by Savannah Lee
(01/23/08)

I had certainly never looked into a man's eyes before when we were both stuffed with cock.

Jeff and I had just blundered into our hostess's second-floor walk-in closet, and Jeff had just slid it in me from behind, when I got the dread/thrill pinprick on my flesh that told me we were not alone. Yikes, maybe that was why the light was already on. I pushed aside a well-cut D&G jacket on my left to discover -- him: startled, amused and, I couldn't help but notice, fuck-eyed.

Just like me.

Besides his eyes, I put together a jumbled impression. He leaned, like I did, on the waist-high skirt bar for his man to have him from behind. I saw tousled hair, a soft mouth, an incongruous 'beater, and a very strained white thong.

Ordinarily I'd have checked out the thong. This time, the eyes won. I'd seen bulges before. I hadn't ever seen eyes quite like that. The eyes of a doe -- a male doe. Deep and hurt, proud and fucked. In fact, it was too much. I glanced away.

"Hello," he nonetheless offered, rather sweetly.

Jeff, behind me and still clueless, jumped eight feet. "Ohmigod!"

The stranger's lover reached out and thumped Jeff on the back. I felt the shock waves. "No problem, man. Great party, huh? You do your bitch, I'll do mine."

What did he call me? I whipped my head around to try to see this guy, but got that pushed-aside jacket in the face. Nonetheless I snapped, "Hey, let's have some respect for the receptives here."

Jeff gave a stoned, dudely laugh and pulled me back on him harder. "I'll respect you when I'm not, like, reaming you."

The hidden man gave a laugh that didn't sound nearly as all-in-good-fun as Jeff's had. He made a similar move on my counterpart, who took it with a soft groan and a whitening of his knuckles on our hostess's skirt-bar. I actually felt kind of worried and wanted to ask intrusive questions about lube sufficiency. But I became fatally entranced by the look of mingled transport and suffering on his face.

He must have felt this, because he met my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't mean to stare."

"Oh, go ahead," he told me with a sad smile.

So I did. Oh yes, I feasted my gaze on his tender mouth and taken eyes.

"Wow, Meg," said Jeff cluelessly, "you just got a lot wetter."

He would, of course, not just say that, but say that while this guy and I were still in eye contact. I wanted to sink through the floor.

But the guy didn't laugh or gloat. Instead, those starkly cock-fucked eyes shared only vulnerability to exactly that kind of embarrassment. My heart fluttered at his kindness.

So did the rest of me.

"Wow!" cried Jeff. "Now you're dripping down your --"

"Shut!!" I said warningly, "up, and fuck me."

My buddy's partner shifted next to Jeff. His voice was a rude intrusion, like tires over gravel. "I wouldn't let my bitch talk that way to me."

Now it was my buddy's turn to wither in mortification. I tried to offer him the same safety with my eyes that he'd offered me.

Jeff meanwhile explained, "I don't really have rules about how Meg can talk to me. You know? We're not D/S or anything."

A sandpapery chuckle. "Neither are we!"

"Ohhhhkay," said Jeff.

I stared in horror at my beautiful friend, who was now officially martyring himself to that creep.

He leaned closer and murmured "It's all right, he...he gets this way."

"What do you mean?"

Even softer and closer, "Shhhh. He's right there."

I leaned closer too. "You're not helping him."

"Yeah...you're right. Meg." He tried out my name.

I asked him his.

Before he could answer, the creep cut us off. "Your name is BITCH," he yelled, then decided to prove it by ramming my friend into the bar so hard the whole closet nearly came down. The jolt caused Jeff to knock an ovary and I buckled with a yell.

"Are you okay?" Jeff and my unknown friend chorused. Two hands went to my back.

Jeff's hand was concerned and reassuring. The stranger's hand...the stranger's hand knew. Infinite in its delicacy and tenderness, it knew what I felt.

We met eyes again, and we did not look away.

Until there was another jolt and the enraged creep began piling it on. He started fucking my still-nameless friend cruelly, fucking him to hurt him. My friend dropped his gaze to save his pride and marshal his strength.

