Cause and Effect

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Cause and Effect

It was the Solstice last night, the longest day of the year, at least for the summer version. It mystifies some of us at the bar that the shortest day of the year (Hello, Buenos Ares!) should be exactly the same length of day as the one we share in the Northern climes. Our group of ladies, queers, older drunks and hangers-on hoping to be one or more of those laughed about it.

The bar is a special place. It is on the Right Side of the River, which is to say we used to have less crime than over on the Big City side of the water, which was good, unless of course you were violating a few of the less violent crimes, like smoking dope or dressing in clothing that could be subject to misinterpretation. And since we delight in that, the local authorities were a small but noticeable problem.

They had enforced a prohibition against public sodomy, which we sort of agreed with, unless it was conducted in the privacy of a sedan or truck. The prohibition on gay bars being permitted to operate was a direct violation of our rights, but it just caused us to act a little more restrained than we would on the other side of the river.

So, I stopped in last week. I wore the usual business attire, which I like to wear with just a hint of fashion flair. The decline in grooming standards with the Pandemic is a disappointment. I don’t mind men with facial hair, but c’mon, guys. Be neat!

Some of the usual gang was there, too. Mostly the younger guys, which is how I would describe what I used to be. The older ones have lost some energy and partnered up in self-defense for the duration. How they did that was sort of interesting, since I did the same thing and marveled at being a suburban housewife in everything except the housecoat.

I should explain it. I was in a tizzy of serial dating and hookups and it was making me dizzy. I was at a nice reception related to one of the cultural groups I support (when I remember) and got into a long, intelligent conversation about arts and education with a distinguished man a few years my senior. It was a nice crowd, intruding on none of the sides I normally try to minimize in polite society. It wound up with a farewell kiss over a handshake, which is unusual in many of the setting in which I operate. And that started a thing that got serious enough to talk about marriage. With me getting to be the bride. It was exciting, and I found I was drawn to it, and the firm masculine way he treated me- and the way we wound up making love. He was all man, and liked me to stay neat and shaven. It wasn’t the manscaping that did it, since I enjoyed it, felt comfortable with the updated look, and adored how he would take me when the mood hit him. The marriage thing was a problem. It would have blown down all the careful fences I had around aspects of my life, and the relationship fell apart after a couple years. My fault.

I wound up back at the club again. It was a tradeoff deal. It was a gay bar going full out not to look like a gay bar, filled with gay men who weren’t pretending anything, some gay women- I don’t know why they stopped calling themselves lesbians, and some of us more ambiguous types who balanced the idea that what we are is a little more balanced in approach. Which is to say if my chromosomes were just a little different, I could be a cis-gender, queer or trans all in the same happy hour.

That is what it came down to last week. Jimmy-Jennifer was hanging at the Amen Corner in that club, the place where the long bar ends and takes the short leg back to the wall. It gives her a chance to survey the whole panoply of activity against the rest of the little tables and not have to be too alert to what was happening in the four stools that go to the wall.

Jennifer is sometimes Jimmy, a cute guy of indeterminate age who dressed well, crisp shirts, almanbahis colorful ties, nicely polished footwear and suits with just a little flair in cut. He was very much a bottom, and that is where our friendship started one evening with a vigorous discussion about the lack of vibrant males in the club that evening.

The discussion was sparked by a young man. No surprise there, but this one had requested an old Billy Idol song from the playlist, and then proceeded to dance with himself on the little square of parquet floor where he could look in the mirror. He was cute but looked a little too concentrated on whatever statement he thought he was making.

Jimmy looked over at me and said “You shouldn’t just dance the songs of your life. You should have them come right inside you.”

I smiled. He is a funny guy- or whichever of the other 60-odd genders he had assumed that morning. “I think he is working out some subjective assertion issues,” I said. “If he was a top, I might be interested.” Jimmy nodded, probably thinking as Jennifer. That got us onto sex as the topic of the evening, not that it isn’t in the afternoon or morning, if we had been day-drinking, regardless of how much sunlight we had.

We had been down the various rapids of life experience in suitably lit conversations. We both agreed things would have worked out a lot better if we had been born female, since that is the way we both preferred in intimate situations. We were also stuck with the masculine, stuff. I had played football as a defense mechanism against the bullying that the more effeminate kids I adored suffered. So, I was stuck with a distinctly male body, good guns, muscular but slender legs meeting in a sweet ass that arced up to a trim belly. Jimmy had been a track kid for the same reasons, and I envied his lean physique, long legs, and elegant neck that led to his smiling regular features and dynamite blue eyes.

We had to go over that a few times to get things straight in our curved worlds. He thought I was cute because I looked sort of masculine. I thought he was cute because he was slim and elegant and frankly handsome. That is the first glance part of it. Getting to the next step about who might be screwing whom, if it got to that, was an open topic and we agreed we would be better lesbians, if the ladies still called themselves that, and then usually ordered another drink.

