This story is available in full on Amazon, Kindle Direct. So I can only put up a sample. It is available for sale for all of $0.99 or via Kindle Unlimited.
Angela Johnson and Billy Wilson met in high school, got close in college, and became lovers when they shared a two-bedroom apartment in Jackson Heights, Queens with Josh Elder, a fellow Vassar grad. Each was a poor intern and each needed a cheap place to live while working in Manhattan. It was rented by Josh’s brother and another guy and when they moved out the three moved in.
The men shared one bedroom while Angela took the other. Within six months, though, Angela and Josh swapped after she and Billy become lovers. About six months later, Josh was gone, moved in with a girlfriend he met at work. Since they could then afford it, the remaining two kept the second bedroom as a spare.
About a year after that, they were guests at a wedding in Westchester County, north of New York City. The groom was one of Billy’s college buddies. Black tie, so she needed a gown. Angela found something nice at a consignment shop in the neighborhood. It fit her. It was rust-colored.
After the ceremony and after the dinner in the large but fancy barnlike structure, Angela went down a long hall and down a few steps to the ladies’ room. She heard from one of the stalls, “Fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME.” Then a squeal. Angela was standing by the sink in shock when the stall door opened and two women emerged, both flushed and one holding—were they?—they were: blue silk-panties. As the two left, holding hands, the woman who presumably still wore her silk panties smiled and said simply, “she lost the bet.” The two of them were gone, adjusting their gowns as they went, the sillage of expensive perfume in their wake.
Angela was standing precisely where she was when she heard the “fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME,” her hand still gripping the sink and her eyes locked on the newly-vacated stall. She entered it and imagined where they, the two women, were and what they were doing there. And who the hell were they? Both were attractive. The taller of the two, the apparent bet-winner, was dark skinned and tall, perhaps 5’ 9”, and rail thin with small boobs, her jet-black hair done into elegant strands of braid. She wore a long green gown that was complemented by her emerald earrings and necklace, and the colors all complemented her smooth skin, narrow face, and wide, almond-eyes.
The loser-of-the-bet was fair-skinned with a round face and well-defined cheekbones. She was shorter than her friend by about four inches or so and was far from thin with short blonde-hair and a pleasing degree of cleavage in a sparkling blue gown, complemented by sapphires with diamonds in her earrings and necklace.
While Angela was in the stall, someone entered the ladies’ room. Angela smiled and quickly closed the door, now where the black woman had just fucked the blonde. Angela lifted her gown and lowered her own satin panties to do what she had come to do. After the other woman was gone, she took a few moments longer than she normally would to wipe herself before flushing, exiting, washing her hands, checking her face, and rejoining the reception.
It had moved downstairs and the bride and groom were enjoying their first dance to an instantly forgettable and instantly forgotten song that purported to be clever and witty but was neither. As she heard it from the stairs, Angela thought, meanly, why can’t they just go to one of the classics?
When she entered the reception room with the dancefloor and band, she surveyed the crowd, searching for the emerald and blue gowns. It was difficult because it was dark with small lights providing the only illumination except on the dancefloor. Angela tapped Billy on the shoulder and said she was doing a lap of the room and she left when he said “fine.” About half-way around she saw them, sitting close to one another at an otherwise-empty table for six. Suddenly the blonde whispered in her lover’s ear and pointed at Angela. The black woman came and asked Angela to dance.
Angela looked and saw the pretty blonde smiling. She realized that she, too, was pretty. It was a slow song. The black woman put her right hand around Angela’s back and her left in Angela’s right hand, leaving Angela to put her left hand over the other’s shoulder. They danced.
Angela was wet in the ladies’ room. It was not just urine she wiped away as she sat there. She was wet again. It had been a while. She had nearly as many girl lovers as boys, perhaps more over the years. They were, all of them, young and immature and irresponsible. Just girls and boys.
She liked the feel of a cock inside her. She liked what it did to her and what a boy’s mouth, with a tinge of a beard, did to her clit and pussy. She liked to feel what she could do to a cock and came to like the taste of a boy’s cum. And while she never squealed she was usually satisfied, except for the rare occasions when prematurity required self-satisfaction.
She liked the softness of a girl’s lips and tongue and fingers and the hardness of an aroused clit between her own lips. She liked the taste of a girl’s cum on her own tongue and how it felt on her own fingers. And, once, she felt it all, when a woman visiting a friend in her dorm fucked her with a strapon, an experience she never dared ask any of the girls in the dorm to share with her, giving or receiving.
That “phase” ended when she graduated college and roomed with Josh and Billy and when she graduated to sharing a room with Billy and now going to a friend’s wedding as Billy’s girlfriend.
In the Uber on the way home, Angela felt different and was starting to feel differently. The rain was heavy as they crossed the Whitestone Bridge. If he noticed her dance, he didn’t say anything. She was quieter than usual, staring out the window and listening to the beat of the wipers. Not clutching his hand, as she had on the way north. At the apartment, she robotically removed her gown and her matching panties and bra, failing to do the striptease for him that she planned. It was like many other nights; she got into bed after brushing her teeth and peeing and removing her makeup. He was horny and quickly discarded his tux. He waited for her to finish in the bathroom before getting himself ready for bed.
When he entered the bedroom, he took a condom from the dresser and slipped it on his cock. Then, as he often did, he entered her and she directed him inside before she pushed him away. “Touch me first. I’m not wet enough.” When she was wet enough, he restored his cock inside her and resumed his rhythm. He mumbled her name as he came. Rolling to his side, he reached his fingers over her slit but she stopped him. It didn’t happen often, but it did that night. He knew enough to get up and clean himself off before returning. She did not bother to finish herself.
Angela was happy being Billy’s girlfriend. Now, three years after graduation, they shared the Jackson Heights apartment, both with paying jobs in the City. Although marriage rarely came up, it was always lurking. And the sex? The sex was good, sometimes very good. There was compatibility and comfort and they kissed when they parted on the subway each morning. They kissed whenever the second to get home walked through the door.
Most of all, each told the other, “I love you” and they each meant it when they did. They knew each other’s families and had since high school and nearly everyone liked nearly everyone else. Except Billy’s sister Paula did not like Angela and Angela did not like Billy’s sister Paula. There was nothing specific. It just was. Maybe Paula—three years older—did not think Angela good enough for her baby brother. Maybe Paula did not think Angela good enough, full stop. Angela was no friend of Billy’s sister so the mutual animosity worked for them both.
Four Months Later: January
Billy was in Kilington, Vermont, skiing with a bunch of college friends. When Angela thought of “boys” in thinking of sex in college, it was guys like Billy’s friends. Several lived in New York, at least two at their parents’ houses. She was getting increasingly unhappy about the time Billy spent with them. They worked for banks or insurance companies in the City and spent most Friday nights in their suits and drinking IPAs at some microbrewery in some recently-gentrified Brooklyn neighborhood. Billy often stumbled into the apartment after midnight, peeing and collapsing into the bed still in his suit. It counted for something if he got his shoes off.