“Doesn’t it bother you when he does that?” Whitfield discreetly whispered under the chatter of the surrounding cocktail party guests.

“Does what?” I asked, already knowing to what he was referring.

“Flirts with women like that!” answered my former physics professor turned friend and returning crew member for our most recent MI-6 assignment.  “It’s rather salacious, don’t you think Deetz?  I mean the whole Crown knows you and Angus are married some four years now.  Won’t this give the appearance that there is ‘trouble in paradise’?”

Tad Whitfield, albeit older and certainly smarter than I when it came to science and engineering, was a complete idiot when it came to relationships – in part due to a descriptive diagnosis of Asperger’s – but I relished his concern.  “For Angus, flirting is like Olympic fencing.  And unlike an Errol Flynn movie, nothing real untoward is going to happen.”  I put my glass of water and lemon on a nearby coffee table, only to straighten and to look down at Whitfield’s scrunched up nose.  “Pardon my indelicacy old friend, but I hardly think Angus is going anywhere, particularly after the exploding orgasm I gave him this morning,” I whispered.  I pointed at the one of the two ladies, one a giggling divorcee masquerading as last season’s debutante then added, “I think even in his most heterosexual of moments, I doubt Angus would waste his time with that.  It is all just a bit of fun.”

“If you say so, Mate,” replied Whitfield as he took another sip of his vodka tonic.

I gave Whitfield an affirming smile and pat on the back before he left to join his wife who had just returned from the powder room where she was installing listening devices.  They made an odd but striking pair – Whitfield a short, stocky Caucasian, female-to-male transgender person and Mishiko, a tall, fit cis woman of Japanese-African descent and a survivor of genital mutilation – but their union challenged the imagination only if you didn’t know their history, as I did.   The pair of them along with my younger sister, Ciara, her husband Tom, Angus, and I made up a team of agents that investigated (or debunked) alien activities in service to the Crown – we were the X-Files for people who know the truth.

Angus Reese, the 12th Earl of Glamorgan, was my childhood sweetheart, not that he did anything with that information when we played as kids.  My father was his father’s valet, as was the tradition in both families.  Neither of us knew, until we reunited after an absence of nearly a decade from the family home, Morganwg, in Cardiff, Wales, that the relationship between the valets and lords of the estate – dating as far back as the mid-1600s – sometimes evolved into clandestine love relationships and even when romantic feelings did not arise between the two men, there was a strong bond of loyalty.  That bond had been created by some rogue druidic priests long before.  When Angus and I caught up with one another after our fathers’ untimely deaths, Angus would have considered himself “straight” and I, well, I had had sex with anything human, over the age of 21, who was breathing.  Our relationship, grew despite my issues with intimacy and his rejection of the label “gay”.

Tonight, we were at Lord Trenton’s dinner party as part of an intelligence gathering operation.  Trenton and Angus weren’t friends but served together in the House of Lords and this was the annual autumn party hosted by Lady Trenton – everyone in British society came including any foreign diplomats who happened to be about London at the time.  It was all very lavish, chic, bejeweled, and boring.  So now that Mishiko nodded to me indicating that all the devices were properly stationed, I sighed and joined Angus in hopes that the flirtatious exchange he was having with the remaining lady was about over.  I was ready to go home and resume our activities from the early morning.  “Hello!” I said cheerfully toward the lady.  I touched Angus’s lower back, the palm of my hand targeting through his jacket at a certain spot between a sprawled eagle tattoo and the top of his ass.  “And to whom do I owe the pleasure?”  I grinned at him like a Chesire cat and gave the erogenous spot a slight rub, hoping doing so would encourage him to cut their conversation short.

Angus gave me that you’re-gonna-get-it-good-later smile.  “Desmond Mac Innes-Reese, may I introduce you to Victoria Radcliff.  Victoria, this handsome man in the cilt matching mine, is my husband.”

