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Horny in Church [M23/F30]

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Kristina

I was a ringer for a small volunteer church choir. Basically, i was there to help keep the old folks in tune, on the beat, and fill out the sound of the bass section.

It wasn’t my favorite job, but the singers and choir director were all lovely people, and the pay was pretty good for the amount of work it demanded. The worst part for me was singing so early on Sunday mornings. I already felt my social life stifled by an atypical work schedule, and there was no way I could go out Saturday nights to drink with friends if I had to sing early the next morning. But I was making it work well enough.

The choir was all 65+ and being in my early 20’s made me stick out like a sore thumb. Or a green thumb, maybe. I didn’t mind it. Old people were relaxing to be around and I was always the cool guy in the room, even if I wasn’t all that cool outside of the church.

A few months after I started singing, a new member joined. Michelle was thin, blonde, very pretty, and a surprising addition to the choir. I guessed she was in her late 20’s or early 30’s. I think she had a young child, a toddler maybe. She gave off “young mom” vibes and dressed the part. She was suburban conservative and always looked neat, not flashy. I think she used to sing in high school or college and missed it, joining the choir to get her musical fix in an otherwise pretty ordinary middle-class life.

Michelle sang soprano and had a quiet but very clear tone. It was easy to hear her amongst the warbling vibratos of the senior altos and sopranos.

I tried to be subtle, but it was hard to keep my eyes off her in rehearsal. I didn’t care what was going on with anyone else, but when Michelle giggled at my occasional jokes, I was a happy guy.

Sopranos and basses sat on opposite ends of the room from one another, so I never got to talk to her much.

Sunday mornings, singers would file in around 15 minutes before service to don our robes and warm up our voices. It was pretty informal with most members having done the same routine for years, decades even.

In the sanctuary, we’d sit on the hard pews behind the pastor and wait patiently for our cues. Sometimes it came from the organ, sometimes piano, sometimes prayer. I just followed along, only taking charge when the next hymn began. I was not a seasoned church-goer.

The temperature of the sanctuary, the stillness of the air, the contemplative, conservative, and slow nature of the proceedings always made me so tired. I struggled to keep my eyes open some mornings, my body convincing itself that I was still in bed. In my comfort, ease, and boredom, my body and mind would inevitably wander. An idle brain is the devil’s playground, some say. And my mind certainly wandered where it should not.

I’d look out into the congregation where cute girls and beautiful women were few and far between. Sometimes college girls would come to church while on break. Sometimes young moms and their bland husbands would sit there, praying more for their kids to behave than to Jesus. I wondered if they ever glanced up during a prayer, would see me singing, and think I was cute.

Under the heavy, hot robes, I’d start to get hard, my arousal heightened by how taboo it was. I should absolutely not be getting hard in a church on a singing job.

But I couldn’t help it. I worried that if we had to stand for a hymn I might be caught, but the robes were big enough and my self-control just strong enough to keep me safe. This happened a lot.

A few months after Michelle joined, the choir director decided to change our seating arrangement during services to see if the blend would change.

“Sopranos and basses in the center, altos and tenors on the right and the left, please.” He said.

We filed up to the sanctuary, the olds gossiping quietly, me trying to wake up, Michelle a few heads behind me holding her music binder.

We got to the sanctuary and I found a seat almost right in the middle. This seat was nice and obstructed by the organ so if my eyes fluttered open and shut, probably no one would see. The choir shuffled in, slightly more confused on where to go than adults devrek escort should be.

On my left sat Michelle. Thank god, I thought.

“Hey, Michelle.” I said quietly as she sat down.

“Hi, Noah!” She said with a smile.

The service began and I was slightly more awake, listening for the new blend of the choir and happy to hear Michelle’s warm voice in my ear.

We sat back down after the first hymn and I leaned over to whisper, “You sound great. Glad I can actually hear you well today.”

She laughed quietly, “Thanks, you too.”

