead catch on my curled fingers. ‘We’re not that delicate – I promise. Anyway, why don’t you want to come?’
‘Not like this. I want to fuck you.’
I stopped stroking him. ‘Are you sure? Jean. Fucking is just . . . fucking. It’s not all that special.’
He eased two fingers inside of me, making me catch my breath, and began to fuck me with them. My muscles fluttered around the penetration. His free hand circled the back of my neck, pulling my head towards his. ‘Don’t you want to feel my cock inside you?’
‘Oh! Fuck!’ My body jerked. I whimpered. ‘Yes. Of course I do.’
Jean kissed me hard, not like the usual, gentle Jean. ‘Thank you.’ He pulled his fingers out of me and reached behind him on the bed.
‘Don’t thank me,’
I whispered. ‘I’ve wanted to fuck you for ages and ages.’
It suddenly occurred to me that Sebastian might be asleep now, but he was definitely going to wake up once we started. I wondered if that was half the issue with Jean suddenly worrying about what I thought his gender was. Could it be that stupidly simple – all about comparisons?
‘How would you like to do it?’ Jean was fiddling with a condom, ripping the package open.
‘Well, would you rather we do it front to back? You know, like you would with a guy?’
He snickered in the dark. ‘That’s not the only way men do it, Shira. But no, I’d rather kiss you while we fuck.’
It was the only way I’d ever seen them do it. Not that I’d watched a lot of gay porn, or any, actually. ‘Well.’ I thought for a moment and then took a deep breath. ‘Would you rather . . .’ I was suddenly shy. I couldn’t say it.
‘Rather what?’
‘Do what you do with Sebastian. I mean I will, if you want. I trust you.’
Did I? Having made the offer, I was a terrified. I spread my legs and he slid his enviably slender hips between them.
‘Shira!’ He pushed me onto my back and lowered himself on top of me. ‘No. No!’ he murmured kissing me. ‘I want to be inside you like a man, with you, like a man.’ Then he did something no one I’d ever been with before had done. He hooked his arm under my knee and kind of tilted me up. It felt strange. Wide open.
‘Jean, you’re a man, no matter how we fuck. Or if we . . .’
But he’d already angled himself and pushed into me, deep, fast, as if denying himself the opportunity to change his mind. He gasped and held himself there. ‘Oh God. Shira,’ he whispered. Bending over, he kissed me again, panting as if he were fighting for air.
His cock twitched inside me. Not like Sebastian. He didn’t hurt. He felt wonderful, just perfect. Just right. My cunt muscles fluttered around him. ‘Mmm. You feel good! You do!’ I purred, smiling against his lips, and began to move. A wave of pure joy washed over me.
‘Say it,’ Jean said as he started to fuck me.
‘Uh . . . say what?’ I moaned but it turned into a giggle.
‘Fuck me. Say it!’
I laughed and grabbed his hips, digging my fingers into his ass cheeks. ‘Fuck me!’
Jean growled and then giggled. ‘Say “harder, faster, baby”!’
A warm glow of pleasure surged up my spine as he pushed into me again. ‘Harder! Faster!’ I was laughing now, and close to coming. ‘Baby? Why?’
He thrust harder and faster. ‘Isn’t that . . . isn’t that what straight couples say when they fuck?’
‘Only in movies,’ I panted. He was twisting his hips in the most amazing way.
‘Mmm. So what do they actually say?’
‘They . . . they say . . .’ I buried my face into his neck as I started to shudder. I couldn’t remember what they said. What did I say? I couldn’t remember that either. One arm around his shoulder, holding him tight, my hips bucked up to meet his. ‘Come with me,’ I whispered. ‘Come with me, please! Jean!’
His thrusts grew rough and staggered, sinking into me and stopping for a moment each time. ‘Now?’ His cock throbbed and twitched, again and again.
‘Now!’
He cried out and covered my mouth with his, gasping, hips shuddering first. His lean body spasmed as he came. I held him tight, feeling every shudder of the dying orgasm light up my nerve endings.
We lay still, panting, when I heard Sebastian’s moan. The bed rocked softly. He was masturbating.
‘Sebastian?’ I whispered.
‘Yessss.’ His breath was ragged. I could tell he was right on the edge.
‘Do you want to join us?’ asked Jean.
‘Uh . . . no . . . yes!’
I could hear the slick rhythmic sound as he wanked with fast, hard strokes. His breath hitched, and hitched again. It was strange, knowing that he’d been listening to us, feeling us, and not with us. It felt sad, lonely, and somehow guilty, as if we’d betrayed him.
‘Come here,’ said Jean, softly, pulling out of me, moving. Even in the blackness, I could tell he was reaching for Sebastian. But the bed shook as Sebastian groaned and jerked, coming on his own, in the dark.
CHAPTER SIX:
RULES
At breakfast we sat in Sebastian’s kitchen and ate French toast. While we had been sleeping, the gods of weather had done their thing. It was a winter wonderland outside, and no one was going anywhere.
I looked down at my plate of artfully laid out food. The syrup had been drizzled on the plate in concentric circles along with a custard sauce, and the streams had been pulled with a skewer to feather it outwards. There was a light dusting of cinnamon and powdered sugar on the top of everything. Even with a hangover, it was hard not to appreciate the attention to detail someone had paid to the plating.
