Beautiful Losers - Part Fourteen

Getting up and going to work felt very odd indeed. I crept out of Jean's apartment early, leaving them sleeping in a puppy-huddle, because I had to go home and get clothes.

It was still dark when I let myself in the house. Lizzie had fallen asleep on the couch with the TV on; an artful pyramid of beer cans stood on the floor by one limp, outstretched hand.

In the shower, I waited for the water to flush away my sense of unreality. The previous week seemed like a year ago. I was sore and still smelled of sex and chocolate. If I closed my eyes, I could still feel Jean's tongue in my mouth and Sebastian moving inside me. Doing my very best to ignore it, to push it out of my mind, I got dressed, chugged coffee and made my way to work.

My day job was officially office manager at a sound reinforcement company. What this really meant was that I occasionally typed a letter, was the only person whose handwriting was legible enough to fill out booking orders, and sometimes made coffee. But more that any of those tasks, my main duty was to unscrew the grills off microphones, pop out the foam, and clean them in a bucket of soapy water. If it sounds like a disgusting job, you're underestimating it. For one thing, vocalists with lipstick made my life hell. Then there was all the stale spit. If I was really lucky, I got to solder cabling.

It seemed that everyone had tied one on the night before, because I was the first one to arrive. I put the coffee machine on, played the messages on the answering machine and settled down to test and sort through broken cables.

I interacted, I responded, I drifted through the day like a ghost. Lunchtime made my stomach squirm and by the afternoon, as I sorted through the equipment orders, all I could think about was the member of my skin burning as the chocolate hit it. Just before five, the phone rang, and I picked it up, assuming it was a customer.

"Westcoast Sound Systems," I droned.

"Why aren't you riding my cock?"

My coworkers milled around, walking past the desk, eyeing me. Impossible as I knew it to be, I could have sworn they could hear the other side of the call. I flushed.

"Sebastian?"

"Well I fucking hope you're not riding anyone else's cock. Unless it's Jean's, of course."

"I'm at work," I whispered, as if that would make anything better. "Can I call you back later?"

"No. "

"Why?"

"Because I'm in a cab outside your run-down, shithouse of an office at this very moment. You get off at five, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Well get your very sweet ass out here then. The meter's running."

"Where's Jean?" I asked, grabbing my coat off the back of my office chair and putting it on.

"He's got some gastronomy award ceremony to attend. It started at four and goes till whenever. It's so brutally inconvenient that you're both such wage slaves," he drawled. "So? Where are you?"

"Coming." I slammed down the phone, said goodbye to the boys in the warehouse, and ran out onto the street. Even as I did it, I thought: why am I running? Only Sebastian could make the relief of his own boredom sound like an emergency.

When I climbed in the back of the cab, the driver turned around, scowling. He'd obviously been privy to Sebastian's side of the telephone conversation. It didn't help that as I slid onto the seat, Sebastian launched himself at me, kissing me about as lewdly as you can get away with public.

"Fuck I missed you."

I caught my breath. "Me too."

"Where to now?" Shouted the cabdriver, as if volume would stop us from stripping off and fucking in the back of his taxi. Sebastian gave him his address.

There was a odd elation bubbling up in my chest as we looked at each other in silence for the rest of the journey. Sebastian's hand clasped mine in a death grip. Just before we pulled up in front of his place, he said, "Thank God you're wearing a skirt."

"Why?"

He paid the driver and dragged me out of the car. "Because I don't have to use some stupid line like 'I can't wait to get into your pants'."

The take it or leave it Sebastian was obviously on holiday. This one fumbled with his door keys, pushed me across the threshold unceremoniously and tackled me onto the hallway carpet.

He wrenched up my t-shirt, laid a wet mouth over one breast and moaned. The other hand dragged up my skirt, forced its way into my panties and cupped my mound like it was claiming territory. Fingers wriggled between my folds.

"Oh, fuck. You're wet. You're so wet."

"I'm always like this," I panted defensively, squirming a little at the onslaught of his attentions.

He switched tits and sucked, pushing digits into me. "You said that the other night but I didn't believe you," he mumbled.

Lying half atop me, he ground his hips against mine with such force, that the hallway carpet shifted beneath us. Usually, it took me a while to come with manual stimulation but, whether it was just the passion of the moment, or Sebastian's very skilled manipulation, I was teetering on the verge in minutes.

He looked up from my breast. "Do you like to be treated like a whore?" he panted, "or do you want me to carry you upstairs in a more romantic way?"

That kind of stopped the steep uphill climb. "What?"

"What do you prefer?" he asked, rolling his hips against me, fucking me slowly with his fingers. "What gets you off?"

"I..." I thought for a moment and then reached down, pushing his hand away from my crotch. "Is that a serious question? Because I can't think properly with your fingers doing that."

He laughed. It was a genuine, unguarded chuckle. He kissed my chest and looked up. "It's a serious question."

"I don't think I've ever been treated like a whore, actually."

"Really?" The humping of my hip stopped and he rolled off me and got to his feet, pulling me up by the hand.

I blushed, blinked, and pulled my t-shirt down. "Really," I said, somewhat embarrassed. Was this another one of those things that people with adventurous sex lives knew about? It hadn't occurred to be that being treated like a whore was a good thing.

Sebastian pulled off his leather jacket and then helped me out of mine, and hung them both on the hallstand. "Some people really get off on it. They don't like to admit it, but it makes them extremely hot."