One thing I loved about Michelle is that she seemed to have a good sense of humor and was a little goofier than her exterior would betray. I got the sense she was enjoying being around someone closer to her age.

We were seated for a while in close quarters, the rest of the choir to our left and right, smooshing up in. At first, I made a half-hearted effort to keep our legs from touching, but as we sat there, I got the feeling she didn’t care much, and I relaxed, letting my lanky body push against her frame ever so slightly. It almost felt like she was leaning on me slightly. Probably not though.

I looked down at her left hand which was resting on her closed music binder. her fourth finger had the indent of a ring, but no ring. I thought about the implications and explanations.

As we sat there, bodies lightly pressed together, her light perfume or shampoo hovering near me, I started to feel myself grow hard.

I was nervous, but confident the robe would keep me discreet. I adjusted myself quickly as we stood up for the next hymn.

“Amen”, we all sang to conclude. And I was still hard.

Michelle touched my arm before we sat down and leaned towards my ear.

“I’m gonna scoot by. Bathroom.”

And before I could move, she brushed past me, her ass pressing right into my hard on as she slid by me.

Jesus Christ I was mortified. She didn’t react at all, just kept moving as she left through a side door. There was no way she could have missed it. I was certain she just wouldn’t come back at all after that. She’d just leave for the morning and call it a day. Maybe she’d claim she was sick and when I saw her in rehearsal next week she’d just never make eye contact and pretend it never happened. Maybe she’d tell the choir director and I’d get fired. That was my future.

I found it hard to concentrate for the next few minutes, trying to listen to the service to distract myself. But my internal monologue was far too busy for that to work.

After an agonizing 3 minutes, Michelle reentered the sanctuary and quietly ‘excuse me’d herself back to her seat.

I looked up at her as she was passing, afraid to make eye contact, but needing to know her reaction.

She met my eyes and a slight smirk crossed her face. She looked like she had a secret. She scooted by me and sat down, our bodies pressing into each other once again.

After a few seconds, she leaned over, putting her hang lightly on my thigh as she brought her mouth up to my ear.

“You’re bad.” She said, smiling. Her voice and breath sent shivers down my spine and made my now-soft cock twitch back to life.

“I’m so embarrassed, I’m sorry.” I said in a whisper back to her, looking her in the eye as she met my gaze.

“Don’t be.” She said, and then paused for a moment. “I get kinda turned on during service too.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. her hand lingered on my thigh before she slowly brought it back to her lap.

My cock was fully hard again, my mind racing.

“That’s so mean. You can’t tell me that.” I whispered back. “Now I’m going to be hard the rest of the service.”

“Sorry about that.” She said, not sorry at all.

The service proceeded, our bodies pressing tightly into one another, my cock hard as a rock and my heart racing faster.

Minute after minute my desire grew. I could feel myself start to shake, the nerves and the tension needing to be released.

After what seemed like an eternity, the service ended.

Amen.

Folks started to trickle out of the sanctuary altos and sopranos didim escort taking the door to the left, tenors and basses leaving to the right. I couldn’t move. And now that people were leaving, I was getting nervous about what might happen next.

“You coming?” Michelle asked.

“I can’t stand up yet.” I said to here as I fumbled with my music trying to make it look like I was still gathering up my belongings. She laughed a little and bit her lip, sitting back down next to me as the rest of the choir left.

“I guess that’s my fault. I’ll keep you company until you can stand up.”

“Thanks.” I said, worrying that her solution would only make the problem worse.

The sanctuary got quiet as just a few people were left.

Michelle looked around, checking to see if the coast was clear for me. We were still obstructed by the organ and everyone else in the room was almost out the door.

“You can take the robe off, it’s safe.” She said to me.

“I’m still…”

“I’ll help.”

I leaned forward in the pew and she reached behind me, unzipping my robe. I removed my arms from the sleeves and took it off. I kept it bunched up over my bulge.

Michelle looked at me.

“Come on.” She said, excited. “I wanna see it.”

I almost came.

