I've always hated being labelled a tomboy. A hoyden, as mom preferred. It's patronizing, like some phase I'll grow out of rather than a part of who I am. What defines me.

Everything's so binary these days. You're either with us or with them. Yeah. Like I got up one day and made a choice to prefer jeans, T-shirts and sneakers to dresses and high heels.

Some think it's a cry for help or a woke fashion statement or a need to be different. Maybe some psychological imbalance waiting to be corrected, like my parents thought when they insisted I attend therapy.

They're all wrong.

Never once did I conclude I prefer women to men. I just do. Always have. If I had a dollar for every time I let someone get close to me, and they ask when I came out, like it's some rite of passage or a necessary transition to own or accept my body…

I've never felt the need to come out of the closet; I've never been in it.

Women simply fascinate me. Always have. Not in the same way cars do. Fixing up some Tech Bro’s Mustang so he can impress and bang all the real girls is my drug. And I'm good at it. Hearing that V8 roaring, those fat vibrations as all the moving parts work together in a perfect symphony of metal and oil. It's fucking art. But it's not poetry.

She's poetry.

Was I looking to be swept off my feet? Well, no, but aren't we all fundamentally programmed to find that fairytale connection? The instant spark of attraction. The seduction. The flirting. And the sex, ohh God, the sex. There yesterday. Now… gone.

I pause my rambling thought processes long enough to swipe a tear and continue hugging my knees, hunched in front of the refrigerator. The apartment is alien without her.

Without her.

Seems like I've always been with her, but it's not been all that long. I was on the bounce from another relationship. Natalie had decided I wasn't good enough or some other bullshit excuse when someone gets cold feet. Trotted out that old it's not you, it's me cliché. Broke my heart after a couple months of intense dating, so I was drifting from one-night stand to stand. Drinking. Self-destructing. Maybe searching for validation that I wasn't damaged property.

At least the shop was doing well. My one constant. Built from scratch with a bank loan and money begged off Dad, I carved out a niche in Spinoke County for being the best high-end auto shop for miles. Working on Bob “Drive Time” Grazer’s Hellcat put us on the map. His impromptu shout out on WSPK was the nitro. Business boomed.

Then she rolled in. One faulty Mustang and everything changed. Her heels clicking on the garage concrete made me turn, and the low sunlight through the open loading bay cast her brunette locks in a golden hue. The low-cut summer dress hardly reached her thighs, with nothing but bare legs and suggestion between there and the simple sandals.

Stunning. Or maybe too good to be true.

I wiped my oily hands on the rag I was carrying and approached. “Help you? Or do you need directions to the ball?”

Both Carlos and Jason sniggered behind me. She didn't seem fazed. “The auto shop up the road don't know what's up. They recommended you.”

I peered past her. Whistled. “A 2018 GT. Nice.” The sunlight caught the sizable ring on her finger. “Yours or the fiancé’s?”

“His.”

“Figures. What's it doing? Or not doing?”

“Weird jerkiness on hills.”

“Lemme guess. It shifts up, lugs, shifts down, builds speed, shifts up again. Repeats endlessly until the road flattens out.”

She paused. Stared. “Yes, exactly. Can you fix it?”

I grinned. “You got ten minutes?”

“Seriously?”

“Drive into Bay 2. I'll get the machine.”

She turned and strode out, dress swishing round her thighs, blipped the lock, and soon enough the space was filled with the chunky revs of the five liter Coyote engine. The rumble died away when she killed the ignition.

I was already by the driver's door, opened it and reached down into the footwell, under the dash, brushing her calf as I hooked up the tuner to the OBD port. Fired up the device, took a backup of her current config, and pushed the latest stock calibration, satisfied the progress bar was gradually filling.

“Is that it?”

I nodded. “Pretty much. We just cycle the engine—” She went for the ignition and I darted my hand out to cover hers. “When it's downloaded. That’ll widen the shift logic bands and reduce gear hunting.”

“Of course it will. Widening the doohickey to reduce the whatflap.”

She smiled and I realized my hand was still holding hers. Withdrew. “It'll also boost performance.”

“Noticably?”

“Depends how hard you push it.”

She nodded. “Hard.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

She blushed. “How much do I owe you?”

“More than you can possibly imagine.”

“Oh.”

“No. It's fine. On the house.”

I took a half step back and she swung her legs out of the bucket seat, affording an inadvertent glimpse of her panties. White cotton. Classic. When she reached for the frame to haul herself out of the car, she ended up in my space, trapped between the door and me. Neither of us moved. Her delicate perfume drifted, and she avoided my stare.

Taking a further step back, but still not enough to let her escape, I waited for her to look at me. She scooped a lock of hair behind her ear. “I should pay for your expertise.”

I had to fight the instinct to reach across and scoop the hair behind her other ear. My hand made it halfway between us before I stopped and diverted to mirror her actions on my messy blonde bob instead. “If you insist. How about you take me out for a drink?”

