She Wasn't the Bar Type

She wasn’t the bar type. But she was alone in a city with nothing to do while the friend she’d come to visit worked the night shift. Armed with the map and directions that he had carefully downloaded, she decided checking out exactly what “Celtic Rock” meant couldn’t hurt.

She drove the hairpin curves with mixed emotions and when they appeared to be endless, she almost turned around to head back to the coastal inn where her longtime buddy now worked as the night manager. Almost.

But she continued on, telling herself that while she wasn’t the bar type, she was the music type and going to a bar to hear music alone was not the same as going to a bar to pick up someone.

When she finally found the restaurant, she determined that she was glad she had and she was up for the adventure. Surely, she wouldn’t be the first tourist who walked into the place wanting simply to hear the music and have a drink. And if someone did think she was the bar type, well . . . she knew better and what did it matter if they did!

The hostess was covered up with parties of 4 and 5 and customers convinced she’d somehow lost their names. She caught her eye long enough to explain she only wanted to know where the music was. The hostess smiled a “thank you” and assured her she could find a space at the bar.

She couldn’t.

She did get a glass of white wine. But the only place she could find to situate herself was inches from the small dance floor and against the wall. She arrived in time to hear the last mic check and the first utterances from the band -- a band she soon surmised that had not one thing to do with Celtic anything. They were playing Southern rock and the barefoot lead singer was belting out the story of being born on the bayou and that didn’t quite ring true. Still they weren’t too shabby and it beat staying at the inn and logging more hours on Facebook.

Soon a chair opened up at a table and she was able to get off the dance floor and sit down. Of course, the one thing she wanted was to be on that dance floor with someone twisting and turning her to both their delights but that wasn’t happening. So she moved to the music and kept a smile plastered on her face. Music did that for her. She was happy.

An older couple she’d noted as she’d searched for a chair was the floor’s first occupants and they made it their stage. Initially, she’d thought this might be a “sweet” performance given that they were in their 60s at least and the woman had a coifed do and had practically pulled her partner to the floor with her. She was wrong.

They were incredible. Light on their feet and obviously longtime partners they cha cha’ed and rumbaed so that they became the entertainment. Even the singer complimented their moves as “one dancer to another.”

When the older woman walked beside her, she said, “I want to be you!”

“Get yourself and partner and get out there then,” and without pausing the older woman looked at the man with whom she was sharing a table and said, “Do you dance? You should dance with this lovely woman.”

The man indicated he did not and the older woman shrugged her shoulders and said once again, “Grab someone!” before sitting down.

She didn’t have to. In a few moments, another older gentleman asked if she’d like to dance and smiled when she said yes. He’d been watching her dance her way out of chair. “I saw you and thought you might. But … uh … I really just want to dance,” he said somewhat apologetically.

“As do I,” she responded and was momentarily saddened that times were such that explanations were necessary.

Soon they too were spinning though not with the grace and ease of her new champion (who had raised two thumbs up when she took the floor).

A couple of songs later, the older guy asked again and she enjoyed their attempts.

Then the Irishman made it to her.

“Tell me what a fella has to do to be getting some of your attention,” he asked her. Or at least she thought that was what he said.

He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt which fit this beach resort village. But he also had a growth of whiskers and the squint in his eyes suggested he’d been at a bar somewhere long before the music started here. Between the booze and brogue it was hard to understand the words but the intent was evident enough.

“What’s a woman such as yourself kdjgdjgjjgjgljgjgljgjg?” he said as he leaned into her ear to be heard over the music.

“What?” she asked half suspecting she knew what he’d said. “I can’t hear you.”

She could have slapped herself because now he leaned closer. “What’s a woman such as yourself doing here alone?”

“Listening to the music,” she pointed to the band.

“And would you be letting me buy you a drink?”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“No, that’s a white wine, isn’t it now? I’ll be buying you a drink.”

He turned toward the bar and she almost laughed out loud as he began to engage the two women who were also there sans men. They all laughed for a while and she figured he’d lost his focus on her and was relieved as the older gentleman returned for another dance.