“That would be…”

She grabbed the robe I had bunched up and slowly slid it out of my hands, revealing my bulge now fully visible through my knakis. It went down my right pant leg, wanting more than anything to tear the fabric apart and be free.

She inhaled a bit and licked her lips unconsciously before looking around, seeing no one. She turned away from me, showing the back of her robe and the zipper. I slowly reached out and unzipped her robe. Once loose, it slid down her shoulders revealing a flattering white, lacy sundress. She pulled the rest of the robe off and I saw it was pretty short. She looked beautiful. Her chest showed modest cleavage of her round b-cup breasts, her milky skin looking smooth, supple, and young.

She turned back towards me, her thighs lightly rubbing together and I looked down as she squirmed. She scooted closer towards me and opened her legs while subtly hiking her short dress up. I could see the pew was shiny under her seat: wet. Her white panties soaked as she moved one hand between her legs and slowly ran a finger up and down her slit outside her panties.

No longer feeling as self-conscious, I slowly unzipped my pants, pulling my hard cock agonizingly out of the fly. She stared at my manhood, mouth agape, almost drooling while she continued to lightly touch herself. She looked at my cock hungrily as she moved her panties aside to show me her beautiful, plump, clean, soaking pussy. My cock was already dripping as I ran my hand up and down the shaft a few times.

After a minute of studying each other, I leaned my head towards her and she met me, kissing me hard and slowly, her tongue hungry for mine. This only made us hungrier for more.

Michelle broke away from my face and dove her head towards my cock, enveloping my entire shaft in her mouth while I held the base. She slowly worked up and down, drenching me as she fingered herself. I brought my right hand to her thigh and crawled my fingers between her legs, needing to feel her velvety wetness. She moaned softly, her mouth completely filled with my cock. I put my finger over hers vigorously rubbing her clit, learning how she wanted to be touched.

After a minute, she started sucking faster, and my hips began to buck as I fucked her face, wanting to cum so badly.

My fingers entered her pussy and I could feel her walls tightening, her fingers moving more rapidly on her clit.

We were both about to cum soon and urgently before we got caught.

Michelle started to convulse in a quiet scream of an orgasm which sent me over the edge.

“I’m gonna cum.” I whispered in her ear before unloading wave after wave into her mouth. She sucked greedily as I felt myself unleashing an entire church service of sexual tension into her mouth, her plump lips and deft tongue stimulating the head of my cock in ways I’d digor escort never felt before. She sucked until I was dry, swallowing and savoring before composing herself.

We both looked around and then looked at each other with urgency that said, “We need to get out of here.” I put myself back in my pants with some difficulty, still half hard. Michelle wiped off her hand on the inside of her dress and we gathered our things to quietly exit. I pointed out left and her out the right door as we simultaneously had the same idea: leave from different exits. Brilliant, flawless plan.

We got up, a little disheveled and left. I could see Michelle’s legs shaking as she hobbled out. Walking down the stairs to the practice room, I started to sober up about the last few minutes proceedings and how hot they had been. Holy shit.

Back in the practice room, a few members were still chatting.

“Where were you two?!” She asked.

I froze.

Michelle picked up the baton quickly.

“We were talking about the Lord!” She said emphatically.

“You’re both so adorable!” The woman replied with a smile.

I smiled back real big and nodded, laughing.

“We’ll made a Christian out of you one of these days!” Michelle said to me.

“We’ll see!” I replied, making a show of it.

We put away our robes and Michelle said, “My daughter is in Bible study for another hour so I’m gonna have to stick around for a bit, but let me walk to to your car!”

“Sounds good!” I replied.

We left and Michelle took the keys out to her minivan.

“Come here.” She said, looking around the almost-empty lot. No people, just a few odd cars.

She activated the automatic door to her tan Honda Odyssey before climbing in.

“Get in here.” She commanded with a smile.

I obliged.

The whole back row of seats was down which left a lot of room behind her daughter’s car seat.

I was already getting hard again as she shut the door. She pressed her lips to mind, devouring me.

“You have to fuck me right now.” She said, pulling her dress up over her head. She was braless. My god was she hot. I didn’t even wait for her to take her panties off before I kissed her again, putting her on her back. Her body was divine, clean, wet, smooth. I wanted to taste her so badly.

I took my pants off as quickly as I could before thrusting my head between her legs to taste her pussy. She tasted sweet with the light musk of arousal, her juices intoxicating to me. I moved my tongue, trying to recall the rhythm and shapes in which she touched herself. She immediately reacted.

“Fuck, that feels so good. Keep going, Noah.”

I ran my tongue around her, trying to keep her body in one place as she shook and bucked with ecstasy.

“I’m gonna cum. Please fuck me. Please.” She begged.

I brought her right up to the edge before removing my tongue and replacing it with my now fully hard cock. I slid into her quickly and she almost lost her breath. I grabbed her thighs and fucked her hard and fast. The whole car was shaking as I pounded Michelle into oblivion, knowing I could only hold on for so long before I lost control of myself.

“Fuck, Michelle, you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Cum all over my, please!” She begged and I felt her walls tighten around me as she came again, this time moaning loudly in the privacy of her car.

“Fuck, I’m cumming!” She yelled in a quivering moan.

This threw me right over the edge and I pulled myself out of her before jetting cum all over her, streaking her pussy, belly, and small, perfect tits, even hitting her face with the force of my second orgasm.

It felt like my orgasm kept rolling even after I was done as we both panted in quiet ecstasy together. We looked at each other and Michelle pointed behind me to a beach towel on the floor. I grabbed it, wiped myself off and then crawled back to her, kissing her before wiping her body clean of my juice.

We looked out the window to see a still-empty parking lot, thank god.

“I never thought anything like this would happen in this choir.” I said, in disbelief.

“Neither did I.” She said.

“You’re amazing.” I said.

She blushed and smiled, not rushing to get dressed again.

“Want to do it again?” I asked, trying to be cool but internally desperate for more of her.

“We’ll see.” She said with a cheeky smile and a wink.”

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All Aboard the Hot Mess Express

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Anal

It all started with a shrimp ring and my desperate desire to fit in.

So there I was, done up in a fluffy black cocktail dress, four-inch Mary Janes that I’d worn to prom, and pearls, surrounded by restless homosexual men in ugly Norwegian sweaters, looking at the remains of a very stinky shrimp ring that was supposed to be the main course in our pescatarian-friendly Christmas Eve dinner.

I’d brought a loaf of Nutella pretzel-bread, some concoction that I’d seen on Pinterest and attempted after half a bottle of Moscato and an entire season of Doctor Who on a slow night at home. The hosts had done up this terrible excuse for finger food, hummus, homemade pita chips, and with my Nutella Braid, that was dinner. Jesus Christ, this was a dire emergency.

Brandon picked the vile thing up and took it over to the sink grinder. “Well, this is shit,” he proclaimed, dumping it down and turning the switch. He was twenty-eight and had an actual job at a call center, so we listened to his sage wisdom. Instead of making it better, the stench was worse, something like old vegetation, probably lettuce. The last thing anyone wanted to do was eat. “I’m sorry, guys. I have no idea what we were thinking. It looked okay at the store.” He shrugged and came back to us. He looked us all up and down, probably calculating in his head. Hummus, chips, and sweet bread wouldn’t sustain four hungry men in their twenties and the odd hag, especially not considering this was Christmas fucking Eve, dammit, and for once we planned to eat like kings. Kings that live in fishing communities, anyway.

Parties are bad enough. This one had gone from Tolerable Small Holiday Gathering to Dangerous Awkward Mess in about ten minutes. I wanted out, but I had to support my boys. So when one of the Other Couple suggested, “Fuck it, let’s go out!” I resisted the urge to flee back to the safety of my home and books and cheap wine and stable relationship. Against my better judgment, I piled into the Other Couple’s dinky little sedan and sped off into the night.

