Last Night a DJ Stained my T-shirt

I cursed, put the phone on speaker, and began easing out of the parking space. It was Chip. Of course it was Chip. The first to ask where I was; the second to ask where the hell I was, and the third to say I was obviously far too busy to answer my calls, so I should just phone him back when I was free. I sighed, and hit call-back.

He answered on the first ring. "You took your time."

"I told you, I was going out with the girls."

"For a drink. You said you were going out for a drink."

I looked at the clock. Almost one a.m. "We were. But then we went on somewhere else."

"Where?"

"Rudi's."

There was a silence. "And was he there?"

My heart sank. "Who?" The last time some friends and I went to the only half-decent nightclub in town, Chip arrived early to pick me up, and walked in to find me dancing with one of the DJs. Who may have been standing behind me, kissing my neck, while one hand fondled my breast. Or who may not. I don't know how much Chip saw, and I certainly wasn't going to volunteer anything.

"That guy from last time. Mark."

Wow, he remembers his name. That surprised me; Chip is normally so vague about such things that half the time, I expect him to forget who I am, and we've been together nearly nine months. Well, I say "together," but it's not like it sounds. He has his apartment, I have mine, and the fact he lives one floor below me means we spend more time together than if... I dunno, if he lived on the other side of town.

The tone of his voice, though, suggests he thinks "together" means something else. "I'm on my way home now. I'll knock when I get there. Will you still be up?"

"I'll be up."

Shit. I was hoping he'd say no.

He was more than up. He was standing in his doorway, his bathrobe cord tight around his waist, waiting before I'd even stepped out of the elevator. I walked over, smiled and kissed him. "I'm sorry. But you know what Stella and Beth are like."

"Remind me," he said, and I knew he wasn't going to crumble so easily. Stella and Beth are... not my best friends, but my best friends at the office. Both are married, both are bored, both have the alcoholic capacity of a medium-sized swimming pool, which means even the suggestion of going for "a drink" will end up with me pouring both of them into taxis, while I make my comparatively teetotal way home. Tonight, we more or less closed down the bar where we'd gone from work, and then they wanted to go on to a club. Rudi's was just round the corner, so Rudi's is where we went.

It's not my fault that....

"You didn't answer. Was that guy Mark there?"

"He's the deejay. Of course he was there."

"Did he see you?"

"Yeah. I guess. We said ‘hi'."

"Only ‘hi'?"

I was getting tired of this. "We chatted for a while."

"Where?"

"What do you mean?"

"Where did you chat? Did he come over to you?"

Oh God. "No, we were dancing... Stella, Beth and I. We were dancing, he must have spotted us because he dedicated a song to the three girls in the corner, which was us, and then after it was over, I went over to thank him."

"How? How did you thank him?"

"You know, Chip, I don't have time for this. I'm tired, it's late, I need a pee. What do you want me to say? I fucked him on the dancefloor in front of everyone, and I need to go to the bathroom cos I can still feel his cum sliding down my thigh? Is that what you want to hear?"

For the first time, Chip was silent, staring at me with an expression that frankly, I couldn't read. Was he going to burst into tears? Was he going to hit me? Was he going to burst into tears and then hit me? Instead, he just smiled. "Is that what happened?"

"No. And even if it had, I'd have made him wear a condom." It was my turn to smile... it was a joke, and Chip knew it. He folded his arm around me, kissed the top of my head. "I'm sorry." And then, "can I at least make you a hot chocolate?"

I nodded. "But first, I have to use your bathroom."

Sitting there peeing, I was still smiling. No, he didn't fuck me, on the dance floor or any place else. But....

"So, what did you talk about?" Chip asked the question almost before I sat down. I drew up my legs beneath me, nestling on the couch, my head on his shoulder, but both hands wrapped round my mug.

"I dunno. Music mostly. We just chatted."

"Did you tell him about me?"

I'm sure I mentioned you." Actually, I'm sure I didn't, but Chip didn't need to know that.

"What did you say?"

I laughed. "Hang on, I thought this was about me, not you."

"I just wondered."

"You wonder too much," I said, the laugh still alive in my voice, and I kissed his cheek.

"Is he single?"

"I didn't ask. Does it matter?"

"Nah. Probably best for him not to be, doing what he does. He's probably a real pussy magnet."

"Probably." I focussed on my hot chocolate.

"Did he try anything on with you?"

I shook my head. "Definitely not." And it felt good to say that, because it was the truth. What I didn't add was the reason why. Because I didn't give him the chance.

Okay, this is what happened. I walked over to the booth; Mark saw me heading his way, and he was holding the door open when I got there. It wasn't a big area, room for a love seat, a box of what I assumed were electronics and wires on the desk, and he sat there with an iPad, pumping out the songs and, as each one faded out or in, saying a few words. There was a glassed-in window which looked out over the dancefloor, and the once-red walls were coated with what I initially took to be graffiti, but turned out to be names. Hundreds and hundreds of girls' names.

"Good to see you again." He recognized me, and I was surprised how good that made me feel. "And you." I picked up a Sharpee and gestured to the wall. "May I?"

He shook his head. "Normally, you have to..." his voice trailed off as he turned to the microphone and spoke a few words, introducing the next song. I couldn't help noticing it was a fairly long one... one of those Pink Floyd-y type ballads that let everyone get down to some uninterrupted smooching. "Our song," he said, and I remembered, this was what was playing the last time I'd been here, when he and I danced.

Yes, Chip. Danced.

"Was that your boyfriend who picked you up?" Mark asked and I shook my head. "No, a neighbor." Much as I was now with Chip, I found myself pressed against him as we sat on the loveseat, my head resting on his shoulder. Mark moved a little, freed an arm, an draped it around me. His hand fell against my breast, then boldly squeezed.

"So nothing happened?" Chip shattered my reverie.

"Not really."

He echoed my words back at me. "Not really. What does that mean?"

"He may have kissed me... no, he did kiss me."

"Did you kiss him back?"

Mark's lips were strong, his tongue inquisitive, exploring my mouth as thoroughly as his hand was investigating my breasts, slipping under the T-shirt to tease at my bra, then sliding around to my back to unclip it. Both of my arms were around his neck now, pulling his face into mine, then releasing him as he rolled up my shirt and his mouth was on a nipple, sucking it in, teasing with his tongue, nipping with his teeth. I don't always like my boobs being played with, but right at that moment, I'd have let Mark do anything he wanted. Including take my hand, and place it on his crotch.

"I may have... you know what it's like, you're fooling around with someone, you don't really keep a running tally of what you do and when you do it."

"So what you're saying is, you lost control."

"No. (Yes). That's not at all what I'm saying. (That's a good way of putting it)."

"What are you saying, then?"

"Yes we kissed. Yes, his arms were around me."

"Did he touch your tits again?"

Shit. So he did see that. "He may have. I told you, I wasn't taking notes."

"Did you try and stop him?"

I balled up my bra, thankful I'd selected the flimsy black lace one, and shoved it into my bag. I was rubbing his cock through his pants, and his mouth left my breast for a moment to whisper, "take it out." Then, as if I wasn't already moving as quickly as I could, his hands both abandoned me as he half unbuttoned, and half-ripped open his fly, then reached into his briefs and fished out his cock.

Hard. Long. Not thick... my fingers fit round it and touched my pam when I squeezed. But my hand looked tiny all the same, and when I wrapped my other fist round it, still he had flesh to spare.

He picked up his iPad, his fingers skimming the screen, and as one song ended, another cross-faded into it "Stairway to Heaven." I smirked. Who needs stairs, I'm going to take the fireman's pole.

"So you let him."

I nodded.

"Did you touch him?"

I nodded again.

"And?"

"And what?" I wasn't sure what Chip was driving after, beyond the fact that, as we talked, there was a distinct movement beneath his robe...a twitch, a pulse, a sign that whatever his mind might be making of this conversation, there was one part of his body that was thoroughly enjoying it.

"What did you touch?"

I said it. I told him. I told him how Mark ripped open his pants, how his cock strained itself into my fist, and how his hand held mine gently, and we jerked him together. I described how it felt, hot in my hand, like a weightlifter's bicep, so strong, so unyielding. And as I talked, without even thinking, my hand slipped between Chip's legs, clasped his erection and began gently massaging it.

There is something so ... I'm not even sure what the word is. Relaxing? Comforting? Natural? ... about stroking a cock. And selfish, too. Some things just feel good in your hand. Stress balls. Pebbles. A kitten's tummy. A cock feels better than all of them. This is going to sound awful (at least if you're a guy), but it doesn't even matter that he's loving it as well. Well, it does, because if he hated it and started yelling and squirming, it would certainly take out a lot of the fun.

But - sometimes when my boyfriend's asleep, I'll reach down and hold him there, just to feel him harden, and then once he has, I'll slowly, v-e-r-y s--l--o--w--l--y bring him off. Sometimes he doesn't even awaken until then, till the rush of orgasm jerks him from his sleep, just in time to feel his balls empty across my hand.

