Getting Wood, Guest Post by Morris Danielson

In the woodshed, kneeling, Nia is looking away from me, stacking logs on her arm. “There’s something I’ve got to tell you. Don’t be angry.”

I might be.

“Me and Kim, last night.”

“In my bed? Did you?”

She nods, quickly, and looks up. “You’re angry.”

“I’m not. That’s really hot.”

“Really?”

I squat in front of her. “What did you do?”

“You want to know?”

“All of it. Who started?”

“I asked her if she wanted to cuddle.”

“And she did?”

“She did. I was holding her and … we started touching.”

“Did you ask?”

“She started stroking my side first. Then we were kissing.”

“Did you kiss her?”

“I … I think I started the kissing. Are you okay with this?”

“I’m so okay with this.” I’m close to her and she searches my face. For what? She still thinks I might be angry, or jealous. She can see my eyes are dark and my cock hard, and smiles. Her hand is on my arm, her touch so light it”s hardly there.

“We were kissing, and I asked if she wanted to. She just nodded.” I know that nod. She’s shy but she’s honest. “I pulled her on top of me, I wanted to see if she’d top.”

“She wouldn’t.”

“She did a bit, my hands were in her hair to keep it off my face.”

“Still kissing?”

“Still kissing, and her eyes …” she’s breathing heavily, she’s moved closer so our knees intersect. I can picture Kim’s eyes, hazel and secret and wanting, and not quite comfortable on top. I take the logs from Nia’s arm and lean into her, feeling her body tense against me. “Then she rolled us over, her hands were on my back.”

“Where was your leg?”

“You know where my leg was.”

“Tell me.”

“Between hers, rubbing on her.” Does Nia know she’s started moving against me? Her little skirt up around her waist, her pants tight and moving, just a little, on the leg of my jeans. Can she feel that I’m packing, hard against her leg? She’s looking up at me, light grey eyes holding fire. “I put her hands above her head and held them, and touched her side with the other hand.”

“Like this?” My hand traces her curved flank through her tee shirt, around her waist and into the small of her back, pushing her down against my leg, and she draws breath, quick and harsh. She wants me to kiss her, but I’m not going to, not yet. I lean down to her, she closes her eyes, but I move past to her ear and whisper, “Then what?” Her cheek is against mine, my hand at the nape of her neck. I’m holding her close, not letting her kiss me. I’m in charge here and she likes it, riding my leg in earnest now as I pull her to me and breathing hard in my ear, I wonder if she’s let go of her story, but she hasn’t.

“I let go of her hands, and she took mine and put it on her cunt, and pushed up against me. A sound escapes me, because I’m all of them, I’m Jodi on top of Kim, parting the trimmed fur to find slick wetness, I’m Kim feeling Nia’s weight on me and the sweetness of surrender, I’m Nia, pushing her cunt into my leg and wanting to feel my fingers on her, I’m both of my selves, Leah, wet with my packer pressing in just the right place, but most of all I’m Lee, my cock on Jodi’s leg, hard and real and mine, and now I have to take her face in my hands and kiss her.

“Did you go inside her?” I need to know, my voice is harsh and urgent. My fingers brush her lacy pants and she moans in my ear. “Did you?”

“Her clit … then inside … please …” she’s lost the story now, as I slip my fingers inside the fabric and find her clit, circle it with my thumb, move my fingers inside.

She’s close, I can feel it in the tightness of her shoulders and her breath in my neck, but the house door opens and someone calls out, “Are you getting wood or what?”

“Just coming!” I yell back. She’s looking up at me, her eyes wide and needing more. I grab a handful of her hair and yank her head to the side, lean down and bite her neck, hard, and mash her face into my chest to muffle her cries as her body twists in my arms and her cunt contracts around my fingers. The door slams, they won’t come out; I have time to hold her while her breathing slows, feeling her melt into me, every muscle letting go. Then I kiss her. “Are you going to do it again tonight?”

“Probably.” Her voice and her eyes are soft now. “Can I tell you about it tomorrow?”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Published by Morris Danielson

Morris Danielson is nonbinary trans, AFAB, queer and kinky, and intermittently on T because he likes to stay in the liminal space between and outside gender, while being read as male in the everyday world. He's involved in queer activism and facilitates workshops around kink and sexuality, especially around fire, edge play, energy work and the Wheel of Consent. He's a student counsellor specialising in queer identities, gender radicalism and ethical non-monogamy.

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