Well. I would not let him be alone.

"Jeff," I said. "Give it to me hard. Hard."

I took the stranger's hand.

He lifted it up and together we grasped the high bar. I can't tell you how much that meant to me -- that he accepted me, that he offered himself in return, and that he took us up to higher ground. Though I don't suppose it looked like any kind of triumph. More like ocean passengers clinging to a wreck. I suppose in a way that's what we were. The storms that pounded us were inside us, but that didn't mean we weren't going to drown. The truth was, we were both of us struggling to hold on, both of us trembling, both of us reduced to fuckholes. In his eyes I saw the pathos of it, indistinguishable from the beauty.

But in my own, despite it all, I felt the power. Even the pride. After all, if we were fuckholes, what were the men who were using us? They were fuckers. Fuckers. No one wins. No one gets out of here alive.

Jeff came with a smothered moan, a beautiful sound of surrender -- the fucker fucked. The creep gave a yell like his load was a pistol shot, like he wished it would tear through his lover-victim and take his heart. "Fuck you," he prosaically added, with a shove. I caught sight of him then -- shiny bald head, shiny testosterone-furied eyes, shiny livid face. He was wearing a cream-colored suit into which he zipped his shiny red cock and stalked out.

Jeff sounded exhausted. "Well thank god that's over. Let's go, Meg."

I said, "I...I'll be right there."

Jeff closed the door behind him.

Alone now, the stranger and I still held hands up on the bar. I looked at our fingers entwined, more than entwined, jammed in each other. Knuckles white. That was what it had taken to survive what we had desired.

That was how much we had given each other.

I pulled him to me and wrapped my arms around him, one survivor to another.

He was still half-hard against me.

At that moment I realized something. "You were grabbing the bar the whole time," I said. "Or my hand." He didn't understand what I meant.

I said, "You couldn't touch yourself. And no one else did. No one really gave you anything. Any pleasure. Any...love."

"Oh..."

I knelt down and took out his shaved, half-swollen cock. I opened my mouth.

He said "No."

Well, of course, duh. Dejected and embarrassed, I bowed my head.

He bent and took my arms. "I don't want you down on your knees." He brought me to my feet and brushed some hair off my forehead.

The moment was too intimate to deny, but I didn't see where it could go.

"So what happens now?" I pleaded.

He went half-shy, half-wicked in the eyes.

"Oh...my," I said. "Are you going to fuck me?"

In answer, he went all the way down this time to his abandoned jeans and came up with a telltale little packet.

"That is," he amended, stopping himself before he opened it, "if you actually want another run. That guy really hammered you."

"'That guy' who?" I said.

He looked me over with frank admiration.

'Respect the receptives.' That seemed kind of clumsy to say out loud right now though. The moment called for something less formal than advocacy or analysis. So I popped a little fist in the air and said "Bitch power!"

"Oh...let's not try to reclaim that one tonight. Let's let it go." He tore the condom packet open.

"What should we call ourselves? Sisters? Let me help." It was green; it turned his prong alien as I unrolled it.

It was easy for him to breach my wet and well-used hole. I just hiked my leg and he went all the way in.

And we looked at each other.

Now we were across the familiar divide. My eyes were still the eyes of the filled, the invaded, the taken, but his had changed. His were the eyes of the possessor.

I think he felt it even more keenly than my other lovers because he knew it from the other side. Jeff, when I looked in his eyes at these moments, had an innocence about him. But my still-nameless friend knew what he was doing, oh, how he knew.

Then he proceeded to do it...differently.

He was soft. Not his dick, but how he used it, and held me, and gazed in my eyes, yes, my bitch eyes. Oh.

I never would have believed that that could do it for me. I was one of those girls that liked to be fucked. By men who saw it as their role in life to give a like-minded woman the slamming she deserved. They could be neo-hippies like Jeff, they could be go-getters like my last one, but when it came to fucking, they had to lay me down and mean it. This even influenced my taste in music. I never liked the sweet pop boys. I listened to the hard stuff. That's just how I was.