The kid dancing with himself started off the crazy season that year. I thought of him that night when I got out my Hitachi Magic Wand after retiring and allowed electricity to do what I hadn’t got around to that day. I liked the Wand, since it did not require me to get macho hard. It just asked to be pressed against my cock all hunched up between my legs and ride the excitement until I shot my load under its insistent head. That shot of relief is normally enough to tip me over into oblivion, but that night I dreamed about dancing. Not alone. It was with someone with great eyes, slinky frame, and body motions that made me tingle with excitement.

I told Jimmy that over the first drink the next day at the club. That was around the time of the big shoot-out at The Pulse Disco in Orlando. I had lived down that way on a business gig, and in those still recent times there wasn’t anything like that, publicly, but some Jihadi shot like a hundred people, killing 49 mostly gay men. Hell, they were all gay people. If that happened today, we might get a national holiday.

But then we were just sad and decided to go over to his place and have a drink where it was quiet. He had a nice condo in a building just around the corner, 8th floor, with a great view of the big brown river and the shiny city on the other shore. Jimmy poured a couple of stiff vodkas, and said we ought to get comfortable. Given the solemnity we felt about the shootings, it seemed like a good idea. He got up and walked from the living room to the stairs and went up. I could hear things rustling around up there and took a firm sip of clear liquor, wondering what would come down the stairs.

When he- she, maybe would be better to keep my pronouns straight- came down the stairs, he had two long lengths of silky rich material over one arm. I was a little nervous he would come down nude, since I liked him as a pal and didn’t want to screw that up with a quicky. But he was very kind.

“I know you swing my way, so I just thought we could ease into it with something nice and light.” I nodded and smiled as he draped a shimmering thing on my lap and stepped back from the almanbahis yeni giriş couch. He gave me that sunny smile and placed his silky thing on the coffee table and began to undress. I smiled right back and started to undo my tie, slipping off that silky thing, and unbuttoning my Brooks Brothers white shirt. He grinned and began to dance in place as he undid his slacks and let them drop to the floor. He was wearing a cool little set of bikini briefs, panties almost, and once he had kicked the boy-pants aside, pulled down his socks and threw them I the same general direction.

I rose to try to stay with him, mimicking his moves. My underwear were not nearly as sexy as his, just tight black lycra boy-shorts, but we danced a little with the coffee table between us. The he stopped and turned full face on toward me and hooked his index fingers into the waist of his bikinis and paused. He obviously wanted me to follow his move, so I put my fingers inside the top of mine and we shook a tailfeather together inching them down.

I have to say that was unique for me, since my last steady boyfriend was a romantic but also very much a guy. He would get stripped down quickly and assume that I would keep up and be ready to throw myself on my back, knees spread and properly elevated to permit him easy access. Watching Jennifer- well, Jimmy’s cock- attached to Jennifer’s sexy frame was really erotic. I have no idea what she was thinking, but the way my back stood upright with shoulders back must have looked pretty masculine to her.

Looking sexy for a pal had not been on the list of things I had intended that morning, but I tried to get to the spa every month and keep my body smooth and hairless like I did for Robert. No facial hair, and a sufficient amount of it on the top to have a little insouciant wave and a hint of fresh-caught mullet for the right man. And Jennifer was the right person for that wave whichever she wanted to be. It was radio music, and when the song ended, she pulled the bikinis down an kicked them aside. Being a good follower, I did the same with mine, and we stood looking at one another.

We were both about half staff when he reached down to the table between us and picked up his silk kimono. She slid it on with grace, and pulled it gently together. I did the same, delighting in the soft and gentle feel against my smooth skin. The mood didn’t break as he walked around the table and gave me a sultry kiss. It was not a raw and passionate one, but much more gentle with the hint of promise and just a little graze of her tongue. We sat and went back to finishing our drinks.

“So,” she said. “What do two pretend dykes want to do about this? Act like men?” She laughed and I joined in her merriment.

“Nothing two dykes wouldn’t do,” I said. “If I knew what that was.” We laughed some more and had another drink. “Would you like me to suck your hard clitty?” I asked. “It is very pretty.”

“Only if I can nibble on yours,” she said. And that is how we wound up walking back to her bedroom, my hand in hers, and then lying facing each other for some tender kissing. I have a little spare skin on my chest from the years of work-outs, and I invited her face and mouth to tease my nipples that got firm under her gentle tongue. I was really enjoying his gentle caress and I could feel the blood flowing under my nipples. As he worked on me, I extended my hand and began to caress his back, super smooth but still firm. I began to gasp in the sensation as he gently gripped my tender flesh. That led to a sensation of delight as we squirmed around into a sixty-nine position.

