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(Note to readers: Click on my profile, or the ‘stories’ link, to find the earlier chapters. Young city-dwellers Sherman and Kristi, and middle-aged suburbanites Brenda and Garth, are a full-swapping foursome. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older. Those situations, now or later, can include anal, interracial, lesbian, and gay male sex, along with multibody braiding and chaining. Some of the sex is physically rough, but all of it is consensual. Frequent readers of my writings should be aware that this story doesn’t have my usual upbeat tone.)
Chapter 11: Transition
I now thought of what we were in as The Foursome, capitalized. After our screw-and-make-up session, we went our separate-twosome ways again, with no immediate plans for another session together. Just because all hatchets were buried didn’t mean we were completely relaxed on every level. Garth’s parting quip seemed to hint that everything was okay, and that our prying into their swing club might bring them around to inviting us. Yet my hunch, echoed by Kristi when I brought it up, was that we all might be in relationship fatigue.
Also, the ‘steps’ we had taken, both to expand horizons and to achieve new and different pleasure through our multiplexing, left only one major step untaken: intimate contact by me and Garth. For all of his statements about his bicuriosity, and his willingness (even eagerness) for me to be his first, I could understand if he was getting cold feet. I didn’t want to push for scheduling the next session if he’d feel pressured. Hey, I cared about the big galoot. And it’s not like I’m comfortable about revealing my gay side to the wider world.
It was a few weeks after that session, without a new one scheduled, that Kristi asked that we attend the usual Wednesday night meeting of SafeSpace2U. As a good soulmate, I interrogated her.
“Is this for more than providing support to the community?”
“Brilliant, Sherlock,” she said, cleaning away her workday makeup. “I’ve gone quite a while without female body parts that aren’t mine.”
She had, in fact, recently requested a hall pass for lady fun, which I had granted. This workplace partner had been okay with below-the-neck phone pix, shared with me. Kristi knows what I like, and sent nudes, full frontal (of both side by side) and while tribbing. The other woman wasn’t as hot at my wife, but so few women are, and a second naked woman is always a welcome sight for me. Enough to increase my lower blood flow, and amp me further as I denied myself release during working hours.
At SafeSpace2U, we were our usual selves. Much of what happened that night was out of our usual involvement, and interest. It still got my attention.
Casey, who identified as a trans woman, argued with Omega, who identified as a feminist lesbian, about the validity of Casey’s experience, seeking to live as a woman after having matured physically male (within that general definition).
This had happened before. The policy of SafeSpace2U, handed down by parent organization Life’sGreatBeingTotallyQueer, was for such exchanges to proceed freely for ten minutes and then stop, whether resolved or not. This time, the argument rose to a shouting match, with partisans joining on both sides, and rolling past the ten-minute deadline despite all of the moderator’s attempts to have the stoppage obeyed.
Like many others seeking to revise gender, Casey had gone on hormones but not through surgery, which remains prohibitively expensive for most people. Omega, who had chosen that name both to escape cultural gender labels and to pledge allegiance to all underclasses, asserted that anyone who has not gone through all life as a woman (enduring the physiology of the reproductive system, the roles imposed by society and religion, and limits on economic and educational opportunity) had no business playing at ‘pseudo-femininity.’
Where this got personal was on Casey’s effort to get a dry-cleaning shop qualified as woman-owned, and eligible for special treatment under state law. Omega saw Casey as seeking an undeserved entitlement. Each side accused the other of hostility, and alleged that Life’sGreat allowed the other side to hold sway within the organization.
The moderator finally called a halt by warning that Elmendorf’s Pub, which permitted the second-floor party room to be used by SafeSpace2U, might soon restore order by sending up bouncers. Elmendorf’s was friendly to diversity, and got much of its business from LGBTQs seeking to hook up. The management, however, wouldn’t tolerate rowdiness for very long, especially from people who weren’t buying drinks.
The antagonists, and their most energetic supporters, stormed out in the highest of dudgeon, creating some extra drama on the stairs. In time, the volume dropped on the decrying of haters and the consequences threatened to Life’sGreat.
The ankara iri göğüsleri olan escortlar result was some civil discourse that might have helped heal the breach. One trans woman, who hadn’t stormed out, declared support and understanding for cis women, who endured the experience imposed by biology and culture. A cis lesbian responded with encouragement for anyone seeking a more valid identity, to escape the one imposed by biology and culture. These expressions came across as thoughtful and sincere.
