I let the warm water cascade over me while, with one hand, I soaped my pert little titties and my other hand softly rubbed my tingling pussy and one clipped nail gently tickled my hard, throbbing clit. Just gently.
I wasn't pussy-rubbing for a cum; I was just enjoying relaxing and feeling the tensions of a long work week ease out of my tired muscles as I thought of the smorgasbord of women who would be out and about on a Friday night.
For whatever reason I hadn't scored in a couple of weeks and I was hoping my recent bad luck would change tonight.
As I mellowed and relaxed, I allowed the last couple of week-ends to run through my mind. As well as my coming up dry.
Friday and Saturday nights in my favorite hang-out, which some genius had named simply, Puzzies, was usually easy hunting ground for a big, strong butch like me. Lezzy or straight or Bi or curious or just confused, my bar was usually full of chicks and women on the week-ends and I usually had my pick. Like I said, I'm strong and confident, always packing, which I never try to hide. Sexy femmes, those looking for a certain kind of lovin', the kind studs like me dish out, usually drool. Often I find the straight and the bi and the curious and the confused to be easy pickin's because these women can con themselves that being in the sack with me doesn't necessarily label them as lez. After all, complete with my trusty 'cock', I can pound them like any guy, they can feel my muscles as I pound 'em, they can feel the strength in my hands as I grip their hair when they drool on my 'cock' and 'blow me'.
But, for all of that, I am still a woman. And once I've treated them and me to some cums, I do know how to act 'womanly' and give these women – if I like them at all and if they've done a good enough number on me in the sack - what they don't often get from the men. They might enjoy the rough and tough and strength 'til they've had their fun but, often, after, they want the kissing and the cuddling, some tenderness, the assurances that their 'man' appreciates them and cares about them. What is that old joke? I can fake sincerity with the best of them? Well, no, let's be honest, here, OK? Like I said, despite my 'manliness' and my preferences in the sack, I am still a woman. I like to be in charge, I make sure I am always in charge, but I do not mind being on the receiving end of some tenderness myself, after the deed is done – as long as she doesn't get way carried away - and don't mind reciprocating. Especially if she has been good enough in the sack that she is worth another go-round. See. A woman in the sack with me gets the best of both worlds.
And, obviously, that is another 'gift' I can give them. Even the best male stud has his limits but this particular stud knows no limits and I can pound 'em 'til they beg for mercy, if that is what they want. And, yeah, while it has been told to me that most guys are real fuckin' amateurs when it comes to going down on the rug, me, I love gobblin' the gash, slurpin' the soup, and I can make most women's pussies overflow their banks.
Two hours later, I walk up to the bouncer at the door of Puzzies. She's Randi, a 'manly' girl also and, her and I, we've had a few go-rounds. We like each other and it's a friendly competition of mutual respect. Twice before, when we both had came up dry, we'd had a 'gay' night. Both strapped up, we'd hopped in the sack like a couple of gay-boys and romped. We skipped dongin' asses but we'd 'blown' each other and cock-rubbed and hand-jobbed each other and found that while most women were sorta clueless about it and we had to do it for our own selves as we fucked 'em, we were experts at manipulating each other's strap-cocks for maximum clitty-stimulation and we both gave each other some good cums. And after, we'd kissed and cuddled – just a little – and laughed and laughed and wondered – again minus any ass-jamming – if that was just how the gay-boys did it for real.
Randi's eyes gleam. "Hey, stud," she purrs. "How's it hanging?"
I check her out, up and down, like what I see – but tonight I'm really in the mood for a real 'femme' chicken.
"It's hanging just fine, Randi," I reply. "It's rough and ready to go. Any takers inside?"
"Stud, if you can't get laid tonight, you ain't half tryin'," she answers. "Femme city, baby. I've had a few droolin' on me already. Just you leave me a little something-something, you hear?"
Then I'm passed her, into Nirvana.
I stride confidentially to the bar and order a scotch. I slide onto a bar stool, make sure my skin tight jeans are smoothed out, emphasizing my 'package', sip and survey.
Randi's right. The joint is packed and I only spy a few butches like me and Randi. Now, sometimes it is just a numbers game. Some femme-chicks only like other femme-chicks and, even though I can be soft and tender sometimes, if I want, and even though I always figure – to each their own - I just wonder just how syrupy sweet it gets in bed with two sweet femmes femming it up. But there are always those femmes, as I've already noted, who want what I'm packing. Some so they can kid themselves they ain't lez. Some just because they prefer the 'cock' but just can't stand who 'cocks' are attached to. So I check out who's checking out me and the other butches. And, like I say, sometimes it is just a numbers game and the numbers are favorable tonight as there is me and Randi and only about 5 other real obvious man-type lezzies. And the femmes just keep coming. No need for a 'dry' night or a 'gay' night with Randi tonight. My pussy tingles at the thought of a sweet pussy drooling on my cock right soon.
"Hey there," I hear on a voice on my right. "Do you dance, stud? Do you wanna waltz me around?"
I swivel that way slowly and watch as her eyes go right to the ole basket. "You talkin' to me, honey?" I ask. "I ain't gonna even consider waltzing you 'round 'til I see if I like what you're offering."
She's a doll. Long, silky looking, wavy black hair, hanging on her shoulders and boobs and trailing down her back. Just the nice kind of hair I like to feel in my hands when she's slobbering on my cock. Jutting tits. She's wearing a sexy dress and I see luscious legs. She's a package and she talked to me first. I see no real reason not to dance her around a little. When I'm ready to. With my iron arms around her and what I am sure is her luscious ass in my strong hands, I'll grind some cock into her and she how she reacts.
But, first. "Sit your sweet ass down, doll," I tell her, pointing at the empty seat beside me. "I'm gonna finish my drink and another then I might figure you're worth a trip to the dance floor. What'cha drinking, doll? What's your name?"
Her tight cocktail dress, shimmered and glistened and moved, interestingly, as she sat. She held out her hand.
"My name's Naomi," she said. And she named some syrupy 'woman's' drink.
I signalled the bartender for another Scotch and made finger signals that she knew meant to bring the doll beside me whatever she was drinking.
Meantime, I had taken her offered hand and I had first shook it like men shake and was now holding it, tightly, letting her feel my strength.
"I'm Jake," I told her. "Pleased to meet 'ya,"
She didn't blink at the name 'Jake'. Actually it's Janice, but my first partner on my first trucking job, had took one look at me and named me Jake. I'd liked it and still do.
The bartender sat down some drinks in front of us.
"May I have my hand back, Jake?" she asked. "I may need it."
"For what, Naomi? You've got another."