I bowed slightly, like in the movies, so my sarcasm wasn’t too obvious and said, “Charmed.  My family and friends call me ‘Deetz’”.  Seeing her up close, I realized she was younger and more attractive than I initially thought.  Actually, she was rather cute, late thirties maybe early forties, long dark brown hair with natural reddish streaks tied in a conservative styled bun and a dark olive skin complexion.   Underneath the colorful afghan that matched her light green eyes, I could tell she had nice curves and soft spots in all the right places.  Well, my Angus always had very good taste.

“Wonderful to meet you, Deetz.”  My name sounded like licorice coming from her mouth.  She remained seated but offered her hand to shake.  It was firm, almost like a businessman closing a deal in Shanghai.  “Your husband has spoken a great deal about you.  I understand you’re quite the old movie fan.”

What had Angus been saying to her?  I gave him a quizzical look and he turned away ostensibly to exchange with the waiter his empty champagne glass for a full one.   “And here I thought he was flirting.”

Victoria stood up, shaking her head.  She patted my chest, just above the handkerchief pocket of my jacket.  I’m clairsentient.  I can feel people’s thoughts and feelings sometimes through walls.  And this woman was sending clear signals about who was the predator and who was the prey.  “I need to call it an early evening gentlemen.  However, it was a pleasure to meet you both.”  She offered an inviting, sweet smile to both of us.  “Hopefully, we can meet again in the future.”  She might as well have slipped a business card in my pocket.  We both watched that ass swish as she moved away, envisioning just how nicely those tits had to be matching the bounce in her walk.

“Wow,” was all Angus could say, looking like a thirteen-year-old with a beard.

“She’s an Israeli spy,” I said.  “Likely she’s on the same path as we are in this investigation.”

He pushed his shoulder length hair from his face. “You got all that from just a touch?” he said finishing his glass then giving it to another waiter. 

“You wound me!” I smirked.  “I thought it was my touches that captured your heart.”

Angus rolled his eyes.  “Let’s go.”

He walked past me and I read his mind.  If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was thinking of cheating on me.

*******************************

The primary accusation against bi or pansexual people is that we are untrustworthy - the political folks think we aren’t fully invested in queer rights and the rest think we will abandon them as soon as some heterosexual situation becomes available.  These accusations were true of me.  I could give a shit about anybody’s community and had no compunction about leaving after fucking anything that moved.  Then came Angus and I found hope that someone would love me.

So, it was no wonder that after returned to our townhouse, Churton Place, I allowed him to rope my hands together, chain them to a hook on the wall above our bed, and blindfold me.  Did I tell you I was naked too?

For a while, he didn’t touch me but I could feel him and smell his sandalwood cologne.  He was watching me, gauging my reactions by how much my dick moved and how heavily I breathed.  We’d sometimes go on like this for an hour.  It was the way with us, the way we battled - the sub and his master – to determine who was really in charge.  I was winning until Angus said, “I want to watch you fuck her.”

I temporarily broke character.  “What?”

He didn’t hesitate, stayed in place.  “I want to watch you fuck her.”  He came close, let out a slow breath against my neck that chilled my titanium slave chain.  “I know how it feels when you touch me but I can’t see myself when it happens.  Mirrors are tacky.  And we’d need a full camera crew to capture the feel of it all.”  I could hear him scratch his balls but he was likely avoiding touching his dick as he was leaving that for me.  I heard his chair creek when he sat back.

Again and as usual, my husband surprised me.  I broke the scene again.  I just had to ask.  “I thought you wanted her,” my voice dripping with jealousy and insecurity like an anxious senior waiting to be asked to the prom.  I guess elements of my abuse survivorship would never go away.

This time he came to sit on the bed next to me, put his hand against my chest.  He was breathing heavily which let me know it was him who was losing control.  “You deft cow!” Angus smirked.  “I’ve been waiting, looking actually, for a woman that fits the description of the ones you’ve always said you liked screwing.”  He took in a deep breath and continued, “I thought of hiring one of those ladybois from Thailand you always talked about but I could tell by the way we had sex afterwards, that it was the real . . . “

“You mean cis,” I corrected, feeling funny about doing so while I was in such a position.

