My Gay, *Bisexual Best Friend
I got on a plane and went to New Orleans for Thanksgiving. It was already night when I arrived; winter, rainy, still steamy. And my best friend from college said he was not really gay, he was bi.
“Oh, I said,” as we drank Hurricanes in a dank yet pleasant bar bathed in rosy light. Hurricanes have a kick, enough kick, that I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly. “Can you say that again?”
He did. I smiled. “Awesome.”
“So, if you don’t mind, Cherie,” Kevin said, “I’d like to sleep with you tonight.”
I fell off the bar stool, not because of that, but because those drinks have a kick. It was not what I expected from this trip, but okay, why not. I wasn’t seeing anyone, he wasn’t seeing anyone, we were good as friends. Really good.
He lived in a strange little studio apartment with arched ceilings and damp mossy spots on the walls, not far from St. Louis Cathedral. The cathedral was was enveloped in a kind of haze, even as a greenish gold light shown around it. I could smell the rain.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, but Kevin was already tugging me by the hand up the narrow stairs to his apartment.
There was a tiny kitchen at one end, and a table, and a desk with his grad school papers all over it. There was a bathroom with pink tiles at the other end, and in between was this great big king size bed and a window. The shutters were open and you could still see a sliver of the cathedral and an alley that looked romantic with rain-wet bricks and mossy wrought-iron balconies.
Kevin came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing me against him. I could feel his dick — hard, big, pressing through his jeans. Suddenly I was excited.
I turned to face him, took in his lean, strong build, his long, wavy blonde hair. He was hot. He was ripped. “I never knew.”
“I never told you,” he said. “I mean, I was with a guy. And so were you. But now –”
He kissed me, and that was exciting, too. He knew how to use his tongue, to play it along my own, to kiss firm and deep, so I felt like we were deep-sea divers, already below sea level, sinking down, down, down.
He led me to the bed. The sheets were fresh but there was a dampness to them, too, like everything in the city.
He kept kissing me as we lay down on the those sheets, legs hanging off the side of the bed, still in our sweaters and jeans. I felt damp too, between my legs. He stroked me gently through my jeans. He unzipped them, and stroked me some more, through my underwear. He could find my clit through my underwear, pressing the fabric and his finger both lightly inside me, rubbing gently, persistently, again, and again, until I came, and I was wetter. A lot wetter. He did this until I could see my panties were wet.
He pushed them to one side and slipped a finger inside me. I moved back and forth against his finger. The rest of his hand pressed lightly against the outside of my pussy while he stroked me, slowly, sweetly, until I came again, and again. I was moaning, and writhing against his hand.
We did this for what felt like hours, but maybe it was just the Hurricanes, making me lose track of time. I closed my eyes, because the room was spinning a little.
He bent down, slipped off my shoes, peeled off my socks, took off his own. He lifted me onto the bed and began to slowly work my jeans down over my hips, down to my knees. He pulled my panties down after them, and left them both like that, pinning my legs.
He lowered his head and licked my thighs, murmuring like they were something delicious. He spread my legs as wide as they could go pinioned like that, and climbed over me and put his tongue inside me.
Oh yeah, he knew how to use his tongue inside my pussy just as well as he knew how to use it between my lips. My other lips.
I smiled as he made me come, as he raised the hem of my sweater and licked across my belly and sucked on the center of my navel before returning to my clit, and sucking on it, gently then hard, gently then hard – and I exploded.
I looked down at my wet belly and thighs and glistening pubic hair and thought again how New Orleans was a wet city.
Rain started splattering in through the open shutters, so he got up and closed them, and then lay back down on the bed.
He’d tugged his own pants all the way off, and I was surprised how big his cock was, and how it was already wet, too, on the tip.
I pulled my pants off, and climbed on top of him, taking him in deep. Mmm, his tongue wasn’t the only part of him he knew how to use well. His cock pressed achingly deep; he moved the whole time as he rolled us over, and bent my knees gently and still kept thrusting back and forth and a little bit of sideways. We still had our sweaters still on, I felt super sweaty and wonderful and the rain was going on and on, and I kept coming, and coming, everything sort of floating around me.
He came, too, and collapsed against me. I wrapped my legs around his buttocks. I held him in place.
He stroked my damp, humidity frizzy hair and told me I was beautiful.
“I’m not,” I said, because I’m not really, “but you make me like it.”
He rolled off me and took my hand in his, raised it to his lips and kissed it.
“Everything’s so old here,” he said. “It’s not like LA at all. You make me feel new again.”
I touched his cheek gently with my hand. “I never thought this is how I’d spend my first night in ‘The Big Easy’,” I laughed. “But I guess I’m easy.”
“What did you think we’d do,” he asked, eyes half-closed.
“Get dinner after the drinks. Go for a walk, hear some jazz, find some kind of shop that sells love spells and stuff, so I could try casting it on you.”
His eyes opened and he grinned. “Oh. So. you thought maybe you could…spend the evening this way.”
“Well. I thought a girl has to try. I mean…those times in my dorm room. When you slept over. In that narrow little bed.”
“Wanting you but…” he gave a slight shrug. “I kind of felt our friendship was too special. And just holding you was great. I’d go home and masturbate to your picture.”
“Oh, I did, baby, I did.”
“Ugh the guy I was seeing was so jealous. I said there was nothing to worry about because you were…”
“What I led you to believe.”