When she arrived back at her chair, the Irishman was seated and smiled sloppily. She thanked him for the drink (half hating herself for being the sweet Southern thing that she was which required her to be polite and smile even when dealing with drunken offers).

He rose and leaned into her ear again and grinding his cock into her knee. “So is there a chance you’ll be letting me fuck ya?”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree. I suggest you move on.”

“Ahhhh . . . now do you have to be that way? Just a little squeeze of those breasts then?”

“Wrong tree … really. Have a chat with those girls over there. They seemed interested enough.”

He pulled away with a hammed up frown but he pulled away and she was pleased with herself. Not being the bar type, she had never really had to decline an unwanted offer. She wasn’t great at it but she’d held her own.

She turned her attention to the cell phone that was her lifeline back to the friends she’d left behind in order to go on this cross country trek to discover new things about the country and about herself. She began to text a friend who would smile at her small triumph as well.

That’s when he caught her eye. He bent to be within her eyesight and smiled while holding out his hand. “Would you like to dance?”

Caramel colored and dark hair – she suspected Hispanic. Wide but soft grin, he had caught her attention as not too bad a dancer as he spun what she assumed was his date around the floor. Now he caught her by surprise and she suddenly realized his hand was still out. “Oh, yes, of course.” And she laid the phone down to be transported to the floor.

The first dance was nothing to text home about. He was smooth on his feet but they weren’t exactly dancing together and she was somewhat disappointed. Also, the dance lasted only a minute since they were late arriving. He asked if she wanted to stay for another and she agreed.

This time he took her hand and became the lead she’d hoped he would be. She was close. She was pushed away. She was close and bending backward. She was spinning. She was dancing.
They thanked each other politely and she returned to her phone to let her friend know that she was having a great time. Then she saw the time and realized the drive back to the inn was going to be a late one so she paid the check and headed to the restroom.

When she exited, he was exiting from the men’s room as well. Seeing her jacket, he said, “You’re not leaving?”

“I’ve got a long drive back to where I’m staying.”

“Oh … where’s that?”

The mistrust for all things happening in a bar flared up. “Uh I’m not even sure what they call the area and I’m not good with directions. It’s outside of Half Moon Bay.”

“I live in Half Moon. I can make sure you get on the right road. Stay for another dance?”

She really had no need to be anywhere at a particular time. And she had felt so free when they were dancing. She was thinking it might not be such a bad idea.

He was wiping perspiration from his forehead -- which for some reason made her more comfortable -- and fewer alarm bells were ringing in her head when he said, “Where are you from? Are you visiting?”

“Texas and yes. I’m traveling the country for a few months and this was one of my first stops … to visit an old friend.”

“Texas!?” he offered with pleasure. “I’ve got a contract coming up in Texas.”

When he told her the city, she was surprised that it was her home. She then learned he was a chef with a catering company and he consulted on start ups of restaurants. As a foodie, she began to grill him on whether he’d visited before. He had and they then exchanged gossip and critiques of some of the major restaurants and little known dives.

At a pause, he inquired again about a dance and she readily followed him back to the dance floor. For the next hour they danced and took chat breaks in the night air to cool off and learn more about each other. Soon she realized she wanted him to be closer each time he pulled her in. Surprising herself, she even began to push her way into his hips as he moved them to the music.

At one point, she raised her hands high above her head and he followed the landscape down. He politely and lightly passed by her breasts but at took the opportunity to gently kiss her cheek. She smiled and anticipated the next twist that would have her facing him once again. She knew this had to be her last dance and she wanted to see him before she left.

He gave her his card and wrote on the back – “Entitles you to one great bottle of wine” – as he invited her to come back by his shop the following day. She nodded that she’d understood and was grateful for the offer but she and her friend were leaving for a few days of hiking and she wouldn’t be able to accept.

“Then let me give you one tonight! You can follow me home, I’ll show you the road you need to use that will get you to your place with far less twists and turns and you’ll have a bottle for the hike!”

She knew she shouldn’t. She knew that all bar types knew what happens when you say yes to going home with someone you meet there. She knew. And she also knew what her gut was telling her. This guy could have tried any number of tricks to grope or fondle her and in many ways, she’d been the one to make the first of any type of aggressive move. She’d learned a lot about his life and he hers and she just couldn’t muster up enough reasons to decline.