She looked away. “No, I…”

“Tomorrow night?”

“I'm… we have… plans.”

“Cancel them.”

She met my gaze sharply. “It's not that easy. He’s… it's a work thing.”

“Saturday then.”

She chewed her lip. “That could work.”

“You know Rooley’s? Off Fourth.”

Realization dawned a few moments later. “Isn't that…? A girls’ club?”

“Mmhmm. You got a problem with girls?”

“No, I just.” She breathed in like it had triggered a long-buried memory. “I've never been.”

“Then it'll be a drink and an education.”

“I don't know. It's—”

The device beeped. I leaned in and we shuffled to swap places, my tight jeans skimming her bare thigh. Unhooked the tech and powered the engine on. “Give it a couple minutes. Then your chariot awaits.”

“Thank you so much.”

I waved it away. “Thank me Saturday. I'll be there anyway.”

She slithered past me again to take her seat, and I deliberately didn't move so our chests had to brush. Gripping the wheel, she stared ahead at the ramp. “I'll see what I can do.”

I stepped away, shut her door. Waited, just gazing down at the swell of her breasts curving into the cut of the dress as she continued staring dead ahead and the engine idled. Then I patted the roof. She revved hard twice. Shifted it into reverse and the throaty rumble gradually exited the space, turned in the yard and the tires bit the gravel as she spun away. My heart took an age to recover.

Rooley's wasn't busy, but I did rock up earlier than usual. Half expected her to not show, so I propped myself on a bar stool within direct sight of the door and let the thumping bass shake my frame through the bartop.

Three drinks and four proposals in, she entered, furtively scanning heads until she laid eyes on me. Approached and laid her purse on the counter alongside me. She was in another short dress. Burgundy with spaghetti straps that a whisper could dislodge. Leaned in and raised her voice. “What you having?”

I drained the whiskey and pointed at an optic hung behind the bar. Then held up two fingers. She nodded. Attracted Maddy, ordered and paid. Cash, waving away the change.

When the tumblers were slid in front of us, she clutched hers, lifted it in toast and sunk half, shivering.

I sipped. Leaned in, almost brushing her ear with my lips. “Didn't think you were gonna show.”

“I nearly didn't.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Long story.”

I gave a faint nod. “Place doesn't shut till three.”

The DJ mixed another beat, there were cheers and the dance floor filled further, lights and lasers bouncing off dry ice, heads and raised arms swaying to the music.

Placing my tumbler on the bar mat, I slid my hand across the smooth surface and brushed her forearm. “I don't even know your name.”

She recoiled a little. Eyed me. “Taylor.”

“Pleased to meet you, Taylor.” I picked up her hand and shook it. “Serenity.”

Her reaction was pretty much like everyone's, and I shrugged reflexively. “Hippie parents. I prefer Ren anyway. They don’t.”

She held my hand a beat longer and pulled away. I withdrew and circled the rim of my glass with a fingertip. “So what does Taylor do?”

“Forensic accounting.”

“Which is?”

“Checking companies are keeping correct financial records. No fraud. No misconduct.”

“Like an auditor?”

“Kind of. But more specialized in criminal activity, embezzlement, that kind of thing.”

“So you're in court a lot?”

“Not yet. I'm only a junior. I prepare the reports for lawyers to present and argue.”

“And what does he do?” I nodded at her ring.

“Medical sales. Equipment and supplies for healthcare. He's away a lot, cutting dea—”

A pair of girls whirled into Taylor's back, kissing and groping, banging up against the bar.

I reacted. “Hey, watch it.”

The taller of the two waved an apology and they carried on kissing a foot further back. Any other day, I might have joined them. 

“So you get to drive his car while he's away?”

“Yes.”

“How's the ride now?”

“Much better, thanks.”

During the conversational pause, she glanced around, clearly uncomfortable being in the club. I turned to her and brushed my jeans against her bare knees. “It's okay, we don't bite.” Sliding my knee a fraction between hers, I leaned in. “Unless asked.”

She scrambled to a stand and backed away, knocking into the girls. “Sorry, I can't,” and she turned, pacing to the exit.

I sunk my drink and followed. Past the bouncer. Out into the night. Down the road past the lingering aromas of mobile street vendors. “Taylor!” She didn't stop, even when I caught up with her. “Taylor, I'm sorry. Sometimes I just… just don't know how to behave. Please.”

She slowed. Faced me. “Chris'll be back tomorrow. I shouldn't have come.”

“You don't trust yourself.” It wasn't a question, and she knew it.

She stared into the middle distance over the roofs of the crawling traffic, each with their own booming bassline. “It was a different life. An experiment.”

“You’re allowed to change your mind.”

She sighed. “Look. I have to go. Another time, another place, who knows.”