“Yeah, cis.  Anyway, you’ve always shown a penchant for slightly older, dark complexion, curvy girls.  Ms. Radcliff seemed to fit the bill.”

A moment of silence and the idea of soft, warm tits rolled around my head like a pinball against bumpers.  “You seemed to have this all worked out.”

“Your dick appears to like the idea.”

“Right.”  I was blushing now.  “I guess.” 

“You guess?”  He was enjoying this.  “Like seems a bit tame.”  Abruptly he removed his hand and got up.  He took his time and I followed his smell as he walked around the other side of the bed.  He sat back down.  “Bend your legs.  Keep your knees apart.”

I waited again.  Then the warm gel and the slight vibration from his prosthetic middle finger teased the entrance to my asshole.  He had lost his left hand during our first MI-6 mission.  This artificial limb was custom made to feel and move better than his natural one.  Although it did not give him sensation, it made my butt nearly leap off the bed.  You gotta love science.  “Angus.  Angus, please!”

“Please?”

“Please, your lordship.”  The only time he really liked the whole title thing was when we played.  “And what do you think you can beg of me?”  He put half the finger in now.

I groaned and strained against my binding, “Can I cum for you?”

He smiled, “Only after you tell me, tell me what you’re going to do to her.”  He put his whole finger in.

“I will please her like you please me, your Grace.”  At this point, I would have told him I’d teach the woman how to tap dance and juggle at the same time if necessary.

“We’ll see,” he said before abruptly stopping, crawling over to lift my legs so far in the air you’d think I was signaling planes at Heaththrow.  He pushed his cock into me harshly and there wasn’t much lube so it hurt a bit at first.  But he came quickly, as did I.

He pulled the red silk scarf from my eyes and untied me, rubbing my wrist attentively.  “I’m sorry to come at you so hard,” he said self-consciously.  “You’re not mad, are you?”

I thought of admitting to my earlier jealousy but changed my mind.  “No.  But can I touch your heart?” 

He gave me a sidelong glance while putting my hand on his chest, “You couldn’t hear my feelings, thoughts before?”

The warmth and caring coming from him would have overloaded a surge protector.  “One can never feel love often enough.”

*************************

Clos Maggiore was considered by many as the most romantic restaurant in London - lavender cushioned 2 and 3 chair settings surrounding white cloth tables, matching flowered branches hanging just below a glass roof that opened to the stars during warm evenings or remained closed to keep in the warmth from the hearth woodstove fire, and the sounds of a jazz quartet dancing along the atmosphere.  We started with Chargrilled Sicilian Aubergine, Sweet Peppers and Corsican Ricotta with Crispy Seeded Flat Bread & Onion Jam.  Victoria had the Slow Cooked Organic Irish Sea Trout in Extra Virgin Olive Oil, while Angus and I had the Oven Roasted Welsh Rack of Lamb & Slow Cooked Shoulder.   The wine cellar featured 250 varieties from the finest vineyards in Europe so we shared a Chevalier over the meal and, instead of dessert, spritz, while Angus and I had espresso.  Most of the time we laughed and talked about our childhoods, hers first in the States then Israel.  All in all it was the weirdest place to have a business dinner where I was to be sold to a Mossad agent for the pleasure of my master.  Welcome to my life.

“You do realize gentlemen that this changes nothing as it relates to our mutual mission,” she stated plainly before taking a sip from her drink.  “My government, as I am sure you can understand Deetz, has a special interest here.”

“Right,” I nodded to her.  “If this is the Ark, I’m sure the Crown would not hesitate getting it to its rightful owner.”

“Your government however has, how should I put it,” she answered with just a hint of an American accent, “a history of over promising when it comes to matters in the Middle East.”

She was referring to the fact that when the British took over, after the Great War, what was then called Palestine, they promised it to both the Arabs and the Jews – a land that at that time was nothing more than overused dirt and dusty forgotten artifacts.  “Victoria, I am a religious man not Indiana Jones.  If the Ark still exists, and I have my doubts about that, you have my word that it will be returned to where it belongs.”

