Sometimes You Just Miss Having A Penis

She pulled back and looked me in the eye. “I knew you’d be a great kisser.” She grinned and we dove back in. The view from her small apartment was stunning, with tall windows looking out over the city.

“Quite the bachelor pad you’ve got here.”

“Yeah. Too bad I’ll be leaving in a month.”

You see, Chris and I had been working together for a couple of years. She was 12 years older than me, and about as dyke-y as they come. You know: short, squat build, short, spiky hair. Not a looker. But damn, we had some of the best couple of nights fucking ever. And she was leaving her job at the end of the month, which meant she was leaving the apartment, too—a real pity.

Me, I had just turned 30, and after a year of separation, my marriage was essentially over. So when Chris (her name was Christine, but she hardly ever went by that) told me she was quitting, I suggested we have dinner.

We had always been friendly, and mildly flirty, in the way that you can be with someone you’re not really attracted to. In the course of our time in the same office, though, I had begun to think of her as sexy. Not hot, but sexy. And here we were on the way to proving me right.

As we sat at dinner, sharing wine, there was a definite spark. Somehow, knowing that we wouldn’t be working together much longer was enough to shut off the little voice warning against sleeping with a co-worker. So when I walked her home, the wine, the dim lights and the view all worked their charms.

I walked up behind Chris, rubbing her neck. She hummed her assent, leaning back into me.

“I knew you’d be good with your hands,” she murmured, and turned into me, leaning up for a kiss.

She was a great kisser. And, if I may be immodest, she wasn’t the only one. She had the good grace to say so, too.

Things moved fast from there. I worked her t-shirt off, and her sensible bra followed quickly. Her small breasts were little more than a mouthful, and she pushed me down on the couch, working her way inside my shirt while I suckled her, tracing her small yin-yang tattoo with my fingers..

The sounds coming from her were different from anyone else I had been with, before or since. Low, guttural sounds, from deep within her, below the pitch her speaking voice.

As Chris pulled my shirt over my head, I came to my feet, and we fumbled to get our shoes off, while racing to undo each other’s pants. When she stepped out of her undies, I found myself face to face with a pleasant surprise:
Chris had a shaved pussy.

I didn’t know what the protocol was. Should I compliment her on it? (No, I’d seem weird.) Should I comment at all? (And say what, exactly?) So I had nothing to say, but she had certainly gotten my attention. My cock’s attention, too, I hasten to add.

We made our way over to the bed, where she had a dim nightlight burning, just enough to find our way around each other. And find our way we did.

She sucked me, hungrily. I felt her puffy, bald slit, and as I traced a line up to her clit, her moans became deeper—not just guttural, but primal—and she slid around, putting her pussy in my face.

Now I’m not a big fan of 69. It’s such a great idea, and a nice visual, but for most of us the reality doesn’t match up. This time was different.
Chris had the biggest clit I had ever laid my tongue on. It was prominent, and about the size of a chickpea. And that clit worked magic on her.

Her mouth left my cock as she bore down on my mouth. I fucked her with my tongue, and she came, long and hard. She rolled off, and kissed her juices off my mouth, hungrily.

“Mmm, that was amazing!”

“Glad to oblige, my dear.”

“I never thought a man could do that to me.”

“Well, now that you mention it…it’s funny, I always thought you were gay.”

“Well, yeah, I was with a woman for a while after my marriage. But you know, sometimes you just miss having a penis.”

And with that, she hopped on, grinding herself against me. She knew how to use my cock almost like a vibrator, getting herself off again by rubbing her clit along the length of it. And once she had come again, I let go, as she kept going, harder and harder, making me come, filling her already wet pussy with my own come.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

And with that, I was back down between her legs, licking and sucking her clean, but certainly not dry. As she kept pushing into my mouth, I gave her what she wanted, adding a couple of fingers, urging her to come, and this time the bed bumped the wall as she had the hardest orgasm of the night.

Finally, it was time for a bit of a rest, of sorts. She snuggled up to me again, as we kissed more.

I love kissing. I love kissing my friends hello and goodbye on the lips. I love lingering, tender kisses. I love deep, passionate kisses. I love playful kisses with teasing of tongues and sucking of lips. I love kissing.

And fortunately, so did Chris. As we kissed, she had her hand on my cock as she humped my leg. It didn’t take long, though, before she was between my legs, licking my balls and fingering my ass (just a little—it would be years before I knew to ask for that) as she sucked me hard again.

With one more in me, I was on top this time. Her knees were up as her legs wrapped around me, pulling me into her, ever harder. Her moans were punctuated with squeals as I nipped at her buds, nearly flattened against her.

And then, I started working. Really working. I rode up a bit higher, so my cock was moving up and down as much as in and out, keeping in touch with her clit as much as possible.

She couldn’t move much under me like that, but she gave what she could. And her intensity rose to match mine.

Normally, when I come, I stop moving. Bad habit, I think. And I’ve always had that love-hate thing when my lovers prolong that exquisite agony. This time, though, it was love-love.

As I came, I knew Chris was close again, too, and I wasn’t about to let her down. My instincts were right, and she twitched, groaned, moaned, and shook the bed, clutching with her legs and bucking with her hips.

Coming off of her, I worked down her body to spend just a little time at that magical pussy. This time wasn’t about the “O,” though. I nibbled and sucked at her lips, reaching her clit with my flattened tongue just to press against her, tasting the musk of our wetness, and gradually slowing down, as we both anticipated a long coda to the evening.

Evening, did I say? It was 2 am, and I had to go. I collected my things (except for a sock, discreetly passed to me the next day!, and made my way to the street. Even though the night buses were running, I hailed a cab, savoring the tastes and smells that lingered. I went straight to bed, taking an hour to get to sleep despite the late hour; the adrenaline rush wasn’t about to subside.

Postscript:
Amazingly, and for no particular reason, we slept together just one more night. I was coming down with a cold, but Chris came over to my place that Friday as a prelude to dinner. After a couple of hours in the sheets, taking every opportunity to give her my cold, we did manage to go out for a bite and return for a little, um, dessert. And that was that: she was occupied with leaving work and finding new housing, and we fell out of touch.

Post-postscript:
3 years later, shortly before I married Misty, I was at a concert and who should show up but Chris? We connected for lunch, and then found ourselves spending time together occasionally. We went back to her place one evening and got naked from the waist up, but her back acted up, the moment was lost, and we didn't follow through.
About a year later, I finally told her something I should have said at the beginning: She was, without question, the best lover I had been with, before or since. She couldn’t believe it, but I told her in great detail, and we agreed we needed to talk more.
After a long kiss goodbye, though, I never saw her again. I’ve thought about her a lot—this story didn’t come out of thin air. We didn’t speak after that, and when I’ve asked mutual friends (who have no idea, mind you), they haven’t heard from her either.
Damn.