Season of the Bitch

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Drag queen gets it on with female room-mate.
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For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be Crystal Rhinehart. Lots of girls want to be Crystal Rhinehart; rock star, movie star, model, sex symbol. But none of them really know her. I know her. I know her like nobody else. We used to be best girlfriends. In fact, that bitch saved my life more than once.

Yeah, she's a bitch. And I mean that in the best way possible. All women can be a bitch if you catch us at the right time of the month, but Crystal Rhinehart takes bitch into the realm of high art. 100% pure, grade-A premium cunt. God, I envy her.

You know that photo of her that was in Rolling Stone? The famous one, black and white, Crystal in the black leather jacket and tight skirt, hair wild, lipstick sneer that said: ‘I know you wanna fuck me but you can't touch me cuz I'd eat you alive.' Well, I had a picture taken of myself that's nearly identical. You put the two side-by-side and it takes a few seconds to realize that it's not the same picture. My friend Herbie took it. He's good. Got the lighting and the exposure just exactly right. Even airbrushed out that suspicious bulge spoiling the line of my skirt so you'd never know it was there.

And I was perfect. I did my own make-up and it was a work of art. My face and body perfectly smooth and hairless. Even the look in my eyes was Crystal. The only real difference in my photo is that the jacket is zipped up a little further than in hers. I could never hope to compete with her fabulous tits.

That was years ago, though. She's changed her image since then. Fashion magazines and costume dramas now. Madonna-esque pop instead of her old Patti Smith cock rock. Respectable. She's great, of course, but I still prefer the old Crystal. The Goddess of Trash. When she never wore panties on stage and wrote songs about menstrual blood and fucked beautiful boys and girls and tossed them cruelly aside like smoked-out cigarette butts. When she was reviled in the press, and spawned glorious rumors of black magic and murdering those who stood in her way. When she bragged about her abortions and shot up during interviews. She clawed and fucked and screamed her way to the top and never apologized for anything.

Once on top, though, she softened up. Still no apologies, but definitely a new persona. I saw her in Vanity Fair last month. No shit. Vanity fuckin' Fair. And that whole business about her daughter. What the fuck is up with that? Of course, she won't say who the father is, but still. All those pictures of her and the baby; changing diapers, nursing, in apparent domestic bliss. The interviews now, where she talks about the fulfillment she finds in motherhood. It makes you wonder what the hell happened, or if she's for real.

Maybe it's harder for me, because I have different memories of her than anyone else. After all, I was the one who taught her how to give head, having her practice on bananas. Then we went out together for the real thing. In the darkness of the public restrooms at Grant Park, it was impossible for the queers to know she wasn't a boy, with her pageboy haircut and blue jeans. And we laughed together afterwards, comparing notes on the cocks we'd sucked, on the men attached to them. We were like sisters. She was as wild as me and maybe that's what's so disappointing. She grew up and got all mainstream, and I'm still just a lowly cocksucker. I can't decide if I want to be up where she is, or if I want her back down with me.

We lived together for a while, a studio apartment shithole in Chicago. Bone cold in the winter and sweltering in the summer. We had to take turns sleeping on the couch. But we never turned a trick to pay the rent, I can tell you that. No way. Not us. We had too much pride. We were good girls. Yeah, bullshit.

I remember one night, must have been August because it was like a sauna in that place, Crystal had managed to steal a bottle of Percosets from somebody's medicine cabinet. We each knocked back two of those and split a bottle of wine besides, so we were both pretty bombed. Crystal wasn't wearing a shirt because it was so fuckin' hot, just walking around the place in this black lace bra. And, funny thing, I caught myself checking out her tits.

She has great tits, I'm sure you've noticed. They're famous, especially since she'll show them off at the drop of a hat. I'd seen them before, obviously, but usually when I looked at her tits I just wished I had a set like that. I've got my own now, thanks to the miracles of saline implants and estrogen injections, but back then I was still stuffing my bras. Usually I just felt envious when I scoped out her fantastic boobs, but on this one night I got a weird flash in my head, like a curiosity about what it would be like to suck on her nipples.

Now, I wasn't used to thoughts like that. I don't go for girls at all. I'm a dyed-in-the-wool queen, not some dyke. Not even curious. In fact, I always made fun of bisexuals because if there's one thing I couldn't stand, it's someone who can't make up their mind. How many bisexuals does it take to change a lightbulb? None, because they can't decide which way they want to screw.

So I tried to shrug off the feeling, put it down to the effects of the drugs. Still, I couldn't help staring at her. I could see her pink little nipples through the material of the bra and I was driving myself crazy thinking about taking them in my mouth. Crystal caught me looking, but thought I was just coveting the bra.

"Shoplifted it at Neiman Marcus," she said. "You wanna borrow it?"

One of the great things about living with Crystal was that we were nearly the same size and had similarly slutty tastes in clothes. We wore each other's stuff all the time. Sometimes, before a big date, she would even lend me the panties right off her ass. So I could smell like a real woman. She probably thought nothing of whipping that black lace thing off and tossing it across the room to me. But that only made things worse. Now her tits were completely hanging out for me to see, and God did my mouth water. I was even starting to get a hard-on.