“Deetz, I am not a religious woman and I hope your government will let you keep your promise.”  As she said that, she leaned forward, the curve of her breasts slightly peaking over her soft cupped bra.  Nothing like a bit of bra bulge I say.

Angus tapped the side of his cup with a spoon to call our attention.  “There is the other matter.”  He cleared his throat.  “I hope my terms meet your approval.”

“Yes,” she said with a slight smirk.  “The terms are highly satisfactory, if somewhat unusual.  I’d hoped for a bit of entertainment while I was in London but this was not on my hotel concierge’s list of local attractions.”

“You don’t find him attractive?” Angus asked.

She looked me up and down like she was purchasing breeding stud.  “I typically like my men huskier, with a bit more meat on them.”

“I assure you,” Angus answered matter-of-factly, “he is well cut and compact.”  He drained the last of his espresso then added, “And he is nicely endowed, if that’s what you need.”

She waved him off, “Motion in the ocean and all that.”  She looked me over again and this time my dicked twitched.  She turned back to Angus.  “I don’t do this normally.”

“Fuck strange men or buy them?”  I asked.

“Touch individuals who are already, claimed,” she said pointedly.  She turned back to Angus, “But seeing that you will be there and your ask was so earnest, I believe I am doing you both a favor.”  She started to stand up and her little black dress repositioned nicely over those firm thighs.  Angus and I stood immediately, as our mothers taught us to do when a lady rises.  Victoria finished by saying, “I have a room at The Portobello.  And Angus, remember the other part of our agreement; you cannot touch me.”

“Madam, I have no intention of touching you.”

**********************

The Portobello was a charming Notting Hill hotel with charming interiors and an accurate Victorian style.  Many of the ‘rich and famous’ spent time there thus the staff know to turn a blind eye to the comings and goings of their guests, as well who their guests come and go with.  Plus, since some winning Univision band stayed there, all the rooms now had sound reduction equipment.  I could make this woman squeal at the top of her lungs and even the pigeons on the window sill wouldn’t hear her.

Arriving at the luxurious and spacious room, I realized that I hadn’t felt so awkward or silly since I was in college when I thought I had to take a girl out and spend globs of money on her to get a snog.  I learned quickly that sufficient alcohol would do the same thing.  Since that time, I hadn’t had any problems, except for those slappers who got ideas afterwards and they were easily pawned off on friends or acquaintances.  Yeah, I was more of a cad than Michael Caine in Alfie (sorry, Jude Law’s 2004 version, in comparison, was way too tame).   But now, I watched Angus and Victoria freely undress in what served as the living room, being careful to lay their expensive clothing neatly on a nearby chair.  Only I, the presumptive piece of meat, remained fully dressed.

“Mate,” Angus said jovially, “you’re on.  I can hardly get the sense of your rumpy-pumpy with you standing there holding the floor in place.”

“I think I told you before, the difference between sex with men and that between males and females is quite minuscule.”

He walked into the bedroom and tossed back, “Prove it.”  Victoria followed right behind him, with those signature bouncy moves that seemed now to have even more impact.  “There’s a full bar over there.  Make us some of your specials, eh?” he commanded.

Okay, was I the servant too?  I walked over to a bar better stocked than the one we have at Churton Place – full with only top shelve alcohol, the names of which I was surprisingly unfamiliar.  Full size bottles lined up perfectly on aged maple shelving that matched the rest of the decor.  All the fixings were there as well with a few stocked behind a small glass door refrigerator built into the wall.  I was making two glasses of his favorite martini recipe.   I learned it from a Zen master when I was traveling through Japan years before while learning various martial arts and getting numerous illegal tattoos – I considered both a form of harm reduction in response to urges toward self-mutilation.  I poured the drink ingredients into the cocktail shaker and shook the concoction with irritation, not caring if it was my best work.  I don’t drink – having learned a while back that addiction and childhood abuse make bad bed fellows - so what the fuck did I care how it tasted?  I was pissed and considered stomping into the next room and demanding that this game was ended, calling my safe word, and reminding Angus that my slave contract expressively stated that any elements of humiliation were not done in public.  But, as I carried the finished product closer to the bedroom, I sensed his thoughts – Angus had reasoned to rid my collywobbles by pissing me off.   And it had worked.

