Bi to Who You Think You Are

I thought about him a lot over the following week, but I didn't catch sight of him again. I did, however, run into Samara. She and I were both at a local bar suffering through the usual Friday night post-work networking drinks when we caught each other's eye.

It was a frigidly cold day and she was dressed in what I can only describe as a tuxedo suit designed for women, a midnight blue satin blouse, and black leather boots with a low heel. Her hair was pinned back, her make-up was vivid, and she was sipping at a glass of red wine. The wine made me think of her nipples. They were the exact same colour, and were the size of the base of the glass she was drinking from.

She caught my gaze and smiled. 'The footballer.'

'Leeam.'

'My apologies. I should have remembered. I'm Samara. We met in Brisbane.'

'I haven't forgotten,' I replied with a guilty smile.

She laughed and gestured for me to come and take a seat with her. We went outside, where only the hard core drinkers who were trying to avoid the white collar boozers, dared roam. The wind was frigid but our spot was sheltered. Not that it mattered; I think we both wanted privacy more than comfort.

'I heard one of Brent's parents is unwell,' I said.

She nodded. 'His father. Emphysema.'

'How is he coping?'

'Not well.' Samara stared thoughtfully at me. 'What went on between you two?'

'Sexually? Nothing.' I looked around but nobody was within earshot. 'I'm still too wedged in the closet. Besides, I think I liked him more than he liked me.'

'That's funny. He said exactly the same thing about you; that he liked you more than you liked him.'

I stirred my mineral water with the straw. A mangled piece of lemon bobbed to the surface, and I speared it viciously. 'I said something I shouldn't have. Something homophobic. It was about him. Do you think I should apologise?'

'I can't believe you even have to ask me that,' she replied, not unkindly. 'What do you think?'

'Yes,' I admitted.

We fell silent.

'I can't come out,' I offered pathetically.

'Oh, I understand why,' she reassured me. 'The tabloids would have a field day.'

'The other thing is I'm not actually gay. I still like women, too.'

'Bisexuality is real,' she agreed.

My lemon wedge sunk to the bottom of my glass. I stabbed it with the straw, pushed it up along the inside of the glass, and pulled it out. I sucked the bitter flesh as the cold wind whipped my face. I thought about how differently my life had turned out to what I'd expected. I'd never have guessed that one day I'd be sitting outside a bar in Toowoomba on a cold winter's day, discussing a man I adored with a woman I lusted after.

A couple of my colleagues had obviously been misbehaving, because I could see the bar staff requesting they leave. I turned away so they couldn't see me. I didn't want them yelling out to me to join them at whichever bar they'd be heading to next.

'Would you like to come back to my house?' Samara asked.

I nodded. 'Please.'

Submitting to Samara is more than a sexual experience, it's an emotional one. There is some sort of magic woven into what she does, and that combined with her genuine adoration for men and all our foibles, has always left me feeling rather awed by her.

Did I ever love her? No, not in the standard sense. I loved that she existed. I loved who she was. But I was never in love with her. She needed a truly submissive man, one who could commit his existence to her, and I could not, and would not want to be, that man. Perhaps that is one of the reasons that I was so happy for her when she found Kyle. He was not only willing, but grateful, to offer himself to her.

Kyle, of course, wouldn't come along for some years still. At that time she was single, and I followed her back to her duplex in my car, nervous and excited about what she might do to me.

'Remember,' she told me. 'You don't need to say anything fancy; just slow to slow down, or stop to stop.'

'Yes Ma'am,' I whispered.

'I want you to remove all of your clothing except for your shirt. Leave that on for now. You can leave your clothing folded up on the floor.'

'Yes Ma'am,' I said, slightly more confidently.

You might imagine that being entirely nude is more embarrassing than being partially naked, but that wasn't how I felt. My cock was rigid, and I tried to adjust the bottom of my shirt to hide it.

'You have no need to be embarrassed,' she told me. 'I'm not judging you. Come. Sit down.'

She patted the couch alongside her. I sat down carefully, all too aware of my hard on.

Her duplex was nice, but she must have only moved in recently because it didn't quite have that 'settled' look about it. I curled my toes up and stared at her TV, thinking about the footy. Friday Night Footy. Once upon a time it was ritual to watch the game.

'I don't think I'll be single much longer,' she remarked.

'Have you found a man you like?' I said, before correcting myself. 'Have you found a man you like, Ma'am?'

'I think so. He's a switch. He's also a cross dresser. Are you into drag?'