“I really have to get home though,” she said as he realized she was agreeing to follow him.

“Yes, I understand,” and he walked her out to the car – after introducing her to the friend that he hadn’t come with and was therefore not the date she’d suspected.

They arrived at his apartment and she waited in her car. He went in, got the wine, and came back leaning into the window only slightly.

“Take the highway we just turned off of. After about 5 miles, you’re at your turn. It’s maybe a mile longer than the way your friend sent you but no hairpins!”

She liked that he’d remembered her tale of arriving at the unfamiliar bar. She also liked that he wasn’t forcing any issue about her leaving. She thanked him and drove home.

The next day on the ride to the mountains she texted a thank you for the dances and the wine. He replied, “Any chance we can do dinner before you leave the area?”

She considered all the reasons why she shouldn’t and then she agreed.

When the day arrived for the date she had done all the cautionary limits. Her friend had her new chef’s number and name and address. She would tell him she had to be back at the inn by a certain time. She was meeting him at a public place. She still hated that dating had taking on the trappings of a strategic strike but she also knew a few horror stories so she was trying to be both adventurous and wise.

He was beaming when he saw her walking down the sidewalk to his table at the outdoor bistro they had chosen for midafternoon coffee. She had decided to lean into her Texan persona and was wearing the boots from their night of dancing with a skirt and tights. She was funky without being too faddish and she liked what she’d pulled together. He obviously did too.

“You look great! How was the hike?” he offered as he rose and pulled out her chair.

“We had a blast!” and for the next hour they traded stories about hikes and camping and their mutual interests in doing almost anything at least once.

They left the bistro and visited several galleries he thought she might enjoy. He was right and she did.

“So, you ready for some more dancing in those boots?” he inquired. “I want to introduce you to a few of my friends. I think you’re going to like them.”

She laughed. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

She followed him to what she would have called an ice house back in Texas and what he referred to as a honky tonk. He was closer to the truth. The shack looked like it was leaning. The picnic tables hadn’t seen paint in … well, maybe never. The multi-colored Christmas lights gave the appropriate air of gaudy and the neon signs over the bar assured her she’d have her choice of domestic beers.

“Mind if I go all chef on you and order for us? I know a few of this place’s specialties and would like to surprise you,” he asked and she liked that he really was asking rather than telling her.

“Sure! When in Rome ….” She watched as he made his way to the bar and cajoled the waiter/bartender/chef? for a few minutes. When he returned he had a bottle of white that she doubted seriously had come from the ice chest she saw at the foot of the bar. She didn’t know much but she knew what he was holding was no “two-buck-chuck” the cheap wine that the area was known for.

“He keeps some goodies cold for his regulars,” he said as he poured what had to be the crispest, purest pinot grigio she’d had in quite a while.

They were deconstructing the day when his friends arrived. Two couples they were gregarious and easily accepting of her. The wine flowed. The meal was exquisite in its simplicity – grilled fish, mango salsa, rice and a salad. This place was definitely a find.

The music started after about an hour and all the couples took to the dance floor. They laughed as they sweat together. When the hour of her announced departure began to creep up on her, she knew she didn’t want to leave.

He spoke first. “So … does your friend expect you or do you have a code text worked out for getting you out of here with the least amount of notice?”

“You realized the caution from the first didn’t you?”

“Not the first time. And frankly, if you were my friend, I’d be just as protective.”

“And am I? Your friend?”

“I think you know that I would love the chance to be with you. I think you also know that we aren’t in a position to make it much more than that – the two coast thing and all. So I’m not asking or expecting. I would like to add, however, that I am wanting.”

“Nicely put,” she offered. “And very astute. This is all very strange for me. I don’t see myself this way and yet every fiber of my being wants to follow you home.”

“My keys are in my hand. You say the word.”

She hesitated only a moment. “Let’s.”

And they did. Making their goodbyes with hugs all around, they drove back to his apartment. A two bedroom overlooking the beach, the place was immaculate. He had an Asian motif going with swords, a gong and the dining table was set with all the pieces you’d need for a sake and sushi experience.