‘We should make some rules,’ said Sebastian, chewing thoughtfully.
Jean looked at him askance. ‘Sebastian? Rules? Oh, I’ve gotta hear this!’
‘I think if we don’t make some, we aren’t going to last very long. There are too many feelings involved here. Don’t call them rules if you don’t want to; think of them as guidelines.’
It was my turn to look at him doubtfully. I knew what this was about. This was about last night. ‘I’m perfectly okay about having some rules.’
‘Okay, okay.’ Jean said. ‘Rules like what?’
Sebastian grabbed a sheet of writing paper and a pen from the telephone stand. I leaned over to see what he was writing. He was titling the page: ‘Rules’.
‘What got you thinking about this?’ I asked warily. I felt uncomfortable about last night, but I thought it was better to talk about it than construct a set of restrictions.
‘Well, last night actually. I thought that I probably shouldn’t have been so present while you guys were fucking. I don’t mean not there, I just mean – well, you know. Not interfering.’
‘You should have let us know you were awake, Sebastian. It’s not interference that’s the problem. It’s not being honest,’ said Jean. ‘Anyway, how long are we going to last if one of us feels ignored?’
I kept quiet, feeling very much like the outsider in this, and wanting to see how they resolved it. But they didn’t. Sebastian wouldn’t, as Jean said, ‘share’, protesting that this wasn’t group therapy. So, painstakingly and with much heated debate, we finally came up with a list.
1. No butting in on a twosome.
2. No coming to bed unshaven (that was Jean’s – it was high on the list).
3. No pressuring anyone to do anything they don’t want to do (mine).
4. No refusing to discuss why you don’t want to do something and no turning a deaf ear to reasonable counter-arguments (Sebastian – who I could see had career potential as a lawyer).
5. No discussing the family’s business with anyone outside the family (Jean – the club incident was still stinging).
6. No more insulting gay ‘pussy jokes’ (mine).
7. No sex with anyone outside the family (surprisingly, Sebastian’s).
‘That’s it?’ I asked.
‘I think that’s about it,’ said Jean. He turned to Sebastian and said, sarcastically, ‘Unless you’d like to draw up a schedule too?’
‘So, why the monogamy? I would have thought it would go against your deeply held sense of entitlement to fuck anything that moves,’ I teased. I didn’t know much about Sebastian, but I’d heard he got around – a lot.
There was an uncomfortably long silence. Jean and Sebastian exchanged extended and absolutely cryptic glances. Then Sebastian nodded, and Jean cocked an eyebrow. I considered asking what the hell was going on, but decided that this probably wasn’t my business.
It was Sebastian who broke the silence. ‘Well, for one, I think other people would complicate things. Three is hard enough. And there’s also the disease factor. We do condoms, but it would be nice if we could all get tested and not have to.’
They were both reasonably sensible arguments. Then he stood up from the table, and walked over to the window, looking out onto the white landscape. ‘Anyway, the idea of either of you fucking someone else would just drive me up the wall right now.’
‘Why Mister Sebastian! I do believe you’re at the mercy of the green-eyed monster,’ marvelled Jean.
I kept my mouth shut. When Jean had first started dating Sebastian, I had been horribly jealous. It took me weeks of very harsh self-talk before the sick gnawing sensation had left my stomach. But it was interesting to me that he was the one insisting on the rule. I just didn’t expect it of him; it reminded me how little I knew him.
Jean got up from the kitchen table and hugged him from behind. ‘Oh, that’s just the cutest thing!’ He started showering him with kisses. It was Jean’s specialty.
I thought about making myself useful by putting the plates in the dishwasher but reconsidered. It seemed a good time to abide by rule number one.
I didn’t think I had any great gaping flaws in my personality. A few minor ones that some people hated and others found endearing but, on the whole, I had to credit my rather unorthodox and now absent parents with doing a pretty good job – even if it was almost entirely accidental on their part.
In fact, of the three of us, I suspected I was the only one blessed with parents that would have actually understood this rather unconventional arrangement and even applauded it. I knew for a fact that Jean’s parents had thrown him out of the house, physically, when he had come out to them. Sebastian’s parents were dead but, had they been alive and even close to normal, I was pretty sure they wouldn’t be thrilled.
I, on the other hand, had grown up surrounded by people most of the world might have frowned upon. My godmother, Auntie Pat (not a real aunt), was a lesbian journalist who was a dead ringer for Otto Dix’s portrait of Sylvia Von Harden. My godfather had been a choreographer for an all-nude review in London and his lover had designed costumes for Vegas showgirls. My brother’s godfather was a well-known writer whose neurotic sex-guilt ran so deep he could only manage to get it up for prostitutes. His funeral in London had been a quiet affair: just close friends and a who’s who of the working girls of Soho. All in all, I had a very liberal upbringing and, from a young age, had been taught to believe that people were people, no matter what labels might be appended to them. I felt at home in the world, wherever I went and whomever I met.
Beautiful Losers (Modern Erotic Classics) Page 6