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Proposal by Vickie Tern At first I didn't think Tiff had even heard me -- she just looked at me, her face registering nothing. So I proposed it again, a lot more earnestly, this time as if I were on one knee and proposing marriage. Which I was, in my own mind, and she knew it too. She knew that was my eventual intention, though I knew her answer now would be 'Sorry, no!' or at best 'Larry, you're wonderful and all, but I'm not ready ....' She simply wasn't ready, not for that kind of commitment. We'd met six months earlier when our two firms were negotiating a mutually advantageous contract from which we'd both personally benefited. I'd invited her to celebrate the agreement with a drink afterward, and that had led to ... other understandings, and we became intimate, and well, anyhow, I knew from then on that she was THE one. We'd dated often since then. Every date ended in my apartment or hers, in my bed or hers, with both of us feasting on each other. I couldn't get enough of her. As someone in Shakespeare said about Cleopatra, "Other women cloy the appetites they feed, but she makes hungry where most she satisfies." Whatever I felt, I was sure she had similar feelings for me, though she never said so. I also knew that despite the intensity and passion of our sessions together and my sure knowledge that I was the number one guy in her life just as she was the only person in mine, she was still dating other men. So I was settling for an indirect commitment. Sort of. I suggested that we move in together, try living together, nothing assumed, see how it goes. I was hoping that with greater intimacy -- and a certain greater inconvenience when she was trying to date others -- that those others would fall away and she'd center her concern and her thoughts for the future on me. Then I could risk going on one knee and uttering the "M" word directly and getting a favorable answer. Her immediated response was hard to read. She concentrated her gaze on me. "Just live together? I hadn't thought ..." she muttered as if to herself. "Would he ...? Can I ...?" Then she spoke aloud. "Well, Larry, we do get on fabulously, and you're the kind of guy I've always adored, almost too cute to be a guy -- I get a lot of teasing from friends who've met you. We're so alike, so incredibly compatible, we match up in dozens of ways. But I'm not sure .... Though I bet ...!" Then silence. Her face registered a half-dozen thoughts too quickly for me to read any of them. "It's possible," she said, mostly to herself. She stared at me for a full minute more, making up her mind. And then suddenly she declared, "Yes! Yes, let's!" Amazing! My heart soared, I felt almost faint! "Yes!" she repeated. Followed by words pouring out of her -- "Larry, you're absolutely right. Why didn't I think of it before? Yes, perfect! Live with each other, together! End all this haphazard hooking up at your place or maybe mine, all this random waking up in one or the other's place to shower and then get dressed in yesterday's clothes. We should try it! See how it feels and find out what can happen! How about starting today?" Today? Talk about decisive? I was rapturous! I couldn't even nod, my throat was so choked up. She talked on as if she had to persuade me! "But it'll have to be my place, not yours! My apartment, there's way more room for both of us there. You'll quit that place of yours with that strange landlady and move in with me! You can use the empty bedroom alongside the kitchen, the one that's supposed to be a maid's room. I don't expect you'll sleep there most nights, but that can be your special place if you need privacy, or I do, and that's where you'll keep your things. Then we'll see how it goes, see if there's more to this relationship of ours than we know about now." I could only nod soundlessly. "I do have to confess it, honey, you ... you're the most promising man I've ever ...! You may well be the one person I've always wanted and needed and dreamed about, everything I'll ever want. You're right, we should be getting serious. Yes. So we'll start by living together, nothing assumed, no commitments, and we'll see. I hope so. Yes! Bring your stuff here and move in with me and we'll see. Today!" My heart had bounded sky high! When the idea first came to me of proposing that we live together, that one of us move in with the other, it had seemed so improbable! That this gorgeous, accomplished, self- confident young woman would allow me to share her life so ... utterly! On a daily basis! Actually live with me to see if increasing familiarity would lead to ... to a desire for more? To a lifelong relationship? To marriage? I desperately wanted to marry her, but Tiffany was far more cautious, far more reserved. I knew that well enough. Yet here she was, she'd agreed to live with me! Immediately! Full time! I was ecstatic! "Both of us will be living in my place," she continued. "So it's on my terms!" 'Whatever!' is what I was thinking jubilantly. She sounded quite firm as she leaned forward, her eyes never leaving mine. "The main condition is, our relationship stays the same as it is now, Larry, with the same understandings. We'll be more intimate more often, we'll make love more frequently, and I'm already looking forward to that! But we won't be exclusive. We won't be going steady, Larry. Not yet." She looked at me closely to see if that was a deal breaker. No, it wasn't. I'd sensed that was still a problem for her, which was why I hadn't proposed to her outright. "I will still date other men whenever I choose, and if you like you can date other women, even though you keep telling me you no longer care about other women." She smiled a self-satisfied smile and then continued. "We'll live together, but that doesn't mean we'll be committed to each other exclusively! Not unless or until we're absolutely sure of each other and we can both agree we're sure and can get ourselves formally engaged. If we ever do. You know what I mean, with a ring and announcements and months spent fitting a gown and selecting a preacher and setting the big date and hiring a hall. And promising to forsake all others, and all the rest of it. We'll both wait until we both know we both want the whole thing. If that ever happens." Heartening and not unexpected, but even so, a touch dispiriting. So I had to ask her, just to be sure, "We won't be exclusive? You'll still see other guys?" I meant, 'You'll still sleep with other guys?' but I didn't have the courage to phrase it that way. I didn't have any right to ask. Of course she may well have meant that! She might be doing that even now, those nights we weren't together. She knew I was thinking it, and she watched me closely. "Yes," she replied. Her tone of voice alone answered my fearfully unasked questions. "I'll still see other guys. No, we won't be exclusive! We'll be the same as we are now. We aren't married, Larry, and we aren't engaged. Maybe some day, but not yet. So one step at a time. Living together, being with each other day after day, that's a big enough step for now. Sleeping in the same bed nights, can you tolerate living with me like that?" She smiled, then teased me further. "Every night, mostly, all night, mostly? If not, ...." "God, yes, oh GOD yes!" I reassured her instantly. And tried to start reassuring myself. She then began to tease me, but she was serious. "You think you could watch me, or ignore me, as I'm getting dressed to go out with some other man? Maybe to see a show with him, or go to a party, or go dancing?" She watched me closely. "Maybe go somewhere ending up at his place?" I made a hopeless gesture signifying that I'd have to. She was being tactful, so I didn't ask, "You mean, would I mind if you invited him in for a drink afterward and then the two of you disappeared into your bedroom?" I lacked the guts, and