Rambling Chantrix

Usually Barry would be there for Vivian’s orgasms, either pleasuring her or receiving head as she got herself off. But there were also times he’d be sleeping in, and Vivian and I would be having our morning coffee before heading off to our respective jobs, and she’d just spread her legs on the kitchen stool, lock eyes with me, and rub one out. These were the rushed, breathless orgasms. She didn’t moan or cry out. In a lot of ways these moments were the most like our massages. She was just rubbing out some tension, not unlike a kink in a muscle, except her face would melt a bit. She always drooled a little, her eyes glazing over.

Whatever else I didn’t understand, I was well aware of how much fun she was having.

She felt great every fucking day.

I wondered if I made similar faces as I approached or reached orgasm, and one day I jacked off looking into the bathroom mirror. I let my tongue hang out a bit, hammed it up. As I spurted across the sink, I saw a bit of Vivian in my flushed face and slack expression. I don’t know if that was part of it, but I thought I looked pretty cute. And I started seeing myself in Vivian, and I thought she looked pretty cute.

I began doing more than holding her hand. I’d brush her hair out of her face, put my palm to her cheek or neck. She responded well to all this. The lower my hand traveled, the better, until I cleared her neck.

“Is this good?” I asked one night, applying a slight pressure to the side of her throat as she fingered herself.

She responded with a purr, and I applied just a little more pressure. She came hard.

“Oh fuck,” said Barry, who had been sitting next to her idly tugging on his boner. Suddenly he was gushing, shooting ropes up onto his chest. His cheeks burned. “I didn’t know you liked that, V.”

She leaned over and began licking the cum off his chest.

I stared down at the wet spot on the couch where she’d been sitting.

This became a regular part of our morning routine: me choking her as she played with herself in the kitchen. Well, choking is a strong word. It never got particularly rough. I never blocked air or anything, just applied the tiniest amount of force. She seemed to love it, and I found myself enjoying it too.

I guess the more involved I became, the more I enjoyed Vivian’s pleasure. I mentioned earlier that seeing Barry orgasm gave me almost the exact same satisfaction as delivering a good massage? This was like that, but deeper, more. I didn’t really worry about it.

Now, you’re probably wondering, do these people just jack off all the time? When will they have REAL sex?

First of all, fuck you. What’s real sex? Is it not real unless there’s penetration? If that’s the case, don’t worry, Vivian was perfectly capable of penetrating herself. What, not good enough? Sheesh. Don’t worry. Barry fingered her, too, and in case I forgot to mention it, he has a pretty long tongue... But seriously, you have a problem. Lesbian sex, for instance, isn’t less real without a strap-on. If you witnessed these people’s orgasms, if you saw the love and contentment in their eyes as they got each other off, you’d not be asking this dumbass question.

Second of all, Vivian... no, it’s not important. She didn’t want Barry to put his cock in her during that fourth month we lived together, and that’s all you need to know.

But as September came to a close and October rolled around, things changed, and there was talk at the dinner table about how they’d fuck for real soon. That I should prepare myself. And yes, they said “for real,” because guess what? Even though they were great, they weren’t perfect. They might have been pervs, but at their core they were still a pair of cishets, and they didn’t think this one through.

Instead of gently correcting their biases, I did the passive aggressive thing: I wrote a blog post about how penis-in-vagina sex as paramount form of intercourse is an imposition on our society codified by Freud, whom we all now know to be a coked-up hack with very little to offer the world.

Vivian came to me with her tail between her legs after reading that post. Her genuine remorse made me feel I’d gone too far. So I apologized in turn, and she laughed at me, and we went to get falafel, but the place was shut down. We settled for sushi, and she informed me that she understood my post, but that she still felt like taking a man inside her pussy was special. That was fine, I assured her. Everyone can decide which sex acts are more or less important to them.

“I want to be able to do that with Barry in front of you,” she said. “But honestly, even with everything we’ve done, it still feels like crossing another line.”

“It’s not,” I reassured her.

“Okay, well. We just wanted to check in before, uh, before, you know.”

“Before real sex?” I whispered conspiratorially.

She snorted. “Remind me never to run anything by you again. I’m just gonna have whatever sex I want, with whomever I want, in whatever positions I want, wherever I want. No questions, no hesitation. And if you’re there, you’ll watch.”

