FourPlay1: Emma

A few words, first of all, about the differences between boy-love and girl-love. Boy-love is much simpler. Men are like puppets, marionettes to be precise, and there's only one string to pull. Women are puppets, too, but with a whole hell of a lot more strings. I have extensive experience with both sorts of love. My problem is I can't be happy with one or the other, which is the reason I'm in such an odd situation.

All I really wanted was a happy family of my own. I've always had very strong maternal instincts. When I was a little girl, I used to bring home all kinds of pets. I especially liked ones which were sick, so I could nurse them back to health. I took in stray kittens, injured puppies, little orphaned bunny rabbits, and once even a rat I found half-drowned in our swimming pool. I must have saved a hundred little lives before I left that suburban hell-hole my mother insisted on calling home. All I asked in return was love and eternal obedience.

As an adult, I graduated from sick animals to lost, wounded human beings. Not much difference, really. Like with the animals, the people seemed drawn to me like metal fillings to a magnet. I wasn't even really looking, but they found me all the same. And, for a while, I had gathered around me the perfect family I had always wanted. We really had something special. A mama bear and three baby bears. It was the happiest and most frustrating few weeks of my entire life. Too bad magnetism wasn't enough to hold us together, me and my three lovers.

PAULA- Paula was the first one. I met her at school, in a poetry class. The girl was a mess, frankly. A shy, dark-haired girl who always sat in the back of the room and barely talked to anybody. Everything about her was calculated to draw attention away from herself. Her clothes were drab and unflattering. Her face was very pretty, but she hid behind clunky glasses and a hairstyle which looked like it belonged on the head of a nineteenth-century school marm.

I saw potential. Every time I looked at her, I had this strange urge to take her home and scrub off the oppressive upbringing she wore like a second skin. I wanted to shape her into something beautiful. My maternal instincts asserting themselves again, I guess.

So I asked Paula if she would model for me. She was both flattered and embarrassed. I had to reassure her over and over that I wasn't playing some kind of joke. She had such low self-esteem. It was my hope that if I could draw her, and make her look beautiful, then maybe she would start to believe it herself. It wasn't until after she had agreed, and I actually I had her up in my apartment that I told her I wanted to draw her in the nude.

That took a lot more persuasion on my part, believe me, but I finally talked her out of her clothes. I had her take off her glasses and let down her hair, and recline on my sofa so that the sunlight shone on her body. Freed from her limited fashion sense, she was beautiful. Gorgeous, curvaceous body. Angelic, child-like face. And her breasts . . . oooh. I've always been turned on by breasts and if mine were like Paula's, I would definitely flaunt them. But Paula always wore an industrial-strength bra, usually under a loose sweater and even a jacket if the day wasn't too hot. You couldn't tell what she had under all that. That's why I couldn't take my eyes off her tits when they were finally exposed.

I sketched a few lines, but my hand was shaking so badly from arousal that I knew I wouldn't be able to draw anything worthwhile. Paula was turned on, too. It was obvious. Her nipples were hard like little pebbles and when my eyes drifted down between her legs, I saw that she glistened with moisture. Seeing this got me even hotter. I tried to draw her breasts, but sketching them made me wonder what it would be like to touch them and I couldn't even pretend I was focused on the drawing any more.

I went to Paula, touching her under the pretense of adjusting her pose. But I couldn't pull it off. I wanted her so badly.

"Paula," I said. "You are so beautiful. I want to kiss you."

Her voice trembled when she answered. She said: "All right."

We kissed, open and full and hungry. I wasn't even a hundred percent sure she was into girls until she kissed me. But the kiss left no doubt. My hands found her breasts and caressed them gently.

"Will you come to bed with me?" I asked.

Paula nodded. She followed me down the hall.

"I've never done this before," Paula said as she watched me undress. "You know, with a girl."

I smiled. God, I love virgins. I slid into bed naked beside her.

What I remember most about that day, besides Paula's wonderful breasts which I just couldn't get enough of, was the way her whole body shook when I went down on her. Every girl tastes different, and Paula was musky and heady as red wine. When I found her clitoris and sucked on it, it was like earthquakes going through her body. Like a constant orgasm. I've never seen a woman, or even a man for that matter, get off so strongly.

She wouldn't go down on me that first time, like she was scared to for some reason, but she loved to kiss and explore my body with her hands. One advantage women have over men is that you don't have to teach them how to stroke a pussy. They touch you like they touch themselves, and in this way too, every woman is different. Paula's fingers moved slowly but with great pressure. I licked them clean when she was done.

DARYL- Paula and I had been together exclusively for two years before I started to get a serious craving for dick. That was how Daryl entered the picture. Daryl had the three qualities I was most attracted to in a man. He was gorgeous, dumb as a post, and queer as a three-dollar bill. I love gay guys, but I'm no fag hag. I always get my man.

I met Daryl at a bar called Buddy's, down in Boy's Town. I like going to the fag bars. With my short hair and slight build, I can sometimes even pass as a guy if I wear men's clothes and the light's low (and the guy's drunk enough.) Usually I just dance. I love to dance, and straight guys can't dance for shit.