I nodded and watched her walk away, calling after her. “If you change your mind.”

She called back without looking, “I won't.”

And that was that.

Wiping away another tear, I slide up the fridge. Open it. Turn my nose up and shut it in disgust. Pace the apartment, circling the coffee table three times before diverting to the bedroom where morning rays begin to creep through the slats.

I should sleep. But my head’s whirling. How could we have been so stupid? So reckless. And now it's gone to shit.

Turning away from the bed I lean back until I overbalance and flop onto the pastel duvet, arms spread. Every thought, every echo of our time together just a few hours ago, every latent scent that drifts from my lips is her. Her giggles, her gasps, her heat, her cunt. All her.

Maybe she'll figure it out. Strike a balance in her life. Change her mind and come back.

Wouldn't be the first time…

It had been two weeks since she stormed from Rooley's. I was there to blow off steam as usual for a Saturday night, and was scoping out a girl on the dance floor wearing a boob tube several sizes too small. She was dancing with a chunky twenty-something with more metal than face, and I was considering cutting in when I caught sight of Taylor on the periphery of the club. My pulse snapped up a gear.

A floaty summer dress and pendant necklace that nestled in her cleavage were paired with the sandals this time. She was scanning the place, slowly sweeping her head left and right, looking for… me it seemed, when our eyes locked and she approached.

She leaned into my ear to be heard over the thudding music. “Sorry for bailing on you the other night. I just freaked out.”

“It's okay. I get it.”

“Is there anywhere we can go a bit quieter? To talk?”

“Follow me.”

I took her hand and threaded us through the crowd to the back stairs that led up to the chillout room. It had its own bar, background beats, and far fewer girls, most of whom were lounging on couches, making out in twos and threes, or watching others do likewise. 

Taylor ordered for us. Picked up her shot and downed it before I even started mine. Ordered another. “This isn't me.”

“Of course not.”

She eyed me. “I mean it.”

“Drunken fumbles have their place.”

The second drink arrived and she traced a bead of condensation on the tumbler. “It's easy for you. Confident. Experienced. For me…” she lifted her glass and took a sip, “nobody would understand.”

“Surely that's their problem? You need to be true to yourself.”

“I am!” she shot back. “Chris is wonderful. Caring. Dotes on me.” She sighed. “When he’s here.”

“When's he back?”

She stared at her drink. “Friday.”

“That's a long time to go without a hug.” The track changed and we let it establish. I waited until she slid her gaze up again. “It's okay to be more than one thing. To wear different hats.”

“Sure,” she scoffed. “Business dress and PJs during the week. Dungarees at Gay Pride rallies on the weekends?”

I smiled. “Gay Pride’s media nonsense. Why do I need to be proud to be gay? To draw attention to it. Why can't I just be me? Love who I want, without a label, like heteros do.” I rested my palm flat on the bar. “I object to the labels anyway. Why am I grouped with transexuals? What does gender identity have to do with whether I love men or women?” I flicked my eyes to hers. “Or both.”

She let that sink in. “Do you?”

“What?”

“Love both.”

“No. Do you?”

She looked away. “When did you know?”

The smile continued to play on my lips. Another dollar. “I've never not known.”

When a heavily-tattooed couple finished ordering drinks, Taylor ordered another round for us. Paid. “Do you ever wear dresses? Skirts?”

“No.”

“Not at all?”

“Never.”

“Why?”

“You expecting something deep, like shunning societal norms?”

“No. I'm curious.”

I looked at myself in the bar mirror. “Coz denim and tees are more comfortable. Less fuss. I love the way the fabric feels. Plus there's less to get caught in machinery when fixing cars.”

She nodded. Said nothing.

“There is one downside.” I trailed a fingertip through the condensation on my glass and brought it to her bare knee. Slid it an inch higher up her leg.

“W… what's that?” She thumbed her engagement ring like it could save her. 

“Less skin on display.” I slid it another inch. “And I like skin.”

She inhaled. Let out a tiny sigh when I brought the remaining fingers in contact and slid my hand up to brush the hem of her dress. Eyed her, lower lip caught between her teeth. Her mouth dropped open. “This isn't me.”

“So you said. And yet,” I slid my jeans between her knees to part them, eased closer and brushed her panties with my fingertips, the dress bunching. “This is us.”

Her eyes drifted shut and I made contact, fingering her slit through the damp cotton. In any other setting, it would have been considered inappropriate, but here nobody even noticed.

I became bolder. Snuck my hand up and nudged her clit. Whispered, “You like that?”

Taylor barely nodded. Just breathed out long and slow through her nostrils, then in sharper through her mouth as I cupped and rubbed.

My breath played in her ear. “Taylor?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Come home with me.”

She didn't move. Allowed me to continue circling a fingertip over her panties.

“Please, Taylor. Let me have this honor.”

