Woring Together

It isn't like being with a boy. Boys are easy. I know how to flirt with them. I have 30 + years of experience. I'm pretty sure I flirted with my next door neighbor—one year my senior—while we were still in diapers.

Then he went off to kindergarten while I stayed home, we both made new friends, and we hardly spoke again. My point? I like boys. Always have.

But, given enough alcohol and a cute girl... is the term bi-curious? That's not quite accurate. I've had a few experiences. My curiosity is satisfied. I like girls. Flirting with them just doesn't come naturally to me (if you will).

That first time with someone of the same sex is like your first ride on a towering roller coaster, the butterflies dancing in your belly as you wait in line, trying to look normal and wondering if everyone else in line feels the same way you do.

No. Better analogy: it's like trying to sit across the dinner table from your crush, acting like everything's normal, acting like you don't want to grab him, right there, kiss those full, luscious lips, then force his head down so he can kiss every square inch of your body.

See what I said about it coming naturally with boys? When I talk about a crush, I speak in the male pronoun. But this story isn't about him, it's about his wife.

Which is just not as easy to talk about. And while it wasn't my first time, it was early enough in the game that I was still pretty nervous.

Even so, it took only three rum and cokes before I started getting all touchy-feely on her. The four of us sat in the hotel bar, trying to maintain just a small modicum of professionalism, but the sexual tension was as thick as the adrenaline just before the start of a race, cyclists strapped in, poised at the starting line waiting for the signal.

Flirting expressions crossed the table. Cassie and her husband, Mark, exchanged glances and smiles. I'm pretty sure her hand was on his thigh, as mine was on my husband's, rubbing, teasing, dancing just around that spot I know he wanted me to caress.

Mark smiled at me. We stared, lost in each others' eyes for a moment, until he broke the connection with a quick wink. I don't know if anyone else at the table caught it, but my stomach flip-flopped at the unspoken promises that wink implied.

Finally, drink three, a toast to friendship, century races and carbon fiber forks. Cassie and my husband, Scott, were the pro cyclists, while I worked for Bicycle magazine and Cassie's husband did marketing for Specialized bikes.

In the Hilton lounge filled with cyclists and members of the industry, it was all we could do to remain discrete. I wanted to jump across the table and wrap my fingers around Cassie's short, thick blonde, kiss her hard on the lips and work my way down.

I caught my husband's eye and could tell by his smirk that he was thinking the same thing. He masked it well, talking about the race and his second place finish—behind Cassie—this afternoon.

A career in sports makes for a strange lifestyle... whether you're an athlete or part of the industry, you're essentially making a living out of games--overgrown children being paid for what we've always loved.

Since I first got into cycling at age 15, I've loved the feeling of the road beneath me, miles disappearing as my legs burned with the exertion. The saddle between my legs, the friction, constant forward movement, power generated not by an engine but by my own strength.

I met Scott in a local bicycle shop where we found each other drooling over the same charcoal gray and platinum Cannondale.

Since then, we've traveled the country, making a living at something many people consider exercise, ecologically-friendly transportation or simple child's play.

"First and second place," Mark said. "Not too bad!"

"We know how to pick the winners," I told Mark, then winked at my husband.

"I think Cassie deserves a victory kiss," Scott said.

I bowed my head, blushing. "From me or you?"

Mark turned his head sideways to give his wife an affectionate kiss on the cheek, and then said, "Why don't you two take turns?"

"What am I, a piece of meat to be passed around the table?" Cassie asked, smiling to let us know she was teasing.

"No, we'll play pass the meat later," I said with a laugh, squeezing my husband's thigh. I was anxious to share his cock with Cassie, to watch as she wrapped her soft red lips around him. And even more anxious to get a piece of her guy.

Cassie and I had discussed the "rules" in the hotel room after the race. Getting ready for dinner, we shared one long mirror in the bathroom. She wore a sky blue bra from Victoria's Secret and low-rise jeans, while I had a pink bra—ironically, the same style—and a short denim skirt that hugged my thighs.

I caught Cassie eyeing me a few times, and I suspect she noticed me doing the same to her. Only half-dressed, we straightened our hair, then applied blush, mascara and painted our eyelids in shades of smoky gray. Finally, we pulled frilly, sleeveless tops in pastel colors over our bras to present ourselves to our men.