The meeting then settled into one of its main activities, allowing attendees to vent about their experiences with intolerant relatives, coworkers, or people in general, and receive verbal support and commiseration from everyone else.
As that went on, my mind stayed focused on the earlier topic. That continued during the post-adjournment chat. I was preoccupied, sitting and staring off, and an urgent whisper found my left ear: “Earth to Sherman!”
I jolted, and looked up at Kristi. “Turn on some charm,” she said, a hand nudging into my armpit to stand me up. “You’ll thank me.”
My wife directed me to a white woman taller than I, slender, long-faced, with short hair spiked pink and green. Despite the hair, she came across as shy, and I think more so when I arrived on the scene. She said she was new to SafeSpace2U, new to learning about herself, and new to interracial couples who might take an interest in her.
We arranged to meet on Friday, on the main floor at Elmendorf’s, at 10 p.m., because of her work hours. I didn’t catch what her work was. All I caught was her name, Gerri.
On the way home, Kristi was almost giddy, hugging my arm as I drove. “Thank you for sealing the deal. I might have been able to steamroll her by myself, but you reassured her with male anatomy.”
“So, you read her as bicurious with straight history?”
“She basically said that herself, but body language reinforced it.” She paused. “When I pointed you out, her eyes popped.”
“Dark meat, but safe.”
“I said nothing to her about that. Problem?”
“No more than it ever is.” Which was true. My ethnicity carries many cultural tags for some people, but purely in terms of appearance, I can’t blame someone for being as superficial as I am. I thought Gerri was cute, in an almost-bucktoothed, geeky scarecrow way.
Kristi asked, “Were you nodding off, or something?”
“Hmm? No, just thinking about the uproar. Trans is a real frontier. What we do…isn’t, so much. We’re pretty vanilla.”
She knew who I meant by ‘we.’ “Four sapiosexuals with clearly-defined, well-functioning bodies,” she said. “Such people might also have kinks or wild interests, but they may not need them. Do you find any of what we do lacking?”
“Me neither, except for what might be my unhealthy interest in an onslaught of pricks.”
Her self-mockery reassured me. We had fun sex that night.
On Friday, pathetic workaholics that we are, Kristi and I squeezed in some brought-home work after dinner. At Elmendorf’s, we chatted briefly with Gerri, who made it clear that she didn’t want to get hammered and did want things to get going, so we welcomed her to our place around 10:30.
Gerri asked us to play a chip of mood music she had mixed. It did nothing for me, but I could ignore it, and I got that vibe from Kristi too.
Our guest was skittish. Kristi and I made out with her slowly, waiting for her to make moves on clothing removal and adventurous touching. Gerri initiated some kissing to each of us. She got worked up but remained inhibited.
“Kristi,” she asked, “Can I, uh, undress your h-husband?”
Our partner was young and new and worried. In that situation, Kristi and I bury our sarcasm and don’t point out that we’d invited her here to make use of both of us, permission already granted.
With a smile, Kristi replied, “Please do.”
I arranged myself to make that possible. As she stripped me, her height and the Wednesday kerfuffle sent a thought through me: Is she really a woman? Or a crossdresser? A pre-op trans? Was I going to have to flip my internal switch and treat ‘Gerri’ differently?
I stifled my laugh at myself. I was better prepared for such a surprise than the majority of men.
When she had me in the buff, Gerri lightly ran her hands over my chest and arms. She leaned to look close. In deference to her shyness, we had the bedroom light partly dimmed.
She turned to Kristi. “Could I watch you, for a while? With him?”
“Sure,” said Kristi brightly. “Do you want to undress me?”
“Oh. Yeah!” Eagerly she started on blouse buttons.
“Tell you what, though. You’d give that guy a thrill if we did that to each other.”
“Oooh!” said Gerri, and hand to her mouth, finally looking like she was having fun. She grinned at me and said, “Okay!”
They teased as they did, of course, and Gerri elvankent götü büyük escortlar followed Kristi’s lead when they made out as skin was exposed. Each smacked the other’s butt when revealed to tiny undies. I whooped and applauded.
