Roomies

And the story came out: the father was a struggling scientist, the mother a wealthy socialite; it was her seed money and his effort that built the research company. Bill seemed happy to be talking about it. "So you can see our quandary: our mother wants us to stir the beaker with a silver spoon; our father wants us to stir it with our finger." His laugh was beautifully innocent.

I knew nothing of the mother, but I'd read a lot about the father: an old world zealot hell bent on results. "Are you both going into the company?" I asked, they both were far more interesting to me now; their pedigree couldn't have been better.

"Operations," said Bill."

"Material acquisitions," said John, and they both laughed.

Bill explained. "John will scour for funding," he said this good naturely, "I'll arrange to spend what he can raise."

I turned to John, remembering last weekend. "I'll bet you'll be good at it."

He raised an eyebrow.

"The cocktail party," I explained, "You really know how to work a room."

He didn't seem too pleased with this, but Bill did, "Those cocktail parties are his classroom. I host them, he practices in them. As you know the real life-blood of research is funding, often altruistic funding. If the company has a future, it will need a steady infusion of funds." When he looked at his brother there seemed to be real love and respect between them. "The company will only succeed in the future if John succeeds."

She was lying beside me late Sunday night, "You'd better start to knuckle down, Lins. You've got two months to graduation and you're starting to fall behind."

She turned and kissed me lightly on the lips and leaned into me, wrapping a leg over mine. "Thanks, I know, but it's so hard to concentrate, I'm just so fucking excited, but I will, starting tomorrow, I've already talked to Bill about it, but Jeez, is it ever going to be hard, I just think about the guy all the time." She kissed me again, "I love the guy, Jags, I love everything about him. He's going to be mine, I know it and it just turns me on." As if to emphasize the point, she squeezed me and rubbed her pussy against my leg and then she laughed, "I told you I was going to do it and I did."

She had her mischievous face on, "Did what?"

"I brought him his own." When she looked at me, with a coy smile on her face, she could tell I didn't know what she was talking about so she added, "His own panties … and bra." She settled into me again, getting as close as she could, "You should have seen him. It was really awkward at first — when I handed him the bag and he opened it. He said he didn't understand, stuff like that, but I knew he wanted them, he couldn't hide that, so I told him they were for me, I wanted him to have them because I found him so sexy in them and that's all it took. Oh, he tried to be really casual about it, as if he was doing me a favour, but as soon as he touched them, well, it was game over. And, anyway, he looks really cute in them. It was a little weird at first, last week, but I'm over that. He's just so happy — it's kind of contagious, so you know what I did?"

God, I couldn't imagine, and I guess she guessed that because she just kept right on going. "I really wanted to explore this fetish of his, to really draw it out of him, so I took him to a lingerie shop, the one in the mall in the east side. I told him I wanted him to help me pick out some stuff. He was really thrilled, I mean thrilled. And when we got there, to the store, that's when I told him what I really wanted was for him to select some stuff … for himself — I'd come back later and buy it to save him any embarrassment. I honestly thought he was going to cry; he was just that happy."

She leaned up on her elbow and looked at me. "I know all this sounds kind of stupid, but it means a lot to him and because of that it means a lot to me. I like him in a bra and panties because he likes to be in a bra and panties." I hadn't reacted, mainly because I didn't see anything wrong with it, but I guess she thought I needed some convincing because she added, "Look, I want him to be really comfortable with me … and, well, the more natural he is with me, the more he expresses himself, well, the better chance he'll stay with me … you know, for life." Then she added, with a laugh, "I even bought him some baby doll pajamas."

Telling me all this can't have been entirely easy for her; it struck me that she needed a little reassuring so I turned sideways on the bed and pulled her into me and she nestled her face into my neck as I massaged her back and held her.

I guess I hadn't realized I was doing it because when she pulled away and said, "Wow!" I didn't know what she was referring to. But she left no room for doubt, "A little turned on, are we?" she was smiling when she pushed me onto my back and she leaned into me, putting her lips on mine and her fingers on my panties and when she did, she said, "Woa, when is that last time you were wet?"

