On The Beam III: Surprises It was rude of me, I realize, to simply walk into my friend Ronnie's apartment like that, uninvited and unannounced. Technically rude, that is; I certainly don't make a habit of barging in on all my friends that way. But Ronnie and I were the very best of friends, and we'd always been so comfortable with each other that she regarded my house as a sort of "home away from home," and I regarded her small townhouse apartment the same way. In fact, we had even exchanged keys to our front doors, so that she could enter my place whenever she needed to, and I could do the same at hers. We'd only known each other for two years, but we were practically like sisters. (Well, not exactly, but I'll get to that in a minute!) Anyway, when I strolled up to her front door on that warm Friday afternoon, the last thing I expected to find waiting for me was the sight of Ronnie and a young guy from United Delivery rolling around naked on the living room floor! I had seen his big brown van parked out on the curb, of course, but Ronnie's was only one in a long row of townhouses, so I had no reason to think that my friend was receiving a delivery. As soon as I opened the door, however, the situation was obvious: she had already received one delivery (some exercise equipment, I later learned, as if she needed any more), and now, hunkered down on top of the guy, it looked like she was about a half-inch away from receiving another one! Well, I'd seen Ronnie in her birthday suit before (we were, as I said, very good friends, and had done plenty of nude swimming and tanning together), but seeing her with her tongue buried halfway down a guy's throat, struggling to bring his body into alignment with her own, was a new experience for me! I was horribly embarrassed, although I don't think Ronnie was. Anyway I've always been able to hide my moments of embarrassment with a joke or a sarcastic remark, so as soon as I had opened the door, I heard myself blurt out, "Oh, excuse me! Is this a private party, or can anybody join?" or some dumb thing like that. Whatever I said, it brought the action to....well...a not-yet grinding halt, and both Ronnie and the delivery guy looked up at me in disbelief, although from slightly different angles. "Oh! Oh, my!" Ronnie blurted out. "Hi there, Roxanne! Come in and close the door, do you mind?" As she spoke. she straightened up from her crouch; now she was, well, straddling the guy, whose face was neon red from passion and embarrassment, and whose clear green eyes were wide as silver dollars. She straightened her back, and, running her fingers through her short blonde hair (she looks an awful lot like Meg Ryan, only more sophisticated), her breasts bobbed prettily, their small nipples flushed with arousal and obviously erect, even from where I stood, six or seven feet away. She was sitting on the guy's groin, or crotch, or I guess both, but I didn't - - - couldn't! - - - look closely enough to see if he was actually inside her. Breathing heavily, but catching her breath after a couple of seconds, she suddenly saw the humor in the situation, and burst out with a little laugh, "Roxanne, this is my new friend, Buster Creech." She extended a sweaty palm toward him, as if I needed him to be pointed out. "Buster, say hello to my very best friend on earth, Roxanne Davis!" In her condition, of course, these few words constituted a pretty respectable speech, and by the time she was finished, she was gasping again. I wondered what internal shudders were racing through her body at that moment. How close had she been to.....well, never mind. That was certainly none of my business, even under these very bizarre circumstances. I stood with my back pressed flat against the door, which I had quickly closed. I nodded to the guy, who appeared to be about 18 or 19, but who, I later discovered, was actually 20. But my mouth was as dry as it had ever been in my life, and my lips stuck together when I tried to form a greeting. Just as well; what would I have said? I'd already made a fool of myself with my smart remark a moment earlier. He was, of course, nearly as speechless as I was. But, as we would learn, neither he nor I ever remained speechless very long! I could see his Adam's apple jerking under the tanned skin of his throat as he stammered, "Uh, uh, well, good gracious, um, nice t'meet you, ma'am!" I thought I heard Ronnie giggle, but I can't be sure, because my attention was now riveted on their bodies: Ronnie's, which I had seen so often, but never in quite this light, and poor Buster's, which was even more mesmerizing. I guess he was about six feet tall (or six feet flat, at the moment), with an athletic, trim body, a deep, all-over suntan (how did he get that? the same way Ronnie and I got ours? I just couldn't picture this guy in a tanning bed!), and spare, downy body hair (what I could see of it) that perfectly matched his short blonde haircut. His body wasn't "sculpted" like a weightlifter's or