I “knew” she was joking, so I just said sure and took another bite, marveling at how far we’d come as friends.

#

Despite my brief ride on the “all sex is real sex” high horse, I have to admit that it was qualitatively different watching my roommate’s engorged cock push its way between my other roommate’s pussy lips.

Barry had a nice cock, as I’m sure I’ve mentioned before. I never measured it—I’m not really a stats kinda person—but it was more than a handful, and it was really *full* when it got hard. It didn’t stretch Vivian the way four fingers did, but it was no slouch, and I could tell from how she gripped him inside her that the single thick shaft was a better experience for her than a knotted mess of knuckles and fingernails. He also got in deeper. She leaked all over his cock, and when he pulled out, I could see her glistening on him.

She sat low on the couch, her ass hanging off, holding herself up with flexed knees. Barry knelt on the floor facing the couch, thrusting shallowly. Vivian was pawing her own titties, occasionally twisting her nipples, biting her lip, shuddering as Barry entered and reentered her.

I stood behind the couch, leaning over the proceedings, eyes flitting between my friends’ crotches and Vivian’s eyes.

I must have had a dumb expression on my face, because at some point, Vivian teased me.

“Different, right?”

Her breath was ragged. Barry switched over to long, slow strokes. Her whole body shuddered with each, bumping back against the couch. I felt the motion in my hands, on the back of the couch. It traveled up my arms, into my shoulders and chest. I had no witty repartee. I just wanted to watch, to see them fuck. I wanted to see them cum. Simultaneously, if possible. Could Barry explode inside Vivian, setting her off? I sure hoped so.

Vivian lifted an arm, reached up toward me. I took her hand, and she opened her mouth to say something. Barry picked up the pace. She closed her mouth, her mind changed.

I, too, did not say what was on my mind.

My cock was hard, pressing against the back of the couch.

I squeezed Vivian’s hand, then mumbled something about suddenly needing to take a dump. I ran away.

#

The shortest time I had ever known anyone before I became physically attracted to them had been over a year. How do you count time? Did the clock start when I first saw her, when she chose to sit next to me in our freshman English lecture? Or did it start a year later, when she asked me out on that awkward lunch date? Or did it maybe start two years after that, when we got falafel and decided to live together?

I honestly don’t know how to measure these things. That’s why I’m asking you. Just because I figured out that I’m demi, just because I kept a blog about my journey, none of that meant that I had it ALL figured out. Who has total self-knowledge? We’re weird little black boxes.

Either way, it was early October, that I felt the first butterfly, sensed the first stirring, as we amateur authors sometimes write, in my loins.

If I don’t know how to quantify these things now, as I write this, you can be sure as fuck I was confused and worried at the time.

Everything we’d built together in that apartment was couched in me being untouched by my new friends’ bodies, by their sexual activity. I’d been trusted not to perv on them. Trusted by them—trusted by me. So when I felt that first twang, gazing deep into Vivian’s eyes as she squirmed on the couch, Barry’s cock plunging her pussy, I felt like a traitor. I’d betrayed them, I’d betrayed me. I was ashamed. I excused myself, said I thought maybe lunch hadn’t agreed with me.

It was a stupid excuse.

But they seemed to buy it.

I went to bed and didn’t get up for a day. They checked in on me, and I... well, you’re not here for drama, are you? You’re not here for character development. Let’s do the thing.

A week later, I’d all but stopped hanging out in the living room. They clearly knew something was wrong, and they tried to get me to talk about it.

“I’d take you out to work it through over falafel,” Vivian offered from the other side of my closed bedroom door. “But it’s gone. Wish I could do something.”

Before giving up, she tried one more thing, softly. “I trust you, RC.”

She shouldn’t have trusted me, especially not at this point when I’d been lying for a week. I was unwell, I was busy, I was tired. None of these things were true. Well, I was tired. I was losing sleep worrying about our living situation blowing up. Where would I go, if Vivian and Barry wanted me gone? Who would be my friends, if I lost these?

I got up and walked over to the door. She was still on the other side.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Why?” she asked.