I've always pushed her hand away. But I couldn't tonight and I didn't, instead, for the first time in my life I just let her do what she wanted. She's a little mink, I've always know that, and I've always known that if I let her she'd be all over me. And I was right. When I didn't push her away she made love to me — or more precisely, ON me, slowly and methodically and I was powerless to stop her, well, no, that isn't true, this time I just didn't want to stop her.

I think she was testing me when she kissed me because she started off slowly and only became aggressive when she heard my moans.

I love Lins, like I've said. For the past few years, I've shared her thoughts, shared her bed, shared her highs and her lows but I've never let her do anything like this to me before. My mouth was wet with her spit when she pulled off my t-shirt and sucked at my breasts and they, too, were wet when she rested her face on my panties. It shocked me that I didn't push her away, shocked me that I opened my legs at her touch but the rest had nothing to do with shock. It was all about abandon: complete sexual abandon. When she ripped off my panties and pressed her face into me, I pushed my face into her soft fleshy thigh and hung on as Lins worked her tongue deep into me while squeezing my breasts.

I could have cum at any moment: when her lips sucked mine, when her teeth bit my nipple, when her tongue probed deep into me. But I didn't. I used all my will power to hold off: this had been a long time coming and I wanted it to last; I wanted to hear her moans; feel her writhe on me; feel her fingers tear at me — I wanted to lose myself to her; to feel her heat; feel her passion, but most of all, for the first time in my life I wanted to surrender myself.

"I am such a fucking idiot!" I was at my desk the next morning when Lins awoke. "I thought it was me, but it wasn't, was it? It was John!"

I looked over at her, she was lying on her side, her head propped up on an arm, she appeared to be fascinated, as if discovering a long held secret, "What?" was all I could think to say, but I knew what she was getting at.

"You aren't sexless at all, are you? And you're not gay, either. It's John," she sat up on the side of the bed but slumped over so her large round breasts hung down like two free weights. "You've got the hots for him. That's why you orgasmed last night!" She jumped up from the bed and took a few quick steps over to me and spun me around in my chair, gripping me from behind, pushing her breasts into the back of my neck. "That's just so fucking exciting! You're alive, Jags, you're actually alive. There's hope," and she pulled me from the chair and over to my bed and we fell onto it together, in each other's arms.

I liked lying with Lins, we do it all the time, I like to hold her and I like her holding me. I've never thought of it in sexual terms, I just loved to be close to her: she's everything I'm not — and would like to be. When I'm lying with her, I'm no longer myself; it's an escape, like drinking alcohol without the hang-overs. But I love her, too, I want Lins to be the happiest woman on earth and I know she want that for me.

"What's in there, Jags?" She was kissing through my sweater at my rapidly beating heart. "Really," she rose up and was looking down on me, her face scrunched in curiosity, "what's going on in there? I've never been able to figure you out. You're beautiful, absolutely gorgeous but you won't give men the time of day. And I know you're not gay," she laughed, "either that or I'm a lousy temptress, so what's going on in there? I thought you were dead. But last night! Woa! Is it John?"

"Does it have to be someone?"

"Of course it does! Someone has to coax some passion out of you. If I could do it, you'd have come around a long time ago. It has to be him."

I didn't want to talk about this, mainly because I wasn't sure myself; it had shocked me that I'd let her go so far last night — and it excited me more than I ever thought possible. "You orgasm all the time and I don't make a big deal about it."

"But that's the point, isn't it? By orgasms are a dime a dozen, but it's news when you get one: that was the first I've ever seen. Is it him?"

"I don't know," and I didn't.

"Well, we're sure as hell going to find out." Lins reached for the phone.

It was supposed to be their country place and I suppose it was: it was in the country, but it was anything but rustic. It was a mansion behind a tall stone wall and the place was lit up as if expecting a throng for a gala.

I felt like a gate crasher. This was supposed to be Lins' time to meet the parents but she knew that John was going to be there for the weekend, too, so she insisted that Bill invite me as well.