a bodybuilder's, but it was kind of, well, perfect, like Michaelangelo's David: oh, sure, you could see muscles, but they didn't jump out at you. His nipples were dark brown, and I noticed a small tattoo on his left biceps. (Later, I learned that it was, so help me, a tattoo of a bleeding heart, with the word "DIXIE" written across it. Somehow, I don't think Dixie was an ex-girlfriend.) I had never seen a body quite like it, outside of photographs and movies. He and Ronnie made quite a couple. Now Ronnie was on her feet, standing astride Buster (could that possibly be his real name?), sweat glistening all over her as though she were a houseplant freshly misted. She made no move to cover her nakedness, not even her clean-shaven groin, and her slick and swollen labia were clearly visible between her parted thighs. Buster, on the other hand, seemed very self-conscious indeed; when Ronnie's stood, he yelped, "Hey now! Miz Ronnie, I'm nekkid!" (Nekkid?) As he started to sit up, his hands clamped down over his private parts so quickly that I was afraid he'd hurt himself. I had only a fleeting glimpse of a twitching, golden shaft, with a definite pink hue, before his hands covered himself. When he sat up, the muscles rippled in his buttocks, and I gulped. "Miz Ronnie," he cried, "won't you for the love'a gott please hand me m'suit?" Ronnie laughed and leaned over to where his brown United Delivery jumpsuit lay crumpled on the floor, and tossed it to him gingerly. In a split second, he had pulled halfway up his legs, revealing momentarily his obviously hard penis, which was beginning to shrink. (The poor man was embarrassed to death, and Ronnie told me later that he'd orgasmed right before I came through the door. The only evidence I saw of that, however, was a little dribble of silvery fluid at the bottom of her chin. Apparently, she had just, to use her own term, "gobbled him.") He raised up his hips and awkwardly pulled up the suit, zipping it up to his navel, but not putting his arms in the sleeves; his honor restored by mere half-nudity, he finally stood, on shaky legs, and glanced nervously between Ronnie and me. "I don't, you know, aw, fuck, I dunno what t'say, ladies, I never been....aw, shit, Ronnie, I'm so fucken sorry, I shoulda' just left your package and gotten the Hell outta here, oh my God, I'm no bett'r'n a fuckin' beast a' the field....." Ronnie and I both laughed, and she took him gently by the arm. "Hush, Buster," she said soothingly, "you just made my day." She glanced at me knowingly. "Roxanne, my friend Buster is a real gentleman," she said, without a trace of mockery in her voice. "G-good for you, Buster," I muttered nervously. Right, I thought. Everything's nice and civilized. Happens every day..... But before we could say more, his green eyes rolled wildly and he exclaimed, "Aw, fuck me, m'truck! M'truck! I gotta get m'fuckin' truck back!" He started thrashing wildly, trying to cram his arms into the sleeves of the jumpsuit, which suddenly seemed as elusive as eels. Ronnie stepped over and took his arms gently in her hands and began to help. How amazing she was! Standing there, covered with sweat and nothing else, almost literally drenched in sex, she was unselfconsciously helping to put this frightened kid at ease! Just like his big sister or something! "Shhh, Buster," she said softly, "don't get excited. You've only been here about forty-five minutes; it's just a quarter 'til six." "Quarter t' six!" he shouted. "Oh, my stars and garters, I'm supposed to get that fuckin' truck back by six or my ass'll be grass for sure! Shit, I can just make it...aw, Hell no, not in th' afternoon traffic. Oh, Ronnie, can I use your fuckin' phone, please ma'am?" Ronnie stifled a laugh (I could tell) and gently escorted him into the kitchenette, showed him the wall phone, then left him in privacy and padded off to her bedroom. In just a moment, she was back, wrapped in a white terrycloth shorty bathrobe. She gestured for me to sit with her on the couch. I did, gratefully. I couldn't have stood much longer. Leaning conspiratorially toward me, she began to speak very softly. "Roxie, this boy is a dream. He just showed up at school by mistake, then came all the way over here to bring my treadmill, and, well, you see what happened. Or almost happened, anyway.... and it's not just 'cause I was horny, and I swear he didn't put any moves on me! He was just so fresh, and he's so naive; he just came here from Cowpie, Georgia, or someplace, and he's hardly even a man yet, but he's a real gentleman, you know what I mean? Of course you do! He's in-between. He'll never be this sweet, or this strong, or this adorable, again. I just had to have him." She stopped her muted rambling and studied me closely, her brows furrowed. "Do you understand what I'm saying, honey? Have you ever felt anything like this? Do you think I'm just an absolute slut?....I swear, Roxie, when I felt him start to come in my mouth, I just wanted the moment