tagLesbian SexWhat Did You Expect?

What Did You Expect?


So, what do you expect from life? You put one foot in front of the other and on a good day you end up where you thought you'd be. Or is that the bad day?

I keep forgetting.

This day I ended up whisked away with strangers... people I knew through other people although the exact nature of the relationship between each and all of who knew whom was pretty subjective and ultimately unimportant. All I really knew was that I was at the house of a very attractive Anne Heche-look-a-like-lesbian-a-like who was madly trying to clean her house.

Evidently she was having a play up here in her above the garage apartment. I didn't doubt that she thought this was true... I saw the way she'd divided up her living room in two halves. One with a curtain and couches and TV... the regular setup.

The other was a series of chairs...pews if you will, that were behind a curtain. But the idea of this space hosting a play seemed silly.

I didn't originally catch her name... or maybe it just slipped away when I looked into her beautiful but frantic blue eyes and thought "Geez, she looks like Anne Heche." That's hard to say. I forget names for so many reasons. I suppose if I went back and analyzed the reasons every time that happened, I would have nothing left to occupy my thoughts.

So I think I'll call her Anne.

Just between us. She'll be Anne.

So Anne throws a script at me, it is little more than a dialogue between two people that takes place on a couch. She says the dialogue is to get us started, and then we improvise from there. There's little to the script other than the oddment that I am to play a man in this little scenario.

I let her know right away that I'm not "equipped" to play a man to which she merely laughs.

"This scene is about a lesbian that falls in love with a man that turns out to be a woman."

I look down on my large round breasts... my soft round, but very large German hips, then back at her and make a face.

"I'm in a bind here," Anne says, "my actor can't make it today... I just need you... to... I just need you."

I nod and look back down at the script: pretty standard getting-to-know-you-I-think-we're-falling-in-love fare.

Anne grabs me by the wrist, telling me urgently that she is in dire need of a Blizzard and drags me off into her old Chevelle to the Dairy Queen to get a bite to eat before the show.

It's getting late. I'm wanting something a little sturdier than the DQ is likely to have. I?m nervous about the show, but I'm not. How nervous can a person who has no preparation and no idea what's going on be?

After this, she drags me back to the house, back to the living room that is a stage. The curtains pull back and there are people there: lots of older people, retirees. Are they here for the art or just something to do?

Before I know what I'm doing, I'm saying the lines on the paper. Anne follows along, wiggling along the couch, trying to entice my character. I'm evidently playing my part of it well, as bewildered as I am by the whole situation, and amazed that the words I only glanced at were coming out of my mouth.

Anne sits me down on the chaise lounge. She's telling me how much she wants me and how wrong it is because she doesn't feel that way about men. I want to tell her that I'm not a man, but the crowd says I shouldn't. Anne starts caressing me...fingers through my hair, over my face, drifting down my body, circling back up to pinch my nipples.

I'm not sure how I should be responding to this in character. I sit sort of frozen, feeling blurry. Then she unbuttons my jeans and forces her hand down under my panties. I forget where I am, How I should be acting as her fingers probe deeper, lightly brushing my softly trimmed down. I feel one finger reach inside as The other rolls softly over my clit.

I force my eyes open to see the audience. Some of the older/retiree crowd is getting up to leave. Maybe this wasn't the performance they were expecting. it certainly wasn't the performance I was expecting. Not at all.

I tried to keep my climax small, discrete. However Anne's skill and the cheering from the crowd made it hard to be very restrained. I came gloriously, nervously, excitedly and with a small measure of shame.

Then Anne stood up, looked at me accusingly and said "Hey! You're not a man at all!" and the audience broke out in laughter and applause and filed out.

I pulled my pants up and my shirt down. I was light-headed and wobbly kneed. I asked Anne to take me home and she did. That was the last time I saw her. And I still don't really even know her name.

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