I shook my head. 'No Ma'am. At least, I don't think so.'

She laughed at my honesty and dug into her handbag. She retrieved a make-up case and straddled me. I didn't know where to look. Her blue eyes were magnetising, but I was also slightly embarrassed about the whole situation.

'Let me make you up,' she said. 'I'll show you what I've been doing to Valery.'

She powdered my nose and put lipstick on my mouth. The cosmetics felt artificial and heavy on my face, but she clearly approved, because when my lips were bright red, she kissed me. It wasn't a peck, it was a deep, sensual exchange, and I luxuriated in not having to be in control. I just enjoyed it, all of it.

We could almost have been a normal couple for a few minutes, but she had no interest in having standard penis-in-vagina sex with me and she soon redirected the evening into the direction she was happy with.

'Have you ever received anal sex?' she asked me.

'No Ma'am.'

'Would you like to try it?'

'How would you do it, Ma'am?'

'Harness, dildo. I'll start with the smallest dildo.'

'Yes Ma'am. Thank-you Ma'am.'

Samara took me into her bedroom. She moved a pillow down to the middle of the bed, put a towel over it, and told me to lie on top of it. I lay there, my face buried in her beading, while she got herself ready.

It took what felt like an eternity. I wanted her to hurry up and get it over and done with, but the moment I heard a tube of lubricant open, my heart began to race. Hurry up? No, I wanted to run away. Oh my God. What the hell was I doing?

Her fingers probed my tight ring, slathering it with lubricant. I felt her penetrate me with her fingers, and then, as I struggled to keep my breathing steady, she began to loosen me. But despite my nerves, my cock was throbbing, and for every ounce of fear I felt, I felt the same amount of desire.

Once again, I let her debase me. I lay on her bed with my arse in the air, make-up on my face, while she fucked me. As she thrust my cock was pushed against the towel and the stimulation - enough to heighten my arousal, but not enough to let me orgasm - was intensely frustrating.

'How are you coping?' she asked.

'Good, Ma'am.'

'Have you still got an erection?'

'Yes Ma'am.'

'Let's adjust our position. I'll pull out so you can get on your hands and knees and lean against the bedhead. You'll be able to masturbate while I'm fucking you.'

I thought we'd quickly change positions, but that would've been easy. Samara was, as I was quickly learning, a sadist. When I was thoroughly exposed, my stretched arsehole on full display, she left the bedroom. She returned with her make-up bag.

'What are you doing, Ma'am?' I asked.

'I'm going to write 'slut' on your arse with my lipstick.'

I stared down at my prick as I felt her press the lipstick against my rear. There was a full length mirrored robe in the room and I glanced over at it for the first time since I'd entered the bedroom. Reflected back at me were our images, Samara the aggressor, me the submissive.

'You're gorgeous,' she told me.

'Am I, Ma'am?' I asked longingly.

'Yes.' She leant forward and kissed my back, which was still covered by my business shirt. 'You are.'

She resumed fucking me, inserting her dildo into my waiting hole. I touched my cock, shuddering with satisfaction, and chanced another glance in the wardrobe mirror. Oh, I thought, if everyone could see me now, wearing make-up, being fucked by a woman with a strap-on penis.

Samara followed my gaze. The act of fucking me was a physically intensive one, and she was covered in sweat. She was nude save for the harness and her large breasts and huge areola caught my attention.

'You like to watch?' she asked.

I nodded. 'Yes Ma'am.'

'I like to watch you, too.'

I exploded in my hands. My orgasm was intense, and I was thankful for Samara's experience because she held her cock inside me, giving my prostate all the stimulation it needed while I frantically worked my prick. Semen spilled over my hands and belly and onto her bed as I shuddered and thrust and cried out.

When I was finally satisfied, she withdraw and slapped me on the arse.

'Good boy,' she said.

'Thank-you Ma'am,' I panted. 'Thank-you.' I spent a few seconds recovering, before turning to her and gesturing to the semen I'd spilled. 'I'm sorry Ma'am,' I said.

'Don't be. Just lick up what you can and I'll wash the rest out.'

Lick it? Okay. I sucked the mess off my fingers and belly first, so as not to spill any more onto her bed, then began to suction the jizz off her pillows.

She stood at the side of the bed, removing her harness, watching me clean up.

'You can eat cum,' she noted.

'Yes Ma'am.'

'And you can take a pounding up the arse.'

'Yes Ma'am.'