I stopped shortly before the doorway, close enough to see them without them seeing me.  Although naked, the two of them chatted comfortably, like a couple of friends at an outdoor restaurant on a nudist beach.  My handsome man, tattooed extensively too but not as densely as I, sat in a tall dark brown cushioned chair that wouldn’t be misplaced in someone’s late 19th Century library.  He was telling an amusing story about his last visit with the Israeli Prime Minister.  Victoria was sitting on the edge of the maroon draped canopy bed, leaning against one of the poles, ready to laugh at my husband’s upcoming punchline.  I finally took in those curves and skin tone of hers, realizing that Angus had chosen well – she was stunning and my dick wanted me to seduce her. 

“Here you go,” I said applying a deepened tone to my voice while handing them both their drinks.  I turned to her first and added, “You’ll want to sip as the effects, I am told, accumulate in the background as the tastiness increases.”

“You’re not having one?” she asked.

“No,” I said handing Angus his taller glass, “I like both of my heads to be clear at moments like these.”  I dropped a few condoms on the side table then looked up at the lighting adjustment opportunities while I started unbuttoning my shirt.  I could feel Angus take in a breath.

“What’s that?”  She was obviously noticing my Allwedd Derw, a Druidic symbol of an oak key, a raised brand on my back that, since puberty, lights in different colors in response to my emotions.  Usually when I anticipated casual encounters, I didn’t take my shirt off to avoid awkward explanations.  However, I was certain her home office had briefed her extensively about us and that her question was a simple ruse.  “The sparks are harmless.  Worry only if it turns black.”

 I started looking at the lighting in the room again and began to adjust the atmosphere.  I opened the floor length curtains to let the moonlight in and turned off the overhead lights.  I found a lamp behind Angus’s chair and put a large, decorative white dolly over its stain glass shade.  When I came around I stopped and gave him a kiss at his hairline and briefly ran my fingers through a lock that had defiantly fallen from his carefully fitted man bun.  He considered me with curiosity but I gave him no heed.  Instead, I walked over to the nightstand closest to where she was seated, turned on the lamp there and angled the cloth shade toward the wall.  I looked at Victoria directly with what must have been a slightly fierce continence for she immediately sat back.  I grinned, realizing that I’d finally cleaved onto an earlier me – the disinterested one, the one that made everything into some joke or game, the one Angus insisted I get rid of unless it was for the sake of a mission.  I guess this situation was one of the latter.  I took out my mobile and attached it to the radio speakers provided as a hotel amenity.  I adjusted the volume so that my playlist – Frank, Ella, Coltrane, and the like – whispered sweet promises into the air like a flickering scented candle.   Angus wasn’t the only one who could be planful.

I removed the belt from my pants, then undid the top button and got on the bed, crawling over Victoria to her left side, letting my breath caress her face as I moved by.  “I want him to see what I do to you, how I lift you off this bed.”  Goosebumps formed on her chest. 

She gave me a sidelong glance.  “Mr. Mac Innes-Reese, I’m hardly some quivering virgin,” she said to hide her excitement.

“No quivering?”  I drew small, slow circles on her left knee with the tip of my fingers as I settled next to her against the headboard.  She pulled her left leg up in playful haughtiness while I watched the goosebumps travel there.  “Not even a little?”  I kissed her shoulder and she giggled softly in reaction to my lips.  I let my hand fall a bit inside the thigh and she quickly closed her legs as if to push me away.  “Really?” I said while I firmly pulled the legs apart again.  “If you’re not a virgin, then don’t act like one.”  That got a slight exhale.

