Date: Mon, 10 Apr 2006 16:04:38 -0400
From: mymouthtrain@gmail.com
Subject: Wish I'd Taken Pictures 04

Legal stuff: You ain't old enough, don't read it.  You ain't mature enough,
still don't read it.

Given to Nifty for archive; if anyone else wants to post this somewhere,
ask first thanks.  Email is mymouthtrain@gmail.com.


Wish I'd Taken Pictures | 04

As we sat and ate our increasingly unhealthy meals, at a table as far away
from the counter as I could find, mind you, I gave Andrew a withering
stare.  "You could have warned me, man."

"Huh?"  He looked up with a bit of ketchup on one side of his mouth, a
smear I couldn't help but reach over and wipe off with my thumb.  He smiled
once he realized what I was saying.  "Oh, Jamie?" he asked, laughing a
little as I scowled at him.  "I'm sorry, I didn't know she was even working
today.  Her and I have been friends for so long that I just kind of forget
the effect she has on people who don't know her yet."

 My scowl deepened.  "So does he, uh, SHE always dress like that?"

Andrew shrugged, looking over at her, though we weren't in direct view of
the counter any longer.  "No; in fact, not usually, but when she dresses I
always refer to her in the feminine because it's just easier that way.
When she's dressed normally, I call her a guy."  Another ambiguous shrug.

I didn't say anything more as I finish my McMeal, complete with my McFries
and McShake.

--

Later that night, Andrew invited me to stay with him at his apartment, and
I just couldn't be stuffed to drive home.  Plus, as was revealed in his
initial offer, he had tons of alcohol and a shitload of movies for us to
laugh stupidly over.  We argued for a good hour over who would sleep where,
however, with me winning the couch and letting him take the bed when I
pointed out that it was only fair since I had done the same to him the
night before.  He conceded with a begrudging smile.

God, I was schnockered, though.  We'd really drunk our weights in beer,
tequila, and vodka, it seemed, and it was all just now catching up with my
head.  It felt light as a feather yet like it weighed as much as the
heaviest bowling ball all at once.  I had no idea how I was going to be
able to work tomorrow.  I crashed pretty soundlessly on Andrew's couch in
my boxers and was out in seconds.  I vaguely remember hearing a knock at
the door at one point and some muffled whispering, but for all I knew, it
was only in my dreams.  My dreams, which consisted of Andrew in
disturbingly alarming rates of clotheslessness.

I woke up somewhere on the cusp of dawn that next morning with the urgent
and grating need to pee.  Not knowing where it was I needed to go, I palmed
open the first door I came to.  Blearily, I blinked into the semi-darkness.

When I finally focused, I definitely saw something I wasn't expecting.
Something I'll probably never forget.

Andrew was lying naked on his altar of a bed, on his stomach, with one arm
crossed underneath himself and toward me, fingers curled up and beseeching,
like he was reaching out to me.  His back was curved just enough to raise
his ass slightly in the air, and the line it made was still beautiful, even
in my memory.  Everything past it, though, was what had me standing there
for a full minute in complete shock.

His legs were spread wide, wide enough to admit the body of another man
between them, which was exactly what was there.  I'll never forget the
sounds: the grunts, the breathy pants from Andrew as I watched this unnamed
man's dick slide out and in between Andrew's asscheeks, fucking him like a
girl.  Only Andrew wasn't like any girl I had ever seen before.

His face was toward me, his eyes half-shut in an expression of drunken
hedonism.  His mouth parted in the tiniest, sexiest little O.  His hand,
the one not pointed palm-up toward me, was beneath him, making jerking
motions, and I knew what he was doing.  It wasn't until he shut his eyes
tight and let out a pleading groan that I snapped back into reality and had
enough sense to back out of the room and close the door behind me.
Immediately after, I found the bathroom, still trying to process what I had
just witnessed.

