The Kiss

Partially based on real events:

Frank had already fucked me. In fact we’d just finished.

Now we were sitting on the ratty couch in his livingroom drinking cheap beer and wondering if the third man would ever show. From the very beginning Frank had never been satisfied just with me. He was always looking to invite a third or even a fourth guy over for sex. The problem was nobody else ever showed. I think part of the reason for Frank’s persistence was that, while was I strictly a bottom, he was versatile. He wanted to occasionally suck as well as be sucked; be fucked as well as fuck.

Frank was sitting at one end of the couch and I at the other. Frank wasn’t into intimacy. The only real contact he wanted with another man was of the sexual sort. I learned this the very first time I came over. After we finished fucking we were sitting up against the headboard of his bed. Feeling all fem and juicy inside having just received his load (he’d yanked his condom off midway through), I leaned over to plant a thank you kiss on his bare left shoulder. Frank pulled away, saying coldly, “I’m not into that.”

It was not that Frank wasn’t a nice guy. He was great! He didn’t want to just have sex with you. He liked to sit and chat and drink beer when you first arrived; and after sex he wanted to sit and chat and drink some more. He didn’t lose interest the second the last drop of semen left his body, in other words. Frank was different from most guys in this regard (needless to say).

At first, before I started “dressing” for him, Frank and I would sit outside on the skinny little deck that ran along the backside of his doublewide. That way Frank could smoke. But now that I dressed fem for him, at his specific request, we could no longer do this. So we sat on his couch with me in my blonde wig and bra and panties and thigh-highs, and with my lips painted bright red. While Frank wore a shirt and pants before sex and sat naked afterwards, his skin tanned and leathery from the sun and because he was a smoker. When I sucked his cock I could quite literally taste the smoke though his pores (I guess), and smell it in his light-brown pubic hair.

So this is how we were on this particular Saturday when there was a long-awaited knock at the door.

Frank jumped up. “That’s him!” he said, as he hurriedly pulled on a pair of elastic waistband shorts and ran to the door. He opened it cautiously at first (it might, after all, merely be one of his neighbors), then wider saying, “Come on in!”

The guy looked to be about Frank’s age—mid-forties? I was much older but the wig and makeup took twenty years off, plus I was blessed with a slender, youthful body. The guy was heavier than Frank (not saying much—Frank was scrawny if you didn’t count his cock and balls), and balding. He looked to me to be the secretly bisexual married type, looking to have some same-sex fun and games before heading back to the homestead and the wife and kids. After turning from Frank he looked at me and did a double-take.

“Holy shit you’re gorgeous, hon!”

I blushed beneath my makeup, I’m pretty sure.

“You look even hotter’n in your pictures!” Pics Frank had undoubtedly sent him, as an inducement to come have sex of some sort with a well-hung guy and his crossdressing friend.

My stockinged thighs were crossed and the guy came straight over to me, sat down and put his hand on them. He got right to the point: “You suck cock, hon?”

“Of course,” I replied, with forced smile, as my green-shadowed eyes strayed past him to Frank, who was still standing, and looked mildly amused.

“Kiss me first,” the guy said, leaning over. “You have a pretty mouth.”

He kissed me on it. He pushed his tongue in. I reciprocated. At least, unlike Frank, he didn’t mind a little intimacy. We necked. He squeezed the cups of my lace bra, empty save for a gold tube of red lipgloss over my heart.

“Too bad you don’t got tits,” he complained, after breaking off the kiss. He gave the bulges in my panty a squeeze instead. “Nice,” he said. “Silk?”

“Um...? Microfiber,” I informed him. And it’s “have” not got, I sat there thinking.

“Nice,” he repeated, before pressing his lips to mine again. I opened my eyes, hoping to get a glance at Frank while wondering what he was thinking all this while. But all I could see was a middle-aged man’s pale face in extreme close-up.

This time when he broke off the kiss the man began unbuckling his belt. I got the message and slid down onto my knees. I finished the job for him, yanking his pants and briefs down to mid-thigh. He already had an erection, or was getting one I should say. He wasn’t nearly as big as Frank, but that’s not necessarily a complaint. Frank is a real mouth and assful. This guy was pretty much average.

I went down on him and slid my hand beneath his hairy balls so I could simultaneously fondle them. I knew the drill. To my right, at the periphery, I could see Frank still standing, but sans shorts now, and getting an erection of his own. I was pleased that my regular sex partner was getting off on this little show; but worried that he would feel left out. It was his house, after all. I couldn’t tell for sure but he no longer seemed to be smiling.

“Don’t make me cum,” the man advised, seemingly through clenched teeth. My bobbing head stopped; then slowed its pace. I went for depth, and gagged every time his full length (about six inches?) breached the front of my throat.

The man said, apparently to Frank: “The bitch always give great head like this?”

“Always,” Frank confirmed.

Now I was the guy’s “bitch” it seemed. Oh well. I didn’t mind a little verbal humiliation, and the tight circle of my lips continued its rise and fall.

“You fuck the bitch today?”

“Little while ago,” Frank replied.

“You cum in her?”

Frank did not reply verbally. But I suspected he’d nodded.

“You got rubbers? I wanna fuck the bitch.”

“In the bedroom.”

“You got a nice one,” the man said in apparent reference to Frank’s magical cock.

“Wanna suck it while he sucks you?”

Instead of replying to Frank the man pushed my head away saying, “Bitch? That’s enough!”