He turned on some music and held out his arms for yet another dance. She complied willingly.

This time they didn’t twirl. They swayed and she felt his arms as she hadn’t yet felt them. Hard and firm, they encompassed her. His hands slid effortlessly up and down her back. She duplicated his movements adding a slight massage at his neckline.

He moaned agreeably. “Nice.”

“I think … “ she paused because the day and night had been so lovely, “I think … you’re nice. And that is one very sexy trait.”

He laughed, “Often been my downfall. Nice guys finishing last and what not.”

“We’ll see,” and she pulled back as she asked, “So this place has a bedroom, right?”

“Follow me, Madame.”

He led her to a queen size bed decked in comforter reminiscent of Asia once again. She pulled back the cover and then turned to face him. He was inches away and seemed miles. She pulled him towards her.

He kissed her and she realized that this was their first real kiss. His lips were firm but the kiss was soft. He sighed after they completed it and she realized she had too. The anticipation of the day had caught up with them. Now they were relaxing in one another. She was pleased.

He began to unbutton her blouse and she his shirt. They played between the buttons with kisses to a shoulder, to a breast, to tickle his chest hairs with her tongue.

As he unfastened her bra, she giggled.

“What?” he asked, somewhat alarmed.

“I just realized that this seduction scene is going to have to take a pause for the cause.”

“What?” he was genuinely confused.

“Trust me. There is no sexy way to take off these boots,” she said pointing down.

“Oh really?” he replied and pushing her playfully to the bed, he reached down and yanked each boot off with a dramatic flair before stripping her of her tights and then gently massaging each foot as she further relaxed into the luxury of the bed and the moment.

“I stand … or lay corrected,” she offered.

He chuckled as he removed the rest of his clothes and joined her. Taking her skirt down her thighs, he stopped and kissed whatever caught his fancy along the way.

She found his thick head of hair and wove her fingers in and out of the dark locks. When they were both beneath the covers, she began to work her way down his neck and chest by kneading her hands into his muscles and alternating the semi-massage with kisses and licks and even an occasional nibble.

He didn’t disagree. In fact, he pulled her on top of him and reached upward to take her breasts each hand, squeezing and tugging just as she like it. She was fascinated with how well he knew just what to do to please her.

She adjusted herself so that she was straddling his leg while cradling his cock in both hands. She was suddenly possessed with the idea of taking care of him the way he had cared for her. She fondled his balls, squeezed the base of his cock and then dove down to lightly lick the tip. She then pressed her lips further down the shaft, further and further until she had almost every inch of him in her quickly salivating mouth. She moved up and down with increasing speed. She heard him moan and smiled. She moved to his right side, cock still in her mouth, then to his left. Finally, she mounted him. Her legs on each side of his face, for the taking if he wanted.

He wanted.

He began to match her licks and sucks, concentrating on her clit with the same attention to rhythm he’d shown on the dance floor. She was the one now moaning.

Her moaning was affecting him as well. He felt it and she knew it so she continued.

When the hardness in her mouth was increasing and she no longer felt she could contain him, he began to indicate he was about to come. She smiled. She was ready.

He moved to mount her. Inserting himself, he moved in and out with growing intensity. She asked for more. He complied, pounding his way to his own orgasm.

As soon as she knew he was spent, she grabbed hold and asked for him to stay. Then the waves she knew were forthcoming began. First a shudder, then a series of throbs and her mind went to that place of unbelievable, undeniable nothingness and pure pleasure.

They lay there for a few moments. He was the first to speak.

“I’m glad I asked you to dance.”

“Uh, excuse me . . . the music isn’t over yet.” And she placed his hand in the wetness between her legs and smiled.

“Again?”

“And again and again and again.”

She wasn’t the bar type. But she was the multiple orgasm type.

Oh the Zumanity!

She’d seen the show once already and after the second time she offered the following assessment.

“I enjoyed seeing Zumanity with a girlfriend. I’ve now enjoyed seeing it with a gay friend. But if I’m going to see an entire Cirque de Soliel production around sex and the sensual I’d really like to see it next with a boyfriend!”

