Meeting Robby

"Oh, baby, baby, oh god, please..." She was talking again. "Sweet Mother, baby, do it, do it, do it..." What I would want right now would be a finger in my ass. That wasn't so easy, so many of mine were occupied, but it was urgent and it was worth it. Her cunt flashed heat back at me, her breath held itself. I gave my tongue back to her clit, and worked steadily, while she got closer and I fell in love with the hoarse scream that tore from her throat, the muscles snapping like rubber bands, as she shook and moaned and thrashed. Her legs scissored around my chest, her hands on my back and shoulders -- and her pussy dead still under my hands, she wasn't going to jeopardize what she was getting, and, oh, I knew just how she felt....
"Sonofabitch," she said breathlessly, and a long time later. I had released her, and come up to be held, laughing in triumph. "Oh, Elaine... what you did... You really are straight, right? I didn't make a mistake about that?"



"This is a first for me," I said, and laughed. She hugged me some more, and nuzzled into my neck.

"Sweet mother," she said wonderingly. "You straight girls sure can be a surprise sometimes..." She rolled onto me and sat over my chest, grinning. "Say 'cunt,'" she said.



Well that's Robby. I'm looking at her right now, stretching her boy's legs out on my sofa as she reads; half of her books seem to be at my house these days. She's majoring in journalism and literature. She works as a courier, with her precious mountain bike and drops in between trips, letting herself in with her own key, what can I say? I love the brat, she's always welcome.

I left her place some ten hours after I entered it, and walked into work the next day sporting that silly grin that announces; "I have a new lover."

My sexual identity hasn't changed that much; I'm still straight, and Robby still chases straight women -- and I make her chase me, every time. I love the contest of wills between us, before and in bed. I love her husky voice, the result, wouldn't you know it, of a biking accident, and the obnoxious things she says with it. Robby gets drunk on words. She can be as eloquent as Shakespeare, although vulgarity is her preferred mode of speech. She's a charming companion, although she says she never meant to become my companion. Robby gave me back something I'd lost: my power over my sexuality. It's made a big difference in my life, even outside of her; if a man starts with me, he usually ends with me, nowadays.



And sometimes I come to the cafe on a Sunday morning to meet a nineteen-year-old boy, and I might wear a suit.

 I know I won't be wearing it for very long.