Good Vibrations Magazine

Shawn had left a note on the bed, next to Robin’s little black PVC dress. Robin stiffened as she read the big block capitals, rendered in Shawn’s familiar hand.

SOMETHING CAME UP AT WORK
UNAVOIDABLE
GAVE ERIC THE TICKETS
HE’LL PICK YOU UP AT EIGHT
WEAR THE BLACK DRESS

Robin fumed. It wasn’t like Shawn to flake on her unless it was something really important; she was reliable to a fault. But the note was missing one word, “sorry,” which is what told Robin what this was all about. Whether something important really had come up, Robin didn’t know. But she knew why Shawn had given Eric the tickets.

After months of negotiating and processing their fucking feelings, she and Shawn had agreed to open up the relationship. One of the sticking points had been that Robin wanted to fuck boys as well as girls. That was challenging for Shawn, who tended to disapprove of men — by her own admission. Robin had countered with the observation that Shawn had been straight in high school, and leather dyke or no leather dyke, she had gotten to experience sex with men and decided she didn’t like it. Robin had come out young and had had no such experience. Shawn disapproved; sex with men was boring. Why bother?

But there was one guy Shawn loved, maybe even more than she loved Robin. He was a high-school lover, a confidante, and more recently a best friend. It was a curious grouping, the Kinsey-seven dyke and the Kinsey-negative-one straight guy, but the two had bonded over German motorcycles and Ford 302s since long before Robin and Shawn had met. And while Shawn swore up and down that she only liked girls, she had admitted that the one guy she thought was unbelievably hot — besides George Clooney and, inexplicably, Matt Damon — was this one.

Why, then, Robin asked, had Shawn not fucked this God-of-fucking Eros since those early, uncomfortable high-school fumblings?

“We’re best friends,” Shawn had said, shrugging. “It would be… inappropriate.”

Robin felt her stomach churning — why had she ever agreed to Shawn’s central condition? That she could fuck any women she wanted, no further negotiation required, but that before she could have sex with men Shawn would get to pick the first?

At the time, Robin was so glad to get to that point that she’d accepted unequivocally. And, more to the point, the idea of her first male lover being picked out by Shawn sent an unexpected warmth through her. “I want to make sure you get fucked right the first time,” Shawn had said. “I won’t have some sleazebag drooling on my virgin bride.”

“Fuck you,” Robin had said, but she’d signed the deal with a kiss, and now it was time for her to make good.

She stripped out of her work clothes and got into the shower. As she stood there naked under the scalding spray, she considered Eric. Good looking to the point of being annoying, he had a cocky self-assured attitude that echoed Shawn’s own. While Robin found it irresistible in Shawn, it had always irritated her in Eric. And at times it bothered her in Shawn, too. Take this situation, for instance: Why the hell did she think she could just pimp Robin out to her best friend, expect her to fuck him as if it was Shawn’s job to decide what she did with her pussy? Why the hell did Shawn think she would just spread her legs for Eric like a good little whore?

Because I told her I would was the answer, and Robin knew it.

She found her mind wandering. Shawn knew what Eric was like in bed, or at least what he’d been like in high school. She’d even admitted that she’d enjoyed sex with him — even, a few times, after she’d come out. Not for years, of course, but still. But Shawn had never spoken about the details; the mere thought of describing the erotic details of her heterosexual days would have been nothing short of bizarre. The very thought of Shawn doing all those things straight girls did — things that Robin had never done — would have been like watching a favorite movie dubbed on a foreign channel.

But Robin had fantasized about doing all those things “straight girls” did with men — fantasized about them to distraction. And she realized now that she had for some time wanted to ask Shawn about them. But she never had, and Shawn had never volunteered. She had never described the taste of Eric’s cock or the feel of it in her pussy. She hadn’t discussed whether she’d spit or swallowed, liked it missionary or doggy style or standing up, did anal, whether she had liked Eric to pull her hair when he fucked her hard, so hard she screamed, the way Shawn liked Robin to do. Robin had no idea what Shawn had felt when Eric’s cock had slid into her pussy and fucked her until she came.

When Robin’s hand dropped to her pussy, she realized it was wet — much, much wetter than the cascading water alone would have allowed. Her pierced clit was very, very hard, and her pierced nipples ached.

She was going to do this.

She looked down at her body with a weird kind of anticipation. She had shaved her legs this morning in eagerness of wearing the tiny dress to the concert, and it annoyed her somewhat that her first time with a man she’d be shaved like some yuppie breeder. She felt like she was in drag, putting on a straight-girl costume, and that thought sent a little quiver into her pussy that made her gasp. Christ, she was really going to do this.

Breathing hard, Robin turned off the water, toweled dry, and walked into the bedroom. It had been a long time since she’d selected underwear knowing someone new would see it. She resolved to put some effort into it. She finally settled on a black lace thong that nestled her still-hard clit uncomfortably, jostling the ring when she bent over. She didn’t wear a bra; she never did.

The PVC dress was tiny and tight, zippered down the front and entirely unlined. She knew she’d be bathed in sweat before the second song, if not before that. The rings in her nipples showed through the skintight synthetic material, and it was obvious to anyone who looked that her nipples were very hard.

She tousled her short black hair and gelled it a little, then put on her biggest pair of boots, knee-high loggers with bright red laces and black stitching. She narrowed her eyes and decided if she was going to do this, she may as well do it. She broke open her makeup case, finding dust on the handle. She painted her face with the discomfort that reminded her of the last time she went to a family wedding — with one major exception. This time, every stroke of the brush made her shift nervously, made the thong rub her hardened clit uncomfortably. She remembered dressing up for Shawn early in the relationship — tomboy femme with a whore’s painted face. By the time she’d finished herself off with a long, slow stroke of the brightest shade of red lipstick she had, she was wet to the knees.

“Fuck,” she said out loud, surprised at the sound of her own voice, sounding helpless and small but still rough from arousal. “I can’t believe I’m really going to do this.” But she knew she was.

Eric rang the bell and she put on her long leather coat before answering it. She gave him a dirty glare as he looked her up and down.

“You look great,” he said, as if in awe.

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m not,” he said, and smiled at her.

That fucking smile — how dare he. Eric had deviated from his usual uniform of jeans and a MOPAR or LIVE TO RIDE T-shirt, dressing up for the concert. He wore skintight PVC pants that just about matched Robin’s dress. His shirt was a skintight muscle number, and his leather coat was a good foot shorter than Robin’s, coming to mid-knee.

“I hope you didn’t bring your bike,” Robin said distastefully.

Eric shook his head. “I borrowed a car from the shop,” he told her. “Convertible GTO, 68. Three-fifty with a Holly Haystack.”

“You say that like it’s supposed to make me fuck you,” Robin said, her eyes narrowed.

“Would it?”

Robin didn’t know if she wasn’t giving him the dignity of a reply, or if she was answering “yes.” She closed the door and pushed past Eric, down the stairs.

He opened the passenger-side door for her, and Robin gave him a dirty look that made the last dirty look seem like bedroom eyes. He was treating her like a girl, for Christ’s sake.

Eric looked uncomfortable, holding the door like he was holding his dick, trying to smile and getting only ice in return.

He reached into the pocket of his coat and held up jangling keys on a Jack Daniel’s key chain.

“Want to drive?” he said.

Robin blinked like she’d just been slapped in the face. “What?”

“Really,” he said. “You’re covered under the shop’s policy.” He held out the keys and jangled them.

“I don’t think so.”

“Come on,” said Eric, flashing that fucking annoying smile again. “It’ll be fun.”

“Shawn’s the gearhead, not me,” said Robin.

“Right,” said Eric. “But I know Shawn, and she wouldn’t be with you unless you were the kind of girl who could appreciate a great big powerful organ throbbing under your foot.”

“Watch it,” growled Robin, “Or somebody’s organ is going to be throbbing under my foot.”

“I love it when you talk dirty,” said Eric, tossing her the keys. She caught them neatly and Eric climbed in the passenger side and slammed the door. “Drive the fucking car.”

Sighing, Robin came around and settled into the driver’s seat. There was a silver skull for a gearshift knob and fuzzy dice hanging from the window. She turned the key and the engine roared to life, making her jump.

“Take it slow,” he said. “Don’t blow the doors off. Oh, I almost forgot. Shawn wanted me to give you this.”

He took a small ticket envelope out of his jacket and removed a small note on a shred of binder paper, taped shut.

Robin ripped it open and read the two words on it, written in Shawn’s hand.

SAY YES

“What’s it say?” asked Eric.

Robin rolled down the window, crumpled up the note, tossed it away.

“None of your business,” she growled, and slammed the car into gear.

She peeled out leaving the curb.

#

She had to hand it to Eric — he didn’t utter a peep as she tore through the streets, not even when she blew a red light. Lucky for him, because Robin was just waiting for him to make a snide comment; she was planning to bite his head off. But he didn’t say a word, not until she ground it downshifting from fourth to third to slow down for a little old lady in a crosswalk.

“If you can’t find it, grind it,” said Eric.

Robin opened her mouth to chew him out and realized that she found that kind of funny. She started to laugh, hysterically, like a maniac. She slammed on the breaks without clutching and the car stopped, lurched, groaned and shuddered all over as it died. The little old lady stood in the crosswalk like a deer in the GTO’s headlights, terrified.

Robin was still laughing. It was halfway between a cackle and a giggle, with elements of titter and chortle thrown in. Eric regarded Robin as if she’d gone totally and completely insane.

“Christ,” he said. “And I thought you were a tough audience.”

Robin opened the door and got out as drivers stuck behind her honked and shouted. “Drive the fucking car,” she said, walking coolly around the car and opening the passenger’s side. Eric climbed over into the driver’s seat and started the car again while cars hurtled past them, hurling curses. Robin sank into the seats and didn’t bother with her seat belt.

Eric drove the speed limit down city streets while Robin sat curled up passenger-side, giggling from time to time.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I’m giggling like a nut case,” she said.

“All right.”

She did it some more. By the time she’d finally stopped, they’d found parking right in front of the club. There was a crowd of latex-and-leather clad twenty-somethings milling around outside, looking disgruntled.

Eric didn’t open the door for Robin this time. He let her get out and told her to be sure she locked the door. She couldn’t manage to hold up the creaky handle while she slammed the heavy slab of American plate steel.

“Fucking Pontiacs,” said Eric, brushing Robin’s hand to the side and slamming the door himself.

Robin followed Eric to the front of the club. A big red “CANCELLED” sign was pasted over the ticket booth.

“What happened?” asked Eric of a blue-mohawked girl in a schoolgirl jumper. She was shirtless, her black push-up bra visible on the sides.

“The bassist OD’ed,” she said, taking a drag from her clove.

“Coke or heroin?”

“How should I know?” shrugged the naughty schoolgirl.

Eric turned and started walking back to the car. As he passed Robin, he said, “I’m sorry. I’ll take you home.”

Robin grabbed his shoulder and stopped him. He turned, looking peeved.

“No,” she said. “Take me to your place.”

When Eric looked puzzled, Robin said, “Please?”

Eric opened the door for her again this time, slamming it behind her. She put on her seat belt and sat meekly as Eric got in the car.

“Look,” he said. “I know this is uncomfortable for you. There’s no reason you have to come over to my place.”

“Sure there is,” she said. “That is, if you still want to.”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “This isn’t what I expected.”

Robin was about to say something like Puh-leeze, you’re a guy, you’ll be pawing my clothes off before you’ve finished your first beer, but stopped herself.

“It isn’t what I expected, either,” she said, and reached out for his hand, feeling stupid and awkward. “Do you still want to take me home?”

Eric looked at Robin, a savage kind of judgment in his eyes telling her that she really was acting as crazy as she felt. But then, it was a crazy situation — bad polyamory, all around.

“Fuck it,” he said. “Let’s see how it goes.”

“All right,” said Robin as Eric put the car in gear. “We’ll see how it goes.”

#

Eric lived alone, his one-bedroom apartment a testament to what happens if a guy stays single long enough. Posters for car parts and framed prints of NASCAR drivers competed for space with framed prints of tacky female nudes.

Eric got Robin a beer from the refrigerator and indicated the mess. “I wasn’t expecting company,” he said.

“You weren’t?”

“No,” he said. “Of course not.”

Robin sat down on the couch. Eric sat at the other end. She looked at him; she had completely misread the situation. What a fucking freak he must think she was. He looked cute and sheepish, and she realized that she was still turned on. She’d been avoiding the feeling, hiding it deep inside her, because she resented Eric’s cocky self-assuredness, given that his best friend had told him to fuck her girlfriend.

But that wasn’t it at all — the son of a bitch was just fetchingly cocky. Robin realized that Shawn hadn’t said a word to him.

Eric snapped his fingers. He took a small note out of his pocket. “I forgot. Shawn said I should give you this after the concert. Since the concert got cancelled, I don’t know if I should.”

Robin snatched the note out of his hand and tore the tape sealing it.

FUCK HER

Robin’s heart pounded. She moved closer to Eric on the sofa and tucked her booted feet under her. Somehow she didn’t think he’d mind boots on the threadbare sofa.

“What are you doing?” he asked nervously.

Robin leaned against him and pressed her lips to his. She felt the tightening of his body, the urge to pull away. Something about that excited her.

“Hey,” he said. “What are you — ”

Robin stayed leaning against him and gave him the note.

“This one’s for you,” she said.

When Eric read it, his eyes widened. He knew Shawn’s handwriting as well as Robin did. He looked at Robin, puzzled.

“If you want,” she said.

“Shawn is pimping me out to you,” he said.

“Actually,” said Robin, “I thought she was pimping me out to you.”

“To fuck?”

“That’s what pimping usually means,” said Robin. She untangled herself from Eric and sat on the far side of the sofa again. She took a long drink of her beer. “Look, let me tell you what’s going on.” And she spilled the whole sordid story, including the fact that she was still, despite it, incredibly turned on.

“So you want me to fuck you,” Eric said at the end of it all. “You want me to be your first.”

“Well,” said Robin. “Shawn does.”

“Wow, great,” said Eric. “And you don’t.”

Rather than trying to explain, Robin crawled back over the couch and sat very close to Eric. Her arms went around him, awkwardly at first, then more comfortably as he shifted to put his arms around her. She kissed him and teased his mouth open with her tongue. She felt her nipples pressing hard against the tight PVC dress. When she shifted against Eric, she felt that he was hard.

“I do,” she said.

Eric shrugged. “All right,” he told her. “I’m game.”

“Wow,” sighed Robin. “That was easy.”

Eric pushed Robin back on the couch and slid smoothly over her. The feeling of his hard body atop hers felt unexpected and sent a thrill into her. She spread her legs slightly and felt his hard cock straining through his pants against her belly. The feel of his cock turned her on more than Shawn’s strap-on, because of what it represented — he was hard, he wanted her, and he was going to fuck her.

Eric unzipped the front of Robin’s dress and his mouth molded to one pierced nipple, tonguing it. She spread her legs around him and felt his cock pressing hard against her clit. She ground up against him as pleasure shot from her clit to her nipples and back again. She cradled his head in her arms and whispered, “Take me to bed.”

“It’s not made,” he said, his lips close to her nipple. “The sheets are dirty.”

“I don’t care,” said Robin. “I want you to fuck me.”

Eric climbed off of Robin and led her by the hand into his messy bedroom. He came up behind her and curved his arms around her, drawing the full-length zipper of the dress down to the hem, and letting the strapless garment fall in a black puddle on the floor between them. He kissed the back of her neck and let his hands cover her breasts, his thumbs and forefingers pinching her nipples. She leaned back against him and moaned.

When his hand traveled down her belly and found its way between her legs, he found her wet. When his fingers stroked from her pussy to her firm clit, she gasped and almost fell.

Robin pulled away from him and crawled onto his bed. She could smell him on his sheets, the sharp odor she’d never experienced up close like this. It turned her on even more, unexpectedly, but what really turned her on was the sight of Eric’s body as he quickly took off his shirt and then unzipped his pants and wriggled out of them. He was long and lean, muscled, and his cock stood out like he couldn’t wait to fuck her. That thrilled her.

She reached out for it as he joined her on the bed. She guided him onto his back and lowered herself between his splayed thighs, running her hand up and down his shaft. She had sucked Shawn’s strap-on so many times — it was one of their favorite games — but this was so different. There was the smell, so strong and male and overwhelming. And when Robin parted her lips and took Eric’s cock into her mouth, there was the taste — salty, sweaty, and exciting. She began to suck his cock, her lips working up and down on the shaft while her fingers caressed his balls.

“You’re sure you’ve never done this before?” asked Eric breathlessly.

“I’ve done it a lot,” said Robin. “Just not on a flesh and blood cock.”

“You seem like an expert.”

Robin wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or complimented, so she said, “I am. I’m an expert virgin cocksucker.”

“Nice,” said Eric, and then he wasn’t saying anything — just moaning incoherently as Robin returned her mouth to his cock.

She felt her pussy responding with each thrust of her lips and tongue down onto Eric’s shaft. She hadn’t expected to love this so much; there was something so new and different about it. The tastes and the smells were new, but more importantly, when she sucked Shawn’s cock she had to work it up and down. Eric was going crazy, clawing at the bed, gasping and lifting his hips to meet her, and she was barely even working at it. Every movement he made with her mouth on his cock turned her on so intensely she couldn’t resist reaching down to rub her pierced clit. She lost herself in the pleasure of sucking Eric’s cock, not even realizing how close she was getting. Robin knew she could come with just a little more pressure on her clit. And she knew, to her overriding pleasure, that if she wanted Eric to come in her mouth she could do it in a matter of seconds.

That thought sent a shiver through her and made her cunt pulse. But the excitement of knowing she was going to fuck him was more than she could stand, and she slid his cock out of her mouth and crawled, naked except for her thong, up Eric’s body until she was straddling him.

“You shaved your legs,” he said as her calves caressed his thighs. “You don’t usually.”

“You noticed,” Robin said, rolling off him just long enough to take off her thong. It was soaked. Robin climbed back on top of Eric, spreading her legs wide so she could straddle him again. She nuzzled her pussy onto Eric’s cockhead. The sense of anticipation was killing her. She put her hand between them to hold his cock in place, and felt the fringe benefit of pressure on her clit. She pressed her fingers firmly around his shaft so she could rub her palm against her clit. God, she was close. With a slow series of tiny thrusts, she pushed herself down on his cock, taking an inch at a time, savoring it.

Fuck, it felt incredible. The same as a dildo, but different — softer and harder at once, radiating heat from within. And the twist and shudder of Eric’s naked body was so real, so intense — this was totally different, for him, than strapping one on was for Shawn.

Robin snugged her pussy onto him; by the time she got it all the way in and took her hand away, she could feel the curve of his cock pressing against her G-spot, and the hard bone of his pelvis pressing her clit. She shifted just slightly, and that’s when she came. She clutched Eric violently and shook, her breath strangled in her throat as she climaxed uncontrollably, unexpectedly.

“Fuck,” she managed to gasp. “I’m coming.”

By the time she did, though, she was done, and she was already starting to work her body up and down on Eric’s cock. She held him closely; her pussy was so sensitive after coming that every thrust was an exquisite kind of agony, but she couldn’t have stopped if she wanted to. She heard Eric moaning, knew she ought to stop, but she didn’t want to. She kept fucking him as he said “I’m going to come,” and she said “Please,” before he’d even finished the words. She felt his cock pulsing inside her, pushed against the sharp nails digging into her back. “Come,” she said as he let himself go inside her.

Robin lay on top of Eric with his cock still inside her, softening. She kissed his chest and suddenly her head spun with the strangeness of it all. Every place where their bodies touched seemed new, alive and terrifying. She took a deep breath of his scent and felt it suffuse her body, transformative and invigorating.

“Shawn deserves a good spanking for what she did,” said Eric, clutching Robin tightly.

“I think,” said Robin, “she’d secretly enjoy that.”

“I’d prefer it if she didn’t,” said Eric.

“But didn’t it all turn out good in the end?”

“I don’t know,” Eric answered her, leaning up to kiss her. “I don’t know how it ends.”

GV Staffer Thomas Roche’s books include His, Hers, and Noirotica 3. His fiction and nonfiction have appeared in more than 400 magazines, web sites and anthologies, including Horny? San Francisco, Mind and Body, Mammoth Book of Erotica, Embraces: Dark Erotica, Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica and Set in Stone, and he is the cowriter of Whipsmart.