Her breath found my ear. The exhalation tickled. “Promise me I won't regret it.”

Brushing my hand up her body, I cupped her chin and stroked her cheek with my thumb pad. “Can't get you out of my head.”

I was startled when she grabbed my wrist. Paused a long moment, eyeing me. Then guided me away from her underwear, and slid her hand in mine.

We ran. Hand in hand. Five blocks. Two more down a side street, I buzzed us in with the fob and we burst into the stairwell. Didn't even make it upstairs before I shoved her against the wall and kissed her neck. Ground my body to hers as we sidestepped and twirled a stair at a time to the first floor.

Inside the apartment, I kicked the door with my heel. Spun in with her in my arms, rolling along the wall, clutching at each other's bodies until we came to rest in the living room doorway.

I cupped both cheeks. Stared into her eyes. Leaned in, letting the moment breathe after the frantic prelude. Captured her bottom lip in mine. Pulled back and gazed at her again, admiring the way her upper lip curled into a smile before she encircled my mouth, and our lips locked.

Her arms wrapped the back of my neck and pulled me into the kiss. I roamed her body, pressing her to the wall, slithered my hands up to the straps of her dress and flicked them both off her shoulders. Thumbed her collarbones and pulled her clear of the plaster. Her dress fell away, puddling for her to step from, just bra, panties and sandals.

I pulled her into the living room fully. Turned her and backed her against the couch arm. Sat her on it and sank to my knees, parting her legs and kissing up her thighs, hopping from side to side.

Keeping my eyes on her as long as possible, I caressed my way up until her scent overwhelmed me. Crushed my mouth against her panties. She stroked my cheek. My hair. Burbled vowels and cradled my head as I nuzzled her underwear and drifted my hands to the waistband.

I sat back and peeled them down, letting her help me wriggle them free to drop on the floor.

Lifting one foot into my lap, I stared at her pussy, its hair matted with arousal, as I unbuckled her sandal and discarded it. Did the same with the other, letting it thunk to the floorboards by my knees.

I stroked her calf. Lifted it to my shoulder, kissing its inner surface as I did. When I lifted the other likewise, she tipped backwards, arching over the armrest, hair sprawling as I kissed my way to her pussy and Frenched her opening.

Her musk fuelled me. There have been girls—lots of girls—but Taylor felt, smelled, tasted… unfiltered. Like she was made solely for me. A Michelin star meal wine pairing, that perfectly complemented the hunger welling inside me. A hunger I took out on her beautiful, downy thatch.

She cartwheeled her arms over her head, clutching the sofa cushions and thrust her pussy up against my welcoming mouth. Her calves alternated between slack and taut, sinewy muscles clamping against my ears as I licked and sucked her core.

My tongue probed. Nose crushed her clit and I stared across her body, the valley between her breasts framing her chin, lips fixed in a wide ‘O’ as I devoured her pussy.

Finesse would come later. Gentle exploration as I brought her to smoldering climax upon climax with just my tongue on her clit was for another time. This was raw, animalistic need, and I craved her cum as much as she wanted to give it.

My chin dripped with her arousal and I lapped and slurped as much as I could, while she mewled into my apartment, tensed and shuddered.

I nursed her through the orgasm, hands supporting her butt, mouth clamped to her quivering center until she flopped back over the armchair and exhaled. A giggle formed and she rolled her head away, almost as if embarrassed at the involuntary display.

When I lifted free of her soaked pussy, she was still laughing, like a weight had evaporated. Her hand drifted to my face and stroked my messy cheek.

“Oh my god, is that really all me?” Her free hand flew to cover her mouth. “I'm so sorry. You're drenched.”

My smile grew. “That's not drenched. Just wait.”

Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”

I nodded and she eased herself onto her elbows, then sat up, cradling my chin and bringing her lips to mine. We shared a languid, dirty kiss, filled with her scent, and she hummed into it, our tongues slipping together.

She roved her hands down my body, brushing my braless tits beneath the T-shirt and settled on the waistband of my jeans. Yanked them wide, the buttons popping open. With her eyes on mine, she slithered her hand in and paused, searching my expression.

“I can take it off if it bothers you.”

Her fingers explored and she shook her head. “No, it's fine.”

I kissed her. “Thank you,” and she reached round, rolling my jeans down to my thighs, the strap-on cock springing up for her to grasp and stroke. She lifted her palm under my mouth and I drizzled spit into it for her to grease the phallus.

Rising to my feet, I offered my hand. She took it and I pulled her up with me. Kissed her hard and turned her to face away from me. Her shins nudged the coffee table and I wrapped her in a hug, sliding my hands up her body to grope her beneath the lacy bra.

Her hair was soft against my chest, and she moaned as I fondled her breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples.

My mouth fell to her neck and she tossed her hair away to the other shoulder to give me access to the tender flesh. I roamed my lips, nuzzling, kissing, nipping and she responded, grinding back against me.