'Did you enjoy it?'

I smiled as I sucked more semen off the pillow. 'Yes Ma'am.'

'Brent's discreet, you understand that, don't you?'

I nodded, oddly happy. 'Yes Ma'am.'

She leant down beside me and stroked my face tenderly. 'Life is what it is, Liam. It's not tidy. It's not perfect. But don't be scared of who you are.'

I felt my eyes fill with tears. I was emotionally broken. Everything was coming to the surface.

'But what if he doesn't want me, Ma'am?' I asked.

She held me in her arms, and kissed the top of my head. 'He will. He will.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Samara told me to have a shower in the guest bathroom. She'd was going to have a bath, too, and then she'd make me something to eat.

I took my phone to the bathroom with me and while I was waiting for the water to adjust to my preferred temperature, I called Brent. He answered quickly but his voice was filled with stress.

'I'm sorry,' I blurted out. 'I just called to say I'm sorry about the incident at the pub. I guess this is a bad time, but I just wanted you to know I'm sorry.'

He didn't respond.

'I'm sorry,' I repeated.

'It's okay,' he replied. He let out a weary sigh. 'Never mind. How's it all going? How are you coping at work without me?'

'I miss you,' I admitted.

He chuckled quietly. 'And I, you.'

This time it was me that was lost for words.

When he spoke next, it was to ask me what had prompted me to call him.

'I ran into Samara,' I explained.

'Ah, I see,' he replied. 'How is she?'

'Good.' I tested the water again. It was perfect. 'She took me home with her. She just violated my bum.'

Brent snorted, amused. 'How was it?'

'Oh God,' I laughed awkwardly. 'She's something else, isn't she?'

'That she is. I'm surprised she took you home. I thought Valery was starting to make a serious move on her.'

'Is Valery the cross dresser?'

'Ah, she told you.'

'She put lipstick on me,' I said, remembering. I went to the mirror and checked my face. I was a wreck. 'I...wow. Yeah. She, uh... Look, can I ask you something? Why did you find another job without telling me?'

'Oh, you know how it is,' he replied softly. 'It was time to move on. My time there was up, and when another offer came along, I thought I should take it. Then there was the issue of you... I liked you. I could see myself lining myself up for a sexual harassment complaint if I stayed.'

'I wouldn't have complained.'

Brent didn't respond.

'I'm sorry,' I apologised. 'I know you kept giving me chances. In hindsight, it's all really obvious, but at the time I was just trying to make sense of everything. I think I just needed to be eased into the idea I wasn't straight.'

'Can you see why that would have worried me?' he asked. 'Why I would have been concerned that if I pushed you too hard, or at the wrong time, you could have made a valid complaint against me?'

'Yes,' I agreed. 'I know the next thing I'm about to say sounds piss weak, but I'm not interested in having everyone know I'm interested in men. I don't need that sort of grief. So, uh, I guess that's the other thing, isn't it? Everyone knows what you are. I'm not ready for that.'

'Leeam, I'd never ask anything of you that you didn't want. I completely understand that you prefer privacy. I've read up on your career. I've worked with you. You're not someone who likes to draw attention to himself.'

'That's kind of what Samara said.' I wiped at my face, trying to remove the lipstick. 'What are you up to this weekend? Could I see you please?'

'I'm heading back home in about an hour,' he replied. 'Out to St George. My father's dying.'

I winced. 'I'm sorry to hear that.'

'Me too.' He paused. 'Where are you now?'

'In Samara's bathroom. She's going to make me dinner.'

'She's a good woman.'

'She is,' I agreed.

'Would you like me to pick you up in about an hour's time? You can come with me.'

'I don't have any clothes,' I replied regretfully.

'You and I wear pretty much the same size.'

'Oh yeah,' I laughed. 'I didn't even think of that. Do gay and bisexual men typically take advantage of having their wardrobe doubled overnight?'

'Shit yes.'

'Then, um, yes. Please. I'd like to come with you. But how will you explain me to your folks?'

'Rugby's huge in St George,' he replied matter-of-factly. 'I'll tell them a version of the truth; that you were my old protegee, and that I'm bringing you over so they can hang out with a bona fide footy star.'

'I wasn't that great.'

