Bend-Over Boifriend

"What the hell is this?" I say when I see what's lying on the table. I had sauntered over for a beer and to give a quick glance at the box, just to see if Lauren had decided to indulge me with a Segal- or -Van Damme action flick, or went instead with a cheesy, romantic chick flick that would either put me to sleep, or, best case scenario, put her in the mood.

Instead, sitting innocuously on the counter next to bags of groceries and the newspaper, is a movie with an obscene cover. I should know. I've seen quite a few of them when I browse the back aisles of the Blockbuster, hunting for girl-on-girl action. But I've never seen any quite like this. There's a man on his stomach, with a very beautiful woman lying on top of him- unpornlike and almost romantic. But then, in a tiny image to the side, the same woman is wearing a harness and strap-on. And the man is on his knees in front of her. And the name, staring me in the face: Bend Over Boyfriend.

It all makes my stomach lurch and get queasy. Again, I ask "What the hell is this, Lauren?"

"What does it look like, Jesse?" She practically purrs at me. She's holding a jug of milk in one hand and three cans of tuna in the other, right in the middle of unloading the groceries, but if anyone could look wanton doing it, it's her. Well, I was right about her choice of movie putting her in the mood, at least.

"Well," I begin. I had expected some sort of defensive reply, not this come-hither look. She goes about the rest of her business, but more seductively, knowing I'm watching. Swaying her hips on the way to the fridge. Bending over rather than kneeling to get to the lower cupboards. Where she had held the milk jug to her chest is a damp spot that lets me see the luscious shape of her breast and one big pink nipple, hardened by the cold.

"Well," I start again. Perhaps I can turn movie night into hot sex night without any much effort at all. I drop my voice to sexy baritone level and lean back against the counter, thumbs tucking in my pockets, so she can take in all of me. I let my index fingers suggestively point at my crotch like an accidental arrangement of hands. "I don't know what it is, but it looks like it's got you all excited."

She gives me a big grin and then swallows me up with her eyes. My sexy, laid-back pose isn't lost on her. She ambles up to me, all sway and bedroom eyes with that little smile, and plunges her hand into my hair, pulling my head to hers. We kiss breathlessly, hard, her long fingernails digging into my scalp and at the hard, thick muscle of my bicep as she clutches my arm.

"So you want to try it?" She breathes when we finally break apart. The kiss has got her all flushed, eyes glowing, her little mouth hanging open in excited anticipation. At least, I think it's the kiss. And I think it's anticipation of sex and not my answer. But the more time I take before I answer, the more I see that it is the case. She bites her lip and narrows her eyes, looking suddenly very disappointed. I seize up with guilt, and I just can't handle the feeling. So I get angry instead.

"Try this?" I pick up the dirty movie and dangle it by one corner like the piece of trash it is. "I don't even know what you mean by this."

Lauren plucks it out my hands crisply. "I mean that I want to do this to you." She says simply, leading me to the images displayed on the back by means of her pink nail. She still looks somewhat coy. Somewhat hopeful.

"But I'm a-" I begin.

"I know." She interrupts, firmly. "But look at him." She motions to the guy on the cover- the boyfriend of Bend Over Boyfriend. "He likes it." She says in an encouraging little singsong voice.

"Yeah, well, I don't. Most guys don't, either, Lauren. Don't try to play me like that." I get into a confident stride, talking at her instead of to her. I must be talking so loudly, so fast, in order to cover up the way my heart won't slow down or beat properly, quietly, the way most hearts do. "You aren't sticking anything in me." I say, punctuating my speech with finger jabs.

Perhaps I was a little too aggressive. Lauren clutches the movie to her chest like a plate of armor. "Oh yeah?" She yells, taking a step away from me. "God, Jesse, you make me so angry sometimes! You're so big and macho, can't take it, huh? Well, guess what?" She retreating down the hallway backwards so she can talk to me. "Say goodbye to this, because you aren't sticking anything in me, either!" She pauses briefly so she can shake her tits and ass at me angrily, and then pulls the bedroom door shut after her with a slam that reverberates through the whole house.

I wait. I'm shaking inside, but I wait, and then, ever so slowly, the door cracks open.

"Lauren," I sigh, exasperated but happy.

But instead of my vixen, the DVD comes shooting out of the slit and the door closes again. "Watch it." She hisses against the barrier between us. I clench my fist and kick the movie against the wall rather than do what I want to do. I run a hand through my hair and think.

I can't just stay here, not with Lauren holed up in the room like that. And I'm not going to watch the movie. I won't give her the satisfaction. Why do I need to, anyways? Like she thinks I don't understand the mechanics of what she'd like to go on. I know. Does she think it will turn me on? What about a guy getting pegged would turn me on? I'd rather watch her use the dildo on herself. I pace and pace, and finally I decide to seek some advice.

My bar is a lonely little place out on the edge of the highway, broken down, rusty, set thirty years back from all the high-tech laser light shows and dance music that modern clubs have. Here is where I come to get a beer instead of a colorful drink, to shoot the breeze and a couple of games of pool. My buddies are all here: Al, Jo, Andy, Ty. They wave and holler "hello's" at me and Andy hops off the barstool to grab me in a half-nelson.

"What you doing here! Isn't it movie night tonight?"

I make an angry noncommital grunt as a reply. I came here for solace and escape, but now I'm remembering everything that just happened, not only as a fight, but as the fight that robbed me of a good movie night and possibly some enjoyable normal sex. Not to mention that I'm on edge and nervous about approaching the conversation. How do you just ask somebody if they let their girlfriends screw them with dildos?

"Man." Andy says, peering closer at me. "Did something happen?" Then, like good friends always do for their distressed pals, comes "Get a beer for Jesse!"