her last suggestion rendered that fear irrelevant. She may be doing that even now, those nights -- most nights -- when we weren't together. When I wasn't the guy. I didn't want to think about it. She paused and watched me for a moment, then continued. "I'm still not ready to settle down, Larry. I'm still not sure you're the one, that you've got all the essentials I need. Nearly, I must say. I'll be frank. I've never forgotten how you once said you can't understand what women see in men, because it's women not men who have the appeal and the looks and the moves and traits you find most appealing. That it isn't masculinity but femininity you cherish. That sounded so promising, because in so many ways I agree with you. I sometimes feel that way about you too, your gentleness, your smooth appearance, your .... You have some of the best traits of both sexes! Sometimes I feel quite sure about you But then there are other times ...." I listened and said nothing, my brain and my feelings now nearly numb. I tried to console myself with what she had just offered. It was huge. One step at a time, dammit! "There's only one way I can ever be sure of you. You're the sweetest guy I have ever met, and my dearest friend! More than that, you're always so eager to please me! There's no one else I could possibly ask to do this, to do what I might ask of you. Even physically you're ... perfect for me -- slim, just my size. You know how well we fit together, how we feel like one person when we're ... joined. Oh, Larry, you're so perfect for me in so many ways, maybe all the ways that matter! Probably all!" I watched her intently, waiting for her to lean forweard and take that last step! "But I'm just not quite ready to commit to you alone forever. Not yet. I still want to check out other kinds of guys, to get to know them, to feel how I feel when I'm with them -- what I'm like, who I am when I'm with them, above all whether I like who I am and how I feel when I'm, when they're ... when we're .... Because who you are when you're with someone is what matters most in a marriage. " I nodded. I knew how I felt with Tiffany. Marvelous! Exalted! I knew who I was those times, courtly, eager to please, devoted, grateful for her least smile. Enamoured, worshipful almost from the first moment. Loving, so intensely I sometimes felt out of my mind! I knew she knew it, too. "With you I'm comfortable, you know what I mean? I feel snug, loved, taken care of, well-tended. You're my dearest, my very best friend. I'll be frank. Some men make me feel like someone else -- authoritative, dominant, maybe seductive, provocative, a wicked temptress. It's fun sometimes, tantalizing men, feeling the power of your own desirability, knowing they'd crawl and suck your toes if you asked them to crawl and suck your toes." I already knew that about me, though maybe she didn't. "With still other men I feel shy, helpless, like a timid little girl, you know? Inclined to try to please them to earn their approval, their protection. To do everything they want. Who knows why? But it's fun feeling different with different guys. Could I some day settle down with you, dearest Larry, and just be ... yours? And you mine? I think so. I hope so. Maybe. But I don't know that yet. And neither do you!" Could I live with her still dating other guys and feeling whatever she feels whenever she's with those other guys? Making love to other guys? Never quite sure what she's doing, spending whole evenings imagining that she's doing who knows what with them? Do I have a choice? I guess I have to live that way. For now. So I just stood there, silent. It was early morning, and we were standing in her apartment near its front door. We'd finished a date there and then enjoyed a long night of intense lovemaking, and we'd shared breakfast and coffee, and I was about to leave her. She had to get to her office, and I had to get to my class -- I was doing an MBA on leave from my firm. I'd known for months that I wanted to be close to her for the rest of my life. That I wanted her to be mine. So I'd decided a few days earlier that this time, as we were parting, I'd turn and suggest that we begin living together. Commit to each other is what I really meant, go steady, get engaged. But I hadn't put it that way bcause I suspected, no, I knew she didn't want it that way. Not yet. "I see you're disappointed. Well don't be. While we're living together we'll get to know each other much better than we've ever known anyone, and that's sure to give you an edge with me you don't have now. Isn't that some consolation? You'll get to know me better too -- you don't really know what I'd be like as a companion for life, now do you? What I'd want from you, what sort of you might make me most happy? Or whether you'd want to be the sort of person I'd want. Do you know?" "I thought I did, but I guess not," I had to say. "Not altogether! But I could try!" "And then we'd both see," she said, eying me thoughtfully. I knew I'd get a considered response when I proposed living together. I'd hoped for joyful, exuberant consent and had prepared myself for a lesser response, reluctant acquiescence maybe. Evasive delay maybe. Anything but outright rejection -- that would have been intolerable and did seem unlikely. Because living together was the next logical stage in our relationship. For both of us. We'd been dating for over a year. I'd given up on all the other girls I knew, though she'd made it clear that she hadn't yet quite done the same thing with boys. It was time for us to home in on each other, I was sure of that. To date each other and no one else, to try each other out as potential partners in marriage as it were. So tonight I'd suggested we begin. I'd proposed to her, in effect. At least in my own mind. Not in hers. As anticipated she wanted to go slower. She watched my face closely as she added, "You think you can do that? Live with me in this apartment as my roommate, my partner, my closest friend ever?" She smiled and continued. "My beloved admirer? My lover?" Another pause while she looked at me appreciatively, then added, "And now and then watch me go out with other guys? Maybe even wish me well with them, maybe even hope I enjoy myself?" I couldn't answer her. Was she teasing me? Torturing me? "There'd be compensations," she added. "We'd share each other's beds and lives. Almost every night we'd sleep together in each other's arms and wake up in each other's arms. I certainly hope so! I do so want to feel intimate with you, feel your utmost intimacy, more than any other person's ever. I do want to feel we can talk with each other about anything at all, even about what my date and I did together that night. Or our dates. I'd want to tell you every secret as if we were the closest of girlfriends instead of just being ... a guy and a girl who live together." She smiled. Reassuringly? Self-amused? Could I forebear feeling jealous? It could be wonderful, feeling that close to her. But it could also be terrible! She sensed my unease and reminded me again, "We'd make love as often as you choose. Waking up every day you'd have the first chance at me, and when I come home from a date you'd have the last chance too, before we settled in to sleep. You'd have my whole body, and you could kiss me above or below, any part of me, on or in any of my openings. Morning or evening. Doesn't that appeal?" She grinned wickedly, then went on, "And no matter what, I'd always feel grateful for you, that you care, and I'd consider myself incredibly fortunate! Even when I've just come home from a date, no matter how terrific the guy was I'll still want to creep into bed with you, and I'd still crave your intimacies if you're still awake. No matter what I've done with him, I'd want to be together with you again, become yours again, body and soul." Some of this was unthinkable, unendurable. If