What I saw of Gerri appeared lifelong female. Her breasts were small, but the areolas large and dark. Her shaved crotch showed a prominent mons veneris. I was good to go as a horny ‘straight’ male.
In keeping with Gerri’s earlier request, Kristi moved across and started messing with me. Gerri sat cross-legged to my left while Kristi got sinuous along my right. Gerri stroked my thigh and gazed at my thickening putz.
For a little while, Gerri directed us in a personal live porno. “Kiss her!” “Grab his dick!” “Suck her boob!”
Kristi looked across, seeing Gerri fingering herself. “You sure this is all you want?”
“Yes! No! I mean I want you both! But–but–how?”
We then started suggesting and guiding, and had her do a mirror-image of Kristi on my right side. For a while I fondled her back, and slid my body along hers. Then Kristi had Gerri share in what was very light handling of my boner.
“I want to lick it,” said Gerri breathily, “but only a little.”
Which she did. I don’t think she liked it much. Kristi picked up on that, saying, “Are you ready for some fun with me?”
She was. Kristi moved back across, and I eased to the side as the women embraced. I, erect and abandoned, decided it would be impolite to jerk off while watching them. Something that would never be an issue in The Foursome.
Gerri was awkward and jerky even when aroused and comforted, and it was difficult for her new lovers to distinguish her orgasms from her twitches. But she seemed to gain a few of the former, and before long Kristi really got into it, slaking her lesbo thirst. Fortunately, even while she was a ravening vixen, Kristi didn’t try to fist Gerri.
They tribbed to wild yelps. Teeth might have gotten involved with nipples. Despite all the frenzy, they were both on a substrate of control, because they left their ani alone.
On a hunch, and having nothing better to do, I got up and fetched Kristi’s knock-off magic wand. To my mild surprise, they both waved it away, then resumed a sweaty sixty-nine.
Finally they parted, wheezing. They lay on their backs, a near hand moving across to make light contact.
“That was great,” said Gerri hoarsely. “Thank you for helping me out with that, Kristi.”
“Thank you, I really–“
“But I’m not leaving here without a cock fuck.” Her head lolled in my direction. “Is that okay, Sherman?”
“Absolutely!” I declared. “Let me win you back to the correct side!”
Kristi snarked, “Eat shit, Pig!” She walloped me with a pillow.
Fun ensued briefly, but while still laughing Gerri pulled me on top of her. I condomed and began missionary, sort of towering over a woman taller than I. She was really wet and her muscles were pretty slack, which was good, because I was tight inside her and we had to shift and coordinate before I could get to a steady drive. She moaned and held me close. It soon became clear when and how much I energized her G Spot, as sudden breaths were joined by flexures from her thighs and gut. She closed her fists and pressed them on my back as she came, for several seconds.
One of her arms left my back. Looking over, I saw Gerri’s hand find Kristi’s for a squeeze.
In both joy and humor, Gerri declared, “I can have sex with the whole world!”
We laughed with her.
“A prodigious responsibility,” said Kristi. “Take it slow. You’re still young.”
Our parting was friendly, although we drew Gerri out on how she felt after she’d had time to think through what we’d done. As Kristi and I expected (and, in fact, hoped), she welcomed intimacy with us but didn’t feel good about intruding on the emotional lives of a bonded couple, however polysexual we were. We pledged to be there for her if she needed us. She said that we’d helped her learn what she needed as she looked for a bonded relationship of her own. We said that if we didn’t contact her, it wasn’t ghosting, and we’d reply to any contact from her.
This left Kristi and I feeling virtuous about what we’d done. What we were perhaps uniquely qualified to do. While also getting our rocks off.
The next day, though, I mused about taking this further, as the Wednesday situation kept coming to mind.
“What do you think about the dustup at SafeSpace2U?” I asked Kristi as we were finishing breakfast.
“I think it’s inevitable anywhere you try to give everyone space and support,” she said, scrolling her phone. “Casey and Omega are obnoxious and intolerant, regardless of the merits of their positions.”
“True, but those merits can exist.”
Her eyes met mine. “Where are you going with this?”
Then I was all etimesgut çıtır escortlar fumbly. My thoughts were still pretty vague, and I knew I couldn’t sell such thoughts to my wife when she was ready to challenge them. I had married brilliance.
