Saturday, June 9, 2007


The sheets were itchy. I knew they weren’t really itchy, but they seemed itchy. I turned on my back. I thought I should read something. I turned the light on, found the page in the book I was reading, but couldn’t concentrate on it. My eyes rolled over the words without taking them in. I put the book down and shut the light back off. The clock read 3:17. I needed to sleep. Why couldn’t I?

Two voices drifted in from my window. Both male. I’m very close to my neighbor and when someone gets in between our buildings, the voices shoot straight up like they’re in the room.

“Take your pants off,” the deeper voice said.

I heard the smacks and moans of kissing, then the zipper. Then another moan.

“What do you want me to do?” the deeper said again.

“Suck it,” said the other one, his not really higher, but just less of it. More air in it.

I thought, in a slightly panicked moment, about how I was going to get the two of them out of there. If I said something, they’d know I’m just a girl and wouldn’t take me seriously. They might even be armed. I tried coughing loud. It had no effect. I could call the cops, but I didn’t want to get them arrested. I just didn’t want them doing that right outside of my window. I didn’t want to listen to it.

I slowly, carefully, leaned out to look over them. I’d never seen it before in person, never seen two men with each other. When it’s in a movie, I just close my eyes until it’s over. I found the strength to watch for a little while. It wasn’t too bad. Just another type of head bobbing on a man’s midsection. I moved more of my body over the pillows and looked over them straight on. The lighter-voiced man, probably about twenty-three or so, fantastically good looking in a way that gay men seem to have a monopoly on, leaned on the opposite wall with his eyes closed, biting his lip. His head bent back a second and I leapt back, worried that he would open his eyes and see me. I gave it a few seconds, wondering what I was doing, and went back out.

I waited to be disgusted. I was sure I’d be disgusted, but I wasn’t. There was something about it, not sexy, but I wasn’t sure what. The deeper-voiced man slowed and stopped, making the pretty young man look down at him. The man crawled up his front and caught his face in a deep kiss. They breathed heavily, some cracked breaths knocking up the bricks to my room, some passing through their vocal chords. As I watched them, misgivings and discomfort passed. There was something about it, two men together suddenly, something that made my stomach drop. I felt naughty for watching it, felt that they were naughty and what did that make me?

“Fuck me,” I heard, suddenly, in the light voice. “Fuck me.”

The deeper voiced man looked up and down the narrow passage and I jumped back in again. I realized that I was breathing hard, moving slowly, that my pussy was getting wet. I pulled my pajama pants and underwear down and checked. Dear God.

“Fuck me,” I heard again. Then, “Shhh.” I split my pussy apart and rubbed at my clit with my other hand. This was going to happen. I had no choice.

I leaned out over the men again. I could see the deeper-voiced one now. He, too, was beautiful, but in a more masculine, Mediterranean way. His face was red but open. He was kneeling on the ground behind the exposed ass of his pretty boy. My hands went below again, down my tummy, my legs spread, face down on the bed. Pussy juice coated me and dripped directly down to my clit. The darker man spread the butt-cheeks of the pretty boy and worked the hole open with his fingers, a bottle of some sort of lube in his other hand. Then, very slowly, he pressed his penis down and slid it in. The pretty boy quaked. He groaned, his hands in fists over the strip of grass. “Shh,” the other man said again, settling his knees into position. “No, don’t shh,” I thought. The pretty boy reached around and took the darker man’s ass, letting him know what he wanted by grinding him.

The darker man took the pretty man’s arm and put it back on the grass. Then he took his hips and began to thrust. He made love to him hard, fast, deep. My fingers entered my pussy at that rate to match it. It was good. I flicked my clit some more with my thumb, trembling, my wrist sore, pressed into the bed. What was I doing? How could I do this?

The darker man pressed his hands into the other’s back as he went, almost seeming to use him, impersonally just thrusting against him. The pretty boy’s arm waved in the air at his side. He was masturbating. I was masturbating. I wanted to be under him. To help him. To be screwed just as hard as he was getting screwed. I wanted to see it. I wanted to see his hand on himself. Then, with a muffled wail, the younger one’s back arched and his head threw back. He was having an orgasm. The man making love to him slowed for it, watching him like me, his mouth open. He leaned over and kissed his back, then bit it, his hips still moving.

A wave started at my toes, pure ecstasy, and flew up my back and shoulders. I locked up in an arch, my mouth open. I came and came and came, harder than I ever have, struggling not to make a sound, not a whimper or a gasp or a simple “Jesus Christ!” though I mouthed it. I lay there for a few moments, my head swimming, and when my eyes opened, the men were gone. Only a dent in the grass where their knees had been.

I crawled back inside, put a pillow between my knees and fell asleep before I could think.


DucatiGuy said...

Thanks for refreshing my jaded palate! In this world's torrent of words your stories cut through the noise. Good tales, well told.

I hope you have a day job where words make you wealthy ..

Droplet said...


I enter boring things into boring spreadsheets for boring people to look at all day. Comments like this make it worth it.

Thank you like you wouldn't believe,


DucatiGuy said...

Then publish ..

Droplet said...

I'm working on it, really.

Thanks for the support.