also, given what she'd just said, blissful. Yet this was my sole road to lifelong happiness with her, so I had to understand what she meant. "You're saying we'd be more like ... roommates? Not like ... a couple? Not like lovers?" "Tight-coupled, baby. And lovers too! Roommates, yes, but intimate roommates! The closest of close friends, with full privileges and full access to each other. Then when you finish that MBA course and they promote you the way they've promised, maybe then we'll want to think of ... getting closer still. If that's imaginable. You say you want to see how we get on long term, living together all the time, paired all the time. So do I. It does seem to me that what I'm proposing is the first stage of that. It just doesn't include 'going steady' as our parents called it, exclusivity, that's all. Not yet. We'd still see other people. And hook up, do with other people whatever seems appropriate. Same as we do now. But if it works out, we can easily move on to the next stage." I tried to imagine myself sitting in her living room -- our living room? -- casually chatting with some dude as we wait for her to finish putting on her make-up and come out of her room -- our room? -- and greet him maybe with a kiss, and leave the apartment with him. Glancing back to tell me not to wait up, maybe she won't be back until late, maybe not till late the next day, be a dear and remember to feed the goldfish. I tried to imagine myself glad to know that she's enjoying herself. As if I were her brother, or maybe some faggot she rooms with with for convenience. Which is what her date would probably think I am. Or maybe a hired servant? A wimp cuckold boyfriend? That's what I'd seem. One of those. "It'd be hard," I said. "Seeing you leave for a fun night with another guy. And him seeing me. What would he think is going on with us?" "Simple! I'd tell him you're my apartment mate. That we live together as a matter of convenience. Because that's what you'd be and that's what it'd be, if also other things. More than that is no one's business but ours." "But what happens when you return with him, even if it's only for a good night kiss outside the door. What if you invite him in?" My stomach was twisting but I tried to stay calm. "Baby, I see other men now, and you know it even though you may not want to think about it. And sometimes I do feel like inviting one of them in, and I appreciate that you never ask if I do. But you'd be my number one man! You are now, my pride and joy, and you know it! Would I want to live with anyone else? Why would you care what I do with other guys when you know that you and only you are the first of all them in my affections? When you know that every day we're growing closer! And every night!" Oddly, she seemed genuinely baffled by my reaction. She didn't understand? "It's a matter of respect," I said half-incoherently. "I'd feel committed to you, so I'd assume you felt the same so I'd feel you were sort of betraying me." That sounded too strong. "I might feel that way, somehow. I might need to feel it. A man's a man, after all," I added. This was gibberish! I wasn't sure what I meant, and obviously she didn't know what I meant either, but she did see I felt disturbed. Disappointed. A gleam or two appeared in her eye before she said, "I tell you what. You obviously need to get accustomed, so I won't date other guys right away. Not from the apartment. Or when I do, don't worry, in no time at all I'll arrange things so you don't feel embarrassed, or even know. We'll try to tune in on each other's feelings and needs and arrive at mutual understandings." A mysterious smile lit up her mouth. "I hope feel even closer." That was as much of a concession as I could hope for. I didn't know what she meant by 'mutual understandings' but I nodded. "OK," I said. "Sounds like a plan." It did. Even though it didn't. A new problem suddenly occurred to me. A practical problem. "Tiffany, there's something else. Until I finish this MBA program I can't contribute my fair share of the rent. My salary doubles when I'm done, and there'll be bonuses and commissions and so on, so then no problem. But during the next year ...?" She waved that problem away. "That's OK, Larry. You pay me whatever you pay now for that place you're in, then you can make up the rest by taking over general care of this place. Our place, it'll be. The housekeeping and so on. I'm always slow to pick up after myself, and you're a lot tidier, and we both know you're a much better cook than I am. Anyhow, given my new promotion and all the upcoming travel and so on I won't have time for that kind of thing anyhow. Is that OK?" She smiled and looked genuinely hopeful. "Please?" She really wanted me to come live with her, for us to live together, even though we wouldn't be blending our lives altogether, not just yet. But I'd be sleeping with her every night, nearly, and she wants that! We'd be together all the time! Nearly. What's wrong with me? I had to accept her terms. I'll be living with the most beautiful, the best-natured girl I have ever known, my chosen- but-not-yet-choosing life-partner-to-be I hoped. I'd have every opportunity to make her feel that same way about me! To prove to her that I was her ideal mate, eager to make her happy, to fulfill her every desire. That's what I wanted above all. She wasn't ready yet to call us a complete, an indivisible couple, 'one flesh' as the marriage ceremony puts it. She wasn't ready to share all of her life with me and only me. But that would come! "Deal!" I said. And marvelously, she turned incandescent! She glowed! She threw herself at me! We turned back toward her bedroom. I cut class that day. My cock was deep inside her and my mouth filled with her tit when she reached toward her bedside table to phone in sick! The very next day I boxed up and carried off to Good Will Industries all my old, worn, and torn clothes, and packed up and brought over my very best clothes -- a few suits, a sport jacket, a few pairs of slacks, one new pair of jeans, some odd shirts and underwear, that was pretty much it, clothes displaying me at my best, to give her the impression that my best is my usual. And then I moved in with her! Hung everything in the closet in my little room off the kitchen, but slept with her that night in her big bed and her big bedroom. And made glorious love to her that night and the next morning. Except when she was out of town I made love to her most nights and many mornings. ******* Some evenings she was 'otherwise engaged'. The first time with a group of women friends, only two days after I'd settled in. "First Monday of the month!" she announced that morning. "That's when we gather for our hen fest! You'll meet some of them sooner or later." "What? Who?" I asked, baffled. We were sitting down to breakfast, for me a heated bagel with melted cheddar, for her a bowl of granola. We'd just showered together after a brief but intense morning intimacy, and both of us were still wearing terrycloth bathrobes. Hers was loosely tied, exposing a pink nipple on a gorgeously round breast that bobbed gently each time she lifted her spoon. My throat choked -- I couldn't eat, watching its rise and fall. Just as well. "Some of my girlfriends. We meet for dinner and talk once each month, you know, gossip, share news about all sorts of personal things, stuff like that." "Will my moving in with you be one of them?" I didn't want her to change her mind if they disapproved. Mel glanced over at me. "Of course, sweetie, as far as it goes. But no further!" I couldn't tell what that meant -- that our living together wasn't important? That it'd be like announcing an engagement? Might she end it if I wasn't judged worthy? I supposed her friends lived with men in all sorts of different arrangements -- this one only one more. I wasn't happy to be deprived of her company even for a single evening, and told her so, jokingly of course. She nodded seriously. But thereafter, whenever she had to be out of town for a day or so, or had a presentation that extended into the evening, or maybe had a date with another guy, I never knew and couldn't ask. She'd simply tell me she wouldn't be home for dinner, or for the night, or for the next few days, with no explanation. Carefully watching me, waiting for me to nod my understanding, whatever it was I understood. I tried not to notice what sort of briefcase or overnight case, smaller or larger, she left with on those mornings. It meant little anyhow, because I knew she kept overnight and weekend stuff in the office "just in case of an emergency somewhere else, you never know." I never did. And she did try to make it up to me on her returns, soon opening her legs wide and welcoming all the delicious 'Welcome Home' kisses I could give her. But most nights and mornings we slept and woke up together! And sleeping together all night every night vastly multiplied the things we found to do to please each other, especially the things I could do for her to persuade her that I was indispensable. Her least whim became my most ravenous desire! No matter what! When we'd first begun seeing each other, before we made love she'd spread her legs to give my hand easier access to her quim. Instead I'd go down on her, my tongue eager to demonstrate my devotion. So when she finally let me fuck her, I'd already been paying homage to her pussy with my face. I loved the soft feel of her lovely pink folds of moist flesh on my lips, and the flavor of her juices! There was no nectar more delicate, sweetly salty and clinging on my tongue! I'd get ecstatic, entranced, when I made love to her wet, sometimes dripping pussy, blissfully kissing and licking it until she'd go rigid, paralyzed into orgasm after orgasm. She'd then do me orally. She'd slide her lips up and down my cock, sometimes only until she needed me inside her -- then I'd fuck her with rapt urgency and she'd moan and whine and shriek in bliss. But sometimes she'd suck on me until I exploded and spurted down her throat. She seemed to love that too! Then we'd fuck. Now that we were living together, sleeping together every night she wasn't away, anything I could think of doing to please her was what I did! Anything she wanted me to do, I did! Each night there was time for me to fuck her two, sometimes three times, her mouth bringing me back to rigidity after my first climax, each successive bout lasting longer and granting her additional orgasms. A week after I moved in with her, when we'd fucked gloriously and I'd come inside her for the second time, when we were both catching our breaths and my exhausted penis had flopped helplessly out of her, she said, "Now kiss me, lover!" I'd been doing just that, passionately, the whole while I was lunging in and out of her. So I leaned over to kiss her lips yet again. "No, not my face. I mean my other lips, sweetie," she'd said, looking softly into my eyes. "My pussy lips. Where your penis just was. Where your lovely mouth and tongue were earlier, before you came into me. Go down on me again now! Kiss me there! After what we've been doing it'd feel heavenly to me, I know it!" Her puffy, messy lower lips were drooling a slick mix of creamy cum and her own juiciness! Did she mean it? "You want me to kiss your pussy as it is now?" She'd smiled almost smugly and closed her eyelids and let out a deeply held breath. "Yes," she said. "As it is now. While it's still feeling the way you've made it feel. Share our intimacy! Please! Now!" As I hesitated she added, "I adore the feel and flavor of your cum in my mouth and throat. You should learn to love it too! You can! Share it with me!" Hers, yes! Mine? I hesitated. Her response was to spread her legs even wider, opening her eyes to stare at me with a certain ... impatience? Annoyance? Because I hesitated? "I hope you'll swallow it down, lover!" she added abruptly. Exactly my words to her of many months ago, a year ago, the first time she went to her knees to take my cock in her mouth. I'd urged her to take me in all the way, and she'd looked up at me, then done it without hesitation. So of course this time I returned the favor. I went down on her and as I lapped and sucked I looked up at her delighted face, sluicing up her abundant juices along with my own jism. It wasn't that bad. It didn't even taste or feel vastly different from my initial tonguings and mouthings of her vulva before I first entered her. I filled my mouth and swallowed it down, and when she orgasmed more poured out so I kept swallowing more mouthfuls. She was transported! She had two more orgasms as I ate her! She'd seemed exalted as my sperm-lubricated nose rubbed against her clit and my tongue poked and writhed deep inside her, seeking more syrupy exudations. "Oh, you darling! she repeated over and over. "You utter doll!" My avid devotion enchanted her! That may have been what she was really seeking. Was she testing my devotion to her pleasure? I pressed my face into her slit and licked even more raptly and rapidly. "You swallow everything?" she asked me innocently, but with a mischievous gleam in her eye, "All of it? How do you feel about swallowing boy juice?" "Mostly it's your juice," I answered, refusing the implied put-down of sorts, as if she was inquiring whether I'm a devoted cocksucker at one remove, maybe gay. "It's you I love. You gush a lot more love juice than I do." "But you did swallow all your penis glop? All that creamy spurt stuff?" I nodded, a bit embarrassed by the way she was putting it. "Don't you love the feel and the taste the way I do when I suck your cock?" I made as if I were nodding, uncertain where she was going. "That's just lovely, sweetie! I'd so hoped you would. I do too. Yours especially! We do enjoy so many things together. And now you know, that too!" Mine especially? Meaning others too, sometimes? Well, maybe that was only a manner of speaking. Whichever, from then on that was how our lovemaking always ended as well as began. I'd go down on her and clean out everything I'd put into her or aroused out of her, using my tongue and mouth and nose and my whole face. I got to enjoy the slick feel on my lips and on the inside of my mouth. And the taste itself, the evidence of the intermingled joy we'd provided each other. I enjoyed even the dried, stiff crust I felt on my face and eyelids when we awoke still wrapped together. Often I'd clean her out again in the morning. No matter how thoroughly I'd licked her the night before, as we slept more sperm would dribble out of her vagina. So there was always more goop accumulated down there for me to slurp and swallow, more oozings from down deep overflowing onto her pink labia and crotch and coating her upper thighs. There's where, each morning, she'd receive a first long, loving, good morning kiss -- a wet, sticky smooch with lots of tongue! Then as a few more days went by, the more my mouth tasted her pussy the more I came to crave it, and the more passionately she'd squirm against my face until she'd achieved yet another orgasm or two. After a week or so, I couldn't wait to clamp my mouth tight against her crotch and drink my own cum back out of her yet again, along with hers. Every morning. To begin each day with her crotch wriggling against my face. Especially because she loved it and it gave her multiple orgasms, some in sequence, some mounted atop each other. I wanted her to feel habituated, hooked! Addicted! I already felt addicted! When she was away overnight or for a few days I couldn't wait for her to get home, to fill her and then empty her. Apparently she couldn't wait either -- she was always especially wet those times. Especially I loved becoming more and more indispensable to her. "You're so very wonderful!" she exclaimed one morning. "I