“What we did for Gerri…maybe we could try to do the same for honest, conflicted trans folk.”
“What we did for Gerri arose from my horniness,” she said. “The fact that we could help her gave me extra motivation. Is there a trans person you find attractive?”
“No, but that wouldn’t have to be necessary. It’s another way we could support the mission of SafeSpace2U.”
“That’s quite admirable,” she said, with a hint of derision. “But, setting aside what we could do, what has to happen before you could do it?”
Bullseye. “I’d have to come out.”
She favored me with a one-mouth-corner smile. “Maybe that’ll give you another reason.”
It could. It should. But right then, it wouldn’t.
Chapter 12: Qualifying for a B-Card
A few days later, we got an email from Garth, asking about our interest in an upcoming urban dance performance. We responded positively, of course. I got my usual excitement about The Foursome holding its own dance performance, wink wink, after that. I also was relieved to shelve what I might do for trans people, to further Garth’s bicuriosity. And, oh yeah, planking Brenda.
This generated more messages on both sides, many carrying links to mind food. Interesting and fun. But in one sense, unusual.
While we were at work, I sent Kristi a PM. >
She replied, >
> Even in a PM, I didn’t want to state the decision bluntly.
Kristi told me later that she’d asked Brenda if she was ghosting us, and assured her that from now on Kristi would keep her hands to herself. Less than an hour later, Brenda had replied that she liked what Kristi did with her hands, and might reciprocate soon after the dance performance.
“So,” I said during dinner, “this is all about Garth’s bi cherry.”
“I’m sure you’ll be gentle,” she said, clearly enjoying her grin.
I returned the grin. “And you’re not concerned about Brenda’s plans?”
“If she really wants that, I can hardly refuse. But I might request a safe word.”
I knew better than to plan things. We’d just be who we were, and see what we wanted to do. My experience was such that I knew bicuriosity to be a spectrum. Sometimes the reality reveals that this kind of sex is indeed part of your nature, and worth adding to your quest for pleasure. This turned out to be true for Gerri. Other times, however, the reality disappoints, and you decide that this self-discovery can be one-and-done.
This had nothing to do with me, beyond helping Garth find something to enjoy in what we did. In fact, my thoughts about sex with Garth were pretty much the same as they were with other men. Maybe it’d be physical fun, but not a life-changer. The difference was that I had become bromantic towards Garth, as part of my feelings about the totality of The Foursome.
The day before our convergence, Garth gave me cause for alarm. Fortunately he did it in a PM to me, and his meaning wasn’t hidden:
I made it very clear to him that he shouldn’t alter his body chemistry, and resulting mental acuity, to face a new experience. I told him that in an experiment, there should be only one variable, and that only in a later experiment should he do something like add poppers. Framed in those terms, he accepted my advice.
As we dined on Thai food, and then watched athletic bodies freestyle their moves, we were maybe more tense than we ought to be, maybe too obviously checking out Garth’s mood. I told myself that this was unavoidable, given the situation. We’d replace anxiety with ardor soon enough.
First thing we did at the condo was a group hug. Sincere by all of us, not caring if it was hokey. This developed as we chose. Brenda and I played a fair amount of tonsil hockey, and I didn’t immediately notice that I was being undressed. By Garth.
The women, however, interceded to get and give male touch and taste, as we progressed to nudity. In a return to our earlier cavorts, however, I had us take the loveseats in to augment the bed. Then I got us to the main agenda item.
“Your greatest fear is true, Garth,” I said, talking very slowly, thinking that would keep me from cracking up. “Once you touch a male human with any intimacy, you become gay forever! You will never fuck a woman again, and everyone on Earth will know immediately that you’re a contemptible little faggot!”
He laughed, and looked at Brenda. “Izzat so, Bren? Will I never again plow your fabulous field?”
“Not with anything that’s been up an ass,” she said. “Oh, wait, there’s this invention, I think it’s called the prophylactic.”
“Yeah, I seem to recall this thing being up yours a few times, with that invention.”
“What Sherm said was true, very long ago,” said Kristi. “There weren’t many people in the world, and news traveled fast to all of them. But we live in a more enlightened age. Women have learned how to be beards, because the men are so grateful when we straighten them out again. That’s how the diamond industry began.”
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