 Just like poker players, everyone has a tell.  Women like to challenge you to find theirs while most men offer theirs upfront as they are rather impatient to get to the point of it all – I am still uncertain if the latter is an unfortunate side effect of heterosexism or a hormonal prerogative.  Either way, I prefer fucking women only because sex with them tends to require at least some finesse and skill, that is if you are there for a reason other than self-stimulation.  And my pleasure has always come first and foremost from the pleasing of others.  I have also found that some women get off from being teased, while others like the game forced on them.  And some women want to be petted, for you to stroke and tugged at their feline side.  Victoria seemed to be from the latter camp and her reactions to my light touches told me that I had to start from the bottom and work my way up, from the outside inwards.  “Close your eyes,” I said in a husky tone before continuing, “and stop thinking.”  She complied but I waited a moment more before coming closer and returning my fingers to her knees, occasionally dropping down around her calves.  I watched her face closely, noticing the subtle shifts in her expression, changes in her breathing, and feeling into her mind.  She only let me in a little and closed a few doors when she realized I had seen she too had an inner child to protect.  That was fine.  For what I was doing, I didn’t need to delve into all her memories, just the secrets to what made her body responsive.  When she started drifting into a dreamlike state and her shoulders dropped completely, I moved my hand up, drawing the sensations from the side to the top of her thigh.  She was very relaxed now so I started kissing her neck, taking in the subtle scent of her perfume and tasting the light bit of sweat that had formed just below her ear. 

I did this for awhile until she started moving rhythmically against my hand, urging it to move up further.  But instead, I removed my hand completely and pressed my still clothed but very hard cock against her thigh, adding a small groan against her neck for good measure.  She started to turn around, likely to kiss me, but I put my hand on her soft belly and held her in place.  Ah, and it was lovely, warm and round like a woman’s should be – those skinny bitches may look good on the catwalk or in somebody’s swimsuit commercial but give me curvatons.  Mmm, maybe Angus is right and I do miss this – men are all straight lines and angles.  Victoria must have noted my increasing amorousness because she tried to turn her head to kiss me again.  This time, I slipped down in the bed and caught her left nipple in my mouth.  I held it there until her breathing steadied again then started alternating between sucking and grazing my teeth against the harden nub.  If Angus wasn’t pounding his meat already, he was soon about to.

I have a rule – when I sex up a lady, she has to cum at least three times, three different ways – it only seems polite as That-Which-Has-No-Name afforded them the opportunity for more orgasms than men and I’ve always thought to make up for the pain of putting up with us.  Plus, I’m a giver like that.  I left the nipple and sat up a bit so I could see her face and judge if she was ready for round one.  Her eyes were half closed, her mouth half open with her tongue at the tip of her bottom lip.  So I kissed her, lightly at first but she sat forward asking for more.  We kissed opened mouth for a few moments before I dipped some of my finger inside her.  She moaned a little when I scooped out some of the thick juices and began to slowly rub just underneath her clit.  It took a while but I eventually found a speed she liked.  I alternated between sucking then licking her bottom lip and soon she was quietly pleading for me not to stop and I felt her thighs quaking against my wrist.  Gosh I love when they beg!

I didn’t let her swim in a post orgasmic state for too long though – you do that and they either fall asleep on you or get all uppity to hide their embarrassment about being so wanton.  I sat up abruptly then moved down to her feet.  She gave me a quizzical look and I smiled devilishly at her.  “You didn’t think I was done, did you?”  I grabbed her ankles and pulled her from against the headboard and flat on her back.

“Hrumph!” she exclaimed.  “What are you . . . ?” 

By the time she got mid-sentence, I’d moved my face up to her dripping snatch and realized she dyed the hair on her head.  “So nice of you not to shave but one shouldn’t be embarrassed by such a nice shade of red.”

She lifted her head and replied, “Teasing from childhood.”

