oh my god erotica...
The first time I see you, you’re with someone else. You’re sitting at a table in a sports bar, stirring your drink and looking bored as your date expounds upon the highs and lows of the latest football match with hys friends. My eyes meet yours for a brief moment, but the bartender brings me my drink and when I turn back, you’ve looked away.
The second time I see you is a week later, at the same bar. I don’t want to say I’ve come looking for you, but this is no ‘of all the gin joints in all the world.’ I’m hoping against hope you’ll be there. You are.
The butch you’re with is the same as last time so I assume you two are serious. You’re fighting in low voices; I can’t hear from where I am but it doesn’t look pretty. You stand up and hy tries to put a hand around your waist with a patronizing smile. You shrug it off, grab your purse and manage to stomp to the bar in stilettos. I’m impressed. You sit on the stool to my left, placing your purse on the bar and calling to the bartender for an Alabama slammer. Suddenly, you turn to face me, your blue eyes on fire. “What is it about butches and football?” You demand. “Uh, I don’t know. I don’t even like football.” Yeah, right. “I’m more into…” What the hell is it people in Buffalo like? “Hockey, myself.” Your face softens as you bring your drink to your lips. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be laying this on you. It’s not football, really. I just hate that I’m getting less attention than a bunch of sweaty men running around on tv grabbing each other’s balls, you know?” I nod in the affirmative, and apparently that’s enough of an invitation, because you go on to explain to me, between drinks, the trials and tribulations of finding ‘just the right butch.’ Not that I mind; you are surprisingly witty and insightful, and I have had many less pleasant evenings.
At last call I pick up my pack of cigarettes – Marlboro reds, could I get any more stereotypical? – and look to the corner booth. The butch you were with is gone. A shadow passes over my face. No matter how bad the fight, hy should at least have taken the time to make sure you got home safely. The Alabama slammers have taken their toll and in a last-minute bit of selfishness I offer to drive you home rather than call a cab. It’s a sign of how drunk you are that you agree.
By the end of that night I’ve gotten your phone number and promised to call you the next day to make sure you’re alright.

* * *

That phone call turns into coffee, which turns into lunch and movies and a day at the zoo and a tour of the art museum. You like vintage clothing and black and white movies and drag performances and dancing and I’m thinking that I’ve never met someone I could talk to so easily, so quickly. You even come crying to me when you finally break it off with the butch from the bar and my head is spinning from your perfume even as I hold you and wipe your tears away. Still I never give you any indication that I’m interested. It’s always too soon after your last relationship, too late after a movie, too many people when we’re out with friends. The truth is, I’m scared.
One night we’re at alone at a club. We were supposed to go with one or two of our friends, but when they canceled at the last minute, we decided to go anyway. Now I think it may have been a conspiracy to get us together, but I didn’t see that at the time. I’m in my best button-up and favorite tie, nursing a rum and coke at the bar. You try to get me to dance with you but I demur, saying I’ll come over when I’ve finished my drink. You shrug your shoulders slightly and turn to walk to the dance floor. My eyes follow the sway of your hips hungrily. It’s definitely been too long since I’ve been laid. I have almost decided to bury my self-pity, down my drink and join you on the dance floor when a younger, androgynous type comes up behind you and places her hands on your hips. A shock of jealousy runs through me. I walk quickly over to the dj booth and a few hushed words and folded bills are exchanged. When I look back she is still trying, clumsily, to dance with you.
The first few bars of the song – my song – sound across the club and most of the dancers leave the floor. I step between you and the wannabe Butch, my eyes intense on yours as I reach out to take your right hand with my left, placing my other hand on your waist and leading you in the steps of a salsa.
I don’t remember much about the dance itself, but I do remember you. Your lips quirked in a half smile. The swivel of your hips. The challenge in your eyes. The color of your fingernail polish – jungle red.
I know this song well, so when I feel the end I spin you out; catching you while you are faced away from me, stepping behind you, placing our still-connected hands on your throat while my other hand reaches down to caress your thigh. In the silence of the club I step away, turning you back around and catching your lips in a kiss that both shatters and centers my world.
Finally my brain catches up to my body and I pull away in shock. I feel I have taken advantage of you somehow, waltzed in trying to be the knight in fucking shining armor when for all I knew you could have been interested in that andro dyke…I feel I have become the butch I never wanted to be. I leave the club quickly, pulling out a cigarette, my hand shaking as I try to light it.
I hear the distinctive sound of heels behind me and turn around, half-expecting a slap. Instead you pull the cigarette from my lips and drop it on the ground before reaching your hands behind my neck and finishing the kiss I started inside.
Slowly you pull away, your fingers playing with the short hair at the back of my neck. Your lips are barely off mine when you whisper, “Your place or mine?”
I don’t think I’ve ever gotten in my car faster.