Reaching down between us, I wrapped my fist around the fake cock, wiped it back and forth between her legs and eased the coated shaft inside her.

Taylor gasped. Bent forward, hands slapping the coffee table. My grip found her hips and I held on as I began fucking her.

Resting one forearm on the low table, she snaked the other beneath her body and began circling her clit. My silicone cock split her lips time and again, hips slapping together as our moans intermingled.

She twisted her body a little, dipping her head and reached further back beneath us, her fingers finding my sopping pussy. Coating herself with juices, she sought my clit and scissored fingers around the invading toy to excite my nub. I gasped, flopped to hug her back and slid my hand between her legs to take over where she'd stopped.

Our cries escalated. Fingers circled. Blurred. I bit her shoulder, shallowly pumping into her so she could continue stimulating me at the same time.

I snaked my free arm around her chest, holding her to me tight as my orgasm built and crested, groaning into her shoulder, my hips rocking, fingertips grinding her clit until she joined me in her second release.

We stayed connected, enwrapped, our pulses thumping, the heat of release flushing our damp skin.

Eventually, I withdrew with a sticky squelch and guided her to stand, turning her around to share a tender kiss.

At its natural conclusion, I grasped her hand and led the way to my bed where we undressed, watching one another the entire time. The last thing to hit the floor with a thud was the sticky harness, before we slid beneath the thin summer duvet and curled together, stroking hair, skin, lazily kissing. I swept a lock from her face, kissed her cheek. “You're so beautiful. Thank you for trusting me.”

She gazed at me, impossible to read, a smile forming. “Keep me safe. I thi… I think I'm...”

The rest of the sentence never came. I stroked her forehead and nuzzled her shoulder until her breathing deepened and she fell asleep in my arms.

o==>

I stare up at the apartment ceiling from the bed, trying and failing to block out thoughts of Taylor. Her scent lingers, on my skin, on this duvet from the other night, and the twisted anger that she'd gone back to him bubbles.

No, ‘anger’ is probably too strong. It isn't even disappointment, despite the chasm in my heart where she had made herself a nest. It's hollow nothingness. A void. Self-pity? Maybe.

I don't want to face the day without her. But I need to go to work. For the distraction and lucrative Dodge Viper that needs tuning and remapping. Carlos and Jason can handle it, but it's better with three in the workshop.

Tugging the pillow over my face, I scream into it. Back in her comfortable suburban house with her comfortable fiancé, she's probably making love to him. Making it up to him. Papering over the cracks in their hearts while mine bleeds.

I fling the pillow free. Is that what this is? Jealousy? Because he has what I can't hold onto? It's absurd. I dress like a man. Wear a strap-on so I can fuck like a man. But can't hold onto love like a man. What's wrong with me?

A car horn blasts, followed by an indignant shout, both cars accelerating away fast in opposite directions, and it takes me back to the morning after our first night together.

We woke to the lazy Sunday morning traffic breezing past the open window. Fingers of sunlight streamed into the apartment, bathing our exposed upper bodies in warmth.

We'd rolled over in the night and her palm cupped one of my breasts. I rubbed my eyes and stroked her fingers. Turned my head back towards her. “Sleep well?”

She shuffled away so I could turn to face her fully. “Yes. Where did you get this mattress?”

“Bed Shack over on Wilmer. It's got a memory foam topper.”

“It's bliss.”

“Mmm. I'm sure your elevated hormone levels helped.” I kissed her forehead.

“Probably.” She brushed my forearm. “Do you, uhh, wear that thing a lot?”

“The strap-on? Yes.”

She considered her response. “You said you don't identify with the T in LGBT.”

“Mmhmm. They should split the classifications. Have one for sexual preference, like I dunno, HLGB, and the other for identity. Mixing them makes no sense and marginalizes both. They're unrelated.”

“So you don't wish you were born a boy? Or want to become one?”

“Nope. I just like denim. And the power to give pleasure at a moment’s notice. It's comforting. Empowering.”

She nodded, seemingly happy with my reasoning. Rolled onto her back and absent-mindedly stroked her own thigh. “I thought about you. The last few weeks, I mean. Even though we didn't do anything before I got scared, it reawakened something.” I waited for her to carry on, watching the way words formed on her kissable lips. “The college fling was nothing. A drunken fumble. But you brought back the memories.”

“Gee, thanks!”

She giggled. “I don't mean bad ones. Just the idea of it.”

I drew wavy lines up her leg. "What did you do? When you thought of me.”

“Promise you won't laugh?”

“Promise.”

“I was in the shower. Imagined you were with me. Took the shower head off, put it on the Pulse setting and… used it on myself.”

“Naughty girl. Did you cum?”

She nodded. “I also aimed at my… y'know, back there.”

“And did you like that?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Do you like anal play?”

