Me and My Belle Pt. 01

Author's Foreword: I started this story from a tiny idea and what you see before you now stands as part of an intended three-part story. Though the narrator is male, it's more about his female friend's journey to get comfortable with a part of her desires that had only brought her feelings of guilt and shame in the past.

This part of the story is set up: the psychological part that connects two people for the physical connection to follow later. It deals with sexual feelings and explicitly stated activities that land it in the realm of erotic fiction, so I couldn't in any good conscience file it as "Non-erotic," but please be aware that there is no sex here. Consider it a tease -- a slow build-up to the sexual frenzy to follow -- as Parts 2 and 3 will be heavily explicit.

If you like this setup, please add me as a Favorite Author so you get a notice when I drop Parts 2 and 3. Also, leave me a comment with what you thought of this or where you think it goes in Part 2. Maybe you'll be right. Maybe your ideas will make it in there somehow. Guess it depends on what you say... :^)

Jalgis has my heartfelt thanks for their great insights and excellent proofreading skills to make this read far better than my writing skills actually are!

-----

Fuck.

Over an hour now of hearing her stupid fucking thoughts on life -- most of it bitching about guys -- and I just snapped. Going drinking after work on a Friday night was supposed to be relaxing, but Regina's typical way of dominating the group was just wearing on me. When she started in on how her last boyfriend gave her shit because she couldn't deepthroat him and how it was his fault this became an issue between them, I decided I wanted to fight.

"Jesus Christ, Regina. Give it a rest. It's always someone else's fault. Ever think that the one common thing in all your drama is you?" Her nostrils were flaring and her eyes, glowing red. I reloaded before she could respond. "You yourself said that he wasn't hung so how difficult could it have been? Sometimes it's about the other fucking person, you know?"

She stabbed a finger at me, knocking over an empty beer bottle in the process, "Of course you'd side with him. Got a dick? It's the bitch's fault. Well, fuck you. You don't have the right to talk shit to me! Have you ever had a dick forced down your throat?"

She started to gloat and make her next point when I nodded once and quietly said, "I have."

Our entire group of twelve or so went dead silent. All eyes were on me. Regina's mouth froze open mid-sentence. She closed it. I felt a sense of pride. That shut her up. Briefly.

"Well, Mr. Macho's a bottom, is he? Hard to imagine you part of the black leather crowd, hon."

"Regina, don't act like a bigger cunt than you already are. You were all smug when you thought you could bully me for not knowing what you were talking about. Now, you're calling me a queen for knowing more about it than you. It would be a lot better for your growth both as a human being and a woman to realize that you're just a lousy lay."

The table roared laughing. She'd be on the back foot for a few minutes dealing with that. She might be a stunner in the looks department, but the girl had more hang-ups than a laundromat.

I felt like shit after sharing that little tidbit and went to go buy another round. As I waited, I looked back at the table. Everyone was engaged in some conversation or another. Would anyone even notice if I didn't come back? Not likely.

I paid the bartender and flagged a waitress to deliver the round. As I was pointing out the table, I noticed that someone from our group was interested in what I was doing. And intently interested from the way she was staring.

Mirabelle.

Belle, as she liked to be called, was an early thirtysomething with piercing green eyes, an impish smile, a caustic wit, and a throaty laugh. She was probably 5' 8" or so judging from how she stood about up to my chin and possessed one of those balanced figures that walked the line between "athletic" and "voluptuous," depending on the clothes she sported. Tonight, she was in her heels, black pencil skirt with gray pinstripes, blue silk blouse, and her long raven locks tied behind her head in a messy bun. In a word, she looked amazing. And she appeared to be extremely interested in what I was doing.

I had a good 10 years on her and in the year or so I had been meeting this crowd across town after the work week, I couldn't recall her stringing more than twenty seconds together in my direction at a time. By the time this thought registered, we were up to sixty seconds straight as I was watching to make sure the waitress got the drinks in front of my friends.

My friends...that now think I'm bisexual at best or flaming gay at worst.

Oh, boy. Nope. Not going to face that one tonight. I turned and headed out after settling the tab. The cool night air was like a salve on my face as I passed the threshold from the bar and hit the sidewalk. I pulled my phone out and checked how close an Uber driver was.

"Leaving now? And just when you had something interesting to say?"

Shit.

I turned. Belle was standing at the top step, rummaging through one of those oversized purses.

"You ok to drive?" I said.

"Nope, but you are. Hunter, do you really think no one notices how you nurse a beer and two gin and tonics -- hold the gin -- over three hours week after week?" She tossed me her keys and stared at me. The left side of her mouth curled up slightly. There was that impish grin. Guess she had been paying more attention to me than I realized.

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I nodded. She pointed to the right, and we started walking together toward her car. It was a full minute before either of us spoke.

"What made you say that in the bar?" she asked softly.

Christ. Me and my big fucking mouth. I stopped and looked at the sky. Not a star to be seen. Sometimes, living in the city really sucked. I brought my gaze back down to earth. Belle was a few steps in front but had turned to look at me. Apartment buildings on either side with good street lighting and not a soul for a block in either direction.

"Wasn't it obvious? I just had my fill of Regina's war on men."

"But of all the ways to shut her up, why choose that one? I mean, you've got the man's man look going and the few girls you've brought along on Friday night? They could've been runway models."

About as smart, too.

Not pausing for my unspoken aside, she continued, "Let's just say that no one there saw that one coming."

She paused and bit her lip. "You're not really a queen...are you?"

What the hell was this all about?

"What if I am?"

Her brow furrowed and her gaze lowered. She seemed lost in thought for a second. Then, a barely audible, "Never mind." She looked up at me and reset her posture like nothing had happened. "My car's just another two blocks and I'll call you an Uber from my place." She had started to walk away but I slipped my hand under her arm and gently tugged to get her attention. She didn't turn but she did stop walking.