“I can’t imagine many teased you and were left standing for long!”  I positioned myself on my stomach, my arms beneath her thighs and hands gripping her butt.  I shouldn’t have been surprised that those lovely curves and softness hid sets of tight muscles and likely an enormous amount of physical strength.  “Now if you will excuse me, I have a mission to finish.  I must make muscle turn to jelly.”  I sank my mouth atop her mound, shaking my face a bit to burrow more closely against her lips.  I licked inside a bit and was rewarded with a slight wiggle from her ass cheeks.  I drew in a breath and took in a strange combination of what had to be heather and lilac.  Yet, when I tasted her juices I could have sworn I was at some outdoor café in Jerusalem’s old city.  Her hips shifted as if she was trying to escape my mouth, so I tightened my grip.  Her clit was betraying her by poking out from its hood.  Clits are greedy little dicks with foreskins that need a slow then speedy attention – lick a man’s head right, he’ll give you his fortune; kiss a woman’s pussy right and she’ll give you her soul.  But, I wasn’t really after all that.  I just wanted her to give my husband a show.  And that she did – screaming and writhing those thighs around so hard she nearly dislocated my shoulders.  I thought of going for another round after her shaking calmed down but was concerned that I’d need a medic afterwards.

I also considered diving in again because suddenly the thought of having to fuck her made me shrink to a rather tepid erection.  Suddenly, I wouldn’t been able to fuck an over worked Vegas street whore.  So, under the guise of giving her a moment, I kissed her thighs.  Meanwhile, I reached underneath myself, pushed my pants down, and pulled out my cock.  I rubbed myself like someone convincing a disinterested puppy to play catch.  After a few moments, it worked well enough where I reckoned I would at least be able to get the condom on.  “Maybe once I’d fucking her, things will fall into order”, I kept telling myself.  I sat up on my knees and grabbed the rubber from the nightstand.  I was trying not to understand why a man, such as myself, who just visited the other side of 30 would need Viagra.   Typically, at this point, I would be holding things together to get inside in time.  Instead my penis was wondering why I was bothering.  I found myself wondering why it was disinterested in something that just moments ago was looking so luscious.  Before things became embarrassingly impossible, I proceeded to lift her hips high and put a pillow underneath her butt. 

It was too bad, considering my cock’s lack of enthusiasm, that there was no real chance for anal ‘cause everything was looking warm and wet down there.  Luckily her cunt was so open and inviting she did not seem to notice my whimpering puppy.  I started moving what I had in and out slowly, thinking that would change things.  But it was at about thrust #12 that I started considering a cover story – maybe I could say I had a flashback?  Just then, something burning touched my ass.

It was Angus.  “I said, I have no intention of touching her.  You, however, are another story entirely.”  He slipped a heavily greased up and commanding pointer finger fully in my ass.  He moved in closer to me and used his other hand to rub my ass cheek.  He whispered to me in Welsh, “What was it you said once? ‘The dick doesn’t lie’?  I guess you were correct.  But, I’m not going to let your reputation be tarnished by something as silly as your loyalty to me.”  He took in a sharp breath then licked the back of my neck.  “Now, I suggest you lean far into her ‘cause I’m, as they say, ‘coming up the rear’.”

I did what I was told and was rewarded with his wonderful cock sliding directly up my ass.  Victoria let out a yelp, undoubtedly connected to my cock’s sudden expansive happiness, but she likely either didn’t notice or care initially about its cause.  Within seconds my brand was sending sparks over our heads.  Normally, I would have thought through the implications and complications surrounding this little escapade – I’m a philosopher after all – what does this mean?  Does this change things?  How will this . . . . ?  But right now, I had a shift in my soul and what was initially simple mechanics had become something much more powerful.

Angus’s moderate but deliberate rhythm shifted which changed mine.  Victoria was back to pleading, breathing rapidly, eyes closed tight as she dropped into the feeling.  Angus kept himself deep inside of me and started that grinding motion I adore, which meant he was about to cum.  Then he leaned toward my ear again and repeatedly whispered in Hebrew, “Beloved, you are made holy to me, for I love you as my soul.”  His sperm was dripping down my balls before I realized she had orgasmed as well, my duty now complete.

