You can imagine my surprise when I fucked Justin. No? Well, you'll be able to after I explain. I was fresh out of high school, 19, and had been in love with this man for, well, practically forever. I met him through a mutual friend, Danielle, who was also in love with him, and who wanted me to talk to him, so that I could talk her up. If you follow me...
Now, this was an unusual request to start with, because Danielle is, or I should say was, a lesbian. She suddenly declares she's bi, and desperately need me to talk to Justin for her. I was hesitant. My plight was this: I'm also bisexual, and was totally in love with Danielle. I had always fantasized about her; us kissing, her hands between my thighs, my face between hers; her lovely long fingers caressing me all over. She just made me shiver all over.
My heart was crushed when she decided she only had eyes for Justin, but she was too beautiful to say no to. Chestnut hair that flowed like water to just past her shoulders, perky breasts like small peaches, and an intoxicating habit of wearing vanilla perfume; and who could refuse the biggest pair of pleading green eyes on the planet? Not me.
So I did it, a bit reluctantly I'll admit, and immediately fell head over heels (again). I couldn't have mail-ordered a man any better. Tall, dark haired, dark eyed, smoking hot, Bob-Dylan looking man. (Now, I realize that not everyone thinks that Bob Dylan is the sexiest thing on earth, but I do!!!)
He played guitar, listened to jazz, was sophisticated, had the ghost of facial hair, and was a rebel. He was charming, polite, had the sexiest voice you've ever heard. He said that Jeff Buckley would charm the pants off any woman, and boy was he right. And, after I so eloquently spoke of her attributes, he was dating Danielle. Perfect, right? ( I began to think I shouldn't have spoken so flatteringly of her....oh well.)
So, as all the stories go, I loved him and her from afar, dated many others in the meantime, and secretly conjured up both of their faces when I masturbated in the shower. One fantasy became three; him alone, her alone, and the three of us together. Same old, same old. Until the week after graduation.
All of us were very active with the local theater company, and contributed to most of the shows. After the final showing of "Little Red Harley Girl" (our clever interpretation of the classic), chance happened to throw Justin and I together after the cast party. Alone.
Cleanup crew. Ah, the illustrious jobs assigned to the newest member of the cast. I sulkily put a Jeff Buckley CD into the player, and, dragging my feet, headed for the broom closet. I opened the door, and removed the broom, feeling like a very awkward, not to mention backwards Cinderella. The ball came first, the prince was gone, and here I stand, both shoes in hand, resigned to my cleaning duties once more.
I chucked my red strappy heels to the corner, and sighed. Theater people are too messy. The floor was littered with junk from the party. I had just begun to sweep all this crap up, when the stage door opened. "You missed the show, next time read the ticket!"
I called out, still unable to see the new arrival. Justin's deep sexy laugh floated out of the darkness. "Feeling a bit surly are we, Red?"
He chuckled. I sighed at his pet name for me, brought about from my ember-red hair, and sarcastically thought, "Damn, here's man o' my dreams again. I gotta stop dreaming about him, it ain't gonna happen." He stepped into the light, and I tossed a crumpled paper napkin at him playfully.
"Damn right I'm surly, since when does it fall to the lead actress to clean up after the rest of you slobs?" I retorted.
He snatched the napkin out of the air, and clutched it to his chest in mock-agony.
" A slob? Darling, I'm hurt!" he moaned, in characteristic drama form.
I sighed and continued sweeping. He laughed, and said, "Well, if you don't want my help, just say so. Jeeze, I never knew redheads were so moody. I just came back to give you a hand with the 'manual labor'." I straightened up, and grinned.
"Good, here, you can start with this," I said, and tossed him the broom.
He caught it deftly, and spun it like a baton.
"As the star actress commands," he said, and bowed deeply.
I flushed almost as red as the barely thigh-length dress I was wearing, and turned around quickly, so he wouldn't see it.
And then the trouble began.
He began sweeping, and I started picking up the larger bits of trash, very carefully bending away from him, so he wouldn't get any glimpse of the area I so desperately wanted his face to be buried in. On the second piece of trash, disaster struck. I heard a tiny 'snap' and then a cool breeze hit my pussy. My g-string, so carefully picked out at the local smut shop, so delicate and red, had snapped. I mumbled under my breath, "Damn cheap elastic,"
and clenched my thighs so that the very small piece of string and fabric would not tumble to the stage floor. Shit. Shit. Double shit.
Oblivious, he kept sweeping, as I managed to maneuver my way behind a piece of the set, and drop my broken underwear. "Dammit," I whispered.
From the other side, he called out, "Hey, where'd you go?"
I fumbled around loudly, pretending to shove something into my trash bag. "Oh nothing" I called out cheerily, "just getting the big stuff from behind here."
"Oh," floated back to me. "Ok." And the sweeping resumed.
I surveyed the destroyed undies. Hmmmm...... there was only a small tear, and looked like it could be easily fixed. The brilliant thought of "hey, I'll just leave it here until Justin leaves, and then I'll come back for it," surfaced. Yup, I'm a genius.
I walked out from behind the scenery, abandoning my g-string, and continued (very carefully) picking up trash. Justin looked up and asked me, "Hey, what's the matter? You feeling ok?"
