What goes on between my bi husband and the bi me.
"When you are fucking me Gordon, do you ever imagine I am someone else?" I asked my husband.
"To be truthful, Tina, yes I do sometimes," he replied after removing my nipple from his mouth.
"Anyone I know?" I asked stroking his semi-erect penis.
"No."
"Are they male or female?"
"It varies, but mostly it is you."
He kissed me and cupped one of my triple D boobs, or as I often thought of them udders, in his hand, squeezing and pinching it just as he knew I liked.
"But sometimes you imagine I am a man do you?"
"Yes."
"Is that more when you fuck my pussy or my bum?"
"Both. Now shut up, turn over and let me fuck your arse," he said just as I felt his erection completing.
*
Gordon and I were having one of our get togethers. We live apart, but meet every few weeks for a couple of days and do what married couples are meant to do: fuck like rabbits and then argue. The rest of the time, we lead our own, very separate lives.
He is a psychologist by profession, but also lectures at Cambridge University. I am a freelance writer, mainly of copy for ads, but also speeches, magazine and newspaper articles and erotic stories. He lives in Cambridge, I live in Islington. We have been together in what nowadays is a rather apart sort of way, for ten years, about half of which we have been married. By choice we have no children. We are both bisexual.
We met at an awards ceremony. It was one of those tedious advertising industry, self-glorification events or, as some of my more enlightened colleagues called it, a mutual jerk off session. An ad I had written was up for an award and Gordon who specialised in the psychological effect of the written word was one of the judges. I didn't win, an award that is, but I did win Gordon.
We chatted before the dinner at a small reception for the judges and nominees, then after it and later at a party at a night club. The mutual attraction was clear, particularly when we danced together at the night club and as his hand rubbed my bum, he whispered right into my ear.
"I have always loved large breasts Tina and yours look to be gorgeous," as he pulled me against him squashing my boobs against his chest and illustrating very clearly that he was erect. "And I always think women wearing glasses look so fucking sexy."
Having been large breasted since emerging from puberty I am used to such attention. Also I am used to meeting men who make more eye contact with my tits than they do with my eyes. Additionally, of course, I am used to being careful when I run or what I wear, particularly at the gym. Overall, though, I enjoy having large boobs and they do genuinely make me feel very sexy, but they can be a nuisance; I have missed numerous trains and buses because I feared causing a commotion by running and having my tits flying around all over the place.
I realised in my teens that to men, they are a little like a honey pot is to bees. And that gave me a problem because at that time I thought I was a lesbian. As my sexuality was emerging, I was not really aware of this 'inbetweeny' state of being bisexual. I did not feel comfortable with boys. I did not like the way they pawed me or the feel of their erections against me. Later in life, around my mid-twenties, I realised that I was put off men, and sex to an extent, by the way these inexperienced little buggers went about it.
Nevertheless, at the same time, I was attracted to the beauty, poise, elegance and style of some of the older girls at school and thought I had fallen in love with the school captain. I hadn't, but that did not stop her taking my lesbian virginity.
"Have you really?" I replied to Gordon.
Having been drinking since six in the evening and it now being three in the morning, I was slightly drunk as were most of us.
"Yes of course really," he said moving his chest so that it squashed firmly against my breasts.
I was thirty-six at the time, Gordon was ten years older. I had been in advertising since leaving university and he had been around the industry for years. Advertising attracts creative people, men and women who do not feel inhibited by the status quo, individuals who embrace change and new ideas and liberally minded people who are open to pushing out the boundaries. All of that makes for great advertising. It also makes for a very open, intimate, challenging and quite frankly a fucking sexy atmosphere and environment. There was more 'recreational' sex, as well as use of recreational drugs, in that industry than in most others, as well as affairs, bits on the side, office romances, one night stands and even office fucks. It really was a cess pool of sexual standards and morals and I loved it.
"I see," I muttered looking into his eyes not feeling shocked or that surprised.
"And that my lovely," he said with a glint in his eye. "Is exactly what I want."
"Huh. What do you mean?"
"To see Tina."
I understood what he meant then and after that everything fell into place, just as it tends to in the ad industry.
We kissed as we danced. We held hands as we left the club. In the cab he squeezed my breasts. In the lounge of his flat in Pimlico he undid my top and saw my tits and in the bedroom where we spent the night, he fucked me.
*
A few days after Gordon's and my latest get together I was with my occasional lover Molly. We see each other from time to time and although there was no strong romantic connection, we have fabulous sex. She was very 'attached' to a devoted lesbian and they were contemplating getting married and trying to adopt a child. I think I was her last 'fling' before she made that commitment.
We were in bed at my house in Islington. It was early-afternoon, which was the only time that Molly could safely get away from her lover. A successful investment banker, her partner Annie earned a fortune and insisted that her 'wife' did not work, but stayed at home and looked after her Victorian house in Hampstead and her. Molly had to cook dinner when they were in and Annie insisted she be there when she got home around seven. Hence, our afternoon affair.
We had been in bed since mid-day. There had been lots of 'fingersex', oral and body to body stuff, but little kissing. Molly had an illogical moral stance on some things; she would let me fuck her, but not kiss her. "That's just too intimate and it means love," she often told me leaving completely dumbfounded at her reasoning.
That said, she was an avid and enthusiastic lover with a fantastic tongue and a great love of anal, oral sex; I have never had my arse licked so well as she did it.
"I have a surprise for you Molly," I said sitting up in the bed naked.
"What is it?" she asked also sitting up so that the duvet fell away from her pert boobs.
Physically, Molly and I are contrasts. She is slim, petite probably. I am fuller and rounder. Whereas I am five feet six inches tall, she is just on five feet. She has short, blond spiky hair cut in a male style as ordained by Annie. I have shoulder length, black hair. Her tits are tiny, probably A cup, mine are huge, tripled D at least. Oh and yes I wear horn rim glasses, she has contacts.
"Be patient, I need to go to the toilet first," I told her.
Knowing that Molly's eyes would be on me as I climbed out of the bed and walked away her, I emphasised the sway of my hips and wiggle of my bum.
"Mmmm nice view lovey," she called out.
I looked over my shoulder and smiling said. "Like it do you?"
"You know I adore your arse, so hurry up."
