The whole situation was so unlike me.  I can't imagine myself
doing anything like it again.  I really didn't expect anything out of
going to his apartment.  We were friends.  He was doing me a favour.
We'd known each other for a long time.  I looked up to him almost like
a father, or a big brother.  I was in a strange city.  And he was
taking care of me, as he always had.
 
        He only had one bed, and though he offered to sleep on the
couch, I thought that was ridiculous, I mean, I wasn't bothered by
sharing a bed, which I guess, in retrospect is weird, and very risky,
but I'm young, and being naive has always been a gift of mind.  I went
to the bathroom to change to my nightclothing.  I wore a one piece
shorts jumpsuit to bed, it was a soft cotton and I loved the way it
felt.  Black, my favorite colour.  He went to change after I returned,
and I settled myself in comfortably against the left side of his bed,
which was against the wall.  I always situate myself by the wall if I
can.  I sleep better.
 
        He came back and climbed into bed, apolgizing for wearing just
his shorts, saying that is what he usually wore to bed.  That was
fine.  I didn't particularly care.  He offered to put on more clothes
and for a brief second I almost hated him for making me aware of the
fact that I was a half naked female, and he was a half naked male.  I
quickly blocked out the thought.  He's so much older.  "Brother" I
cautioned myself, "Pretend he's your brother."  So I tried that.  My
friend did not make is easy, as he pulled me into his arms and close
to his body.  Nothing truely sexual, just warmth, really and I cuddled
comfortably in his very warm embrace.
 
        We lay like that, comfortably entwined for a few moments.
Then he tilted my face up towards his, as his eyes searched mine, then
he lowered his face as his lips met mine.  The kiss was light,
tenative, and I responded unthinkingly while lights were flashing in
my head and my conscience was screaming.  He deepened the kiss, his
tounge swirling into my mouth.  The kiss was hard, passionate,
controlling.  Eveything I like in a man, and in a kiss.  His mouth was
demanding and I moved my body closer to the heat of his, like a kitten
seeking the warmth of the sunshine.
 
        He rolled me so that I lay flat on the bed, his body partially
covering mine.  His hand cupped my cheek, slid down my neck and onto
my shoulder.  As his hand glided across my shoulder, my shoulder strap
slid down with it, his mouth left mine nuzzling at the cloth to bare
my breast and suckle it.  "This is it."  my conscious whispered, "If
you want to stop him, it has to be now."  I moaned softly.  I opened
my eyes and looked into his.  In my gaze so many thoughts were writen,
I asked him to stop, and begged him to make love to me.  I felt
helpless, and he could tell.  I wanted him.  And he knew it, he still
knows it.  It's something electric and unspoken between us.
 
        He began to bite my breast.  Not painfully, but enough to make
me of a tingling sensation that started in my breasts and spread
though my body.  I lay docilely allowing my friend, this stranger to
take complete control.  He kissed my lips again.  That same hard tight
kiss that makes it hard to breathe, and even harder to work up the
will to breathe.  I have never been kissed in such a way again.  A way
that saps my will to resist before it has even a chance to form.  I
felt drugged with his kisses.  So drugged that my conscience
surrendered easily to the domination of my friend.  And at my
insistance he did dominate.
 
        I slid his shorts and underwear down revealing his body.
Normally I make love with some light.  Always I can see the body of my
lover.  There were no lights in the room and no moon out to
compensate.  We were bathed in a darkness too complete to see anything
but a subtle shape, an outline of each other.  He brought his lower
body close to my face and pressed himself into my mouth.
 
        I have always wanted to show my friend the changes that time has
brought, the knowledge and the power that comes from age, as he taught me
that night.  I burn with shame when I recall my timidity, my nervousness, and
my deficiency.  My friend, my lover, realising the difficulty I was having
absorbing his thickness into my mouth, got off the bed and walked over the
his dresser, I could see the faint outline of his body in the half-light.
He returned after taking something off the top of the dresser.  He took my
hand and lead me, as though I were a princess, off the bed.  He took a pillow
off the bed and placed in on the floor near the side of the bed.  He
positioned me behind the pillow and forced me down, so that my knees rested
on it.  He took my hands and tied them behind my back with the rope he'd
removed from the dresser.  Then he blindfolded me.  I sat up docilely, not
really sure what he would next.  Then I heard the bed creak just a bit, and I
felt his intense heat even before his hands reached behind my head to pull
me closer to him and force his manliness into my mouth.  I opened helplessly,
my hands struggling furiously to get loose.  My friend just pushed my head
further between his legs.  I barely had a chance to register the sweet, salty
taste of his body, before he was buried in my throat.  I slid my mouth down
 his length, tasting every inch of him.  He pulled me back, thrusting
his hips forward.  I slid away again and he moaned slightly pushing
from behind my head. Again and again we repeated this intricate dance
until he pushed me away roughly and stood up.  I knew he stood up
because I could feel his leg against my mouth.  He reached for me
under the shoulders and stood me up.  He kissed me passionately and
began untying my hands.  His voice was harsh with barely contained
passion as he asked in which way I would take him into my body.
 
        I paniced.  This was the ultimate comittment.  Before I could
have said I had been seduced, now I had to ultimatly admit that I
wanted him as passionately as he had shown me he wanted me.  I don't
take men by rear entry anymore.  I can honestly say that my friend has
spoiled me.  Too many men are indifferent lovers that way, and a great
many of them are actually bad lovers.  As I'm sure any gay guy could
tell you, there is very little that hurts more then a bad lover.  In
straight, front entry ('normal heterosexual') sex, there isn't a such
thing, in my opinion, as a bad lover.  The other way, there is.
 
        I don't know why I chose to take him backwards, I was in the
mood for something different I guess.  He positioned me on the bed on
my hands and knees initially.  As he entered I could feel the tissues
streching to accomodate the unusual thickness.  He pushed me flat on
bed and pushed himself all the way in.  I moaned with pleasure at the
exquisite sensation.  As he moved in and out I listened in disbelief.
Was that my voice harshly, maddeningly begging for more?  "faster"
"harder", could that be me?  And him saying softly that the slowness
was good for me, to make the pleasure last until finally there was an
explosion that rocked my brain and sent my senses reeling.  He
withdrew, and even that sensation was erotic, as I moved over and
cuddled next to him, in the same position we had started out into.
Only the racing of my heart beat and the lack of clothing documenting
the passion we had shared.  We continued the conversation we'd had
over dinner.  Talking about his ex-wife and their two children, how
they were adjusting the divorce, talking about my boyfriend and my
college classes.  Mostly we talked just to waste the half hour that I
had left before I boarded the plane that would take me back home.