She shrugged. “We haven't tried it.”

We lay there, her stroking one leg, me the other until she rolled her head to face me.

“Ren?”

“Yes, Taylor.”

“Would you… make love to me? Please. As a woman. So I, kind of, know it's not just your appearance. That what I feel actually makes sense… if that makes any sense at all.”

I rolled on top of her, making her squeak, straddling her thighs. “It would be my pleasure.”

Beginning with my own body, I cupped my chest, the tiny boobs easily fitting in my palms. “Do you like my titties, Taylor?” I reached for her hands and brought them up so they hovered over my mounds. Let her rest on them. Massage. Squeeze. Pinch.

Her breath tightened when I moaned. “Yess. More. Harder.”

She increased the power and tempo, twisting the flesh until it was streaked with marks. Pleasure mounted. I batted her hands away and flopped so one tit dusted her mouth. “Bite.”

I hissed when she obliged. Writhed on top of her, our pussies brushing.

My nipple left her mouth with a pop as I reversed until I straddled her feet and lowered my face to hover her pussy. Eyed her and did nothing but let my breath play across her pubes. She began to wriggle with impatience at my tickly breaths. I darted my hands out and caught both her wrists, pinning them by her sides. Grinned up at her.

“I'm not gonna make love to you.” I extended my tongue and pressed it against her folds. Ran it up, flicked her clit and carried on, leaving a wet stripe up her belly, between the valley of her tits, across her throat and chin, until I pressed my mouth to hers in a fierce kiss that she moaned into. When I broke away, I finished the sentence. “I’m not gonna stop until you beg me to.”

I watched the shudder ripple down her body, and followed it with kisses that ended at her tits. They were full and probably three times the size of mine, yet perfectly in proportion to her body. I caressed the flesh, skimming my face from orb to orb, kissing, nuzzling, nipping. When I finally reached the top of one and sucked her cap into my mouth, she struggled in my grip, sighing and moaning, “More!”

I clamped my teeth, bit and raked them clear. She squealed. Rolled her body so her other breast nudged my mouth and pleaded for the same treatment. I swirled my tongue. Captured. Bit. Swirled. Bit. Sucked. Bit. Grazed, then lapped to soothe it, before drawing it skyward between my teeth until she yelped.

Gently nuzzling the marks, I drifted down to skim her belly. Down to pause over her pussy and breathe her in. She was dripping, and her scent filled my nostrils.

She lifted her hips off the bed to meet my mouth. I backed away. “Greedy.”

“Tease.”

“Oh, you want to cum do you? Think you can handle it now, huh?”

She nodded and I let go of her wrists. Traced one hand down to cup her pussy. Rubbed. Her moan turned to a sustained throaty note and I opened my palm up, wet the middle two fingers in her juices and slid them inside her. No sooner had I inserted my digits, I swooped my mouth to her clit. Fluttered my tongue rapidly and sucked as hard as I could.

The reaction was instantaneous. She arched off the bed and I beckoned my fingers inside her needy snatch, my tongue and lips working a dance over her clit, wetness increasing by the moment.

Less than a minute later, she began gasping. Rocking, to the point I had to work hard to maintain my mouth around her jewel, sucking and flashing my tongue as obscene squelches filled the room. She bunched the sheets in her fists and wailed as she came, firing a few, short, wet jets into my palm.

Her body quivered. Locked in stasis. Just the lengthy cries fading to whimpers and then murmurs of satisfaction, until she slumped to the mattress, joy etched on her face, framed by the oaky halo of hair.

I withdrew my soaked hand and licked it clean, adding to my already shiny lips and chin. She was sprawled haphazardly, and I picked up the closest leg, hooked it over my knee and brought my pussy to kiss hers.

Her brow furrowed. “What are y…” she gasped when I ground my hips against hers.

I smiled. “You haven't begged me to stop yet. And I figure you have at least two more of those inside you.”

“Two?!”

“Mmhmm, minimum.” I rolled my hips, legs scissored with hers, our clits nudging with every gyration. Our pussies kissed time and again, wet smacks and escalating sighs echoing off the bedroom walls.

The mirror above the dresser reflected our union as we ground cunts, gasps rising. I'm surprised we didn't have an audience beneath the open window when our climaxes built and spilled, both of us groaning loudly in shared release.

And I was right. She did have another in her after that, which I coaxed from her using solely the tip of my tongue fluttering her appreciative clit. Her thighs clamped my ears when she came and I drank every sigh and shudder that accompanied her juices.

Flopping alongside her in the morning rays, we idly traced fingertips across skin, recovering. I ordered pastries and answered the door in just a pair of boy shorts, the delivery driver clearly unsure whether to ogle my tiny tits, the wet spot, or Taylor sprawled on the bed in the background.

We ate, trying not to drop crumbs in bed. I finished a hunk of fresh croissant.