We'd been waiting for this weekend for a long time, ever since the four of us had discovered we liked to play. Mark had caught me checking out a "booth bunny" in the hotel bar after hours during Sporting Goods Manufacturers' Association trade show and commented, "She wants you, too."

"What?" I looked at him blankly. I vaguely recognized the tall guy in front of me. His black polo shirt, Specialized embroidered in the right corner, told me I should know him better—the company was one of the magazine's bigger advertisers. He'd pitched a few stories to me in the past and seemed a lot sharper than many marketing professionals, fun to talk to and very savvy, but I couldn't remember his name.

"She was checking you out. And you were checking her out." An impish grin looked very out of place on his extremely masculine and goateed face and I had to laugh.

"And I can't blame either of you," he said.

"Fair enough," I said. "I'm Lexie, by the way." I put out my hand formally. He took it gently, and, instead of the requisite handshake, kissed it. I laughed again, this time more of a giggle, my defenses down. After that night, I knew I wouldn't turn down any story he ever pitched me.

Then I met Cassie, and we became fast friends. Cassie and Scott had raced on the same team before, shared the same sponsors, and got along well. Unfortunately, since we lived half a continent apart—they in LA, us in NY--it took a lot of planning and infinite patience to take our friendship to the next level.

Now, with half the weekend already gone, time was running short. That's why Cassie and I determined we wouldn't waste time with petty rules or specifications. We decided early on—without letting our husbands in on the plan—that anything and everything was fair game tonight. Full swap, kissing, same room, different room, two-on-one, three-on-one, video, oral, anal... only our imaginations would limit our adventures for the night. If only we could get started.

Now, as that time approached, my heart pounded loudly in my chest. I was at the pique of the race, dangerously close to hitting the wall, where your legs feel like lead and you can't move another inch, thighs burning, breath heavy, a mountain in front of me. That mountain was simply gathering the nerve to make that first move.

I looked around the crowded but dark restaurant. What if there was someone we knew here? Half the cycling industry was here—of course there was someone we knew! At the top of their careers and competitors in last year's Tour de France, Cassie and Scott were minor celebrities. Mark and I were only known within the industry.

What if someone did see? my drunk brain argued with itself. Who cares? A little scandal never hurt anyone, especially when Cassie's husband could spin any story in a positive light and I had enough media connections to work damage control.

Besides, if people were really that concerned about our personal lives... well, maybe they needed to spend more time training and less time reading the tabloids or cycling blogs.

Under the table, my foot had shed its clog and was working its way up Cassie's ankle. She smiled and leaned over--

Right into Mark's wine glass. "Oh, fuck!" She shoved her chair away from the table to get up. I watched the curve of her hip inside her dark blue denim jeans, the way the bleached 'whiskers" pointed in a seductive way.

Scott, thinking fast, grabbed the glass; there hadn't been much wine left in it, so only a few drops had escaped onto the stark white table cloth. Around the table, three of us heaved a collective sigh. I got up, too.

"Look," I said to Scott. "Switch seats. This is awkward."

"This is a comedy of errors," Mark said.

"It's like fucking ... Lysistrata."

"Come here, Aphrodite," I said, smiling as I reached for Cassie's shoulder.

"Would that make you Sappho?" she teased.

I was afraid the mood had been broken by the spilled wine. My heart was pounding harder than it should have been, and my panties were moister than I can ever remember.

Yes, I definitely liked girls. Why was it so damn hard to flirt with them?

Finally, her tinted red lips found mine. I could scarcely breathe. The kiss didn't last long... 20 seconds maybe, and the whole time, I was holding back a smile, knowing Scott and Mark were staring.

As we broke away and I opened my eyes, I knew my suspicions were correct. Yeah, they were both gazing open-mouthed at the show.

Mark smiled, then signaled the waiter. As he approached, Cassie and I straightened our shirts, crossed our hands on the table, bit our lips to hold in the giggles, and tried to look nonchalant. "Check please," Mark said.

It was a short walk back to our hotel room, and Cassie held me up most of the way. I'd had a bit more to drink—or perhaps a bit less to eat—than I had realized, and the room was spinning, a kaleidoscope of faces, fuzzy voices in the distance, laughing, talking, shouting. I had the vague notion of several guys watching us as we left. Cassie's hand was in my back pocket, and I had my arm wrapped around her waist. In her heels, she towered over me, but I liked it.