He snorted. 'Not according to my father. He was one of your biggest fans. He always thought you were underrated, and was devastated when you didn't get a contract renewal.'

~~~~~~~~

Brent arrived just as we were finishing dinner. Samara wasn't even slightly surprised to see him.

As we left, I asked Samara what I could get her as a thank-you gift. This time, I understood why Brent had bought her a present. It wasn't payment at all, just a tribute to someone who had graciously taken the time to attend to my needs.

'You don't need to get me anything,' she said.

'No, I do,' I replied earnestly. 'Please.'

She gave me a small smile. 'Flowers, then. For my office. It looks so plain but I don't really want to waste the money on something that will only last a few days. Nothing extravagant, just a small bunch of something nice.'

On the way to St George I browsed Interflora. I asked Brent how much I should spend.

'Fifty, sixty bucks,' he said. 'She won't want you to put yourself in a bad financial position.'

I flicked through the options. 'Do you think... what's the name of the man that she's seeing?'

'Valery.'

'Would he be angry if someone bought her flowers?'

'No. Valery is one of us.'

'Bisexual?' I guessed.

Brent hesitated. 'I don't know about that, but he's definitely kinky.'

'Is he a good match for her?'

'No,' he replied firmly. 'But when you're a woman like Samara, finding what you want is difficult, and Valery is a good man. It won't last, but I don't think it'll end in flames.'

I found some flowers that looked nice. I looked up Samara's office address, and arranged a delivery for Tuesday. Then I sat back and tried to think of what I should say next to Brent.

'I'm honestly sorry for everything,' I said.

'Me too. I shouldn't have left like that. I should have spoken to you before I spoke to HR.'

Halfway through the four and a half hour drive to his family's property, I took over the wheel to give him a rest. He was mentally and physically exhausted. The stress of his father's illness, which he discussed at length, combined with the new role, was sapping all of his energy.

St George is six hours out of Brisbane. It's a lifetime away from anything I'd experienced, and I found it quite odd that this was where my well groomed, polished companion was from. I had so many questions that I wanted to ask, but somehow it seemed crude to ask them. This wasn't a sightseeing expedition. It was a journey home to see an ailing parent.

All the same, you can pick up clues as to someone's childhood if you know how to look. Just as he could tell I came from a poor background, I soon saw that this was a place where he was comfortable.

When we got out of his car something small and dark came hurtling towards us. I was about to yell out when the creature collided with Brent's legs and jumped up excitedly, it's tail wagging. A dog. It was a dog.

Brent lent down and patted it roughly and happily, as pleased to see the canine as it was to see him.

'Arnie,' he explained. 'I bought him when I was living with an ex who had a normal nine to five job. I took Arnie when we split, but I didn't have the time to care for him. All the long hours and travelling... it was unfair. I took him back to the farm.'

It was near midnight. The farm was dark and we took the two overnight cases up to the house.

'Everyone will be asleep,' he told me. 'Just be quiet. I'll put you in the spare room, and leave a note for my parents so they don't get too surprised in the morning.'

The house was an old Queenslander. The floorboards creaked, and I was confident his parents would wake up, but they didn't stir as Brent showed me first to the bathroom, and then into the spare room.

'Do you want me to tuck you in?' he asked humorously.

'That'd be nice.'

I was still in my office clothes. I took them off, stripping all the way down to my trunks. Brent did likewise.

The room was lit only by a dim yellow stream provided by an ancient lamp, but it was enough for me to drink in his figure. How many times had I jerked off fantasizing about him? More times than I could count. And yet now that we were together, I had no idea how to push things along.

The two of us squeezed into the narrow single bed. It was a cast iron affair with a spring base and it creaked under our weight. We lay, face to face, bodies pressed together.

Brent leant forward and pressed his lips against mine, in what would be my first same-sex kiss. It was different from a woman's touch, but equally pleasant. His cheeks were rough with five o'clock shadow and his body was larger and harder than a female's. Suddenly and inexplicably I hugged him, pulling him tight against me.

'Leeam,' he murmured, returning the embrace. 'You have no idea how much I've wanted this.'

With painstaking slowness, he gave me oral sex, and then when my lust was sated, I did the same for him.

I loved every second of it. I loved touching a cock that wasn't my own, and worshipping it in the manner it deserved to be honoured. I revelled in his quiet groans, in the way he stroked my hair as I sucked him, and the heavy weight of his balls in my hand.

My tongue journeyed from his cock to his balls to his perineum, and then back in the reverse order. His groans were growing more urgent and he was on the cusp of climax. It was better than any fantasy I'd ever conjured up. It was lust mixed with something more, and when he finally came, I drank his offerings, sucking down each blast of cum without spilling a drop.