After sleeping for a few hours, Angus and I woke up to find our third party gone.  I told Angus that I’d earlier noted that there was no luggage or any semblances of someone previously occupying the room.  We did find a note on the nightstand however, that said “A pleasure to have been with both of you tonight.  One can only hope to have such a relationship with another human-being as you two obviously share. Enjoy the room until the morning.”

“Do you think Victoria is her real name?” Angus asked sitting up in the bed.

I shook my head and turned on the light on the other nightstand to survey the room.  “Does it matter?  It’s not like you have her number.”

Angus got up to walk to his pants to pull out his mobile and dial then turned on the speaker so I could hear the automated voice say ‘The number you have reached has been temporarily disconnected.’  “I guess I don’t,” he shrugged.  He returned and dropped back on the bed.  He looked forlorn.  “I guess I’m feeling stupid.”

“Why?” I asked.

“You know.”

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it.”

He sighed heavily.  “It isn’t about the sex.”

“Oi!”

“Alright.  I thought you’d be able to . . .”

“Yeah, well, that WAS about to be embarrassing.  You rescued me and I thank you.”

“But that’s it, isn’t it!?  It’s me.  None of that, none of that fucking was real.  At least it didn’t look real, not until I came up to you.”  He moved closer but still looked off into blank space, still forming his thoughts.  “You’re right, it isn’t about gender.  It’s just me, you just love me.  I am enough for you.”

“Aren’t I enough for you?”

He looked at me as if I had three heads.  “Are you crazy?  Of course you are!  Don’t be daft.  This isn’t about how I feel.”  He took my hand, rubbed the fingers and played with my wedding ring.  “If I was honest, really honest Deetz, you had me at our first kiss.  It was shocking, exciting, and terribly real.  It was the first time I’d had a feeling of love toward anyone except my parents.  Up until then, I thought I’d just jet set around until my dick got tired.  Screwing wasn’t much more than masturbation and I thought that was all I’d ever get, all that my life would ever be.  With you, I have contentment, I’m settled.”  He finally got the courage to look up at me.  “You’d been the adventurer, the wanderer.  I reckoned eventually I wouldn’t be enough.”

“Internalized biphobia.”

“What?”

“It’s called internalized biphobia.”

“Huh?”

I smiled.  My husband was a great linguist, a brilliant venture capitalist, powerfully sexy and ridiculously kind but a rocket scientist he wasn’t.  “Nevermind.”  I lifted his hand and kissed the palm.  “Your aunt said it’s destiny created by 17th Century druids, practicing their faith underground, hiding from church authorities.  Why they did it we may never know but they united the lords of Glamorgan to their valets for all eternity.  Some of us however, well, took loyalty all the way to the bedroom.”

“Do you believe all that?”

“Do you believe my clairsentience, that I have a brand on my back that lights up like Chanukiah when you fuck me?”

“Point taken.”

“What I mean is stop fretting about the origins, the foundation of this relationship and let’s just live it.”  I turn fully toward him and cupped his face.  “We can adventure together.”  I kissed his nose then sat back, considering whether to go back to sleep or look around the bar for some overpriced snack food.

“You didn’t cum, did you?”

I looked down at my cock, laying quietly to one side, its one eye opened and looking at Angus.  “Does it matter?”

Angus put his hand flat against my stomach and held it there.  The warmth from his palm in combination with his very dirty thoughts, hardened me immediately.  “I haven’t done this in a while.  Let’s see if he responds without you being tied up,” Angus said with a devilish tone. 

It wasn’t long before I was laying a generous trail along my lower and upper thigh and shivering violently, with him all the while whispering repeatedly, “You are my beloved and my beloved is mine”.

He smiled then hugged me.  And I wondered if we would ever see Ms. Radcliff again.

-    From “The Musings of Deetz Mac Innes, 10/22/2016

 

A.G. Davis

[email protected]

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