Daryl knew right away I was a girl, but I think it amused him that I was playing at being a boy. We danced for hours, close and dirty. He was hot. I loved the way he smelled, the way he moved, the way his pants bulged. He didn't have to twist my arm much when he asked if I wanted to go back to his place.

We sat close together on the couch. He fixed me a drink and we started talking. I asked him if he ever met a girl like me before.

Daryl shrugged. "A lot of girls like gay guys," he said. "Just like straight men like lesbians. Although, you are the first one I've met who had the balls to go into a gay bar and try to pass for a guy."

I laughed. "What gave me away?"

He grabbed my crotch, which I had stuffed with a bunch of sweat socks. "Well, for one thing, darling, you over-do the padding."

He unzipped my fly and pulled a sock halfway out, then started stroking it like it was a penis. "Oh, baby," he said. "What a beautiful prick you have."

That got me laughing and it wasn't too long before we were making out hot and heavy. His firm hands pulling off my clothes, his rough lips tasting of cigarettes and booze, the smell of his sweat and cologne. Soon I was naked before him, my legs spread open, begging for him to fuck me.

"Roll over," he said. "If you want to act like a boy, I'm going to fuck you like a boy."

I bit my lip. "All right."

It's one of my rules; gay guys are the only ones who can fuck me in the ass. They know what they're doing. They're gentle, always use plenty of lube and don't even consider going in there without a condom. Even though Daryl's cock was huge, it slid in easily. Usually, I can't get off this way, but Daryl's big dick in my tight little asshole made me come so hard I screamed.

CHRISTIAN- Christian Black worked as a bus boy at the same comedy club where I worked as a waitress. I saw him for the first time in the break room, smoking a cigarette like he'd never smoked one before and reading Henry Miller in an obvious attempt to appear intellectual. I had to laugh. But, as we were the only two in the break room, I started talking to him.

He was funny, witty even. More than that, he was a good listener. He let me talk, didn't interrupt, and seemed genuinely interested in what I said. Of course, he wanted me, that was obvious. When our break was over, he suggested that we go out after work to a coffee shop he knew. Surprising myself, I agreed.

He was almost completely not my type. I told you I liked them dumb, pretty and gay. Christian struck out on all three counts. He was bright, bookish-looking, and straight as an arrow (so I thought then, anyway.)

We went to the coffee shop and talked for hours. I found out that Christian was from some dipshit little farm town downstate, and had come to Chicago to pursue his dream of becoming a writer. He was a walking cliche, but a pleasant one. He was so easy to talk to, and soon I told him the whole story about my strange triangular relationship with Paula and Daryl.

He was getting turned on by this, I could tell, so I played with him a little bit. Told him some very intimate details. He was flushed with excitement, literally shaking. Putty in my hands. I let him take me home with him, not really expecting much.

The first time he came was in my mouth, and I decided to try a little experiment. Instead of swallowing, I kissed Christian, and fed him his own come. It's what some people call a snowball. A lot of straight guys freak out when you do that, but not Christian. He sucked it right of my mouth, eagerly, then licked my lips clean, moaning with excitement.

"You like that?" I asked.

"Mmmm," he groaned.

"You like to eat come?"

He denied it at first, but I finally got him to admit that he'd sucked off guys a few times. He was embarrassed, ashamed even, and had no way of knowing that he was finally getting me interested. Up to that point, I'd just considered him a mildly diverting one-night stand. Now I was starting to see how he fit into my master plan.

"What would you do for the chance to fuck me again?" I asked.

"Anything," Christian answered.

"Anything?"

"Yeah."

"Would you suck cock for me?"

"C'mon, Emma," he said. "Don't . . ."

"Would you?"

"I don't . . ."

"Would you suck cock for me?" I insisted. He had no choice but to answer.

"Yes," he finally said, blushing fiercely.

"Good answer, Christian," I said.

To reward him, I straddled him and slid his already-hard-again cock into my dripping snatch. With guys like Christian, I can only come when I'm on top.

So, I should have been happy, right? Each different, each wonderful in their own unique way. Whatever I was in the mood for, cock or cunt, anytime I wanted it. What more could a girl ask for?

The answer was simple. I had the pieces to the puzzle, but I wanted to put them together.

I wanted Daryl to fuck Christian in his virgin ass while I watched, with Paula between my legs, sucking my pussy. I wanted both my boys to fuck my girl one after another, and then to eat the creamy load of semen filling Paula's vagina. I wanted Christian in my cunt and Daryl up my ass at the same time. I wanted to lick Paula's pussy while she sucked Daryl's cock and Daryl sucked Christian's and Christian went down on me, the four of us forming a perfect circle. I wanted to kiss Paula and stroke her breasts while I rode Christian and she sat on his face so he could lick her pussy and her ass. I wanted all three of my lovers to kiss and suck me all over, bathing me in their sweat and their come, worshiping me. I wasn't greedy. I just wanted it all.

And, in case you haven't learned by now, I always get what I want.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .