It so happened that we didn't fuck for about three days after
that. On the average, we fucked about every eight hours, so this was
quite a long time. And it was just as well, in a way:
"My asshole is sore."
"I -- I'm not surprised," I said. "I wish it wasn't -- but I
liked the way it got sore." I thought about my next words. "And so
did you."
Her eyes blazed at me. I saw the anger beginning in her face -
- and then it collapsed. "I know -- but that's what the gay boys
do, isn't it? Do you wish I was a boy?"
I started to laugh -- and then realized she was only half-
joking.
"June, I like licking your cunt," I said quietly. "And so do
you. Does that mean you wish I was a woman -- since cuntlicking is
what lesbians do?"
Her eyes half closed and she shivered. "I know!" She seemed
amazed. "It makes me itchy when you say that -- but you know I
don't like lesbians."
I licked my lips and stepped toward her. She put her small
hand against my chest, keeping me away.
I didn't press it. Even if I'd been the kind of moronic
asshole who tries to force himself on someone else, there was
something else to consider: June had been an auxiliary cop in
Singapore, with the attendant martial arts training. We'd sparred
playfully a few times. She was just as fast as I and a helluvalot
more deceptive in her movements. I knew I could absorb enormous
damage, and use my superior strength to prevail, but I had no
desire to do so -- and I didn't know if there were subconscious
resentments in this hard-bodied young woman that could make a
playful blow slip and do serious damage. This was just another
equality that made her attractive to me: June could not be forced
to do anything. Whatever she did, it was by choice.
"But!" She laughed and dropped her hand. She knew my respect
for her prowess -- and, more importantly, simply for her. "But!"
I nodded ruefully. "I know."
At last it was time to leave the office and proceed to the street again. My
breathing was inconsistent and my normal walk with the perky stride was
impossible. I alternated between almost running and slowing to a very slow
pace, trying to arrive at precisely the right time. As I approached I was
disappointed to see no one there. Suddenly, a car horn broke into my thoughts
and there you were. A Black 1957 Thunderbird, with a white top. Naturally it
was in mint condition and sparkled all over. You reached over and opened the
door for me. As I climbed inside my dress raised a little to show you my left
thigh.
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