Sex, Love, Exhibtionism

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My “catalyst,” as posted on BBGL

{Boy Boy Girl Love is an excellent tumblr – one of the very first I started following, and I love it. They also have a cool non-tumblr site, with a forum. I registered today, and it seems like a really neat place.

There’s a post there that asks about your “catalyst” for thinking about bisexual-type things. I started to write a post describing mine, but – as these things often do for me – it turned into a novella. I figured I’d post it here instead (and probably post a much briefer version on the BBGL site). So, here goes. My bisexual fantasy catalyst:}

When I was a sophomore in college, I found out that my longtime girlfriend had been cheating on me for some time. I was totally wrecked and we ended up breaking up.

Before we did, though, we tried for a while to patch things up. I pressed her for details about what had happened. I told her (and myself) that I needed to know and understand what happened if there was to be any chance of forgiving her. That was probably true, at least in part. But also, hearing about it was incredibly arousing. Arousing and painful.

I remember pretty vividly the “big reveal” conversation, when she told me in detail about the first time she had sex with someone else.

We were sitting (yes, sitting) in her bathtub, naked of course, with the shower on (we used a lot of hot water that afternoon). She seemed almost in a trance as she told me the story. The guy was someone she’d been hanging out with for a while, “just a friend.” It was totally innocent at first, because … key point here: he was gay. I think that turned my girlfriend on from the beginning, whether she admitted it or not.

So, one afternoon, they were in his car in a secluded spot (no ulterior motive there, right?). The conversation turned to sex and he was complaining about how hard up he was, being gay in a small town in the 80s and all. (And to be fair, I’m sure that was rough.) He joked about how much he masturbated – and that’s where the line crossing started. “We’re friends, and we love each other as friends,” she said to him. “So it’s OK if you want to do it now.”

Well, he did want to do it now, as any sane guy of any orientation would have under the circumstances. He got his dick out, which she described as huge, and stroked it hard in front of her. They sat there in silence. I’m sure her eyes were locked on his cock as he worked it for her.

“I really thought that would be all there was to it,” she told me there in her shower. “I didn’t think there was any harm in it and I didn’t mean for it to go any farther.” (My own cock was rigid.) “But I guess I wasn’t really thinking at that point. I put my hand down my shorts and touched myself.” And as she said it, there in her tub, she looked me in the eye for the first time since she’d begun her story. She put her hand on her naked pussy and rubbed.

She masturbated slowly and continued her story: her hand going down her pants had an obvious effect on her friend and he “started jerking it really hard” and she watched him come.

That could have been the end of it, and of course she knew that. She had a choice to make. “I should have just stopped right there, stopped touching myself … laughed the whole thing off. He certainly wasn’t pressuring me for anything. But I didn’t.” And as she said that, she shifted to face me directly and spread her legs wide. Her little clit was red-pink and hard. She continued to rub it and went on.

“I didn’t stop. I took my shorts off, my panties. I spread my legs so he could see everything” – as she was doing for me as she spoke – “and I fingered myself.” She slid two fingers into her cunt.

Her words were like an icepick through my heart, a twinge of which I can still feel today, all these years later. We’d fucked not long before we got in the tub, and even back then my recovery time wasn’t great. But as my girlfriend described spreading her legs for another guy, my cock had gotten as hard as it had ever been in my life. I’d started masturbating shortly after she had.

So we stroked ourselves under the warm water and she went on. In my mind’s eye, I could see her there in his back seat. She told me she went all the way with it and got herself off as he watched. I could imagine her, as she got close, bucking her hips and moaning and flogging her cunt almost violently, the way she’d done for me many times.

Who knows what might have happened between the two of us, had the two of them stopped there. They hadn’t even touched each other at that point. But they didn’t stop. Once the waves of her orgasm with him passed, she regained herself enough to notice that his cock, his huge cock, was still out … and hard again.

She said she didn’t even think. I believe her. She didn’t think about me, she didn’t really even think about him. Just his huge organ, bigger than any she’d ever seen, right there in front of her, hers to take. So she took it. She straddled him without a word, using her right hand to guide it in – with some difficulty, she said. She thought it wouldn’t fit, she said. (Again: icepick.) But she got it in (she had to have been sopping wet). His earlier load was still sticky in his lap as she eased herself down, finally taking the whole thing. And she fucked him. She rode his cock, bouncing up and down on him in the back seat of his car in broad daylight. Filling herself up and breaking my heart.

She let him finish by getting on her hands and knees and giving him her cunt from behind. He shot his (second) load into her, with no condom (or other birth control) and no offer or request or pretense of pulling out.

I stood up and jerked myself to orgasm, shooting my semen over her reclining body. I’m sure that, as my come splattered down on her skin, I imagined his, oozing out of her stretched pussy. I don’t know how, or even if, they kissed afterwards. I don’t know how awkwardly they got dressed, or what they talked about, or where they went, or what they did.

I do know that it had been the first of many times for them. I guess that after they crossed the line, they fucked every chance they got. He was still “gay” though, and they were still “just friends.”

Of course, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. At first, I just imagined the scene she’d described. As much as it hurt, it was equally arousing. Then I’d imagine being there with them: my girlfriend sitting between us, all three of us masturbating. Then I’d watch them fuck. And finally, I realized I was fantasizing about joining them – but not just by interacting with her. For the first time in my life, I was fantasizing about sex with a man. I remember vividly lying in my dorm bed one afternoon, jerking off, and visualizing 69ing with my girlfriend while her friend fucked my ass. I can remember being somewhat shocked by that. And coming very hard.

As I said right at the beginning, she and I didn’t make it, and we didn’t stay friends. We certainly never had any kind of bi threesome. (Maybe that would have solved all our problems?)

Decades passed.

All the while, I sporadically fantasized about sex with men, almost always imagining my current female partner’s participation. And I went back to my girlfriend’s bathtub confession many times. It still makes me hard to think about it, to be honest. So that was my “catalyst” for thinking about bisexuality.

Bittersweet at best.

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Posted on Sunday, September 1 2013. Tagged with: Reminiscence
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Sex, Love, Exhibtionism The trials, tribulations, and occasional orgasms of a pretty normal guy
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