Her companion laughed with her as they made their way through the streets of Vegas searching for the turn off the Strip that would be the first in their weaving their way back to the gay hotel and resort where they were staying for one night of their four-day road trip from Texas to California.

They had covered some miles in the last few days and seen some sights as they stayed along Route 66 with some intentionality. Cadillac Ranch outside Amarillo had been fun though windy. The idea of 10 Cadillacs plunged nose first into the earth and lined up in an open field as an open invitation to graffiti artists pleased her. A few cheesey tourist trinkets purchased at the Route’s midpoint weren’t that big a pull from her pocket. The reminder that Santa Fe was both a tourist destination and an artist haven made her smile. And, the stop in Winslow, AZ to stand on the corner with the “girl my Lord, in a flatbed Ford” slowing down in the painted mural made her giddy. The corniness of it all was overshadowed by the ingenuity of the folks who had awakened a sleepy little town by cashing in on their 15 minutes of fame from a 70s ballad.

She’d looked forward to Vegas primarily because they were going to stay a few more hours there than elsewhere and she secretly harbored the gambler’s impulse that said this time she might actually win big. She didn’t. But she had fun with her cheap little slots game based on Alien and $12 wasn’t that high a price to pay to remind herself that gambling was in her blood but not in her favor.

The show was her companion’s selection. Returning didn’t bother her though because she was currently engaged in writing erotica and thought she might find some inspiration.

She had.

She liked the changes they had made since her last viewing. The comic relief was a tad more understandable since on this evening they were using a Brooklyn-esque accented blonde reminiscent of the 50s rather than the French lounge lizard she’d heard last time. She still found the girls swimming in the giant martini glass sensual, the contortionist impossible to watch, and the beautiful black men dancing arousing. She noticed the black woman dressed in tribal attire this time more than last. And she found the tension between the man and woman acrobats who were supposed to be engaging in sex without having her feet ever touch the ground while he tossed and toppled her less than believable.

But the show was good. And the aftermath even better.

She had agreed to the hotel because her friend was good enough to travel with her on this journey west so that she could discover whether her writing would ever be profitable. He was making the outward trek and she’d return with other friends in a few weeks. Since he was on vacation, she wanted it to be a fun one.

He really wasn’t cruising at the clothes optional pool and hot tub that was one of the acclaimed features of the just off the strip resort. But he wasn’t turning a blind eye either. She wasn’t there to watch, having thought that he might want some time away from her given that they’d already had several days of one on one car time. So she was somewhat surprised when the phone in the room they were sharing rang with him on the other end.

“Ok . . . definitely not what I expected,” he started without a hello.

“Details?”

“I’m in the tub. I make polite conversation with a couple of couples but they are into being couples so I back off. I’m considering coming back to the room since it’s been a long day when this beefy guy with close-cropped silver hair makes his way to the tub.”

“Oooh, just like you like them. Go on.”

“Exactly. And he starts with all the usual stuff. Why I’m here, what we’re doing, why you/we’re doing it, etc. I find out he’s from Manhattan and in town early for a convention. And then . . . “

“And then better be getting to the good stuff,” she offered with mock impatience.

“And then he came back to the fact that you were with me.”

“He did? What kind of gay guy is he?”

“That’s just it. He says he’s sexual, not cultural and chose this place just to see what he could encounter.”

“And now he thinks he’s encountered us, right? Uh, did you mention we’ve known each other for years and we don’t . . . haven’t . . . gone THERE before or ever????” she prompted.

“Of course, I did. But that’s when he mentioned that maybe I should call you. I told him you were a writer and he says he thinks you might enjoy the research.”

“What do you think?” she inquired of her longtime friend who she had never once imagined in a sexual way . . . well, at least not after she found out he was gay more than a decade ago.

“I think . . . I think . . . I think he’s cute.”
“Well, of course you would,” she laughed. “I think it could be amusing, but it’s your call. You decide. If I hear a knock at the door in a few minutes, I’ll know what you decided. Meanwhile, I’m pouring a drink from the mini bar!”

“Ok . . . you’ll know soon enough.”

She put the computer away and made a vodka tonic before just checking the day’s damage on her makeup and hair. She wasn’t going to win any contests but the lights dimmed and she wasn’t thinking she was going to be the focus of anyone’s attention.

The knock came a few minutes later.

She opened the door and before her stood two handsome men in their early 50s. Both were in fine shape – flat stomachs and arms they obviously spent time on in the gym. Both had silver hair – her friend sporting only flecks, their guest showing little signs of anything else. They were wrapped in the towels from the pool area and reminded her of two penitent school boys wondering if they were in trouble after acting up in class.

“Do come in, gentlemen,” she stood back to allow them to make their way through the small foyer. “Obviously, I’m Casey. And you are?” she held out her hand and he shook it firmly.

“I’m Michael,” he said, looking around the room in what appeared to be an initial assessment of their housekeeping.

She chuckled. “I see you’re the curious type. ‘See anything you like?’ sounds like a pick up line and since that doesn’t appear to be necessary, I’m wondering how to respond to your thorough examination of our room!”

“Sorry, habit of the job and hard to contain. I’m a cop,” he explained.

“A fact my friend John failed to mention!” she pretended to chide her cohort and he took it well as he moved toward the mini bar to fix a couple of new drinks.

“Actually, I was a cop and now I do mostly PR type projects. That’s why I’m here. There’s some training on communicating with various audiences that my boss thought I could benefit from and I thought I could benefit from a weekend in Vegas so it was a win/win you might say.”

“I’ll let you know,” she almost mumbled.

John interrupted and handed the drink to Michael. “Do folks call you Mike? Or are you always more formal?”

“Formality has never been my forte but I am always Michael. I like the sound of it.”

“As do I,” noted John.

The room was silent for a moment until John turned on the stereo and Casey offered their guest one of the two leather-esque chairs in the sitting area of their small suite.

“These towels are becoming cumbersome,” Michael noted as he tightened the knot for at least the third time since he’d entered the room.

“Indeed they are,” John agreed. And, again, the silence fell.

“Ok, guys, this is awkward. How do we . . . uh . . . get this started? I’m not new to a bit of a crowd when it comes to sex but I am new to sharing time with a friend like John. I know what I’d like but I have no idea what you guys are expecting.”

“Expecting? I hadn’t gotten passed getting off the elevator and making our way to the door!” John laughed at the chance to relax even slightly.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “I guess I’m in the same spot. I hadn’t really thought it through . . . just thought it might be interesting.”

“Well . . . if I’m the only one with a plan I will at least throw it out for you guys to shoot it down if you don’t like it,” Casey said. “I want to watch.”

“You do?” John looked a bit surprised.

“I do. I want to be close enough to touch and be welcomed if I do, but I really don’t want that much attention. I prefer to see how you two enjoy one another. I think that would provide me immense amounts of pleasure . . . and fodder for a future story,” she nodded in Michael’s direction since he was the one who had initially suggested the “research” idea.

Michael looked and John with a nod of his head. John agreed. And, after John announced, “1, 2, 3!” they both yanked their towels away to reveal – swimming trunks.

Casey started to gasp and then laughed loudly at their silliness. John walked toward Michael and pulled him from the chair. They stood silently before one another with each seemingly tracing the other’s outline with their hands. They moved from shoulders, to arms to ass, and then returned to shoulders. John reached over and with a hand behind Michael’s neck kissed him full on the lips.

Casey smiled. She remembered the first time she’d seen her friend kiss another man very clearly. She also remembered her initial reaction -- which was to look away. Now she couldn’t pull her eyes away. She thought that she was witnessing something very beautiful – a kiss for pleasure, both theirs and hers. She found herself very grateful for the moment.

John continued to take the lead, she observed. He took Michael to the bed and grabbed her hand as well as they crawled into the center of the king sized mattress. John kissed Casey’s palm and then let go, leaving her to her vantage point as he moved toward Michael with yet another kiss but this one held much more hunger.

Michael seemed to be open to the versatile role and John apparently enjoyed being the aggressor so Casey watched in fascination as her shy buddy emerged into the stage director she knew him to be. He was an award winner in his field of technical productions and the take-charge attitude she’d witnessed on the few times she’d visited one of his sets was in full directorial mode.