“But I guess I kind of hoped you would tell me something different someday. I guess when you asked if I wanted to come visit and you had your own place now, I guess maybe I thought there was the slightest possibility that you might just want to —”
He was already hard again. He moved onto me, his big, thick dick dangling against my thighs.
“I want to suck you,” I said.
“Oh, well, I’d like that too,” he replied.
We peeled off our sweaters.
I took his cock in my mouth, licking the tip, down the shaft, brushing my fingers against his balls until he quivered inside my mouth.
He took my tits in his hands and caressed them, like they were fragile, gently touching them, lightly squeezing them, moving to the nipples and doing the same exact same thing. He pulled one nipple and then the other until they were super hard, and their firm little bullets were brushing his thighs as I took his dick deeper into my mouth, then out again, licking and sucking and licking and sucking.
He came quickly this time, groaning with pleasure, his hands dropped away from my tits, slapping back on the bed; complete surrender.
“Can I watch you make yourself come?” he asked, his voice a little lazy.
My lips were wet with his come, I wiped them with my finger, and then wiped them across my own thighs, which already turned me on before I stuck my finger inside myself, stroking myself wetter, and wetter.
He was sitting propped up on one elbow, just watching. I watched him watch, and I came.
“I could watch you do that all night,” he whispered. “Your mouth makes a little round ‘o’ when you come. Your throat vibrates a little. It’s fucking great.”
He leaned over me and slipped one finger inside me, and pressed his thumb in my anus. He moved them both in and out light and right, so that I began to anticipate coming, and gave a little shudder even before I did.
“You are so wet,” he said.
His finger and thumb each slipped out with a little pop, and they were dripping with me. He licked them. That excited me even more.
“Do it again,” I said.
“How about during dinner?” he laughed. “You still want to dinner don’t you?”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t wear any underwear.”
We took showers. He soaped my tits and thighs and butt and took the shower handle, pointing the shower spray between my legs, making my pussy tingle.
I knelt and soaped his balls and his dick, and rubbed them both between my hands.
Then – my hair still wet, and it would never dry in the damp air – I put on the good dress that I’d brought, long blue silky sleeves, low neck, skirt that fell about mid-calf. No panties, no bra, no stockings. Just the feel of the fabric against my bare skin was delicious.
He put on another, nicer, tighter sweater, one that showed off the ripply muscles of his chest.
I threw on a leather jacket, and a scarf. I felt the damp air swirl under my skirt the moment we stepped outside. A little thrill; I felt hot and ready.
It was already late, like midnight, but Inn of the Two Sisters was serving a late-night supper, and we feasted. Oysters and fried crawfish with some kind of sauce that was amazing, and big fruity drinks more sophisticated than the Hurricanes but still with a good bit of rum. We sat in the courtyard, and steam was rising from the cobblestones, and I felt like it was coming from me, too, when he slipped his hand between my thighs, and inched slowly, slowly up my leg, until he reached the edges of my pubic hair and curled it around his fingers, brushing his fingertips lightly against the lips of my pussy.
He kissed me; we were both salty and spicy, and the kiss was as good as the food.
His fingers, one then two, then three of them, slipped inside me. His thumb worked its way back, back, found my asshole, and slipped in. For a moment we both just stayed like that. He was bent over me a little, my dress was up around his wrist. It felt so good.
The waiter came back and asked about dessert, and he ordered a chocolate soufflé that the waiter said would take fifteen minutes, and Kevin said that was fine, and the guy fussed with our waters, and then finally left.
I thought he was looking at us, watching, but realized he only had eyes for Kevin, and Kevin was smiling at him, appreciating him, too.
When he left, Kevin whispered, “Just flirting. Only into you.”
And he was in, fingers deep inside me. We were alone in the courtyard. The rain stopped and the sky was clear, the moon a perfect half, hanging low in the sky.
Kevin wriggled his thumb deeper, and I stifled a moan as he began to flick and rub with his fingers inside me, and I felt myself get wetter and wetter. I closed my eyes.
I came one, two, three times – once for each finger. He pulled them out of me, one by one, and I was breathing hard, and flushed. The candle on our table seemed like it was the light of a big fire. I drained my water glass.
The waiter appeared from somewhere out of the shadows to refill it.
The desert came, rich and runny, the way I felt inside.
Afterwards we walked and walked. Glistening blocks, stopping to kiss; he rubbed my nipples through my dress until they stood up, and when they brushed against my dress I felt turned on. Jazz in a tiny club somewhere. It was hot jazz, sexy jazz, like lube for the ears; bass and wailing sweet vocals, sax and sultry drum beats.
We danced. I rubbed against his cock through his jeans, until he was so big it looked like might tear through them. We couldn’t wait until we got back to his place.
In fact, we didn’t. I unzipped him in a doorway, and he lifted my skirt and pressed me up against the rough, wet brick wall and I wrapped my legs around him, and he fucked me there, fast and hard, and we both cried out; from somewhere a dog howled when we did.
My back felt sore from the bricks but I didn’t care.
Fell into a taxi, kissing. Up the narrow stairs to the little studio; we fell down on the bed and into each other’s arms, just went to sleep like that, our clothes on, our shoes kicked off.
We woke to the chiming of the bells from the cathedral, early, too early, first light. It was raining again. We threw off our clothes and went at each other, mouths first, tongues licking and sucking; then fingers, probing and stroking; then cock in pussy and asshole.
For breakfast, beignets and champagne.
For lunch, more sex.
Both were great. New Orleans in November.