I didn’t know what to say, but I also knew that an apology without content, without recognition of wrongdoing, was not a real apology. Why had I said I was sorry if I wasn’t ready to bare my transgression?

“I don’t think I can keep all those promises I made,” I said.

“What promises, RC?”

Not to perv on you. Not to look at you like meat. Say it, RC! Sorry, it’s just like, thinking back to this exchange, I was pretty pitiful. Wish I’d had someone slap some sense into me. I find myself wanting to cheer for my past self. I was a mess.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

I hesitated, and the knob turned slowly. I could say no. I could hold the door shut. Instead I stood there dumbly.

She opened the door. She was wearing a conservatively-cut dress. She must have come straight to me after getting home. Her cheeks were streaked with tears.

“It’s good to see you,” she said.

I nodded.

“I think I know what’s going on,” Vivian continued. “I think I know why it’s hard for you to explain it. I was there, just over a month ago. Stop me if I’m off track.”

I said nothing, did nothing. Probably had a stupid self-sorry frown on my face.

“Stop me, RC, okay?”

I continued to do nothing as she moved in and put her arms around me.

“Stop me if this isn’t okay.”

I didn’t stop her. I didn’t return the hug, either. But I liked her hug.

She smelled good, and her body was soft and comforting.

“Can you hug me back?” she asked, her voice small as she nestled into my shoulder.

Despite myself, I felt my penis stirring between us. The touch was overwhelming. My mind flashed to her naked body, to her mouth on Barry’s cock, to his mouth on her pussy. My erection strengthened. She only held me tighter.

“I—”

“You don’t have to talk, RC. Just stop me if you need to. And hug me back if you can.”

I draped one arm loosely behind her shoulder blades. The feeling of fabric reminded me that she was dressed, an oddity in the house. Her incessant nudity almost made this unusual state stimulating. I was getting harder and harder, poking her in the belly through my pjs and her dress. I didn’t know what to do about that, and that just intensified everything. Don’t tell me you’ve never had a fear boner.

As she held me, Vivian talked.

At length.

She made everything okay. It was pretty monologuey, and it’s another one of those things I don’t remember word for word. I more strongly remember what happened next. But let’s see if I can at least distill her main points.

She felt close to me. “Like family,” but like me, she said that expression didn’t quite fit, because she was sexually attracted to me. My dumb ass was still surprised by that, even after my extremely intimate involvement in her orgasms, even as she pressed her body against my boner. She had given up on me back in sophomore year because I’d been unreceptive to her flirting, but when she came to understand my demisexuality, she realized that she might not stay in my “friend zone” (yeah, I know) forever. She’d had hopes when we’d reconnected, and those hopes were being borne out.

Just as I was wondering if I could raise my objection—how had she roped her boyfriend into a living situation designed to open the possibility of an old crush falling for her—she responded to it, as if reading my mind.

“Before you worry about Barry, we’re still figuring it out, but we think we might be poly,” she said.

It was early days for that exploration, she said, though she laughed at the idea I hadn’t guessed they were headed in that direction. Did I really think Barry would be cool with me holding her while she jacked off if he were the “jealous type?” (I think you can be monogamous without being jealous or controlling, but I’ll grant that there’s a correlation.)

There was a lot of reassurance sprinkled in. It was okay for me to feel things, okay for me to want things, okay for parameters to shift. She loved me, Barry loved me. She thought I loved them. I did. I nodded a little, staring out through my bedroom door into the hallway. I didn’t need to worry about being the perv here, she said. They’d been getting off on showing off to me for the better part of three months. That made sense to me.

“What about that thing you said about pieces of meat?” I asked.

“You still don’t look at me like a piece of meat,” she replied. “I can tell.”

Looking back, this was obvious. For one thing, it was a guarantee for me. I simply wasn’t capable of purely sexual attraction in the first place. The need in my crotch was deeply tied into my bond with Vivian, her significance, our trust, our love. But at the time, I needed her to tell me this. I was deeply worried about betraying that trust, about trespassing.

Honestly, part of it was probably a queer identity thing. I had spent so much time figuring out who I was, and how I worked. And then I’d tried explaining it to an audience in my blog. And then Vivian and I had started living together on a premise, on one interpretation of how my sexuality worked. Despite the fact that Vivian was right, the fact that yes, I had fallen for her over time, my sudden and potent attraction to her felt like a threat to my identity.

