Len came by to take a look at my car and see what he could do about getting it started. My next door neighbor recommended him. He was her sometime mechanic, sometime friend, sometime lover. “It’s true what they say about mechanics,” she'd hinted.
I let her assume I knew what she meant. Another big nose or big foot allusion, I figured. Big hands. Long, thick fingers.
When we met in my apartment, I lotused myself onto a pillow on the floor. Len knelt in front of me, resting on his heels. It was instantaneous.
“So, you’ve got a Hyundai, right?!?” He pronounced the word with three syllables, and polished off the question with a sardonically angled brow.
It was then. I knew, if we were going to be involved in business, we were going to be sexually involved.
We didn’t mate immediately.
After sundown we sat in my “damned Hyundai.” I’d test driven it up the hill to his house to warm the engine and circulate the fluids. I complimented him on the work he'd done, repented again, smiled a lot.
He leaned toward me and kissed me. He tasted like lei hi moi, a little sweet, a little salty, and I knew, again, that we would be joining. Not that night, but soon.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” Len breathed.
“Me,too”
We laughed, and searched each other’s eyes. “Not tonight, though,” I said, with a contrite shift of voice. “I...”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain,” Len said, shaking away embarrasment with his head and his hands.
I reached to keep his hands from flying out the window. Men don’t want to know about these things, these circumstances of timing, I thought. Then, I thought, that’s not true, remembering Myku. Remembering our discoveries. Maybe it’s just Len who doesn’t want to know. I wondered about the wisdom of our intended coupling. I licked my lips, tasted soil and semen. I wanted more. No, it’s men, all men, I decided, dismissing Myku in my summation.
“I’m on my period,” I explained. You really should take an interest in the women you want to fuck, I silently admonished him. I licked my lips, again, noticed him watching my tongue, and reversed my criticism. “I don’t mind, well, you know,” I never know how to refer to sex the first time; that night I made a sweeping gesture across my breasts; his eyes followed my hands, “on my period,” Len, wide-eyed, nodded furiously, “it’s just that,” I rushed on, “the first time with anyone, I like to be off my period and not fertile, that way I’m not constrained by anything...” I trailed off and bobbed away from him.
“Baby, it’s okay. Your mouth. Give me your mouth, again.”
His body was small, fine-boned; fleshed out. We matched. My hands explored between his thighs. Through his jeans the bulge was hard and fat, pressed snuggly against his groin. I moaned as I touched it. His tongue probed along the inside of my cheeks, toward my throat.
We met later in the week. My car was fine. I perused his record collection, brandishing my buttocks in the air as I leaned over stacks of disks. Within minutes we were scouting each other with our hands, playing with clothes, leaving them ajar, dancing across the room for one another, manipulating the heat, nurturing our attraction.
When I am very excited, as I was with Len, I experience myself as swollen to a tight slit, needing to be pressured open and penetrated. Branded with my lover’s shape from the inside out.
Len felt nonintrusive, like a tampon. Typical, but not fundamental.
I clearly wanted this man’s company, and yearned after him between waist and thighs when we were apart. He had mentioned marriage, once, or something more permanent, over ice cream at Baskin Robbins. Because it was our second date, I laughed and joked that, “Len, I don’t think there is an angel of the Lord behind me pointing to me and telling you ’This is the one!’”
He laughed, too, and said, “I was just thinking that maybe there is.”
He’d been married before. I knew he wanted a wife. He knew I didn’t want to be a wife.
We liked each other. We got along well.
I made a mental note to find out from my next door neighbor exactly what was said about mechanics.
Marijuana is our recreational drug of choice. Luthor, Len’s best friend and mechanic partner of many years, supplies it regularly.
Luthor works for himself when Len works for the Department of Motor Vehicles and usually delivers our herb when Len is “shifting”. That’s Luthor’s word. I think of Len’s ability to shift, and that Luthor pointed this out to me, when Len and I are rocking amiably before sleep.
Luthor is older than Len and me by 10 years. He is weathered, relaxed. I can count on him to keep me in line while we visit and try each new batch of herb. He laughs when I mention the bigness of some part of him I am just noticing.
“You’re right, Luthor, this isn’t as good as some, but it’s good for rolling. My favorite thing, after eating it, is smoking a joint. I get so tired of pipes.”
Luthor grins and exhales through long, glittering teeth. “Been years since I smoked a joint!” he agrees.
“Your teeth are huge, of all things!” I exclaim. Then, before his discomfort settles, I stammer, “I mean, Luthor, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I keep mentioning, your physical, well, size, I don’t know what it is...” I manage a conciliatory giggle and try to disperse my comment by wiggling my fingers between us.
Luthor reaches across the table and catches my hand in his. He is not laughing. “Maybe you wonderin’ ’bout the size o’ my dick.”
My neck prickles with heat. I glance at him sharply, then down, away.
