Off Balance

I’m trying not to fall.

It’s one of three things on my mind, and by far the least of them. It’s an afterthought, an annoyance, but I don’t dare forget it for a second. Her face (all gasps and fluttering eyelids), my fingers inside her, and pleaseGod don’t let me fall.

It’s a studio apartment but fourteen feet from her front door to her bed is about twelve feet too far. For a moment she’s a glorious whirl of limbs, letting her hoodie flow to the floor like water while she closes the door. My body is less graceful. I kiss her hard. I’m moving forward, bending her back. A step back brings her up against the wall. She stops. I keep pressing forward.

I’m six feet tall in these shoes, maybe more. She might be 5’2″, if she stood on a phone book. I’m standing straight, looking down at her looking up at me. She half-climbs the sheetrock to bring her face to mine, raising herself on tiptoe with the chair rail gripped in both hands. She starts to wrap herself around me, but I pin her leg against the wall with my knee. We’re balanced on one of my stilettos and the toe of one of her sneakers. It’s a miracle we’re still standing, let alone pushing, kissing, pawing like this.

My mouth is on her throat, all teeth and heat and moans. I’m bent over her like a vampire in a classic film, and just as pale in reflected streetlight. My hands are on her: holding her neck and jaw in place, grazing her thigh under her skirt. She arches her back, pushes off of the wall. I feel my ankle start to turn don’t let me fall, manage to push her back.

“Are you going to touch me or not?”

“Hell, darlin’, this ain’t touching?”

“I mean: are you going to use your fingers or…” she looks away.

“I don’t know. Are you going to ask nicely?”

“If I wanted nice you’re not the girl I’d have brought home.”

I can’t help grinning at that. I’m all leather and spikes from hair to heels. She has a point. I slide my hand up her leg. There’s a moment of surprise when I feel pubic hair–she’s the first (only) girl I’ve been with who wasn’t shaved–before I slide two fingers into her. I move my hand slowly, gently, watching her face. She’s biting her lip, eyes darting to mine and away again. I’m frustrating her on purpose, waiting for her to say something. I’m trying not to laugh don’t dare laugh if I laugh I will fall.

“You’re such a tease.” I love that she makes eye contact.

“This is teasing? What, you want me to fist you, right here?

“Ngh.” She shivers, clenches around my fingers. “If you’re offering.”

I laugh. She doesn’t. “Got lube in the top drawer.” She nods at a dresser a few feet to the left.

“You wouldn’t rather–” I gesture at the bed.

“No. Right here.”

I drag her closer to the dresser anyway. I don’t want to stop touching her while I rummage for the bottle, and I suspect I’ll want something solid in reach to keep my balance. I withdraw a moment to remove my ring and start lubricating. “You’ve done this before?” She nods. “Okay.”

I move slowly, carefully. She gasps, and I pause. “Too much?”

“No, don’t stop.” She’s moaning and writhing and it seems like she’s being supported more by my wrist and her tenuous grasp on the chair rail than the floor. I am grateful to have the dresser to catch myself on. The world collapses. Nothing else exists, only her face, my fingers inside her, and trying not to fall.

There’s a rhythm to this. Slowly, gently, easing into her. She starts talking, frantic and high, swinging from English to Spanish and back again. She’s somehow scrambled one foot on top of the chair rail. She’s on point, back arched like a ballerina. She shakes, gasps. Her muscles clench down hard and I don’t try to move. Then again. Me, slow and gentle. Her, frantic. And again. And again.

“Fuck, I don’t even know how many times I came already, it’s all blurring together.”

“Do you need me to stop?”

A laugh. A volley of Spanish (which I do not speak). Then “Don’t you dare.”

I smile. Somehow we don’t fall, somehow my hand fits inside her, somehow my mouth can reach down to her throat in this position. I’m murmuring in her ear when I can pull my mouth off of her skin. She whispers back between gasps and moans.

“My turn. You have to let me–ngh.” She’s back to Spanish for a sentence or two. “My turn.”

“Are you kidding? You can still form sentences in two languages; I am nowhere close to done with you.”