"It wasn't a guy I was talking about," I said, my voice hoarse.

She spun to face me, her eyes wide. That reaction seemed to give it all away in an instant. That's what she had been fishing for and I just stumbled into it blindly. Something anyway. She didn't strike me as transgender (as if I had any real ability to identify), so I assumed a fetish. And one I had familiarity with.

"Is that why you're here?" I asked.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

Her tone was firm. Her defenses were up. I tried a different approach. I let her arm go and started to walk slowly in the direction she had indicated for her car.

"It was years ago, but I dated this girl when I first moved to Chicago. Met her at a Cubs game. A chance happening, really. We both went to the game without dates and were sitting a few seats from each other in the same row. We were both keeping score and would occasionally check with the other on how the play was ruled. By the eighth inning, we had stopped keeping score and had lost interest in the game. An hour later, we were together in bed.

"She was a terrific girl and a very loving partner. We were together a year before she shared her 'other side,' as she called it." I paused. Belle kept her gaze on the sidewalk. I continued, "She wanted to take me 'like a man would take a woman,' she said. She had collected several harnesses and dildos over the years, but never trusted anyone enough to talk about it. I consented immediately, of course. I was madly in love with her, you see.

"She was tentative at first but got over that pretty quickly. When she led, she could be a rough lover. But I wanted to make her happy, and I got into it the more she did.

"Six months later, we went our separate ways for stuff I don't want to get into. I haven't talked to her since, but those months of give and take between us -- alternating which of us was the top and which was the bottom, as they say -- were very...intimate. It's not something I've searched out since, but with the right person, it can be an amazing experience."

I looked over at her as we continued our slow walk together. She kept her gaze lowered. Had she heard what I had said? She reached over to grab my hand and give it a gentle squeeze. I stopped us. She turned and looked at me.

"All it takes is the right person, Belle."

She pulled me close and started to sob quietly on my shoulder.

-----

I closed the car door and fumbled trying to fit the key into the ignition. After she had put her purse in the back seat and closed her door, I felt her take my hand and guide me. The key slid home. I turned sideways to look her in the eye. She smiled. I smiled back as I turned the ignition and the engine came to life.

"Nice car," I said toward the backseat as I checked what was behind us. The M3 felt like a panther ready to pounce just backing out of a parking spot.

"Thanks. I'll have it paid off about the same time I retire." She turned the radio on but kept it low. It sounded like something from the Eighties that I probably knew the name of once. "Turn right and straight until the freeway."

That gave us a while. As I pulled out and accelerated entirely too swiftly, I felt her gaze on me. I'm sure I was smiling. It was a great car. She remained silent as we continued through light after light. "This is Radio Clash" started and I cranked it up. I began mouthing along and she surprised me by starting to sing along. I joined in and we sang together until the final "Riggy diggy dig dang dang -- go back to urban 'Nam!"

"You'd have made a helluva punk rock girl, I bet, Belle," I said as I got us onto the freeway.

"Mom was a Clash fan and got me into them early on. I crushed on Joe Strummer pretty hard when I was a kid, though he was already really old by then. He died not too much later and I was a complete mess."

"No shit. What are you? Like 20?"

She snorted. "Trying to goad me, old man?" She had me on that one. "31. What are you? Like 60?"

"Touché. 44." I turned the radio down low again and changed the subject. "How long has this been a thing for you?" I looked at her briefly. She shrugged.

"Always, I guess. Or it's been there since I knew what sex was. In middle school, I found one of my older brother's Penthouses and there were beautiful women with incredible figures and gorgeous guys with big cocks. And in one corner near the back was one picture in a video review that showed a woman pegging a guy. And, no, I didn't know it was called 'pegging' until years later. All those pictures in that magazine and the one I kept thinking about was that pegging shot and the looks on their faces. Your girlfriend. How did it start for her?"

"A bad childhood experience, I think. She didn't talk about it. The closest thing she ever got to explaining it was nearly unintelligible one time that she was drunk."

I weaved back and forth between the two lanes of the freeway as I passed a series of slower-moving cars.

"Not one guy, Belle? You never found one guy to talk to? Gotta say that the way you look and as smart as you are, they've got to be lined up around the block for you. And all types."

If anything, I undersold it. She was smart, funny, an absolute bombshell, and an all-around pleasure to be around.

She turned away from me and looked out her window. "Yeah, right," she said, her words threatening to etch the glass like acid. "There were a few guys. Ones I thought were the right ones. Lots of guys I knew weren't right, but two that I was going to spend forever with. You've been there before? Even felt the cut when your fiancé calls you 'disgusting?'"

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She dropped her voice an octave, "I knew you were freaky in the sack, but I never knew you were a freak." Her voice now normal, she continued, "That was the first 'Mister Right.' The second one...well, the second one had a lot more to say. None of it nice. And he had a Psychology doctorate, so he even had ME convinced I was unlovable." She reached up to brush a tear away from her mascara. "After him, I went on a 'Fuck 'em and forget 'em' tear for a while. I moved here to put that behind me. I don't want to hate men, but I'm not going to take a third cut that deep."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Belle." I reached for her hand. She jerked at the touch. I turned my palm up, held my hand out for her, and looked at her. She stared at my hand. "I'm not offering a deep commitment like you had with them, but if you want a friend, I'm here." She looked at me and then back to my hand.

Finally, after what seemed to me to be an eternity, she laid her hand on top of mine and squeezed.

"This is our exit," she said softly toward the windshield.

I liked how she had said, "our." And I knew exactly what she meant: we'd both be getting off here.