thought only girls love tasting and swallowing men's sperm." My mouth was clamped tight against her and my head was clenched between her legs, so I could barely hear her. "Girls and gay guys. Yet you never seem to get enough. Are you sure you're not just a little ... OH MY GOD!" I silenced her by licking her clit with my tongue so vigorously that that little nubbin flipped back and forth, almost paralyzing her. Then I plunged that same tongue deep into her again. "GOD YES!" She'd entered a different world, breathing in and out in small shrieks until, shuddering, she'd orgasmed yet again with a great, glorious cry. Her cunt fluids drowned my face and soaked the sheets yet again. "Not quite gay," I smirked as we both caught our breaths. "But you're right, I never do get enough!" She had no answer to that. One evening, when we were finishing off a bottle of wine, she remarked that the previous year's vintage seemed superior. I commented that I hadn't noticed, and she replied that yes, she'd noticed I don't discriminate subtle differences in the flavors of things. "For instance, I know that your goop tastes different sometimes," she said with a satisfied smirk. "In fact every man tastes different from every other man, even from himself sometimes. You haven't noticed, different nights when I come home?" I preferred not to understand what she was implying, so I didn't reply. Not even jokingly. She always enjoyed teasing me. "I tell you what," she said. "Next time you go down on me" -- she was eying me carefully - - "imagine that it's someone else's stuff you're slurping up. See if it tastes different from your own." That struck me as odd, even perverted, and I told her as much. She was merely amused. "But from now on, you will notice, and you'll wonder about it, won't you?" I had to admit that was true, so I said nothing. She grinned almost triumphantly. She had been teasing me. I hoped. But for what it was worth I did notice thereafter how different she tasted some nights and mornings, before and after I'd ejaculated into her. Never bad, but variable. No mystery, we were different people after all. She herself never hesitated to reward my dedication to her cunt and its fluids by trying to bring me off the same way, with her own mouth and tongue. She'd take my flaccid cock into her mouth and suck it like a lollipop. Eventually in vain -- if I'd cum in her several times, my ardor was used up and it would remain unresponsive. But even when my penis could be coaxed no further, she'd re-arrange her body into a sixty-nine to allow me to go down on her. She'd stretch out, open her legs, and tell me provocatively, "Be a girl for me again, sweetie! Suck my pussy the way girls do with each other, and swallow your cum the way girls do with guys ." She looked mischievous as she added, "It's all yours, after all! This time!" Of course I would and did. Every time. So our late-night and early morning lovemaking was always deeply satisfying for both of us. Then in the morning she'd shower and dress and make up and head for her office and its problems, occasionally for an overnight or several days away, and I'd hang back and do my assigned reading and analytic writing. Unless I had actual classes to attend. Within a few weeks this and the housekeeping I'd promised became my life with her. Tiffany appreciated my desire to contribute and was grateful as I took on each cleaning and cooking task one by one. I soon performed them all unthinkingly and routinely. Now and then she'd phone from her office to tell me she wasn't coming home until midnight or so, but otherwise, as I'd hoped, we grew closer. She came to depend on me being there for her even when she wasn't. Life without her began to seem inconceivable. Mostly, when she left for the day I cleaned up our messes left over from the day before. I found almost at once that I'd made a mistake, heaving out all the worn clothes that were most fit for cleaning her apartment. It needed a lot of cleaning. Tiffany never saw stained sheets or unmade beds, and never felt impelled to pick up stuff left lying around on couches, chairs, tables, or floors. There were undies, high-heeled or flat shoes, and abandoned snacks and empty plates everywhere each morning. She never cleared spaces while she could still weave her way across a floor, while there was room for walking, or places remaining on tables or counters for setting things down. I undertook those duties as promised, and she immediately appreciated it. I neatened the place each morning before I left to attend my seminars, and each Saturday I thorough-cleaned and vacuumed the place. All that became routine. I took over all the laundering not only of our bedsheets -- hers, really, because I never slept in my own assigned room -- but also her own clothing. Whatever was washable. Even her most personal items. I gave special attention to her lacy, delicate undies, carefully soaking and hand-washing my saliva and our cum stains out of them. They were always stained when she took them off, and despite my tongue's heroic efforts each morning she'd drool down there during the day. But each stain was a trophy, after all! I regarded each with a pride of accomplishment. I loved reminding myself how it got there. "How marvelous!" she commented one day when she saw me hanging up some of her lingerie to air-dry. "You do that so well!" "You wear 'em, we mess them, I clean 'em, that's the deal!" I replied. "It's as if you were born to it!" she added. "Are you sure you haven't been rinsing out your own unmentionables all your life?" "If they're unmentionable, how could I confess to something like that?" I teased her back. She merely looked amused. The fact is, I knew I was responsible for those stains, and I also knew that she didn't share my pride in them. But I was surprised when one morning when, after examining a neatly folded stack of panties in her drawer, she tossed me a hi-leg with just a little lace at the wastline. "Here, you might want to try these on," she said. "You've certainly earned the right to dribble into them directly, and meanwhile feel for yourself how much more more comfortable smooth panties can be than those cotton thingies you wear Then I'll get you more of your own." I just stared at her, one eyebrow raised. "I do find it rather sweet, heartwarming, the idea that each of us wears the same kinds of undies all day, and you're washing them out together and hanging them up to dry side by side." Another form of the togetherness I hoped for, I guess. So I pulled those panties on that morning, enjoyed their silky feel, found I could easily pull a hi-cut leg hole aside to pee during the day, and confessed that evening that they felt marvelous, quite comfortable, that I'd even forgotten I was wearing them. Not quite true of course. I'd been aware all day that they were a token of her femininity dominating my masculinity, containing and minimizing it. Transforming it? As when I lapped up my own semen from her, and she amused herself by declaring I must be a girl, or gay, or anyhow less than a man? Was that her intention? The very next evening she presented me with a large assortment of panties, pink, pale blue, chartreuse, hi-leg, boy-leg, bikinis and scanties, a few of them in dark colors, deep maroon or black. All delicate, all dripping lace luxuriously. "Why these?" I asked her doubtfully. Now she seemed to be directly challenging my manhood. "For the same reason I wear them, maybe?" she asked innocently. "So when you're dating a fella, you won't forget you're wearing them and you'll feel especially pretty? Sexy maybe? Provocative, and a bit fragile? We all love to feel that way. Whether the guy is seduced by them or not." "You're my only date," I explained. We were undressing for bed. She saw I was wearing the pair she'd originally given me. "Then I'll feel good too, knowing you feel pretty. And