And if it feels that good in the hand, then you just know how great it will feel in your mouth.

That's how I was jerking Chip now. Slowly. Because I wanted to make it last. I wanted him to want to hear the rest of my story. But that's not how I jerked Mark. As his mouth returned to my breasts, first one and then the other, I was pulling on his cock, two hands hauling and mauling the flesh,and when he turned to the microphone to talk in the next record... "and now a change of pace for everyone, Andrea True Connection..." I knew the song before he even spoke its title. "More More More." And then he was standing, while I slipped to my knees....

"Did he ask you to suck his cock?" Chip's voice was a whisper.

"No." That was true.

"Would you have... if he'd asked, would you have sucked it?"

"I don't know." That was also true.

"Why?"

Why didn't he ask? Or why didn't I know? I wasn't sure what he meant. But either way, there was only one answer. "Because I didn't give him the chance."

Some cocks you want to savor. You start with little licks, across the head, down the shaft. Some you want to tease, nibbles and bites that inch down to the balls, then up ad again, while the precum forms, and your tongue swirls in the opening eye, till the drops form a torrent that tastes sticky on your lips before pooling on your tongue, and you swallow it down with a sigh of exquisite delight.

And some you want inside you so bad that your mouth becomes a gaping cunt, and you just devour every inch that you can.

That's how much I wanted Mark. His cock hung as though suspended, quivering just inches from my face. It was beautiful, and as my breath touched it, it twitched, flexed, as if commanding me to...

Not yet. I wanted to admire him first. My fingers circled the base of his cock, holding him as my eyes devoured every millimetre. The way it rose from the (trimmed?) hairy nest of his balls. The way the skin stretched taut, and the thick blue vein pulsated with expectation. The meaty mushroom of his cock head, and a crest that demanded an exploratory fingertip. The way the precum bubbled from the eye.

I angled him to my lips, touched him to them and felt a shiver of excitement as his cock flexed again. Now my tongue, circling the head. And then I swooped, plunging over him, as deep as I could and deeper still.

I held him, my hands on his hips and gently rocking him, in and out, in and out, until he picked up the rhythm and my fingers moved elsewhere, between my legs and inside my panties, flicking my clit while he fucked my throat, and it was glorious because it lasted forever, through that one record and on through another, the rocking of his meat in my mouth, neither thrusting too hard nor demanding too much.

I came, and I muffled my cry with his cock, but he knew and his hands were stroking my hair, then twisting it round between fingers that seemed to know just how hard I wanted it pulled, and when he released me and I raised my eyes to look into his face, it was only because the record was ending and he already knew the next one to play....

He stooped to the microphone. "And here's one for Chrissie, an old Stax soul mover. It's Sam and Dave and ‘Hold On, I'm Coming'."

And I pulled back until just the head was on my lips, and jerked him as his entire body tensed - and then release, relief, stream after stream that spattered the back of my mouth as his cock jerked in my fist and he came on my face, as I grappled him back, fed him deep into my mouth and suckled and sucked the last jets from his dick...

...and Chip was cumming too, so I leaned forward and closed my lips round the head, swallowing hard as he thrust himself forward, then breaking my grip as I raised up to kiss him. Some cum lay thick still on my tongue, and I pushed it into his mouth, felt him tense just a little and then swallow it down, before his tongue pushed hard back, as though searching for more.

"Fuck," he said softly, and "fuck" once again. Then softly, a serious note in his voice, "so, are you going to do it again?"

I shook my head. "I got what I wanted."

He looked at me quizzically. "Which was?"

"I got to write my name on the DJ booth wall. Apparently, the only people allowed to do that are the ones who suck off the deejay. So I did it and now it's done."

Chip laughed. Loudly. Then rose and walked to the bureau, rummaged around in a draw for a moment, then came back holding a Sharpee.

"Well, you can write on my walls whenever you want. And anyone else's as well, so long as you tell me about it afterwards."

I shook my head. "Nah, been there, done that, got the stain on my T-shirt." Which was true, I had, and I was fairly certain Chip had noticed it the moment I got in. "Next time, I want you there. I want you to know what I'm doing, while I do it. And if you're watching as well, even better!"

He kissed me. "Fancy a night out at Rudi's next week?"

"I'll be there!"

PS: if I'm not among your favorite authors, I'd love it if I could be! And if I am, then extra kisses (and more?) to you!