We sit in an empty corner, crouch in close. I decide that the best way to approach this is to let it all out. Don't even give Andy a chance to ask. So I grit my teeth, hunker down, and spit it out.

"Andy, have you ever let Jill- I mean, has Jill ever- uh, penetrated you?" The minute I say it, I blush horribly red. I could have said 'fucked', or 'screwed', or 'shtupped', even, but 'penetrate' sounds so very clinical and ridiculous. But Andy doesn't even blink.

"Of course she has." The eyes gazing at me are soft with kind confusion. "All the time. I mean, I'd rather be giving it to her, but even I like turning the tables. Why are you asking?" Then the light goes off. I cringe. "You mean you've never?"

For some reason, I can't work up any disgust over the thought of Jill bending Andy over the couch. It's not titillating, but it's taken the fire out from under me. Andy was my barometer, my way of testing the water. If my best friend, the most normal person I know, likes it, then maybe it's not as weird as I thought.

"But doesn't it- doesn't it- make you feel less . . . masculine?" I stutter. And there it is, laid bare, my secret fear: that I'll lose everything that I am if Lauren puts me on my back and fucks me.

Andy takes a pull off the beer, belches, and then scratches obscenely. "What, me, not masculine?" I know what's going on, and we laugh together. "Look, I know what I am and I know what I like. Screw whatever you think it means. If it makes you feel like a little slut and you don't like that, then don't do it. All I know is, I like it." Our heads tilt together in the secret eyebrow-waggling language all my beer buddies share, glorious mythic tales about pussy and tits and slutty girls. "It's kind of nice to let the ladies get off the way we do. Jill really uses all of my orifices, if you know what I mean."

I know. And I think maybe I can do this. I slap Andy on the back and try to ignore the knowledge that my knowledge- my intentions tonight- aren't confidential anymore. The drive home is very quiet, very contemplative. I'm trying to appropriate the rules I'll lay down: what's okay, what is not. And I try to not feel the glimmer of excitement that ruffles my gut. This isn't supposed to be fun or sexy, not for me. But when I push open the door and see Lauren splayed across the bed with a black dildo protruding from her thatch of blonde pubic hair, the harness straps tight across her thighs, looking completely confident that I'd come back, I break out in a chill, erotic sweat.

"So you just knew I'd give in to this?" I say as she pops up to rub my shoulders.

"I bet you went to talk it over with Andy." She whispers into my ear. "Where do you think I got the idea from? Me and Jill were just talking one day." She slides her hands up my shirt, across my chest where it feels so nice. We pull it up and off together. The buckle of my belt makes a loud jangling sound as she unfastens it, as does the harsh metallic hiss of the zipper. My pants drop and she slides her fingers under the elastic band of my boxer-briefs.

I can't help but stiffen up. When we fuck, I usually do it with my underwear on, sometimes even my pants and shirt. Just my fly undone. I don't like to be naked by gut instinct, and I have to override the fear as she slides them off my hips. She tries to massage me into relaxation, long strokes up and down my spine, and it almost works until I feel her pause- a wet, oily pause for lubrication. The smooth head of the silicone cock touches the back of my thigh, glides in a sticky circles. It's meant to be a turn on, the way I do it to her, but it only makes me more tense.

"Okay." She says softly. "Bend over." Then she helps me, easing my upper body onto the bed, putting me in the most vulnerable position I know. She spreads my cheeks, opening me up to the cool air, exposing me completely. The dildo nudges me apart even further, and then the tip slides in.

She goes slow, not pushing, but breathing, and with every gentle exhalation, she rocks forward a little more, breathing herself into me. It doesn't hurt. In fact, as odd and foreign and full-feeling as it is, I can't help but wish she'd go a little faster. Not harder, or deeper- I'm not ready for that- but just faster, more friction up against my walls. The slow pace is driving me crazy, crazy enough that I have to slide my arm up under my body so I can touch my crotch, so I can masturbate while she does this.

"I knew it!" Lauren cries out as I moan and she thrusts a little harder. "You tell me you're stone, everyone else tells me you're stone, but I didn't buy it for a second. Stone butch my ass!" Suddenly, now that she knows how much I like it, she's really fucking me, hard, fast, making me gasp. "All you butches just think it's too femmey to get fucked, to like it."

Her hand rips my arm away from the wonderful friction I'm working up and her own replaces it, rubbing expertly over my clit and in the slippery juices I'm oozing. "Well, look at you now, Jessica. You can't hide how much you like it from me." She's right. Everything I thought about myself is dissolved into good feeling. Was I the stone butch lesbian who thought she could only give it, but not take it? That it wasn't butch to be fucked? And why in hell didn't anybody tell me it could be like this? No pretend games of in-charge and in-power and man-woman, butch-femme, but just the intense feeling getting stronger and stronger in my pussy and clit, in my aching body?

I cry out this question to her as her hands ravage me, one squeezing my tit and pinching my nipple, the other fast and hot on my clit, her cock moving in deep, ragged circles inside my. She's gasping too, coming up on her own come, but she answers me with something like a laugh.

"That's why I got the video. You're my bend-over boifriend."

I try to laugh, because I understand suddenly exactly what she means, not a woman getting it good and hard, but me, her boi, her daddy, her stud, her butch. And that is something entirely different, just like the couple on that lovely, dirty movie. But I can't get it out, because I'm coming, I'm grinding, rubbing, pushing back, and practically crying as waves of pleasure wash over me. Behind me, over the roar of my orgasm, she's having her own, too.

She collapses heavily, limply, on top of me like post-coital heaven, sweaty, breasts pushing up onto my back, dildo comfortingly still half-way inside me at a strange angle, panting. She strokes my short hair tenderly.

"My bend-over boifriend." She says with a kiss.