He didn't come out until fifteen minutes later.  He was wearing a pair of
jeans with the knees torn out, and a huge hooded sweatshirt with the old
Soundgarden logo emblazoned across it.  I was sitting at the little
breakfast nook in his kitchen.  He took a seat with one leg underneath him
in the overstuffed easy chair in the corner of his living/dining room
combo.  A safe distance away, I noted, like he expected me to get violent.
Violence wasn't quite the sort of physical thought permeating my head.

"So..." he began, then stuttered off like he didn't know what to say.  He
wouldn't exactly look at me, so I felt completely free to look directly at
him.  His hair was still messed up, wild and about his shoulders like a
dark cloud, and there was a line on his face from where it had been pressed
to his pillow.  His mouth looked puffy and bitten.  In short, he looked
very well-fucked.

I sighed after another few minutes of silence, never one to not talk about
the proverbial elephant in the room.  "Sorry for walking in on you like
that, man."

He finally glanced my way.  I could see the nervousness on his face.  "It's
okay," he replied softly, nearly inaudibly, then he swallowed.  "I'm sorry,
too."

I cocked my head.  "For?"

Andrew's face broke out in a fleeting smile, and he waved a hand around
helplessly.  "For... I don't know, that," he said lamely.

"For finding out the way I did?" I offered helpfully.  He nodded, a bit
relieved I think.  "How come you never told me before?"

"That I like getting plugged in the ass?  I don't know, Bri," Andrew
laughed hollowly, "it never seemed like the proper thing to bring up."

His little joke did the trick, and the tension left the air like Elvis
after a concert.  "Well, yeah, maybe not in that kind of language,
but... shit, man, I wouldn't have cared if you'd just come out and said you
were gay."

"I'm not gay," Andrew countered immediately.  "I'm bisexual, but I don't
see where any of that has anything to do with you, or our friendship.  And
what do you mean, 'wouldn't have cared'?  Does this mean you do?"

I swallowed, digesting what he was saying and trying to think of a careful
comeback.  I had to tiptoe around this subject matter, I knew, or I'd end
up revealing far more about myself than I was willing to divulge-far more
about myself than I was willing to admit even to myself.  "Well, you gotta
admit, what I walked in on... ever see your parents having sex?"  That
wasn't anything near what I wanted to say, but I couldn't raise any
suspicions.  Not around Andrew.  "Well, it was kinda the same thing."

Andrew snorted.  "Aww, thanks man, good to know how appealing I am to you,"
he said, utterly disgusted but in a goodnatured way.  I knew I had
officially thwarted his suspicions.

We didn't say anything for a good moment because after that,
Andrew's... whatever... came out, thankfully fully clothed, and left.
Andrew didn't even kiss the guy goodbye or anything, just waved from his
chair when the guy said, "Later, Andy," after giving me the once-over.  I
couldn't help but think the guy entirely too ugly for someone like Andrew,
then promptly chased that thought under the table.  No need to start
judging the guy's taste in romantic partners.

"So..." I ventured after the ringing sound of the door slamming shut had
completely disappeared, "is that your boyfriend?"

Andrew actually looked surprised.  "Him?  Oh God no, he's just a friend.
He and I, we'd never make good partners.  We just fuck whenever one of us
is feeling lonely or we've been dumped or whatever.  It's just casual
between us."

Why did that relieve me so?  I guess something showed on my face because
Andrew gave me a strange look before shaking his head.  Unable to school my
expression, I looked away and admitted, "I didn't think he looked your
type, that's all."  And that was the truth, too, or at least as much of it
as I wanted to admit out loud.

Andrew drew his bottom lip in his mouth, nodding.  "He isn't, but that
doesn't mean the sex was terrible or anything.  Colin's pretty skilled in
the fine art of fucking ass."  I caught the teasing grin on his face.
"But, no, he really isn't."  He got a thoughtful look on his face.
"Considering you just now found out about my sexuality, what makes you
think you even know my type?"

Wanting to answer, "Because I hoped I would be your type," was NOT the
answer I was going to give, no matter what my cock was telling me to do.

|to be continued. Thanks for the response. Sorry for the wait, from here on
out there shall be weekly updates.|