"Oh." I was still thinking about this as he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the living room. My cunt was twitching, my panty crotch was uncomfortable, and he had a huge bulge in his jeans. Why were we having this conversation?

As if he hadn't just ravaged me in the vestibule, Sebastian poured a couple of vodkas into glasses on what looked like a very expensive antique sideboard, and handed me one. My hand was shaking when I reached for it.

This was another Sebastian game, I thought, my heart plunging a little as I sat down on one of the sofas. He came over and sat on the floor beside my legs, casually undoing the laces on one of my boots. He didn't say much as he sipped his drink, working his fingers between the lacing and easing it open.

"I want you to like it, Shirakins," he murmured. He didn't look at me. "I want to make it good for you."

Oh my god, I thought. This wasn't a game at all. "I like it already. Why does there have to be some kind of mode?" Then it occurred to me that maybe this question wasn't really about what I liked; maybe it was about what *he* liked. "Do *you* want to treat me like a whore?" I ventured.

He glanced up at me sideways. "I just want whatever is going to get you off the most."

"Uh...you get me off, Sebastian. Haven't you noticed?"

Shrugging, he went to work on my other boot. "Sometimes you seem shy about it. Like you just go along with whatever is happening. I can read Jean. I know what he wants, but you - you're hard to read."

I giggled, choking in an unladylike fashion on a sip of vodka. "Really? And you're not?"

He eased my Docs off, putting them aside, and leaned back against the sofa. "You don't have to read me, Shira. I get what I want. Jean gets what he wants. I just want to make sure that you do, too."

I thought back to the last time we were over at Sebastian's house, and the way he treated Jean when he was upset. "What does Jean want?"

"Sometimes Jean wants to be loved. Sometimes he wants to be treated like what he fears he is."

"What's that?"

"A slutty, hysterical queen."

Wow - that was brutal. "But he's not!"

"No, he's not. But you have to figure: there aren't all that many role models for effeminate gay men. And the ones everybody fixates on are the most obvious."

This was turning into a quite a scary conversation, but it intrigued me. Because wasn't that was I was always frightened of with Jean? That he'd suddenly decide that gay men don't fuck women? "Why does he need to be like anyone else? Why can't he just be Jean?"

Sebastian turned and balanced his chin on my knee. "You're straight, you're female. There are thousands of examples out there of how to be those two things. Jean's choices are fewer."

I nodded. I'm sure this was like gay culture 101, but I'd never thought of it very deeply. I was learning something I never knew, never considered before. And it was about someone I loved very much.

"So, when he suggested that we should, you know, invite you to watch us, I thought, 'Wow, that's definitely not conventional. That's not like Jean trying to walk a tightrope between closet case and queen,' so I was up for it. I thought it would help him see that his world and how he could be in it was - I don't know -not so choiceless after all."

Mulling this over, I thought of another question. "Why do you think Jean never slept with any girls in high school? Most gay men have tried it, at least once."

It was Sebastian's turn to ponder. "Well, I think he was shy."

"Shy?" I giggled. "Jean? Shy?"

"I think he was. But you know, he's so pretty. He didn't have to approach anyone, of either sex. And I guess the boys got to him first. It kind of sets a pattern for life."

With a big breath, I asked, "Why won't he let you fuck him?"

Sebastian emptied the glass in his hand. He was silent.

"Because," I ventured, trying to pick my steps through what I suspected was a minefield. "I think he wants to. Part of him wants to let you."

"He's never let anyone fuck him. Not with a cock."

I was stunned. I just assumed, assumed that.... Fuck it! That was my problem. I assumed a lot of stuff. "Why?"

"Why haven't you?"

"In the..."

"Ass, yes. Why haven't you let someone fuck your ass?"

"No one's ever asked."

"Well, stupid them." He grinned at me and slid his hand up my thigh, under my skirt. It wasn't aggressive, just affectionate. Then his gaze slid away, as if he was remembering something. "It doesn't feel like anything else. It feels... you feel very taken. Very possessed. Very vulnerable."

"But you like it?" I smirked at him.

"Yeah. Occasionally I do. Not all the time, but yeah, sometimes I do."

"So why doesn't Jean?"

A shrug lifted Sebastian's shoulders and I thought I saw a glimpse of pain in his face. "I think it scares him. Not physically, but emotionally. That kind of possession - I think it really frightens him."

I nodded. It would scare me too. Sometimes just straight penetration felt frightening, like you were losing control. "But you want him to let you, don't you?" I reached down and stroked his cheek with my fingertips. "You do."

"I love him. I want to take him, to have him in that way. To be inside him, the way I can with you."

Fingers or not, I didn't think I'd ever really understand what it must feel like to penetrate someone with your body. It wasn't the first time I'd wished for a penis - just to know what it was like. "Then we have to make him feel safe."

"Do you feel safe? With me, now?"

"Yes." I wasn't lying, but I wasn't being completely truthful; I was getting there.

Sebastian rose to his knees and wriggled his way between mine. He took my face in his hands and kissed me - not passionately - but with great gentleness. "Prove it, then Shirakins. Let me fuck your ass," he said with a grin. "I promise, I won't hurt you. You'll like it."

"Um...I don't think so. Not yet, anyway."

He gnawed on his lip, considering, and the grin turned into a smile, but there was a challenge to it. "Then let me tie you up."

I unclenched my rectal muscles. "Okay."

losers14

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