* * *

I’m lucky I don’t kill us on the drive to my apartment. Your fingers are constantly in my hair, on my thigh, running up and down the crotch of my jeans, and your mouth on my neck is driving me crazy, kissing, biting and sucking until I’m tempted to stop the car and take you right there and to hell with romance. Luckily I don’t live that far away, although I almost drop the key to my door when you slip your hands underneath my black undershirt and run your nails down my back. I am motivated by the thought that, once inside, I can return some of this torture, and that’s enough to give me the concentration to put the key in the lock and turn it the right way.
Inside, I turn immediately to pin you to the door with a rough kiss, my hands caressing your thighs underneath your dress. I feel more than hear your moan. Unthinkingly I pick you up and carry you to my bedroom, placing you gently on the bed as your fingers begin undoing the buttons of my shirt. It takes too much time so I step away, furiously pulling at the buttons. I begin to take off my tie when you stop me; “No, leave it.” So I slip it out of my collar and shrug my shirt off, following it with my undershirt and sports bra. I begin to think that there’s something wrong with you still being fully dressed and say as much. You smile and stand up, lifting your hair so I can unzip your dress, which I do as slowly as I can, kissing each new patch of skin until I finally have to drop the dress and you step out of it. You quirk your lips in a smile, “Now who’s overdressed?” I smile and shake my head as you pad over to me in only your bra and panties, unbuckling my belt, unzipping my jeans and pulling my boxers down with them. You bite your lower lip and I realize you must have known I was packing since I pulled you against me in the club. I don’t go in for shiny, brightly colored cocks; my dick is dull and black like the butt of a military rifle, dangerous and all business – a butch cock. I want nothing more than to throw you on the bed and fuck you, but when you drop to your knees in front of me I feel like I could cum right there. You slowly lick the head of my cock, running the tip of your tongue over, around and beneath. When you take me fully into your mouth my hips jerk and I am fucking your mouth, my eyes rolling back even though I desperately want to watch and hoping my suddenly-weak knees don’t give out on me. Desperate for something to ground me I thread my hands into your hair, growling my approval low in my throat and pulling you harder into me.
When I do cum there are stars behind my eyes and my hips jerk uncontrollably as I finally collapse against you, panting. You run your nails up and down my back, kissing my neck. Finally I pull away to face you and there is amusement behind the lust in your eyes, as if you were saying ‘Some big, tough butch you are, brought to your knees by a little femme.’ I gather my remaining strength to meet your challenge, picking you up and lying you on the bed. You smile and wrap one hand around my tie, pulling me towards you for a kiss before you finally undo it, placing it on the floor. My hands are busy with your bra as my mouth traces a hot, wet line from your ear to your collarbone, pausing to nip at the pulse point where your shoulder meets your neck. I toss your bra in the general direction of the floor and my mouth returns to that one spot, kissing and biting while my hands cover your breasts, rolling your nipples roughly. Your slight gasp is music to my ears and I reach down with one hand to run my hand underneath your panties and through your wetness. My senses are overwhelmed with you – I am drunk on your taste, the feel of your skin, your moans in the still air of my room. I need to be inside you now. With a grunt I push myself off of you, raising your ass with one hand while I pull your panties down with the other. They join your bra and my tie on the floor.
I tease you with the tip of my cock, sliding in and out slightly until your whimpered “please” ends it completely. I enter you fully and we both moan at the feeling. I am impatiently still, letting you get used to me, but you roll your hips upward and I am lost. I fuck you deep and hard, trying to reach the very core of you and bury myself in your body. My entire body is straining and glistening with sweat as I pound my cock into your pussy, biting any part of your body I can get my mouth on; your neck, your breasts. The muscles of my arms and back are corded and tight with exertion. When you cum you keep your eyes on mine and I’ve never felt anything more powerful. I feel your orgasm throughout my body, into my soul and I am tipped over the edge with you, whimpering your name.
I collapse beside you, drawing a blanket over us and cuddling you close to me. It’s the best sleep I’ve gotten in a long time.