This man, though he was inside me, retained the gentle nature of the bottom that he was. But I loved it. I loved looking in his empathetic eyes, feeling his tender motion inside me. He aimed not to take me but to feel me, to live inside me, to ease our walls into a nice fit as if they were going to stay that way. To know me, really, in a way that I'd never thought of that word before.

Damned if it didn't make him the butchest thing in the world to me right then. Or maybe that was the only way, given my own desires, that I could explain it to myself. Whatever, it took my breath away. Looking in those eyes, so soft and male, I --

-- turned to stone as our closet door tore open.

There stood the creep.

"I knew it!" he shouted. "I knew it! I knew it!"

My friend clutched me in simultaneous protection and appeal.

For a minute I felt like anything could happen, by which I meant that this guy was going to put us in the hospital. Then he let out a red-veined, anguished scream. He crumpled to the carpet.

"Paul!" he wept. "Paul! Paul!"

Now that he was on his knees, I got a view of the crowd he'd brought with him. Yes, we had an audience. Half of them looked shocked to see Paul with me (those would probably be the ones to whom he was out) and the other half looked shocked, and mortified, at The Creep. (Those would probably be the ones to whom Paul was...um...in.)

Okay, and then that lot started staring at us too, because after all, there we were in mid-fuck. And now they were shocked to see him with me.

I came to my senses and threw my arms around him, pushing his face down into my closet-side shoulder to give him what safety and protection I could. Inside me, he was ten times harder, reacting perversely to the humiliation and fear.

Which was about when Jeff arrived.

"Meg?" he blinked.

"Um, hi," I said.

The creep's loud sobs interrupted us. "Paul! I'm sorry! I was just so afraid of losing you! I thought if I was a real man you'd love me! Or at least be too scared to leave me. I didn't care which!"

At this alarming revelation, Jeff forgot all about me and crouched down in front of the distraught creep. Earnestly he said, "Dude, it's not okay to make your partner scared of you."

"Who asked you?" the creep shouted at him. "You're the one who couldn't hold on to your woman! Look at her, she's fucking my man!"

"Um, excuse me, your man is fucking her," Jeff pointed out.

"She came on to him!" argued the creep. "I saw her looking at him!"

"No fucking way!" Jeff fired right back. "He came on to her! He was all 'go ahead and look at me' and shit!"

This would have necessitated more or less immediate breakup if it had actually been as Neanderthal as it sounded, but I could tell he didn't mean it -- he just didn't want to let this guy win.

Our adversary was equally determined. "Well, he only said that because she was coming on to him."

"She was not!" Jeff shouted, getting more rhetorically sophisticated by the minute.

"Yes she was!" bellowed the creep.

Was this rational? Was this anything? What the fuck. They were a pair of preschoolers with hormones.

Oh god, we all were. Blind and confused, puppets of drives and imperatives that were as far beyond us as the simplest self-understanding was beyond a child. With disbelief, I thought, We're going to get in cars and drive home after this.

And look at the mess we'd be leaving behind. No mommy or daddy to clean it up. No nice teacher to calm us down and talk us through it, or even to give us all a good swat and tell us to snap out of it. I wished there was. Authoritarian psychology made horrible sense to me right now.

I swung off of Paul so we could put ourselves back together and get out of here. For me, it was as easy as letting my dress fall back down. I stood in front of him to shelter him as he bent down for his jeans. It seemed like he was half-crying and trying to suppress it. His face was wet with sweat and tears.

"Are you going to be all right?" I asked him softly.

He didn't answer. He didn't even admit that he'd heard. Having shared too much tonight, he was now closing off completely. I couldn't say I didn't understand. My poor wild deer.

He and I weren't finished, but that obviously didn't matter now. Neither one of us was going to come tonight. I left the walk-in and took Jeff's arm.

As we turned away, I looked back at my fucked beauty. There was one last flash of the eyes.

I knew that would be all.

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