you do look it - - God, Larry, you have such a gorgeous bod! Now take them off!" That was all she replied, falling back on her bed. When I reached down to touch her she shuddered and orgasmed right then and there! And then as I fucked her she never stopped shrieking. So that was that! It excited her! So of course I packed away my regular underpants, boxers and cotton briefs alike. And from then on I wore panties, and washed them together with hers. We took the same size, so it was sometimes hard to tell them apart. Whenever she saw them hanging together to dry she smiled conspiratorially at me, delighted. "His and hers," I commented, pleased by her pleasure. "All hers!" she replied. I wasn't sure what she meant, but felt reassured. One way or another she was staking a claim on me, sort of. Would any of her other admirers, whoever they were, consent to please her that way? Doubtful. It amused her to see my panties mixed in with hers. "See, we're not just roommates," she said as she saw me hanging the week's flimsy accumulation up to dry in the shower, hers and mine. "We're more like girlfriends with boyfriends! Have I told you about this guy I live with? Let me, and then you can tell me about one of your guys!" "There aren't any," I replied uneasily. "Never have been." This was a game I didn't want to play. "A pity!" she breathed at me sympathetically. "You've never been laid? Never felt a passionate cock slide in and out of you, pushing, maybe splitting you wide open? You really do prefer girls?" "If the girl's you," was all I could say. "Though I love everything we do." "That's nice," she said. "But there's more to life than we've done. You don't yet know the half of it." And she smiled to herself. "It's time for you to try the other half!" She was still quite pleased with me when we went to bed together that night. In her enthusiasm she asked me to enter her rear end, that wondrously tight opening between the soft, delectably round globes of her buttocks. "This is special," she said with a devilish grin. "But we both need to get used to it." I didn't ask why. "When you're finished using it, I expect you to leave it the way you found it, as clean as its near neighbor, licked clean with the same thoroughness and affectionate respect. Leaving behind no evidence that we've been naughty." She paused. "But I should warn you, I intend to claim reciprocity and fuck your ass too. So no complaints! Has anyone ever been inside that pretty butt you wave around sometimes?" I do? If she says so. "Never, madame!" I replied in my loftiest voice. "As for reciprocity, my ass is yours any time you want it!" "We'll just have to see, then," she said, as if doubting me. Then "Even so, I'd better stake my claim on it." She inserted a finger in my mouth, and I dutifully sucked on it, wetting it down as she pulled it in and out several times. Then she pressed that finger gently into my rear end. Not easily at first, but I relaxed my sphincter and she thrust it in, then out, and in and out several times there. I squealed, but discovered after a moment that it felt good, especially when she was caressing my prostate from inside. Wonderful in fact! My cock drooled appreciatively. She noticed, too. The fact is, what I mainly loved was that she felt so comfortable with me. When I finally got to the lubricating and fingering and then fucking of her ass, then to sucking and licking myself out of her, she seemed outright ecstatic! To the point of orgasm! "Oh, heavenly!" she exclaimed when we were finished, clinging to each other while our normal breathing returned. "You know, if you're going to do things my kind usually does, and wear what my kind wears so everything's appropriate, you should enjoy the pleasures too. All of them!" "I do want you to know all about how the other half lives," she declared another time as she unwrapped a new double dildo, then lubricated it by sliding it along her own pussy clit. "My half. Now up into a doggie position, sweetheart. This may stress your pussy at first, but I think we'll find that what's good for the goose is good for the gander too. Real good, I hope!" She then pressed the narrower side of the dildo against my rear opening. It slid in without a problem, and felt full. "Oooh, you seem to have been born for this!" she said, and reversed it. The fat side off the dildo stretched me and caused a bit of pain at first, but I directed my attention away from it to my cock -- peculiarly iron-hard with all this attention to my asshole -- until at last it too was fully inside me. I felt crammed, stuffed, and from deep in the pit of my stomach, pleased. As she started fucking me with it, more than pleased, and when she took my prick in her other hand and began stroking it, the feeling grew to delight, then exaltation. And at last, half out of my mind, I came, and as my cock spasmed so did my anal muscles, squeezing and squeezing that imitation cock repeatedly. As if in response to my own ass's rhythmic contractions, at the climactic moment she squeezed that dildo's balls and discharged something goopy deep inside me. "Oh, God!" I exclaimed. "Is that what you feel when I fuck you?" She smiled, pleased with herself. "That's right," she said. "And now that you know how good it is, what it's like to get fucked, trust me, you're fucked!" If she thought so! I then fucked her ass with my own cock, at the same time with two fingers in and out of her cunt. When she came I felt her ass muscles similarly spasming, and I was secretly pleased that whatever she'd done to me I was doing better to her! Anyhow, more authentically to her. When I was done, she declared categorically, "I'm going to get a strap on and do you properly! Yes! Often! This is certainly something we can share!" I was uneasy about thatt, but she produced one the very next night, and fucking each other quickly became one more way we could demonstrate mutual devotion. "I'll be the boy tonight," she'd say now and then, appearing from the bathroom already wearing her oiled cock. "And you can be the girl!" I had to grin at that, because I had so little talent for it. I thought so anyway. She proved otherwise. She'd mount me confidently, then enter me with one hard thrust, no preliminaries. I'd let out a high-pitched shriek, then a few more as the searing sense of stretching became a gratifying fullness. Soon I was moaning eagerly, rocking and thrusting back onto her, trying to sink her cock as far into me as it would go. Always, eventually, she brought me to an intense orgasm. I'd scream and then spray all over her belly or bedsheet, depending which way I was facing. Thereafter, fucking each other's ass became one more variant form of lovemaking we could both look forward to. When the artificial cum she injected into me ("get used to it, sweetie") dribbled out into my panties or the bedsheets, she loaned me tampons to blot it up, and showed me how to insert them. They'd give a wiggle to my walk for the hour or so I'd wear them, greatly amusing her. A few days later I ruined my one pair of jeans with oven cleaner and took to cooking and cleaning in whatever dress pants or slacks I happened otherwise to be wearing. To protect them I began wearing one of the several aprons Tiffany had hanging in the pantry, no doubt acquired as gifts at one time or another. Frilly with huge bows, decorated with delicately embroidered fruits or flowers. She'd never worn them, so the sight of me in one surprised and amused her at first. When I explained what they were for, she merely remarked that I looked "so very cute in them!" And kissed me! They soon seemed merely appropriate and unremarkable, what I wore when doing domestic tasks, that's all. But then the clothes those aprons protected became an issue. "You know something?" she said one Saturday, relaxing as I vacuumed all around her. "Apron or no apron, you shouldn't be wearing those