I had to admire his grooming which left his cock proud and upright against his smooth sweet-smelling skin. I licked him gently as he did to me, and there was a sort of dream state as we felt the same rushing of blood to our firmness. This was unusual lovemaking, the gentle suction making me rock firm in his mouth, his tongue gently lapping the underside of me as I lapped at him, strong, but somehow soft against me. I felt him draw off my hardness and softly ask me to fuck him.

That caused a moment of confusion. If I had asked first, I would have said the same thing. But he was so nice, and I wanted to help him. So I murmured around his shaft that I would, though sad it would be leaving my moist mouth.

I rose to my knees, and he reached over to his bedside table and fished up a bottle of Liquid Silk and handed it to me with a smile. “Be gentle,” he said. “I need you. But don’t wear a rubber. I want you almanbahis giriş to come in me raw and real.”

I nodded, and plunged the nozzle down to deliver a dollop of gel on my fingers. On my knees between his smooth legs, I drew my fingers softly down between his smooth cheeks, and paused at his rosebud, gently caressing it with my index finger, then slowly pressing against it until my fingertip slipped into him. He sighed with pleasure. I worked his anal ring first with my index finger, slowly sliding in to my knuckle, then withdrawing and inserting another fingertip slowly. He squirmed against my fingers, which I withdrew to deliver a dollop of silky gel to my cock, smearing it over the head and then down my eager shaft. I put the jug down and nudged closer to him, wrapping my arms under his knees to raise his ass up a bit, pressing against him. I took my right hand and directed my cock toward his asshole, slowly applying the pressure I knew would allow me to enter him. He gasped in pleasure, saying “Fuck me. Gawd, fuck me.”

I smiled. That was my line! I leaned forward, mostly seated for the plunge against his hairless skin. I pressed forward and entered his ring. He moaned. “Be in me. Make me yours.”

I accepted his offer with slow pressure that sank my cock an inch at each slow thrust. I don’t know how long it took to settle fully into him to my complete length and let him adjust to my presence deep within. He moaned and his legs splayed wide in submission. His arms came together and linked around my back. I gently drew back and retraced my progress, then thrust a little harder to full depth. Then out, slowly, and a faster descent. Then, comfortable that we had truly coupled, I began to accelerate my thrust, drawing near fully out and slamming down deep with a little fillip turn of my hips at the end of the stroke. He was whimpering softly with each one. “More. More. Breed me,” he moaned softly. “I want your seed in me!”

And I did. I can’t say that is what was turning me on so much, since I would rather have moaning beneath his thrusts. But I squirmed my hand, still moist with lube between our bellies and captured his dick between my thumb and finer and ensured he got friction with every thrust. His moans began to synchronize with my thrusts and he began to quiver in anticipation. “Fuck me, honey, fuck me!”

It was pretty erotic, I have to say, even if it wasn’t exactly what I wanted. I remembered women saying that to me, a natal moan that I liked to utter myself. I could feel him shudder beneath me and I went for the tipping point and delivered myself into him.

He seemed happy, with a tight smile, feeling my warmth inside. We slumped together in the afterglow, and we held tight to one another. That was something, I thought, groggy rom release. I had just made love to a man who took my seed like a woman, when my longing was to be taking his in me as the woman I wanted to be.

I didn’t sleep over, since our passion was not perfect. I hoped it did not change anything, though I was not sure I wanted to be the boy in our relationship, and he seemed pretty committed to being the girl. He may have sensed that, or just let me have a while to think about it. I didn’t see him for a couple days, but got a text about coming by the club and I texted back immediately that I would see him that afternoon.

I normally don’t feel apprehension in the club, but my feelings that afternoon were complex. I liked him a lot, and his smooth hairless physique was so sexy, his cock unobscured by anything except its solitary majesty between his firm legs. I could see him where the bar turned sideways, put a smile on my face, and walked up to sit beside him.

I should say “her,” and get that part out of the way. He was not cross dressing, per se, but clearly had spent some time on his ace. His cologne was fresh and breezy, a soft long-sleeve pull-over shirt, a bold silver chain around his neck, and a matching heavy bracelet on his left wrist. He looked great.

“Hi, Jimmy!” I said, marveling that I had been one flesh with this person. The memory was fresh and beautiful, even if it wasn’t quite what I desired.

He smiled, and said “Jennifer. How you doing, Sport?”

I smiled in response, comfortable in what she had said. My handshake was softer than what I usually offer, and his hand slid gently from mine as I got settled. “So what’s up, Jennifer?”

“You can call me Jenny, if you want. Jennifer is a little more formal, like you would have on your driver’s license.” I nodded in agreement. Sometime the fantasy stuff is important to keep straight, even if you are not playing for keeps. But something was.

“I have some news,” she said. Her smile carried the weight of certainty. I nodded, silent so she could tell me.

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