I was stunned when his best friend, Frank, told him he was gay. We were in my bedroom, poised to go and grab the local high life by the scruff of its scrawny neck. (There had to be more to life than turkey roasts, surely?) "But you've had more girlfriends than I've had hot dinners!" I pointed out.
"So hot men are tastier."
"That's not a nice thing to say," I spluttered.
"True. And I could stand here making a case for same sex love-ins till I cum in my pants, but the proof of the pudding is in the eating."
"Meaning what, exactly?" I demanded, blushing furiously.
"Meaning, we're best mates. We love each other. So making love has got to be the icing on the cake, right?"
"Don't you mean cream on the pudding?"
Frank grinned. "See, you're catching on already."
"I'm a happy heterosexual!" I protested.
"No such thing," Frank retorted, "You'll have to do better than that if you don't want me to rip of your clothes and fuck the hell out of you."
"This is designer gear, you bastard!"
"Okay, I'll be careful then." He started to slip my jacket over my trembling shoulders. "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like? I'm being careful. Where did you get that hideous tie?" He draped my jacket over a chair.
"You bought it for my birthday once, remember?"
"Really? Thank heavens for growing up! Talking of which, it's high time you learned about good taste." He winked.
I experienced a rush of goose bumps. "I thought I knew you but I don't know you at all!" I cried in growing alarm as his fingers deftly loosened and removed my necktie then - Oh, shock- horror - plucked the buttons on my shirt as if they were cherries on a tree. "You have to stop this, NOW," I told him. He lay my shirt and tie on the back of the chair and I considered pleading the need for a pee. Before I could get the words out, however, his tongue was coaxing my nipples to a quivering hard. "No!" The word exploded in my head and might even have found its way to my mouth had he not kissed me there and blocked its path. His warm, sensual lips on mine, I could feel his hands tugging at my belt.
Warm? Sensual? What was I thinking? He was abusing our friendship. I could not, would not stand for it...
He must have read my mind for it was then he pushed me on the bed and kept me pinioned there with his knees while he stripped me to my favourite Pooh Bear underpants. As this last bastion of male macho journeyed down my bare legs, the goose bumps returned with a vengeance and I tried to throw him off me. As he was stripping off his tee shirt, I seized my chance. Sadly, it was a missed opportunity as I was rudely distracted, by my own tongue no less, insisting on a quick lick of his nipples...just to see what it was like. His sweat tasted salty. I could but close my eyes, grimace and surf huge waves of shock-horror.
The trouble with tackling shock-horror with your eyes shut is that anything can come along and catch you unawares. Before I realised, I was sucking on a strawberry. Intuition told me this was no fruit gum.
He was inside me before I had decided that shock-horror wasn't for me.
More goose bumps, this time keeping rhythm with his sex.
What could I do, but revert to shock-horror? "I hate you," I told my best friend between clenched teeth. The rhythmic pounding inside me accelerated. "You're in a 20mph zone," I groaned, "not competing in a Grand Prix."
"Shut up!" he panted.
"I will not shut up!"
He kissed me and kept me silent for several more laps. His tongue slid up my chin and between my lips. I couldn't help making comparisons.
"You snake in the grass!" I moaned. The image of Satan slithering like a silly slut through Eden's grass sprung to mind. I began to suspect someone had got hold of the wrong end of the stick and Eve hadn't been his target after all.
An explosion of warmth flooded me. I heard groans and cries and a rapid panting.
(Frank was making strange noises too).
I opened my eyes.
Frank was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "I love the way you prick my eggs."
"I hate you."
"So you said."
"So get your spatula out of my frying pan!"
He obliged. "You want to lick the icing off my buns yet?"
"You do realize heterosexuality will never look the same again?" I gasped.
"True"
"We'll just have to close our eyes and think of England, right?"
"You are such a queen!"
"And you're a homosexual brute. I hate you so much!"
"I hate you too."
We clung to each other and kissed, shock-horror raining down on our parade.
Copyright R. N. Taber 2007