Now, if I’d have had any sense at all, I’d have volunteered to stay at the homestead and look after Brandon’s boyfriend Jason, who stressed himself into a migraine over the whole shrimp thing and went to bed. But no, I decided to do that thing people love to tell introverts to do. Come out of your shell, they say. It’ll be fun, they say. I looked Mad Men fabulous, I was with people I liked, what could possibly go wrong?

There is only one gay bar where I lived at this point in time. The rest are for rednecks, and we weren’t about to risk getting the shit beat out of us by the sad people who’d rather get shithoused and listen to Merle Haggard than be at Christmas dinner with their families.

Nobody does Christmas like small-town gays.

Kinkead’s is a little hole-in-the-wall place at the end of the booze street in our town where everybody knows everybody. It was done up in rainbow tinsel and lights, and they had these adorable little rainbow trees set up. It was festive and warm and inviting. Nate, the masculine half of the Other Couple, had made a good call. We hadn’t known there would be a drag show on Christmas Eve, but I guess we got lucky. One of the new girls was on stage lip-syncing Mariah Carey’s only Christmas hit. Fuck that shrimp, we were going to have a big gay Christmas and nothing or nobody was going to stop us.

Brandon decided I was his date for the night since Jason stayed home and it was a crime for anyone to dance alone on Christmas Eve. This of course meant he was paying for drinks and nobody would hassle me if we decided to take the party elsewhere. It’s probably worth mentioning that gay here is relative; Brandon and I had been spending an increasing amount of time together as of late. He’d come over with a bottle of wine and a bundt cake and we’d lay on the couch together and be big ol’ bitches, watching historical dramas on the tube and enjoying each other’s company when my girlfriend was urfa escort at work. There wasn’t anything wrong with this, exactly, but one day something between us changed and laughing turned into kissing and the lines just got blurrier from there. I blame the Borgias, that show is just too hot for its own good.

We didn’t talk about that. In our little community, what we did was just plain weird. I mean, he’s a perfectly respectable gay man. I’m a well-known bisexual woman, but I’d been with Mary for almost twenty off-on years. We’d been living together for the last five. Our relationship was pretty open, I mean, she’d sometimes bring a man home and I never got upset about it. Not once did it occur to me to see how she felt about me fucking our best gay friend.

I wasn’t worried about any of that tonight, though. Three beers in, I was good. I mean, my feet kind of hurt because four-inch heels, but no big deal. I was okay. The queens were down circulating with the crowd now that the first part of the show was over. One of Brandon’s queens came over and said hi, insisted we accompany her to the bar to “dump the latest tea”. I hadn’t met her yet but Brandon insisted she was “Awesome, Linden, she’s adorable. You’ll love her, I promise.”

And I did. She was funny and smart and kept our drinks full. She insisted we try her new favourite thing, which was the exact colour of Drano but tasted like a tropical bubblegum paradise. I liked it so much I had two more. You could hardly even taste the alcohol. It was time for the second part of the show and the other two guys wanted to depart for the only other club anything close to this one, so Brandon and I waved her off and stood up to collect our coats and go.

All at once, the drinks hit my system. The room spun like a Tilt-A-Whirl and suddenly my body seemed way too heavy for my spindly ankles. Brandon grabbed my waist before I went down. “Whoa, ladypants! You can’t be done yet! Come on, Paul called a cab.” It was like I was a little girl trying on my mother’s shoes. Brandon successfully got me off my stool and almost to the front of the bar when stairs happened. One of my retarded shoes slipped off and I put all 154 of my pounds onto my big toe. Something snapped, and I yelled, and the next thing I knew, I was ass-over-teakettle at the foot of the stairs. Brandon and Nate came down to try and pick me up, asking if I was okay, and all I could do was laugh.

