Talk about your ego busters.
"... you're young, you're reasonably good looking, you can get it up... You can get it up can't you?"
My turn to ignore a question. A raised eyebrow and a small smirk being my only answer.
"Hmmm. Anyway, all of that is beside the point. The real reason is I'm tired of waiting and you can give me what I want."
"A cock?"
"Don't be vulgar. No, a baby."
How had I not seen this coming? What other reason could a lesbian have for wanting to fuck me? In spite of all the porno movies to the contrary, all gay women really do not harbor a secret desire for a good hard rogering from every guy they encounter. No, really, they don't. They tend not to be attracted to guys sexually, hence the whole lesbian thing. So if one does approach you and asks you to fuck her, there is probably a good reason for her to do so. Like with Denise. She really wanted a baby and she needed a guy to be the father. Needed a guy to be the father. To be the father. The father. The Father!
I looked up at Denise, the panic growing by the second as it finally dawned on me
exactly
what it was she was asking me to do. My original reluctance to her request, okay, demand, was now replaced by mind-numbing terror. I started to protest and she leaned over and placed a finger against my lips. Before the first words had even left my mouth she was already anticipating my objections and trying to quell my fears.
"Shh, shh shh shh. I know, I know. It's a big responsibility. You're not sure that you're ready for it. And even if you are you couldn't possibly bring a child into the world and not be a part of its life..."
Well she was certainly hitting all the bullet points. It was a big responsibility and I wasn't sure I was ready for it. And I definitely wasn't the kind of guy who could walk away from their kid and leave it for someone else to raise as his own. But Denise had answers for all of it. I could be as involved or uninvolved as I wanted. An absentee father or father of the year, whatever I wanted to be, when I wanted to be. And also if I wanted, the child would know me as its father, not Charlie. In fact Denise even had a plan to use this to her advantage. She would leak the child's parentage to the press and allow Charlie to sue her for divorce. It would be perfect. Charlie could go back to womanizing for a while and no one would blame him, and Denise would put another nail in the coffin of the rumors about her orientation. And she would get the baby she wanted so badly. A win-win situation for everybody.
Except for me. Maybe.
To be honest as I sat there listening to her explaining everything I was already losing track of why I would object to Denise's proposal in the first place, so busy was I watching her as she countered my opposition.
You see, Denise is a very, very beautiful woman. Very beautiful. And before that she had been a beautiful girl, and before that a beautiful child. All the way back to her days as an infant she had been beautiful. For her whole life she had been beautiful. And she had learned a few things along the way about how that beauty could be used to influence people. Get them to do things for her, give things to her that she wanted. Especially men. Particularly horny men who desperately, and not so secretly, had wanted her from the moment they had first laid eyes on her angelic face. So when Denise wanted something, and could not get it just by the asking, she tended to resort to other tactics to achieve her goal. Tactics that had been learned over a lifetime and honed to near perfection by years of practical application getting what she wanted from Hollywood producers and other men. In other words she used her sex appeal.
Which, if I had been thinking clearly, would have been really, really funny. In an ironic sort of way. Using sex appeal to convince someone who already desires you to have sex with you. Seems kind of redundant, doesn't it? Only I wasn't thinking clearly, thoughts of a ready and willing Denise already pushing everything else out of my mind, so the irony of the situation was lost on me.
In my defense she wasn't exactly playing fair here. A skilled practitioner like Denise has many ways of using her appeal, from the subtle through the flirty to the out-and-out forthright. Or, as was the case here, she could hit you with the sexual equivalent of a sledge hammer. As she was talking Denise had started to remove her skirt.
Now to a casual observer this might have appeared as if Denise was simply confident she could overcome my objections and she was just saving time, my eventual acceptance of her proposal a foregone conclusion. But if that was the case then why hadn't she started by removing her top? Why start with the skirt?
Because Denise knew that while showing me her tits would be exciting, it wouldn't be enough to overcome all my resistance and get me to agree to give her what she wanted. She knew I had already seen her tits. Hell, everyone with cable TV and a VCR had already seen her tits. No, Denise knew that to really wear me down and get me to simply agree to her demands she was going to have to do something that would so capture my attention there would be hardly anything left to continue fighting with. So she pulled out the big gun. Figuratively speaking of course.
From the second her fingers moved to the zipper on the side of her skirt my eyes were shifting back and forth from her gorgeous face to the hands that were now tugging at her garment. With a couple of sexy shakes of her hips the article of clothing slid to the ground and she was left standing there in just her black leather top and a thong. It was at this point that my eyes had stopped their shifting and remained firmly focused on the small swatch of fabric that was all that remained between me and nirvana. Basically I was now conducting my argument with Denise's crotch.
Until, that is, she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her underwear and in one swift movement sent her thong to the ground to join her skirt. The discussion became far more one sided after that.
Words left me as I sat there staring at this beautiful woman's equally beautiful vagina. It was obvious to me that she waxed. Her bush was shaped into the ever popular landing strip, albeit Denise chose to keep her rectangle a little wider than most. She also seemed to let the hair grow a little longer than the usual closely trimmed style, perhaps as a way of contrasting with her very, very bare labia. Bare and puffy and oh so lickable.
My cock entered into the dispute. It did not take my side.
Denise was still talking to me as I sat there staring at her twat, putting up less and less resistance to her arguments with every passing second. I hadn't even noticed her removing her top and now she was standing there completely naked, asking me once again to give her what she wanted.
"So? Will you do it? Please say yes."
What was the question? Oh right. Denise wanted me to fuck her. My biggest fantasy was coming true. One of the most beautiful women in the world was asking, no, begging, me to fuck her. But, as is frequently the case when a fantasy comes to fruition, it was happening on terms not of my choosing. There was a condition. A big, fat, fucking condition.
A noble man would have said no. A stronger man would have walked away, head held high. An honorable man would have placed his own terms and conditions on the deal before pledging to be there always for the child and its mother. A gay man would have said something funny.
I was none of those.
What I was was more turned on than I had ever been before. All rational thought was eclipsed by one overpowering all-encompassing desire. I wanted to fuck the shit out of this woman. Always had. It didn't matter that she wanted me to be the father of her child, it didn't matter that she was married to another man and it sure as hell didn't matter that she was a lesbian. Nothing else mattered except that she was there and she was naked and she was willing. What more could any guy want?
I said yes.
