The games people play.  I smile to remember it.  We caught each other’s eye outside in a small restaurant.  I was at the bar, waiting for a friend.  She was eating with two men, suits.  I made a small show of noticing her, though whenever she looked at me, I couldn’t help but grin and feel embarrassed.  Finally, she rose and walked past me to the bathroom.  I pretended to ignore her, poorly.  As for her, she didn’t so much as look out of the corner of her eyes at me.  Feeling slightly defeated, I sunk over my drink.  When the restroom door swung wide again, my head jerked.  Down the carpet she strode, tossing a paper towel behind her, vaguely in the direction of the trashcan but it bounced off the wall and landed on the floor.  Quickly, I hopped off my stool and retrieved it, bending over, sure she was watching my butt.  After depositing it in the trash, I turned around with a smile on my face and there she stood, stock still, petrified.  Had she not known?  Had she been playing the bitch for a man she thought did not lust after her?

“I’m sorry,” I murmured.  “You were littering.”

Something seemed to relax in her and she turned to me.  She raised a finger and mouthed a word or two that I didn’t understand but took to mean that I should wait. 

Her meal broke up before I finished my drink and, as the two men left for the door, she made a show of gathering her things but, when they were out of sight, I saw her promptly drop them back into her seat and approach the bar.  

“Bombay and tonic,” she stated tersely to the bartender.

“Would you like to buy me a drink?” I asked.  When she raised her eyebrow, I added, “I like to be wined and dined a bit first.”

“You are something,” she said.  Then, to the bartender, “Pour my friend a drink.”

The bartender rolled his eyes a bit and I smiled at him, embarrassed but happy enough not to be troubled by it.  The drinks disappeared quickly as she talked, conversation flowing naturally, nothing personal, but she was telling me something in those trivial statements.  

“I’d like to get to know you better,” I said as our glasses neared empty.  She winked at me and walked away.  Rising quickly, I followed her out into the street, not talking, just following behind her in the noisy night air.  When we reached her car, I climbed in the passenger side.  I tentatively touched her hand when she shifted the car into gear.  She smiled and carried my hand back to my own lap.  

“You’ll feel,” she whispered.  “Everything.”

The warm haze that overtook me with those words still lingered in her bedroom.  “Make yourself comfortable.  Don’t be sore.  I won’t keep you waiting long,” she said as she retrieved something from her dresser and disappeared into the bathroom.

I disrobed and climbed onto the bed.  It was only when my head lay buried in a pile of pillows and I felt the cool air on my ass that the anxiety began to creep in a bit.  Too late to leave, too late to say anything, too late.  The bathroom door was open again and the bed creaked behind me.  I could feel her weight shifting the mattress some, but she was silent, silent for long moments.  Nothing.

Apprehensive, I wiggled my butt.  That was when her hands touched me, when I felt her at my entrance.  I groaned as she slid into me, loving the feeling of being invaded.  I moaned a little, my ass contracting around her as she fucked me.  Her hand moved around my legs and began to play with the head of my cock.   And I began to whine with pleasure.  Pulling back, she placed one hand on each side of my waist and began screwing me in earnest.   I touched my own dick, running my fingers around its tip, massaging it, and quickly lost all control over myself, gasping and moaning, oozing cum onto my hand, finally climaxing three times without ejaculating, until my asshole offered no resistance to her thrusts.

Later, she would ask me if I had ever been with a man and I answered honestly.  

“I might like to share you with one,” she said.

“I’m not sure I’m okay with that.  I like being penetrated, but I’m not attracted to men.”

“I’ve been with two men before,” she said.  “But they were practically strangers.  To each other even, there was no clear favorite.  If we do it, I’ll find someone.  And he’ll do whatever we want, whatever I want.  To you.“  She pated my ass.  “But not that.  That is mine.  Mine!”

Straight sex became a reward of sorts.  She preferred for me to nurse on her nipples while sliding her vibrator in and out of her.  I always came, sometimes begging not to cum. And to this day, I’m not sure how she contrived those moments, what those words were that she would murmur to me in the throes of passion that would have me screaming, “Oh, God, please!! I don’t want to cum!”  

All too soon, it was over.  I felt a bit humiliated when she left, used.  Though I had wanted it.  And I began looking for a “healthier” relationship.  If there is such a thing.  But still she has a hold on me.  When the right sort of lust rises, I hear her voice in my head saying things I do not understand, words I know she somehow imprinted upon me in the dark fluidic dream of sensuality we shared.  And still, every now and then, when I touch myself, I lose my erection to the whispers.