Oh my lord, I was fucked completely up. I stood up, supported by somebody, immediately slammed the same damn foot into a stupid potted plant with Christmas lights on that fell over with a crash. “Okay, let’s just go. No, no, fucking come over here,” Brandon caught me and took off my other shoe. There was a dull cramp in my bum-foot, but the Liquid Plumber made me invincible! I was going to don my gayest apparel and spread some rainbow Christmas fucking cheer even if it crippled me!

If I’d have been at least sixty percent less drunk, I’d have realized my foot was fucked up and asked somebody to take me to the hospital or at least home to ice and elevate it. I don’t think anyone even realized anything was wrong. I wasn’t hurting much or really feeling much of anything, so I wasn’t about to ruin the good time. Paul stuck my shoes in my purse and that was where they stayed most of the night. The last thing I remember was a slight scene happening when I tried to go in the Electric Cowboy (exactly as awful as it sounds) without shoes on, and I put them back on for a whole five minutes to get in and then immediately fell over again when I got on the slick wooden dance floor.

The next morning was absolute hell on earth.

The light that shone through the curtains felt like needles in my eyes. I sat up, realized quickly how much pain I was in, how drunk I still was, and how bad I smelled. I stank like weed and shame and sweat and something that smelled suspiciously like rancid lipgloss, and possibly gravy. I uşak escort was also woefully underdressed. Oh, and there was blood all over the sheets, I was between two naked men, and a big piece of glass was stuck in my foot, which had swollen up twice its normal size.

Yes. I should have gone home the first time I fell and whacked my foot, but no. I was a goddamn trooper.

I pushed at the right guy’s shoulder and recoiled in horror when I saw Brandon’s TARDIS tattoo. My screaming woke him up. We managed to get me into the bathroom and peeled the glass out of my sole. He’d had some basic first aid training at university, so I at least was able to stop the bleeding until I could figure out what the hell else I could do about my giant foot and the growing list of bad decisions I’d made the night before. I gained a whole new appreciation of his body, actually seeing it in the full light of day. His cock bobbed around obscenely as he worked and as soon as he walked out to dispose of the foot-glass, I checked the first phone I found: eight in the morning. I wouldn’t have to go home until the afternoon. I didn’t want to be the family trainwreck that ruined Christmas.

Going through the house was like one of those murder-porn crime shows. It was obvious what happened when we backtracked the mess. There was a busted rocks glass at the bottom of the stairs which explained the bleeding, an unfamiliar bong on the coffee table, and the sad remains of a tofurkey on the stove. An M83 record was still on the player in the living room. Brandon assessed the damage and sent me to rest up while he found pants and got something for my foot. I hobbled over to the couch and laid back. He didn’t have an ice pack, but a bag of frozen fruit wrapped in a towel worked okay for the swelling. He lit us both a cigarette and we slowly put together the rest of the night.

Everything leading up to the Cowboy pretty much happened like I remembered.

I was an absolute mess there, and Brandon couldn’t let me out of his sight because apparently I said I was looking for the bathroom and ended up taking a bottle of beer off another table and upset the young redneck upstart that occupied it. He let it slide since I was a girl and obviously off my tit. Brandon was pretty wrecked but not as much as me, and actually thought that dancing and sweating it out might help.

Blurry images of the night before lit up my mind like a cinema. I remembered vaguely a dull throb in my whole leg, but the rest of me feeling amazing, crushed up against his chest, grinding back against him, inhibitions completely gone. I remembered feeling his hands snake down my hips and over my thighs and right up my skirt, but it’s not like anybody could see it for how crowded it was in there. I turned and shoved my bubble skirt into his crotch and stood on my toes to kiss him, and then faceplanted right there on the wood floor.

The evening went downhill from there.

Paul and Nate took off for the casino after a while, but Brandon was pretty sure I didn’t need to be around money or other people at this point. He called us a cab and we got home. There are deleted scenes here because somebody had to come over with the Hello Kitty bong and things, but we’re not certain of details. It had to be Gwen, our perpetually-stoned mutual friend, but she was nowhere to be found and it was very unlike her to just abandon her favourite pipe anywhere like that. Of course, that didn’t explain the new bong on the coffee table… but one step at a time. I wracked my brain for pictures of her or anybody, for that matter.