There’s just so much gatekeeping, you know? Even as Vivian held me and reassured me, even as I should have been undressing her and investigating this nascent attraction, I was fantasizing about getting dragged on Tumblr for being a fake demi.

Luckily, I was snapped out of this reverie when Barry appeared in the hallway, naked, flaccid.

He met my gaze, and I saw the dumbest smile break out across his face. He gave me a thumbs up. He wanted me to be happy, and he wanted me to hold Vivian. The relief apparent in his expression helped me understand that this was fundamentally true.

“I’ll join you next time,” he said quietly, and then he retreated to their bedroom.

Vivian stepped forward, pushing me back. I lost my balance under her weight, and we tumbled onto my bed, and now, finally, all that dumb shit is out of the way and I can give you what you came here for.

#

Frankly, though, my first time with Vivian wasn’t all that hot or sexy.

I mean I was turned on as hell, and so was she, but it wasn’t really that good. I had very little experience, remember, and also, I think we were both still worried about everything. Neither of us came. There was a lot of cuddling, a lot of reassurance, a lot of catharsis. But it was also a bit like that night Vivian freaked out about revealing to me that I was the specific voyeur she wanted: we were *tired*. At some point I drifted off, face buried in her chest, her thigh draped over my hip, my boner fading slowly against her belly.

Anatomists! You’re probably like, whoa, how long is Vivian’s body? Your face was in her titties and your dick was against her belly? There’s a simple explanation expressed in the back pain I had the next morning: I was contorted something awful.

Anyway, we woke up around the same time, early for both of us, unused to each other’s sleeping habits. I stretched my back to no avail and she made some sympathetic noises before grabbing my penis.

I was hard, and we were both still naked, and she pulled me closer by said penis.

“You can lie down,” she suggested.

I did so, and she propped herself up and twisted around so her pussy was inches from my face. The room was still lightening, so I couldn’t make out every detail, but the extension of her labia was clear as day in my mind. I’ve mentioned her pussy lips already, and that they get nicely swollen when she’s aroused, but it’s worth repeating. She was *hot* and glistening a bit too.

The back pain was a bummer, but it wasn’t so bad when I reclined like this, and it was the only thing weighing on me at this point. The night together had washed away all the fears and doubts. I was ready, I was eager.

I stretched my head forward slightly, parted my lips, and gave Vivian a few gentle smooches on her vulva.

For her part, she was doing something I couldn’t see to my cock. It felt wet, and there was alternating pressure. I don’t know how much of it was hand, how much of it was tongue, how much of it was mouth. Mostly it just felt good and I didn’t spend much time worrying about the details. I had other things on my mind.

This was my first time giving a woman head and I was “in the tank” as it were. I had watched Barry go down on her many times, and I had paid good attention—she had wanted me to, after all—but seeing is one thing and doing is another. I focused a lot of energy on trying to read her reactions to various tactics, not so much because I wanted to learn which ones she liked, but more to make sure I was doing them right.

She liked long, steady strokes up and down the length of her vulva with steady pressure. She liked open-mouthed kisses on her outer lips, gentle tugging sucks on her inner lips. She liked having her clit flicked, but more than that she enjoyed alternating reps of slow, strong brushes and quick, gentle flurries. Alternating speeds and strengths seemed to be the way to go, with the range of acceptable strengths widening as she became more and more aroused.

I gripped her body during this time, moving my hands occasionally from ass cheek to hip to side to belly to titty, just wanting to feel as much of her as I could. When she began bucking against my face, I tried something Barry usually only did toward the end of his ministrations, and I sucked her clit into my mouth.

The pleasant feelings on my cock stopped with a popping sound and she reared back. Her pussy drew away from my face and she turned around, flushed with a dazed look in her eyes.

“Fuck that feels good, RC.”

The cool morning air was bracing without Vivian’s hot pussy in my face, and the mixture of my saliva and her juices on my chin drew the heat out of me. She seemed to notice the first sign of a shiver, and lowered herself against me to keep me warm. All her soft parts squishing themselves against me felt incredible: titties, belly, thighs. My cock was trapped between us, aching and happy.