“It big,” he says, nodding. “Not huge. Big enough.”
“I,” I stutter, “I,”
“I know Len. He and me like brothers. I know he not well endowed. He a good man, but not a big man.” He looks down at my hand, clasped in his on the table, and shrugs. “Sometime, a woman just need a big man.” He looks back at me. “She need to know he inside her.” His voice is low, noncommittal. “That’s not what he had with Maureen. Maureen a small woman; nervous, hold herself tight. You tight cause you want it. She tight cause she don’t.” He angles my face toward his with his other hand and continues, “Don’t get me wrong. He love you, too. But, Maureen thought he big. You, he know you know what size he is.”
I am aware of my hole, now.
Luthor slides my hand off the table onto his lap. He closes my fingers on the ridge down his thigh. “I know how you feel ’bout Len,” he mumbles, then closes his eyes and purrs low as my fingers palpate him. “I’m not sayin’ you don’t love Len. I hear what you want from a man. I can give it to you. And, I know you can give me what I want. My wife, she don’t want sex no more.” I redraw his wife as thin, shrewish. “You and me can give each other what we need. Maybe it’ll keep you wit’ Len longer. Then, I be knowin’ you longer. I like knowin’ you, girl.”
I give up my chair and squat in front of him, disengaging his trousers, pulling them underneath him and down to the floor. I kneel on them and think of kimonos, heavy, musty, warm to the touch, and search for the feel and scent of moistened silk on his skin. His dick rises, florid and thick, from between his thighs.
Later, lazily draped over me and nudging my buttocks apart with the flat of a finger, he explores my rear cleft.
“It sounds awful, though, don’t you think? That size really does make a difference, sometimes?” I confess, just as his finger glides over my asshole.
“I don’t know,” I continue, lifting and spreading myself a bit, glancing over my shoulder. My voice lowers. “That’s something that feels really good with Len.” I like the stimulation, but I wonder if anal penetration with Luthor’s magnitude will spoil something between Len and me. Remap territory that’s been scouted by Len.
Luthor nuzzles my neck and presses the flat of his finger hard between my buttocks. Instinctively, I lift to graze the sensitive sphincter against the underside of a knuckle. My anus nibbles and detects greasiness.
“What you talkin’ ’bout, girl?” He prods. “I don’t think it goin’ tuh feel anythin’ like Len when I put my dick in you up here.” He runs the tip of his finger across my sphincter. It spasms.
“I felt your hands spreading me, back there,” I say.
“Your asshole,” he corrects, and pushes the tip of his finger into my anus. “I was thinkin’ ’bout your asshole. So Len feel good in here,” he croons, rotating his finger, punching further each time I gasp as my colon relaxes after a spasm, “I can tell you get this worked regularly. Ooooh, woman, you takin’ it all! Len be lovin’ that!”
I moan low and bend my ass fully to Luthor.
He faces me on his haunches. “Shenar, baby,” he incants, “I know he do this to you,” he is crouching over me, concentrated. I am taking two fingers now, inserted swiftly and deeply, stretching the walls of my bowels, “and I know you like the way his smallness feel back here, but, lady, you said yes to me, and now I need to do this to you.” I can feel three fingers, scrunched together at the tips, spreading me as the bunched knuckles pop through. My sphincter sucks hard, reflexively. “I hope you can take me, girl. Oh, girllll, you feel like you can take me...”
“Take it slow, Luthor,” I beg, “but take it all, take it all..haaaah...”
I need to take him. I am convinced. It will not be the same. It will not be comparable. Luthor will be saying something different to me than Len does when he is in my ass. And Luthor will need to close me down.
“Maybe he never find out. Maybe we jes’ continue on like this forever.” That was the last thing Luthor said, after his first extended visit.
And we did. I even had a masturbation fantasy, when I was separated from both.
I told both of them the fantasy. I think they were both embarrassed, although my lovemaking with each of them reached new levels of inspiration. I never expected either to suggest that we enact it. I’m not sure either of them knew I had told the other. Len was a porno movie man, and we never spoke of sex, only engaged in it. Luthor, though, after I told him the fantasy, although he never mentioned it, would sometimes come to my apartment, his voice so low it was almost inaudible, demanding that I tell him a story while we fucked. The stories were always about us, and they were always about things we’d done, or would do.
One afternoon, feeling sensual, surrounded by two lovers, joking with both of them over the remains of someone’s car, I announced that I should publish erotica. Len laughed and laughed. Luthor looked at me across the hood of the car and winked.
Len went back to his wife. No one was surprised. Len never knew about Luthor and me. I wonder if he was even aware that he had better sex with his wife than he did with me.
Luthor and I continued to seek solace in one another’s bigness, and tightness, and wetness, and carnality, for awhile, and to remind each other of primal insights, like the importance of big dicks.
| Text & Graphics © 1999 by Gail Rae Hudson | Background by
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