There's nothing subtle about Lins: she is soft and round and open and voluptuously sexy and she hasn't a deceitful bone in her body. And she's smart, too, I've always known that; she knew the key to her acceptance into the family was the mother and her aim, right from the first peck on the mother's cheek, was to please her. But she didn't have to try. Not for a single minute because from the moment these two laid eyes on each other it was love at first sight; they were two peas in a pod and they knew it: before the front door closed they were absolutely glowing in each others' company. And it wasn't just me who notice. When I looked over at Mr. Harmon he seemed as fascinated as I was and when our eyes met we laughed together.

But if I thought I was going to be the odd woman out, I was wrong. When Lins and the mother joined arms, Mr. Harmon took mine, "So, you're a scientist," he said, as he directed me to the couch in the living room.

At dinner, I found the mother flat out scary, but I was clearly alone in that, the two sons and the father obviously worshipped her — and so did Lins. But Mrs. Harmon was capable of saying anything. For instance, at one stage in the evening she said more to Lins then me, "God, am I ever glad you're here. I thought both boys might be gay."

"I'm not, you know." The voice came from the other bed. Mrs. Harmon had insisted 'we love-birds' stay in the coach house and Lins arranged the allocation of the two bedrooms.

"You're not?" I didn't know what John meant.

"Gay."

I waited a moment before saying, "It never occurred to me you were." Even from the few words he had uttered since entering the room it sounded like he was troubled, uncertain, even a little haunted.

He didn't say anything for so long that I had taken my mind off him and was thinking of his mother and some of the thing she had said during dinner.

But John broke the silence again, "I had an experience a few months ago. I thought I might have been gay. It told me I wasn't."

I don't know how to handle people, never have, so to compensate I've created a kind of mechanism to deal with difficult situations: I ask myself 'what would Lins do?' "Do you want to talk about it?" I asked, knowing that's what she'd ask.

He didn't answer, which to me meant he probably did, so to encourage him, I said, "I've been pretty much sexually confused all my life."

His voice couldn't mask his surprise, "You are; you have been?"

I think it was the scientist in me, it certainly wasn't lust or passion, I wasn't feeling any of that, it's just that this was the closest I've ever been to a man in a bedroom and I had to take advantage of it. Besides, I knew I really liked the guy, respected him, felt safe with him. "Would you come over and get in bed with me?"

The silence was so long that I thought either the guy hated me or he was, in fact, gay, but then he stirred and when I could sense in the blacked room that he had taken a few steps towards me I flung back the covers and when I did, two things occurred to me: one, that I didn't seem to be at all afraid and two, I didn't seem to be at all excited — and that worried me.

He didn't touch me when he lay down and he didn't say anything. The only reason I knew he was actually there was because the mattress seemed a little more compressed on his side of the bed.

After a long silence I said, "It sounds like you've been pretty sexually confused, too. Have you?"

"Ya," he said, "I think I have, I mean I never thought I was gay, only that I could be and now that I know I'm not, well, I guess I want to find out," his laugh was empty, almost defeatist, "how heterosexual I am."

"You haven't had any experience?"

His voice seemed lonely, "No, none."

"Me neither but I'd like that to end. You?"

"Ya, I would." Was there a flicker of interest?

"Here? With me?" I wasn't at all sure I wanted it and was really troubled by that.

"I'm more nervous than I've ever been." He said the words, not to me, but to the ceiling.

But the words got to me, they sounded so pathetic, so I turned to him and pulled him into my arms, like Lins would have done. That's when I felt his hard-on stab me in the leg so I shifted until it was poking into my panties. I wanted to see how he would react, and I wanted to see how I would react, too.

He was far more dramatic than me: at the instant of contact he emptied himself on my panties and not quietly either — then he tried to flee. But I caught him by the arm. "Where are you going?"

"To get a towel or something."

"Forget it," I said, surprised at my boldness, "Turn on a light."

When he did, I was taking off my panties. He looked down on me, almost stunned, "God, you're absolutely beautiful." There was no doubt he meant it.

I threw the wet panties on the floor and said, "Thanks," then I studied him. He was thin, not as thin as me, but thin, with some hair on his chest and a penis that stuck up at a 45º angle, "so are you."

But he wasn't listening, "God, you're just unbelievable." When he kneeled on the bed he seemed almost transfixed then he roughly moved between my legs, "Can I do this?"