The thought of dropping to my knees and going down on her in the middle of the restaurant appealed, but I wasn't sure if the angle would work with a girl. I hated being so inexperienced in these matters.

Drunk as I was, I blurted out my trepidations. "I have no idea what I'm doing. Just so all of you know that. You know. I've had experiences, I mean. But every time, I was so drunk, I'm really not sure what I'm doing."

"You've always done fine," my husband said.

"Must have been luck," I laughed. "I truly am clueless when it comes to girls!"

Mark smiled as my husband rolled his eyes at me. Cassie stopped walking. I stumbled slightly, but she grabbed my arm so I wouldn't fall. She turned to face me. She grabbed my face in her hands and kissed me, hard this time, almost the way a man would. "Oh, sweetie," she cooed. "Don't worry."

A few minutes later, I stopped and initiated a kiss. Stretching upward, I wrapped my arms around her and we stood there in the hallway for long minutes, exploring each other's mouths, breathing hard, wanting to stop so we could get back to the room and move on, but not wanting to stop, loving the taste, the feel, the closeness. She truly was an amazing woman.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and realized it was Mark, pulling me away. "Let's save some for later," he said. "Don't want you girls getting tired of each other!"

"Like that would ever happen!" Cassie said, which made me grin. I grabbed her hand, and we walked back to the room that way. High school girlfriends. BFF. That's just about how I felt—like a teenager in love. Or lust. Or some odd combination of the two. It's great to find close friends you can fuck.

It started, as I had imagined it would, with me and Cassie. We didn't prop each other against the closed hotel room door, fumbling with the key as we kissed passionately, finally tumbling onto the neatly-made bed to rip off each other's clothes. It wasn't like that at all.

In fact, we had cooled off by the time we reached our penthouse suite. Mark and Scott no longer held their hands in their pockets to mask erections and Cassie and I had started talking about next month's cover story for Bicycling. I was putting Cassie on the cover and we would do the interview right after the photo shoot.

I was still torn between two photographers—one male, one female—and asked Cassie's opinion. "You know, Antonio is quite a player," she said. "But I heard Elizabeth is--" Cassie paused, then blushed uncharacteristically. "She's like us, so that could get very interesting!"

I grinned. I'd always suspected Elizabeth was bi, if not a lesbian, but, as an editor, it wasn't the type of thing you asked about freelancers who worked for you.

"Is that all you think about? Who you have better odds with?"

Cassie smiled. "Why not?"

I laughed. "That's why I love you," I said, reaching up to kiss her again.

Back in familiar territory, talking business, I felt more comfortable. I slid my tongue into her mouth without effort, relishing the sweet, bubbly taste of cola and vanilla rum, the salty spice of the filet mignon we'd both enjoyed as an entrée.

A second later, a hand on my back steered me into the hotel room. The bedside lamp someone (I suspected it was Mark) turned on provided enough light to find our way to the bed, where we continued kissing.

The mattress was soft and we flopped onto it gracefully, giggling, a flurry of hands, lips and tongues on ears, cheeks, necks. Lips on lips, hands on bare shoulders, caressing, feeling the soft round curves of our bodies together. We sat up, and my tongue traced Cassie's collarbone. My hands moved down around her waist, to the hem of her blouse, finally pulling it up and over her head.

My husband stepped up behind me to pull off my shirt, his hands cupping my breasts as he felt for the clasp on my front hook bra.

"Hey, you guys match!" Mark observed. Cassie filled out her blue Victoria's Secret demi bra much better than I did, her round 34 D breasts spilling out to form impressive cleavage, while my 34 Bs remained almost entirely covered by the satin material. A silver VS logo dangled seductively off the clasp between Cassie's breasts, while mine lay flush against my chest.

"We almost do!" I laughed, using one hand to undo the clasp on Cassie's bra.

Before I could make a move, Mark grabbed her breasts, began sucking a tight little nipple. I tugged at his t-shirt, pulling it up over his head. He separated from Cassie long enough to shed the shirt, then went back to sucking. "It is so hot watching you with a woman," he said, pausing for a breath.

My head swam with thoughts... were Scott and I really in a hotel room with Cassie and Mark, after two years of flirting, waiting, hoping?

"Then let me be with her," Cassie said, gently shoving Mark away, a gentle, loving smile on her face. Mark grinned as Cassie approached me again.