48 thoughts on “Off Balance”

  1. Reading this, I suddenly realized just how little I believe in bisexuality in my gut.

    Wait, wait, don’t punch me.

    What I mean is, girl/girl stuff usually trotted out in the media for the benefit of men. It’s all male-gazey. And then there are the “barsexual” chicks who’ll make out with other women as some kind of party trick to entice men…So at some point I guess I started subconsciously thinking of all woman/woman sex (between conventionally attractive chicks who don’t look stereotypically dykey) as a performance with no…interiority. (Just like a lot of men seem to.)

    So a woman-on-woman sex scene written by one of the people doing the fucking and filled with all the little awkwardnesses and pauses and negotiations that you never see in porn…that’s a reassuring reminder that Bisexual Chicks are a Thing and that you exist even without some dude there to watch you fuck. And I’m really glad the blogosphere has voices like yours to assert female desire.

    That’s what I try to do in my blog, too. Albeit in a more heterosexual way. :)

    1. Reading this, I suddenly realized just how little I believe in bisexuality in my gut.

      What? Prepare for fisticuffs, madam!

      Nah. I get it. I don’t *like* it, but the performance narrative is everywhere. It’s too easy for people to automatically recontextualize bisexual women’s behavior as straight. My favorite example of this: one night Z and the Techie and I all went out together. Z went to get drinks, and a man working there asked if she knew her man was kissing another woman. He was shocked she wasn’t upset. Later the same night when Z and I were making out, the same man told the Techie he was a lucky man. The only reasonable way someone has this reaction is if they assume guy+girl=real, girl+girl=for guy’s benefit. And that only works if one assumes only men have meaningful sexual desire. It’s all kinds of fucked up.

      But yeah. Bi chicks are all kinds of real, I promise. :)

          1. on the one hand: nudity, hair-pulling, and pugilism. On the other, male-gazy nonsense…I’m torn.

            Oh, who’m I trying to kid. Naked and violent always wins.

            1. We’re, uh. Subverting the dominant heterosexist paradigm by recontextualizing it as female gaze?

              Yeah. That’s it. My thesis and I’m sticking to it. Mmmm naked wrestling…

              1. Let you win? I hate to disappoint but I’m kinda skinny and weak. Complete refusal to admit defeat is literally the only advantage I have when wrestling!

                Well, and usually height/reach, but you’re taller than me…

  2. Well…. I was going to comment but now I’m now self-examining my male-gazey perspective… so I’ll just very quietly love the interiority of it, and thank you for sharing it in all its rawness and little awkwardnesses.

    And I’ll give kudos for not falling!

    1. *laugh* who’d have thought my one night stand would be so thought-provoking? I’d be interested to hear where the self-examination leads.

      Thank you! I deserve a damn trophy. Herculean feat, I tell you!

  3. And just to round out your comments section, here’s another real-live bisexual woman to say UNF HOT. ๐Ÿ˜€ Although I’m having a very hard time imagining you keeping your balance! (Did you collapse in a pile on the bed very shortly after this scenelet was over? :P)

    I take for granted the interiority of it (it’s you, that’s how you write all your sex and it’s marvelous), but I’m really connecting with all the descriptions. I feel drawn right into it and can’t decide which of the girls I’d rather be. Yum.

    1. Er, we ended up on the bed eventually. Got distracted on the kitchen counter first. I mean, we *were* kind of dehydrated and then there were ice cubes and…

      Basically best one night stand in the history of ever. As for balance, this girl was *tiny*. I’m not that strong and I could pick her up and move her around. I think that’s the only reason this didn’t end in one or more concussions.

  4. *averts male gazey eyes after further painful self-examination … but gathers additional ankle splints, iv fluids, and sutures anticipating outcome of this expanding teetering, dehydrating, fisticuffy fun* :)

    1. *grin* I’ll leave the rest up to your imagination for now. Thank you!

      It still surprises me every time someone doesn’t get it: that bi people exist, that we can get married (or not), be monogamous (or not), and all the rest. Shouldn’t, as common as it is, but it still does, every time.

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