I smiled up at him as if offering quiet permission but he didn't seem to notice, he had his penis in his hand and he was stabbing at my opening … and when he found it he collapsed on me jamming himself home, then he fucked me, that's the only word for it, he bucked at me with a violent urgency, beating his cock into me as hard as he could, "Oh, fuck, Jags, Jags …," and then I realized I had my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist and I was fucking him, too, fucking him as hard as I could, slamming my hips into his and panting and squeezing him with all my strength until I could feel it coming, deep from within me, it was as if the tip of his penis had punctured something and the tunnel he was blocking started to spasm and a hot wet fluid gushed out of me and he was yelling into my ear and my grunts were so animalistic to my own ear that I fought harder against him, rammed at him, digging my fingers into his back, squeezed my sex into him and I just fucked at him as hard as I could, squeezing and thrusting at him so he would go deeper and deeper and I kept it going long after he had stopped and long after I had cum and I didn't like it when he pushed me away.

"God, Almighty," he was on his hands and knees looking down at me, panting but I wasn't done. I pulled at him and he fell onto the bed and when he did I pushed him over and got between his legs and had him in me again and I was thrusting again, fucking him with everything I had … I was looking down on him, looking down on his beautiful face and feeling him deep inside me and I just fucked and fucked until I went limp and fell on him but I pushed down on him, I wouldn't let him out, I wanted him there, stiff in me, I wanted to regain my strength and do it again and again and again: I wanted to fuck this man until daylight.

But he had other plans.

"My, God, that was unbelievable." He was looking down at me again, into my eyes at first but then he pulled away so he could look at my breasts then at my crotch, "You are just unbelievable. Are you alright?" There was no concern on his face, just a smile.

I smiled back at him and pulled at his leg and when I did he got between my legs again and very carefully entered me and as he slowly rocked at me, he put his lips on mine and kissed me tenderly and I opened my mouth, as I'd opened my legs, and he was sucking on my tongue while I sucked on his and we moaned together as he rhythmically thrust into me and I knew, for the first time in my life, what it mean to give yourself to a man.

The light from the lamp wasn't enough, not for either of us. I pulled him out of me and jumped off the bed and turned on the main light and then I kneeled beside him, inspecting him as if I had just bought him. Then I leaned down and kissed him on the lips, just a brushing kiss then, as I went to his nipple, I brought my fingers down to his erection and felt its sticky stiffness. That's all it took. He was pulling at my leg and I went as directed and as his face pressed into me, I pressed his penis to my face. I wasn't in a hurry now, and nor was he. We settled in, each on our sides and as I rested my knee on his chest his tongue entered me and I took him in my mouth. I had tasted myself before but never this much of me but after awhile I was gone I could taste him and his veiny skin.

I don't know if this is normal but I felt I owned what I was sucking, I felt it was mine and so was everything attached to it. It was an unbelievable feeling … of joy and love and peace and fulfillment — everything good about life was in the thing that I was sucking and as he sucked on me I hoped he was having the same feeling because I wanted to be his, I wanted him to take me; for the first time in my life I didn't want to belong to myself, I wanted to belong to someone else, to let someone possess me, no, not someone, this guy, I wanted this guy to have me, have every bit of me.

I thought of warning him but it didn't seem to matter, our intimacy had gone too far for that so when it came I just let it, I hung on and I let the juices flow out of me and I felt a rush of elation as he drank me, as he pressed his face into me and drank, then he gave me his, it shot in spasm into my throat and I hungered for it, hungered for every last drop I could draw from him.

I could smell me on his face when he pulled me around. I've never liked the smell, whenever I masturbated I would spit on my hand to moisten me, never lick my fingers, but it was different on him and I think he liked it as I licked him clean.

At breakfast the next morning I don't know who was staring at me the most, John, Mrs. Harmon, Mr. Harmon, Bill or Lins — they couldn't take their eyes off me, and I couldn't take my eyes off John. I was in another world, a place I'd never been to before — nothing made any rational sense to me, it was all just so unbelievably glorious. And the happiest person in the room? Mrs. Harmon. She was getting a couple of daughters she never thought she'd get, it was written all over her face.