cashmere wool pants and pressed dress shirts for housecleaning. Especially when you're scrubbing the kitchen. Is that wise? Don't you have any old clothes?" "I tossed all my old clothes when I moved in here with you," I commented. "I wanted to impress you with my good taste in good clothes." "Well, you succeeded. But at a cost you can't yet afford! I tell you what. We're about the same size, as you well know. We do fit!" She paused, momentarily distracted by what she'd said. I only grinned -- we certainly did! "I've got an odd box of old clothes I was about to give away, pants and other stuff fit for housecleaning and not much else. The pants and skirts are stretchy and the smocks and blouses are loose, so they should fit you comfortably despite our different shapes." She mused on that a moment, then continued. "Most of them. From now on you'll wear them for housecleaning. They're yours!" She grinned. She wanted me to wear her throwaways? "Your clothes? Women's clothes? I understand I ought to wear old stuff for jobs like thes. But yours?" She caught on immediately to my uneasiness, and her grin broadened. Obviously, she enjoyed the idea! And my discomfiture. "Why, yes, my sweet pantywaist. Wouldn't it help you feel even closer to me? Wearing women's clothes worries you a little? You're afraid you aren't man enough to dress like a woman?" Then she added, "Honey, the economy, comfort, and utility should be enough of an argument. Don't worry about looking too feminine. Whatever else, you won't look too attractive in them, not without makeup -- a bit silly maybe, but not girly! Not very girly, anyhow." I couldn't tell if she was serious or teasing me. "But the more girly, the less silly, come to think of it. And I want you to feel proud of your appearance no matter what. So you need to wear women's clothes that are nicer, more form-fitting. More you! I know! Let's just see." I merely stared at her. "Tiffany, I don't think ...." She added more earnestly, sincerely, "Larry, look at everything you're already doing for me. This is something I can do for you! Maybe you'd like to think it's for us?" I did want that. "OK," I said, only vaguely comprehending. She disappeared into her bedroom and emerged with a pair of skin tight lycra jeans and a flower-patterned stretchy cotton blouse, and held them out to me. No way housecleaning clothes! "Try these on, I bet they'll look just great," she said. "Men are never expected to be decorative and women always are. I'd love to see you brightening the place up. If these fit you, I have other stuff too, until we can get you your own. Here!" "You're kidding!" I commented, looking at them and then at her. She wasn't. She didn't say another word. Just continued to hold them out and nudge them at me impatiently. I wondered what she was up to. " Tiffany, why? You want to bring guys here and not threaten them with the idea that you're already living with a guy? Is that the idea? You want me to look like a girl when I'm here?" I was only half-jesting with her. "Maybe!" She looked me straight in the eyes. "You think clothes make the girl? They don't, not really!" She looked disappointed in me, and my heart sank some. Then she added slowly and seriously, "Larry, I've done a little dating since we started living together, and I'll be dating from here soon. But I see you need to overcome certain prejudices. They're obvious enough. You think women's clothes are demeaning? That they'd render you less desirable to me? If we're to go anywhere further, sweetie, you'd better begin to think otherwise!" Whatever she meant, that was that! I tried on the blouse first, pulling it over my head. Its short sleeves -- almost to the shoulder -- revealed but seemed to diminish the thickness of my arms somewhat, and the pale flowers printed on the fabric conferred a sort of delicacy on me I didn't otherwise feel. It fit snug on my chest -- despite my sagging pecs, it remained a man's chest. Tiffany stared at it thoughtully for a moment, glanced into my eyes, then back at my tapered torso, and said,"Pastels are your shade, sweetie, very flattering. And a flowered design, with its curves, certainly has a softening effect overall. But we shouldn't advertise shapes we haven't got -- a loose blouse is more your thing right now I should think. I'll lend you a few to wear when you want to look nice. But now let's see how those lycra jeans fit." Wondering whether I'd already compromised too much manhood in her eyes, even in my own, I pulled off the flannel pants I'd been wearing and slowly began to pull them on. "Good heavens, no!" she exclaimed. "Those panties won't do at all with those pants. Here, you need these!" She rummaged through a drawer and handed me a pale pink thong. "We don't ever want to reveal panty lines! What might people think?" She waited to see how I'd respond, watching me closely, still a bit amused. Was I man enough to wear a thong? Given everything else I'd agreed to do there was no point to my saying, 'But ... but this is a thong!' All she'd reply was, 'Duh!' So in the same spirit, I stared back at her, and then as if sharing the joke I stripped my bottom bare and pulled the thong up my legs. The string behind disappeared, snugged deep between my ass cheeks, rubbing against my anus as if seeking entry, altogether invisible. My buttocks looked bare. A small satin pad in front pressed my genitals back between my legs. There was no evidence I had any! Tiffany smiled to herself when she saw my flat crotch. "You're lucky you aren't hairy," she observed with some satisfaction, watching me. "I love how my things slide right up your body, no problem! But just to be sure, tonight you'll depillate yourself thoroughly, and from now on we'll share my skin lotions. Then we'll both love how you'll feel." I adjusted my genitals between my legs and pulled the jeans up and found that though tight, 'form-fitting' as they say when they really mean 'form-shaping,' they slid on effortlessly. Then when I stood up and looked down at my crotch I saw no bulge at all -- it was as if I was a girl from the waist down, as if the flat V between my legs was advertising labia and a slit further back. I blushed at the notion, and wondered if Tiffany saw it that way too. "Oh, lovely! Just like mine! As if we were sisters!" she said, staring at the valley where my legs met! I figured she was faintly mocking my new shape, but as I turned away, a bit ashamed, she looked distracted, then entranced. Her eyes tranfixed themselves on my rear end. "My God," she said. "Just look at those gorgeous globes!" "At what?" I was puzzled. "At your ass! Your rear end! Your bubble butt! These jeans have shaped that part of you into two plump beauties anyone would love to fuck! My God, how attractive they are! I can hardly keep my hands off them! I understand now for the first time why guys always want to grab a girl's buns while they're dancing, then bury their cocks in between them! Your figure down there is even more seductive than mine, I bet! Oooh, I wish I had a real cock! Come to bed this minute, Laurie! God, yes, 'Laurie'! From now on, whenever I feel this way about you, you're not my Larry but my 'Laurie'! My darling girlfriend Laurie! Oooh, I love it! We'll finish up whatever we were doing later!" Could I resist an invitation like that? I stripped off those jeans yet again, and the thong too. My cock and balls reappeared and sprang out, and for the next several hours we both made good use of both. An orgiastic fervor had been induced in her by the sight of my buns in those skin-tight jeans with that thong underneath, and in me by her orgiastic fervor. We finished exhausted. The sex was incredible. Frantic, breathless! She coaxed three orgasms out of me one after the other! Finally my penis just hung there, soft and exhausted. She lay there with my sperm once again drooling from her snatch. "You're