“Do you like forensic accounting then?”

“Yes. Probably won't do it forever.”

“What else would you do?”

“No idea yet. That's future me’s problem.”

“What's your worst job?”

“I've not had any others.”

“Not even a paper round?”

She chewed and thought. “Well, I did work as a petrol pump attendant one summer from college. That was pretty dire. What about you?”

“Delivery driver.”

“How so?”

“They just collect so much data it's not even funny. Makes it harder to do the job, constantly watched, checking if I'm driving ecologically, that kind of thing. Boss was an ass-licker too. Would sell anyone out if it meant a pat on the back. I got fired for eating in the van.”

“Really?”

“Well, it probably didn't help I called him a dick. But the official reason was 56 counts of eating outside of my official break.” I shrugged. “Camera doesn't lie.”

“And you didn't learn from the first count?”

“It was all in one shift.”

“Eh?”

“I ate a bag of potato chips.”

She giggled. “Unreal.”

“Totally. But between that and the subordination, it was enough to tip them over the edge. I decided that day I was done working for someone else. Began setting the workshop up. Never looked back.”

“Wow.”

When breakfast was done, we lounged in bed until she had to go to work. I rolled into the garage at 10, but my thoughts were never far from her, the way she tasted still fresh on my tongue.

Even by the time I dumped my keys on the coffee table and stripped off, I was still a horny mess. Ran a bath, adding salts and suds and climbing in while it was filling up. I eyed the water. Hooked my legs over the edges of the freestanding tub and scooched down until my pussy met the cascading stream from the faucet. Gasped and made micro adjustments so it hit the perfect spots, flinging my head back as the sensations grew. I called out her name when the climax gripped.

I can't remember a time I've been into someone this much, this fast. And that's what makes losing her all the more painful. To go from spending almost every day with her, every chance we got between our schedules and his frequent trips away, to nothing, in the blink of an eye.

Another tear escapes and I catch it before it hits the duvet. Stifle a sob. What I can't fathom is that she seemed happiest when we were together. Like she was weightless away from him.

I met him once. We'd been at her place and he'd called to ask if they needed any groceries picking up on his way back from the airport. She still wore my cunt juices on her lips when she greeted him. Pecked him on the cheek. He must have been able to smell me, if not on her face, infused in the air of their suburban dream home. But he said nothing.

My introduction was “a friend from Pilates” followed by an invitation to stay for dinner.

I watched their dynamic from across the kitchen. He was a little controlling. Stuff had to be done his way. Utensils put away or cloths folded immediately. The right knife for the job. Small things that added up to something larger. 

Maybe that's what she wants. Needs. She always preferred playing a submissive role when we were in bed. Makes sense with the pressures of her job that she'd want to relinquish control in private.

I can only assume she still needs real cock. Her true sexuality has been repressed for years while she fits into societal pigeon holes, and I don't think she's yet fully admitted to herself she's bisexual.

We did talk about picking up a random guy one time, and I'd have been cool with it. I’d have happily watched them fuck, touching myself. Maybe even joined them, swinging my leg over her face and absorbing her cries as he pounded her behind me and watched my cum drizzle over her chin.

I suspect her ideal scenario would be for Chris to join us, but she’s terrified he would see me as a threat. It says something about their relationship when she'd consider screwing another guy in my company instead of her fiancé.

Whatever. It's all gone now. Evaporated a few hours ago. We were spending a final night together at her place, before he was due back today.

We'd watched some mildly amusing comedy on Netflix, put music on after, and danced and sung around the living room. She wore a monochrome blouse and, unconventionally, leggings that showed off her sumptuous butt.

During the first verse of Iris, I whirled her against the wall and kissed her. Roamed my hands down her body and tugged her leggings down to her thighs while she wrestled my T-shirt off and palmed my tits. Thumbed the nipples. She bent to suckle them while I rolled her pants and lace underwear to her knees. She tried to unceremoniously remove them but I stopped her. Slithered to my knees to face her cunt and peeled her legs clear of clothes.

Gazing up at her, I traced two fingertips from ankle to pussy. Drew lines along each exposed lip. Fluffed her thatch and trailed my hand down to the other ankle. Circled it and skimmed back up to her shapely hips.

The Goo Goo Dolls could have written the song about us. Her mouth parted, a breath taken as she murmured the lyrics about not wanting the world to see me because they wouldn't understand. I just stared up at her, shook my head, “You're so fucking beautiful,” and devoured her while she sung and wept. For her, for us, I don't know. Probably never will. But the tears soon gave way to rapture as her hands found the back of my head and clutched me to her slick pussy.

I let her natural fragrance flow, coating my lips and chin as she tensed and came, writhing between the wall and my mouth.