He started by removing Michael’s trunks. Michael began to assist him and then moved toward helping John. John dismissed his efforts with a sweep of his hand and almost seemed to lose them in one long gesture. Then he focused on the now erect cock between Michael’s tree-trunk like limbs. First he rubbed it, up and down, up and down. Then he bent to take it in his mouth.

Casey found it difficult to determine if she was in a note-taking mindset or one of just sheer pleasure. She decided to opt for pleasure and began to touch herself as the men appeared to be setting the stage for the later action.

Michael moaned a pleased response to John’s initial efforts and then opened his eyes wide when John stopped and grabbed Michael’s hand to place it on the base of John’s own penis. Michael appeared to adjust his thinking for only minutes and then reciprocated the actions that John had just performed on him. When Michael’s mouth came down around the head of John’s dick, Casey caught the gasp before she uttered it. She was amazed at how much it aroused her. She pressed into her clit with more force and rubbed more vigorously.

Michael was obviously not a novice. He concentrated on his task with total absorption. John seemed pleased with the result. He grabbed the nape of Michael’s neck and massaged. Michael picked up the pace. His lips were wet and his stroking of John’s balls had moved into heavy duty pushing and pulling when John pulled him away and quickly turned him over. Casey had planned ahead a bit more than the boys had known and John smiled as he grabbed the massage oil that Casey used on her friends when she offered freebies. He poured from the bottle directly on his very firm and (Casey noted for research purposes only of course) very long, thick penis before slowly entering Michael’s ass.

He was on his knees with Michael belly down when he began to lower himself. Casey almost wanted to lie next to Michael to improve her view but caught herself as she figured she’d be an intrusion. Instead, she positioned herself about a foot away and on her side continued to please herself. She couldn’t see John completely but she could see Michael’s face and she especially noted the changes in expression he was conjuring as John continued to penetrate. First pain, followed almost immediately by a look of contentment as Casey imagined he’d now recognized the first signs of fullness in having all of John inside him. As John began to move in and out with growing intensity in his thrusts, Casey saw something she’d heard about but never actually witnessed before. (Of course, she’d never actually witnessed ANY of what she was seeing but this was particularly enlightening. John had obviously hit Michael’s spot. She imagined it much like the elusive g-spot on her own body but John was now alert but not to her, to his own body. His eyes were open but he wasn’t seeing. He was absorbed in the sensations.

John was lost as well. He was on his arms and pumping as Michael raised his butt even higher. They were dancing on the bed and Casey smiled as she realized it was to the music. She had paused in her own pleasure, caught up in the incredible scene of body on body, connected and filling the empty spaces, skin almost attached to skin as though there were no longer two separate entities before her.

John was the master at this point. All action waited his command and he was apparently near the crescendo of the dance when he stopped mid thrust and uttering a barely audible, “Yes,” came hard. Casey thought she saw and wondered if she’d only imagined the mimicked rhythm of his coming in the squeezes of Michael’s ass. When John was spent, Michael said firmly but yet still in the form of a request, “Stay.”

John leaned forward and rested atop Michael allowing his full weight to be felt. Michael sighed.

In a few moments, John rolled over and turned Michael. He didn’t say a word but smiled as he looked into the other man’s face and taking Michael’s still firm cock massaged, pulled and lightly slapping it back and forth, worked Michael into his own orgasm.

Casey stopped watching the gentle play to take herself to the point of coming. Eyes closed, she was unaware that the two men were watching her as she thrust her hips slightly into the air and quietly breathed in. When she came back to the sense of time and place, they were both smiling at her.

John took her hand and pulled her close. Michael began to rub her shoulders. She, in turn, grabbed the first thing she could locate and realized quickly she once again, as in numerous Sunday afternoons before when they had watched tv together and analyzed the quality or lack thereof of the programming, had John’s foot in her hands and was kneading the tension away. They all laughed and continued the quiet rubdowns until all had fallen softly to sleep.

When Casey awoke in a few hours, she stirred and Michael did as well. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, pulled himself away from the tangle of legs and arms and stood beside the bed.

“Thank him for me?” he mouthed.

Casey nodded and returned to slumber as Michael let himself out the door.