I fumbled with the button on her jeans. The denim felt like just one more frustrating barrier between us, when we were so close to culminating our friendship in the way we'd all been waiting for.

She gently pulled back to undo her jeans, while I unbuttoned my skirt and slid it down my hips. We laughed to discover we wore matching lace Victoria's Secret panties, hers in blue, mine in pink. "Hard to believe we've never gone shopping together, isn't it?"

"We'll have to fix that someday soon, too," Scott said.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Mark watching me. My legs grew weak and I stumbled as I stepped out of my skirt. I couldn't decide who I wanted more: Cassie or Mark.

Mark made the decision easy as he grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me hard on the lips. We tumbled onto the bed. His long tongue exploring my mouth left me breathless as I imagined what else that tongue could do. I pulled away briefly to gauge Scott's reaction, but found him wrapped up in Cassie—quite literally.

Cassie's long legs wrapped around Scott's hips as she sat on the edge of the bed, kissing him. His hands explored her large breasts; it was clear, even through his pants, how much he wanted her. Cassie must have sensed it too, because soon, her long, thin fingers were pulling at his pants, unbuttoning them with graceful ease. I sat, transfixed, watching, as she took his cock in her mouth, caressing his balls as his shaft disappeared down her throat.

Mark's fingers between my legs brought me back to the action on our side of the bed. I nudged Mark. "Isn't that hot?" I said, directing his attention to Scott and Cassie.

"Not as hot as you," he replied, tossing me onto the bed and folding my legs into the air. While I was watching Scott and Cassie, Mark had removed his pants, too. He kissed me again and we stared into each other's eyes as he penetrated my soaking wet pussy.

I moaned, attracting the attention of Scott and Cassie. "Mmmm," Cassie said. "That looks like fun."

They fell beside us on the queen size bed, Scott on top. I grabbed Cassie's hand, loving the closeness, and she squeezed my fingers as Scott entered her for the first time.

We fell into rhythm, the four of us, mine and Cassie's pre-orgasmic squeals perfectly timed with each other. I edged closer and began kissing her, my tongue plunging her mouth in time with her husband's cock entering me, deep and hard. I gasped between kisses, unsure how to react to this dream come true, never wanting it to end, the pressure inside me building so much that I didn't know what I'd do if I didn't come soon.

I reached down and grabbed my husband's shaft just as it exited Cassie, clutching the moist member. My fingers quickly found her swollen clit and I squeezed, rubbing it between my fingers in a way I knew I would have liked.

Mark hovered over me, his cock deep inside my body, and watched his wife's reaction as her hips bucked up and down with the pleasure from my touch.

"Oh, fuck me harder," I yelled. I wanted his cock hard and fast inside me, to release the throbbing pressure I felt building in my own clit. My nipples were as rock hard as his dick, and I had never felt such an overwhelming desire to come.

I rubbed Cassie hard and fast, using the volume of her moans to gauge my success. My husband's cock brushed against my hand as he moved, and occasionally, I rubbed my fingertips against his shaft or balls.

As I rubbed her clit, Cassie wiggled beneath me, pushing her pussy up into my hand; she wanted more and more. Soon, my index and middle fingers shared space in her pussy with Scott's cock. Scott moaned as I managed to stroke his cock as it came inside Cassie. As her pussy clenched around my fingers, I wondered how long Mark and I could hold off with this show going on beside us.

Yes, I was in a hurry, but I was enjoying pleasuring Cassie too much to make it about me right now. My fingers were lost in the moisture, a sticky wet, yummy mess, cock and pussy throbbing around my hand.

I soon brought those fingers to my mouth. Mark grabbed my hand, though, and began sucking, enjoying the taste of his wife's pussy juices from another woman's finger.

As Mark sucked my fingers, Cassie rubbed her hand across my stomach and slipped it between me and Mark to my own wet mound. Her dexterous fingers found my clit quickly and grabbed it. With Mark's cock rubbing deep inside me and Cassie's fingers on my clit, it wouldn't be long before I felt that sweet release. I'd been waiting for this moment for years—why was it taking so long? It wasn't for lack of talent by anyone involved.

On the verge, my back arched and I squealed with delight. But Mark pulled out, spewing semen across my belly. He heaved a sign, collapsing on the bed beside me. He ran a finger through my hair. "I'm sorry, sweetie. That was just... way too much."