I straightened my wig. It was the platinum-blonde one. The super-cute page-boy cut. Nothing I could do about my undoubtedly smeared lipstick, however. I was still down on my knees, looking up. I hoped I didn’t look like a poor man’s version of The Joker.

“Where’s the bedroom?”

I pointed left.

“I wanna fuck you. Let’s go.”

We both rose. And as I led him to the back of the doublewide I glanced over my left shoulder—at Frank. Solicitously. He seemed a great distance away. He was holding his cock, his hard-on. He was uninvited. Looked a little lost.

Frank kept lube and condoms (and other things) on the tall dresser next to the tall queen-sized bed—it was up on a platform. The man told me to roll a condom down his cock and I got on my knees again to do so.

“Don’t like sloppy seconds,” he advised.

“It’s better that way anyway,” I said, rising, condom all the way on. It was the lubricated, receptacle-end kind.

“You got cooties?” he inquired.

“No.”

“Then what’s there to worry about? Get on the bed.”

“How do you want me?” I asked.

“On your back. So I can see your pretty face,” the man at last smiled. I was pleased. Frank always fucked me on my belly, atop a stack of pillows, ass in the air, legs spread wide. This way, after the man entered me, I could raise said slender, stockinged legs and wrap them loosely around his broad back.

I had just tossed my panty aside. I hesitated before mounting the bed. “I could touch up my lipstick if you—”

“I don’t give a fuck about your lipstick!” he said. “Get on the bed. I gotta be home in a half hour.”

At least I’d sized him up right.

Frank had opened me up earlier so the man, this total stranger, slid in easily. His cock was both shorter and less thick than Frank’s. Piece of cake.

The second time I moaned he told me to shut up. He was weird, this guy. An alternating mix of flattery and verbal abuse. Because he was looking down at me—where else was there to look?—I tried to remember to smile up at him, silently, as his cock did its work inside me.

“I can’t feel a damn thing,” he complained at one point. “I thought you’d be tighter.”

“I...” What was there to say?

“It’s this damn rubber!” he further complained. And after pulling out of me abruptly he stripped the thing off, before penetrating me again with his bare cock. It was the exact same thing Frank had done the first time we had sex. Except on that occasion, down on my belly, I couldn’t see.

“That’s better,” he said, as he resumed his rhythm. “Least I can feel my own dick!”

“Whatever makes you happy,” I offered, banally.

“You this guy’s boyfriend—girlfriend?”

“We get together on weekends.”

“You don’t live with him here?”

I laughed. It may’ve been the height of haughtiness on my part but...Live HERE? In this piece-of-shit doublewide with its second-hand furniture? I live eight miles from here in a two-story house on a lake, I wanted to tell the guy. Instead: “No.”

“How’d you meet?”

“Like you. Online.”

“He fuck you every week?”

I nodded against the pillow, conscious however of my wig. Last thing I wanted was for my new fuckmate to see my bald head. To get a read on my true age. I held on. I forced another smile.

“You have lots of other guys over?” he asked.

“Here? No. You’re the first.”

“Really?”

“Guys say they’ll show. They never show.”

“I know how it is. Would you fuck ‘em? Fuck any of ‘em that came over?”

Who, I lay there thinking. Who not “that”. “If they wanted me,” I replied.

“You’re a little slut aren’t you? A whore. I bet you do it for money sometimes, don’t you, bitch?”

“I—”

“Christ! Fuck. Holy fuck...,” the man cried, as he backed out of me. “I didn’t want to...I came,” he informed me, as if I needed informing, his circumcised cock, glossy with lube and commingled cum, already drooping between his thighs. He was looking down with embarrassment at the same thing I was.

“I didn’t want to but...”

“It’s OK,” I assured him.

“I didn’t ask your opinion, bitch!” he shot back. “Where’s the bathroom?”

I started to point behind him and reply but Frank, standing in the bedroom doorway, cock in hand, stole my words: “Behind you. Over there.”

“Fuck this shit...!” the for-some-reason disgruntled man said, climbing off the bed as if down a ladder. “I got a wife and kids to get home to!”

Frank, still in the doorway, looked at me and I looked at him. Frank shrugged.

“I could go again,” he advised.

“Let’s go,” I smiled. I had my regular lover back.

“After he leaves.”

“Say what?” the emerging man asked, before turning into a one-man tornado gathering his clothes off the floor and then bursting past Frank into the livingroom. His parting words being, “I gotta get out of here! You guys are...crazy!”

After Frank fucked me a second time—on my back—and came, I had so much sperm up my bottom I had to tuck a few tissues in the seat of my panty. Just in case. I should’ve brought panty liners. I’d also refreshed my lipstick and straightened my askew wig.

Sitting on the couch, at opposite ends again, Frank said, “Well I don’t think we’ll be inviting him back again.”

“I don’t think he’d come back.”

“Probably not.”

“I felt bad...”

“Why?”

“Well he immediately started coming on to me while you...”

Frank shrugged. “It was OK. I enjoyed watching.”

“Did you?”

My lover nodded. “You know what the hottest part was?”

“What?”

“Not watching him fuck you or you, you know, suck his cock...”

“What then?”

“Watching the two of you kiss. That was hot.”

“Was it?” I sat up straighter. I was getting a hard-on in my panty. I was the only one in our “threesome” who hadn’t yet cum.

“A kiss,” Frank went on. “It’s weird but...two guys kissing can be hotter than a fuck.”

I smiled with painted lips. They were bright red.

Frank moved closer.