"Hey, Jaye?" she asked me. "Have you ever fucked a girl?"

Bitch could read my mind. It was spooky sometimes. But I wasn't going to let her get me that easily.

"No," I said, deflecting the question. "Have you?"

Crystal nodded seriously. "Yeah, a few times."

"No!" I said, pretending to be shocked. "You? A dyke?"

"Like you're one to talk," she said. "Faggot."

That stung. "Who have you fucked?"

"Like I said, a few different girls," Crystal said. "The last one was that girl from the club, Raven? You met her."

"You fucked Raven?" I was acting aghast, but this was old news. Everybody knew about Crystal and Raven. "Please tell me you didn't eat her out."

"Of course I ate her out."

"That is so gross."

Crystal smiled. "Actually, it was kind of cool."

"Yeah, if you like tuna."

"Hey," Crystal said. "It's better than when some guy shoots his wad in your mouth before you're ready for it. C'mon, Jaye, you can't tell me you've never even thought about it."

"Nope," I said, but I couldn't look her in the face anymore. She was teasing her nipples with the tips of her fingers. I don't know if she was even aware that she was doing it, but it was driving me crazy. I was hard as a diamond.

"You never did give me my final exam," she said.

Final exam. Back when I gave her blowjob lessons, our joke had been that the final exam would be to suck off the teacher. We never got around to doing it, but now the memory made my cock twitch.

"Damn it, Jaye," she said. "I'm bored, I'm horny, and I'm just fucked-up enough to think you look good. You're getting the chance of a lifetime. Wouldn't you like to be able to tell people someday that you fucked the one and only Crystal Rhinehart?"

Bitch always knew she was going to be famous.

Trying not to let on how aroused I was, I said: "I'll fuck you, but I'm sure as hell never going to tell anyone about it."

I crawled across the floor to be beside her, then realized I had no idea how to proceed.

"What do I do?" I asked.

"Jesus Christ, Jaye," she snarled. "It's not rocket science. Just fuck me."

So I laid her down on the floor and started sucking on her titties like I'd been wanting to do all night. It was even better than I thought it would be. Her nipples were sweet and hard, like little penises, not like a man's nipple at all. She moaned when I sucked on them. I would have been happy just sucking on her tits, but Crystal was tearing at my shorts.

She laughed when it was free. "I've never seen a girl with such a big dick."

She pulled it with her hand where she wanted it to go. Now I'd fucked a lot of assholes, and taken a lot of dicks up my own, but at that point I had never been inside a pussy. I guess that made me a virgin in a way (although if you would have called me a virgin I would have laughed in your face.) I was surprised at how soft it was, how wet. I could see how some people might like this.

I started moving in and out real slow, grooving on the strange new sensation when Crystal let out an exasperated sigh.

"God damn," she said. "You fuck like a poodle. You afraid you're going to break me? Roll over."

I laid down on the floor and she climbed on top. Then Crystal proceeded to fuck me right in half. She bore down hard with her pelvis, thrusting like a horny interstate truck-driver. I spread my legs around her waist and she closed her legs on me, tight. In this position, it was easy to imagine that she had the cock and I had the pussy. I could tell she was getting off with the same fantasy because she was moving just like a man, fucking me harder and harder. It hurt, but I realized that it was what I had been searching for my entire life. To have a cunt, and to have it filled with cock. To be a woman fucked by a man.

"If you come, I'm going to be pissed," Crystal snarled. "I want to suck you off, bitch."

I was right on the verge, so I nodded. Crystal unclamped her legs and went down on me. My cock tasted her pussy and she sucked it clean. I had taught her well. She gave head better than most queers. It didn't take me long. Instead of shooting in her mouth, I pulled out and sprayed my stuff all over her face.

Now there's a picture you won't see in Vanity Fair anytime soon. Crystal Rhinehart, face dripping with come. She laughed and wiped it off with her hand, licking her fingers and letting me have some too.

We fucked a few more times that summer, when we were both bored, horny, or high enough to be so inclined. It was never as good as that first time, though. I've been fucked by a lot of guys, but none of them ever made me feel like a woman the way Crystal did.

She moved to L.A. a few months later and I never heard from her again. Didn't hurt my feelings much, I knew she wasn't the letter-writing type. Then she started to get big and I pretty much knew she would forget all about her freaky low-life friends. Hell, I would have done the same thing if I got famous.

But sometimes I wonder what would happen if I was to go visit her. If she would be happy to see me, or if she'd have her bodyguards escort me off the grounds. I could see it happening either way. I hope in any case I would have a chance to show off my great new body, the best that money can buy. Almost all woman now, with one notable exception; I still have my cock. I haven't worked up the courage (or the funds) to make that final step towards womanhood. Or maybe I'm just sentimental. Or maybe, just maybe, I'm holding on to that last vestige of my despised masculinity for the sole purpose of sinking it into Crystal Rhinehart's flesh one more time.

I want to remind that bitch where she came from.

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RavishingRavishingalmost 15 years ago
Surprised..

I am truly surprised that no-one had commented this. So I'm making sure to leave mine. Not what I'd normally pick to read, but I adored how you wrote it out from start to finish .. truly engaging and something to drag the reader in .. till the end.

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