At one point, the Tudors was on the big TV and the room was hazy. Somebody was laughing, high-pitched giggling that few boys can pull off. I was on Brandon’s lap and a big pipe rested between our legs. It was heavy and warm and the pressure was too much. Brandon took a big hit and pulled my chin up to him. I kissed him and sucked the smoke in through his lips. I abandoned van escort the pipe on the floor and crawled back up into his lap. The laughter died down for some reason.

Jason came down the stairs and either didn’t notice or didn’t care, I don’t remember which. There was a brief exchange of words but it all sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher. The next part I remember was Brandon hefting me up the stairs wrapped around him and throwing me on the bed. I remember Jason laughing and pulling up a chair from the desk across the room and I didn’t have time to contemplate that because Brandon was yanking my dress over my head.

Midnight City filled my head. Somebody turned on the record player. Brandon’s peeling my panties off. They’re a sticky pink satin mess and somewhere on the floor now. Jason’s watching and someone else is in here too but I can’t see. I ceased caring when Brandon dove face-first between my legs. I let myself get lost in his week-old beard and soft tongue sliding between my lips, fingers sliding easily inside. I was so wet and relaxed that I didn’t tense when I felt the fat head of his cock pushing in, and I think I just forgot that people were watching. I curled my legs around his back and held his throat like he likes. His bony hips slammed into me fast, but that was exactly what I needed.

So we fucked for his boyfriend. I remembered the door shutting loudly at one point, and when it did, Jason started stroking himself through his American Eagle pjs. Brandon lasted a while; we were able to shift around twice. He pulled out to dig in the nightstand for a condom while I adjusted myself, bent over face-down on their bed. He held my hips like when we were dancing, but this time I wasn’t disappointed. He kept his own pace and yanked my hair back hard when he came, but I liked it. I was feeling a bit ill after, so I laid back on the bed. He was gone for a minute but then returned, and went back to work on me. He licked and sucked and fucked me with his hands until I was arched up off the bed and begging to come.

I must have passed out for a while after we fucked. I remember next waking up in Brandon’s arms, him still awake and talking to Jason. Jason had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, trailing smoke towards the ceiling. “Get some rest, baby,” Brandon’s voice was low and sweet. “You’re a star.”

At some point, the munchies hit and Brandon and Jason cooked the tofurkey. They brought some up to me to eat, but I hate tofu and rejected it. There was still some smeared on the wall to confirm this. I got up at some point to get a drink and that’s how the glass-foot happened.

We were quiet for a while, just observing and taking in everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours. He spoke before I did.

“So…I feel terrible about all of this.” He said. He pushed the ashtray across the table to me. “We’ll pay for you to see a doctor Monday if you need to. I think you probably need to. That foot looks like shit. I’d take you now, but it’s Christmas. Nobody’s there.” I nodded. I put my head in his lap and cried. God, it hurt so much and I was so fucking embarrassed I wanted to just die.

I would end up taking him up on that offer. It wasn’t broken, but it was definitely screwed up. The offending heels went missing somewhere between the Cowboy and bedroom, never to be seen again. Good riddance.

I’d love to say that the incident put me off of both booze and heels for life, but god, I love shoes too much. I did, however, resolve to never touch anything that isn’t beer outside my own home ever again, and I’ve kept that promise. I have also since made it a point to be thankful that both feet are attached, not broken, and not throbbing every time I put on shoes.

I would be with Mary for another two years. We separated on terrible terms and haven’t spoken since. Jason and Brandon are still together, far as I know. For a long while, Brandon and I still had our nights in, and sometimes Jason would sit in. Mary didn’t know for the longest time, and I’m pretty sure that was a contributing factor in our decline.

Every once in a while, I’ll go up to where the boys live now and we’ll relive our debauchery. But trust me, nobody ever gets as drunk as they did that Christmas.

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