This story is protected by US copyright, though given the state of the law these days, I am not sure I am actually protected from anything. So, reproduction is limited by law that may be patriarchal and unfair, but it is what it is. That too is uncertain, sine "reproduction" is subject other emotional laws. Literotica shares limited copyright use because those are the terms of service, and where else can you get service like this?
If you are under 18 or reside in a jurisdiction in which depictions of wholesome pansexual behavior is forbidden, leave immediately and forget any of the behaviors you see.
Consider a generous gift to Literotica, whose people have walked the path of freedom.
Cause and Effect
It was the Solstice last night, the longest day of the year, at least for the summer version. It mystifies some of us at the bar that the shortest day of the year (Hello, Buenos Ares!) should be exactly the same length of day as the one we share in the Northern climes. Our group of ladies, queers, older drunks and hangers-on hoping to be one or more of those laughed about it.
The bar is a special place. It is on the Right Side of the River, which is to say we used to have less crime than over on the Big City side of the water, which was good, unless of course you were violating a few of the less violent crimes, like smoking dope or dressing in clothing that could be subject to misinterpretation. And since we delight in that, the local authorities were a small but noticeable problem.
They had enforced a prohibition against public sodomy, which we sort of agreed with, unless it was conducted in the privacy of a sedan or truck. The prohibition on gay bars being permitted to operate was a direct violation of our rights, but it just caused us to act a little more restrained than we would on the other side of the river.
So, I stopped in last week. I wore the usual business attire, which I like to wear with just a hint of fashion flair. The decline in grooming standards with the Pandemic is a disappointment. I don't mind men with facial hair, but c'mon, guys. Be neat!
Some of the usual gang was there, too. Mostly the younger guys, which is how I would describe what I used to be. The older ones have lost some energy and partnered up in self-defense for the duration. How they did that was sort of interesting, since I did the same thing and marveled at being a suburban housewife in everything except the housecoat.
I should explain it. I was in a tizzy of serial dating and hookups and it was making me dizzy. I was at a nice reception related to one of the cultural groups I support (when I remember) and got into a long, intelligent conversation about arts and education with a distinguished man a few years my senior. It was a nice crowd, intruding on none of the sides I normally try to minimize in polite society. It wound up with a farewell kiss over a handshake, which is unusual in many of the setting in which I operate. And that started a thing that got serious enough to talk about marriage. With me getting to be the bride. It was exciting, and I found I was drawn to it, and the firm masculine way he treated me- and the way we wound up making love. He was all man, and liked me to stay neat and shaven. It wasn't the manscaping that did it, since I enjoyed it, felt comfortable with the updated look, and adored how he would take me when the mood hit him. The marriage thing was a problem. It would have blown down all the careful fences I had around aspects of my life, and the relationship fell apart after a couple years. My fault.
I wound up back at the club again. It was a tradeoff deal. It was a gay bar going full out not to look like a gay bar, filled with gay men who weren't pretending anything, some gay women- I don't know why they stopped calling themselves lesbians, and some of us more ambiguous types who balanced the idea that what we are is a little more balanced in approach. Which is to say if my chromosomes were just a little different, I could be a cis-gender, queer or trans all in the same happy hour.
That is what it came down to last week. Jimmy-Jennifer was hanging at the Amen Corner in that club, the place where the long bar ends and takes the short leg back to the wall. It gives her a chance to survey the whole panoply of activity against the rest of the little tables and not have to be too alert to what was happening in the four stools that go to the wall.
Jennifer is sometimes Jimmy, a cute guy of indeterminate age who dressed well, crisp shirts, colorful ties, nicely polished footwear and suits with just a little flair in cut. He was very much a bottom, and that is where our friendship started one evening with a vigorous discussion about the lack of vibrant males in the club that evening.
The discussion was sparked by a young man. No surprise there, but this one had requested an old Billy Idol song from the playlist, and then proceeded to dance with himself on the little square of parquet floor where he could look in the mirror. He was cute but looked a little too concentrated on whatever statement he thought he was making.
Jimmy looked over at me and said "You shouldn't just dance the songs of your life. You should have them come right inside you."
I smiled. He is a funny guy- or whichever of the other 60-odd genders he had assumed that morning. "I think he is working out some subjective assertion issues," I said. "If he was a top, I might be interested." Jimmy nodded, probably thinking as Jennifer. That got us onto sex as the topic of the evening, not that it isn't in the afternoon or morning, if we had been day-drinking, regardless of how much sunlight we had.
We had been down the various rapids of life experience in suitably lit conversations. We both agreed things would have worked out a lot better if we had been born female, since that is the way we both preferred in intimate situations. We were also stuck with the masculine, stuff. I had played football as a defense mechanism against the bullying that the more effeminate kids I adored suffered. So, I was stuck with a distinctly male body, good guns, muscular but slender legs meeting in a sweet ass that arced up to a trim belly. Jimmy had been a track kid for the same reasons, and I envied his lean physique, long legs, and elegant neck that led to his smiling regular features and dynamite blue eyes.
We had to go over that a few times to get things straight in our curved worlds. He thought I was cute because I looked sort of masculine. I thought he was cute because he was slim and elegant and frankly handsome. That is the first glance part of it. Getting to the next step about who might be screwing whom, if it got to that, was an open topic and we agreed we would be better lesbians, if the ladies still called themselves that, and then usually ordered another drink.
The kid dancing with himself started off the crazy season that year. I thought of him that night when I got out my Hitachi Magic Wand after retiring and allowed electricity to do what I hadn't got around to that day. I liked the Wand, since it did not require me to get macho hard. It just asked to be pressed against my cock all hunched up between my legs and ride the excitement until I shot my load under its insistent head. That shot of relief is normally enough to tip me over into oblivion, but that night I dreamed about dancing. Not alone. It was with someone with great eyes, slinky frame, and body motions that made me tingle with excitement.
I told Jimmy that over the first drink the next day at the club. That was around the time of the big shoot-out at The Pulse Disco in Orlando. I had lived down that way on a business gig, and in those still recent times there wasn't anything like that, publicly, but some Jihadi shot like a hundred people, killing 49 mostly gay men. Hell, they were all gay people. If that happened today, we might get a national holiday.
But then we were just sad and decided to go over to his place and have a drink where it was quiet. He had a nice condo in a building just around the corner, 8th floor, with a great view of the big brown river and the shiny city on the other shore. Jimmy poured a couple of stiff vodkas, and said we ought to get comfortable. Given the solemnity we felt about the shootings, it seemed like a good idea. He got up and walked from the living room to the stairs and went up. I could hear things rustling around up there and took a firm sip of clear liquor, wondering what would come down the stairs.
When he- she, maybe would be better to keep my pronouns straight- came down the stairs, he had two long lengths of silky rich material over one arm. I was a little nervous he would come down nude, since I liked him as a pal and didn't want to screw that up with a quicky. But he was very kind.
"I know you swing my way, so I just thought we could ease into it with something nice and light." I nodded and smiled as he draped a shimmering thing on my lap and stepped back from the couch. He gave me that sunny smile and placed his silky thing on the coffee table and began to undress. I smiled right back and started to undo my tie, slipping off that silky thing, and unbuttoning my Brooks Brothers white shirt. He grinned and began to dance in place as he undid his slacks and let them drop to the floor. He was wearing a cool little set of bikini briefs, panties almost, and once he had kicked the boy-pants aside, pulled down his socks and threw them I the same general direction.