perfect in those jeans," she said when it became apparent that I could perform no further. "But before you get dressed again let's just be naked girls together! You suck your cum out of me while I suck whatever I can out of you!" She gestured toward her soaked crotch. Well, sure! Eager to show her my love and devotion, I buried my face in her slit and started to suck my cum out once again, as she took my limp penis into her mouth and tried to tongue it back to life. Classic sixty-nine. If she thinks that's naked girl behavior, I was thinking, I can't argue with her -- I suppose lesbians do something like this. Maybe my butt in those jeans reminded her of a college roommate she'd coveted? The next day I accept four brand new pairs of tight slacks and jeans from her, all of them form-fitting, "to be worn any time -- a great ass like yours should never be hidden!" And thereafter that's what I wore. Sometimes even to class. The bottoms of my scoop-shaped buttocks were barely visible below my jackets, though a few girls who sat near me smiled at me when they saw what I was wearing. No doubt they recognized someone's feminine touch. Or maybe they too were turned on by my well- rounded ass? No matter -- I belonged to Tiffany, and hoped she was feeling more and more the same way about me. In fact, when she arrived home and found me wearing one of those butt-shaping pants and one of her loose flowered blouses, her smile was so radiant, her pleasure in my appearance so obvious that I hung away my men's clothes and wore only pants and blouses from her closet. At least while I was with her. "You are so lovable!" she whispered to me one evening, looking up from some papers she'd been reviewing while I read one of the women's magazines she left lying around. I felt so good, hearing that! Unimaginably! ***************** She did still find me attractive unclothed! We were lying together comfortably one night, exhausted from our lovemaking, when Tiffany suddenly said, "I want to try something new for those times when you're used up and you've gone soft and I can't wake you up again. Something to extend our lovemaking just a little longer." "Another dildo?" I asked, uncertain how I'd feel about seeing a larger, more impressive penis than mine entering her, even if unattached to a body, even if the one she'd use on me occasionally. "There's an idea ... that too," she replied. "But no, for now I mean something that babies do and girls love to have done and boys don't know much about. Not until they're fully grown, anyhow, and then some of them worry that it isn't manly, I'm sure, especially if it's done to them. But you won't. You like wearing my underwear and my clothes, so I'm sure you'll love this too! I know I'll love it! It makes for sensations unlike any other." "What's that?" "Suck on my breasts! You know I love it, I always do! Then I'll suck on yours!" I did. That was what she wanted. She wanted me to think of licking and sucking on hers as something babies do and girls do if they're lesbians, though I'd always loved it the way all men love doing whatever pleasures their women. So I did it. After kissing and licking her everywhere between her legs, sucking up my cum and hers until she orgasmed, I licked and sucked on her breasts while she squirmed and moaned helplessly, then again orgasmed. "Oh, wonderful!" she said. "Now me!" She began to reciprocate, sucking on my breasts. I felt embarrassed at first, because that's what's done to girls, not boys -- she was right, it wasn't manly. She settled her head on my chest, then with two hands she scooped up the soft flesh behind one of my nipples and wrapped her lips around the protruding pink nubbin. "Ummm!" she murmured as her lips encircled my nipple and her tongue licked me back and forth. I saw no point to it at first, but gradually realized that my nipples were peculiarly sensitive and responding. It became a shared pleasure - - I too squirmed and moaned. An erotic feeling began to grow inside me, and my nipples actually hardened. Then she sucked on one some more and it felt ... wonderful! Like a cock but somehow more ... generous, and closer to my heart. A joyous sensation began to swell up deep in my chest, a wonderfully relaxed, languishing feeling. "Ahhhhh!" I sighed. She'd lifted her head for a moment and grinned at me, as if she already knew how I felt, then returned to suck on my other tit. I melted! Desire grew! By the time she'd sucked on that other nipple and returned to the first, I was transported out of this world! Enchanted! And my penis? There it was, swollen again if not actually stiff! "You love it?" "Oh, Tiffany, God, yes!" So that became the way we fell asleep night after night after our lovemaking, if not my mouth on hers, her mouth and tongue nursing on one or both of my breasts, as she called them, transporting me to paradise. Sometimes awakening my cock for one more exploration of her caverns. Many mornings too. She might awaken me by taking each of my breasts in both hands and plumping them, one at a time, then sucking their tips while I floated in erogenous bliss, unable to deny her anything. Sometimes those sensations would awaken my cock yet again. and we'd screw yet again, and I'd clean her out yet again. Then suck on her tits while she writhed in pleasure. But almost always we fell asleep with her mouth nibbling my naked nipples. At her request I shaved my chest to eliminate all chance of hairs getting into her teeth and ruining the mood, and one night she showed me with a sly smile that in return she'd shaved her crotch to please my own mouth! "Tit for twat!" she added slyly. I got so Tiffany nursing on my breasts, as I began thinking of my nipples, felt as richly erotic as her nursing on my cock! Then one morning as she woke and reached to gather up one of my breasts with both hands, she commented in a mock-frumpy voice, "It just isn't fair!" "What isn't?" I asked, unable to tell if she was serious. "These tits of yours should be bigger. Way bigger! Look how much easier it is for you to suck mine, the way mine poke out at you and fit way down into your mouth. These need to be more like mine!. At the very least enough to free my hands so I don't need to form and cup you while I'm sucking. So I can stroke your other tit instead when I feel like it. Or even reach further down." I sympathized, but didn't want to tell her that that's how things are with girls and boys. It might sound unfeeling. "Would you mind so very much? Being that much more like me up there? For me? I've heard those moans you make when my lips are ravishing your nipples!" "Not if you want it," I squeaked without quite understanding her. Her hands pressed my chest until my nipples protruded, first one then the other, and then her lips sucked on me, first one then the other. Her tongue licked me and those exquisite sensations cascaded through me. They felt so ... feminine, I suppose you could call it. I felt helplessly, deliciously open to her, desiring her, gratified by her. When her tongue or her fingertips were caressing my nipples I could deny her nothing! "Good!" she replied abruptly. And reached for my slack penis and rolled it gently in her fist. It engorged a little. As she got out of bed she bent and kissed it. "Hello and goodbye, little fella!" she said to it. I had no idea what she meant. "Now is when," she said shortly afterward, when we were seated at breakfast. I looked up. She'd laid out a contraceptive pill and was pouring a glass of orange juice, as she did for herself every morning. But there was one of each at my place too. and she was looking straight at me, her expression quite serious. I looked down at it, then up at her. "Here's yours, if you don't mind," she said gently. "They'll soon feel even more sensitive I suspect, the way mine did when I started on these. You certainly won't mind that! I didn't!" She simply stopp