She held me there as she shook, slurping up stray droplets and savouring her sweetness. When she let go, still gasping, I stood, unbuttoning my jeans and freeing the strap-on. Both our gazes dropped to it as I scissored my fingers in her wet snatch and coated the phallus with her arousal. Turned her around so her palms pressed to the wall either side of the framed photo of her and Chris on a mountain overlooking an idyllic sunset.

Bringing the cock to her entrance, I held it. Leaned in and kissed her cheek. Her ear. Nipped the lobe. “You want this?”

She nodded.

“Beg for it.”

She paused. Chewed her lip. “Fuck me, Ren.”

I inserted it a few millimeters. “Beg.”

“Oh God, please, Ren. Fuck me.” Her voice hollowed. “Take me.”

Rolling my hips forward, I filled her and she moaned to the wall, breath fogging the photograph. I grabbed her waist, drew back and ploughed into her wetness.

I was shirtless, she was bottomless, and like some mismatched, patchwork living sculpture, joined at the hips, I fucked her. The flaps of my jeans crashed against her ass time and again, gradually getting wetter as her breathing intensified.

Slithering my hands up beneath her blouse, I clutched her tits. She gasped and bucked back against me, using the wall as leverage.

I sank my cock into her depths as Green Day filled the living room. Perhaps it was poignant, or foretelling, that it was Boulevard Of Broken Dreams. Because I am destined to walk alone.

My face was buried in her neck when the front door opened. Chris, home early and framed in the rectangle, was unmoving, jaw slack at the sight of his fiancée being railed with a strap-on by her boyish friend from Pilates.

She shoved me away with a shriek and I stumbled against the back of the couch, cock dripping between my feet. She was babbling. Pleading. I scrabbled to button up the wet silicone as she chased him to the door and thought better of running into the street without any underwear. She turned and hastily tugged her leggings on, sans panties, while I stared impotently at the wreckage we'd created.

“I should, uhh, should go.”

“No!” She whirled. Regarded me. “Yes. No. Ohhh fuck, I don't know.”

She ran from the house after Chris, and I stood there, shaking. Stooped to pick up my T-shirt. Lying next to it on the floor were her panties. If she brought him back, the first thing they’d see would be the discarded underwear, which’d make things worse. So I picked them up and pocketed them. Pulled on my T-shirt and left in a daze.

That was a few hours ago. In the sanctity of my bedroom, I reach into my jeans. Slip her panties out and stroke them. Bring them to my face and breathe her in. Relive her touches.

With a heavy sigh, I toss the lacy garment to the pillow. Roll off the bed. Shower. Dry. Begin dressing and stop, eyeing her underwear. No idea why I do it—to honor her memory? To be close to her one more time?—but I pick up the fabric, run the unfamiliar material through my fingers, bend and step into them, slithering the alien garment to nestle against my pussy.

Butterflies run rampage inside and, before I can talk myself out of it, I pull my jeans on top. Grab a tee and go to work, trying to distract myself with oil and machinery and car parts, but every time my hips move, the whispery lace reminds me of her and triggers a thrill.

When evening rolls in, I’m a horny wreck. Her panties are soaked and I can't face cooking. I order pizza and sit there staring into nothingness, slip a hand beneath the denim into her undies and finger myself on the couch as a summer rainstorm begins to batter the window panes. I wallow in memories of times spent laughing, kissing and fucking Taylor. Every tumbling thought brings equal parts joy and sadness as my pleasure mounts, jaw falling open, cunt dripping.

The knock on the door startles me and I sigh. Lick my fingers, button up, and traipse to accept the delivery.

It's not pizza.

It's Taylor, wringing wet floral summer dress clinging to her curves, a holdall in her left hand. Her engagement ring is missing.

My heart thuds, panicked pulse spiking. She shrugs. “We made up. Made love. But I broke down halfway through. Just couldn't do it. Every thought… every goddam thought was you.” She slicks a hand through her soaked mane. “I packed straight away.” 

“Oh. Wow. I…”

“Yeah. Told him I need some time to get my head straight.”

I step aside. She breezes past, leaving a thin trail of water and I shut the door. Catch her wrist and spin her into a kiss. She responds and I swipe away hair plastered to her temples. “We'd better get you out of these wet things.”

Brushing her shoulders, I nudge the dress straps, and the garment slithers to splat at her feet under the weight of water. She's totally nude beneath. I gulp and she chews her lip.

“I'm only half-fucked. Any suggestions?”

“Girl or boy?”

I trail kisses to her throat and she rolls her head back against the wall. “Just convince me I'm making the right choice.”

My lips find hers and I breathe her in, walking fingertips down her body to slip a digit inside her. She gasps into my mouth. Grabs my jeans and yanks them open, stroking my fake cock like it's the last object on Earth. She pauses when her fingers brush the lacy fabric.

We separate. I make eye contact, partly sheepish, but it's eclipsed by the desire burning between us. She arches an eyebrow and I shrug. “Why choose, when you can have both?”