to last forever....." I was silent a moment, my mind racing. Did I understand what she was saying? Was she kidding? Of course I did! But, finally, I simply said, "No, baby, you're not awful." "And I think I do understand, even better than you suspect, After all, honey - - -" I was interrupted by a whoop from the kitchen: a very masculine, but very boyish whoop of delight. "Bless your heart, Kevin!" he exclaimed. "Got bless you, man! I'll see you in a few! Okay! Bye now!" In a moment, he ambled back into the tiny living room, his face a mask of relief and happiness. "It ain't a problem now, ladies," he announced grandly, as though he had just unraveled the DNA molecule for the first time. "That there was my supervisor, Kevin, an' he said the shop would be open late tonight for maint'nance, and as long as the OH-dometer was right, he didn't give a fuck when I brought it back!" His face darkened. "Excuse my language, ladies; I just can't seem to get a grap on that foul, ugly talk." He brightened again. "So anyway, Kevin, he's my boss, a colored boy, and he's the one that hired me [he pronounced it 'hard me'] but damn, he runs a fine op'ration down there at the garage, an' he said just take my time. What a guy. I mean...well, you know. So now I don't have to fight that fuckin' traffic after all!" He grinned triumphantly; I almost expected him to wiggle his ears. "That's wonderful, Buster," Ronnie said, stretching her long legs out beneath the coffee table. "So, tell me, what'll you do about dinner?" He thought for a moment. "Well, Ronnie, I had dinner durin' my break, at noon, but I 'spect I'll have something else to eat for supper. What else would I do?" Ronnie and I both laughed out loud. This time, Buster got it as well, and laughed, too, as his face reddened again. "I'm sorry, I just get kinda stupid sometimes," he said. "I guess I'll stop and get a hamburger, or I'll fix up some collards and fatback like Mama does. 'Course, the collards down here'n SOUTH Flor'da are kinda yallow. But the fatback'll fix that." For one of the very few times since I'd known her, Ronnie grew pale. "Fatback, Buster? Collards and FATBACK? Have you ever heard the word 'cholesterol?'" "Well, yes'm," he replied, looking puzzled. "That was one a' them diseases back in th' Dark Ages, wadn't it? All them people in Yurrp droppin' dead of cholesterol?" "Buster," Ronnie said, as though addressing a feeble-minded student, "you're thinking of cholera. Cholesterol is fat in your bloodstream that builds up and KILLS YOU when you're about 40! Anyway, you're not having fatback tonight. You and me and OUR friend Roxie are gonna eat right here. You can take the van back later; you just said you could! Now, don't argue! You told me, I think you said your 'whole fuckin' family' was back in Georgia; well, tonight, we're your family. Anyway - - - " she shot me a mischievous look which said, "watch this!" - - -"ANYWAY, did your mama raise you to accept a blowjob from a lady, without even breaking bread with her?" "Oh, great gott in th' foothills, Ronnie, how you talk," he exclaimed. "And, shit, you're right. That wouldn't be mannerly. But I cain't let you go to cookin' for all three of us!" "Don't worry, pal," Ronnie shot back, "I'm not. We're ordering pizza, and either you or good old United Delivery are gonna pay for it! Sound fair enough?" Ronnie looked deep in thought for a moment, then snapped out of it and said, "Fair? Why Hell, ladies, that sounds purt' near perfect t'me!" "Okay," laughed Ronnie, "then here's what we'll do. I'll order the pizza, and you'll pay for when it gets here, and we'll all just relax. But first, we're gonna do Roxie here a big favor. We're both gonna take a shower! Now, you go first, and Roxie and me'll wait for you." He looked doubtful for a moment, and Ronnie added, "Oh yeah, and I've even got some old sweats that belonged to my brother before he got married; you can put those on afterwards. How 'bout it?" Why, Ronnie, you little liar, I thought, you never had a brother get married! But how else would she have explained a man's hand-me-down sweats? But I could have told him! Anyway, Buster beamed again, and to my amazement, he even reached out suddenly and shook Ronnie's hand, as though they'd just struck a deal in Floyd's Barbershop! Then she scooted him down the little hall toward the bathroom, and I sat, momentarily alone, wondering what the evening would bring. I went to the kitchen and fixed myself a Coke. (I'd have preferred Scotch, but Ronnie was really quite serious about her health, and neither smoked nor drank.) When I returned to the living room, she was already waiting for me on the couch, her eyes gleaming. "Sit down! Sit down!" she said urgently. "We've gotta talk!" I complied, and, as we heard the distant whoosh of the shower water beginning to flow, Ronnie leaned over and, without warning, took my head between her hands and gave me a warm, sensual kiss. Her tongue darted between my lips for just a split-second, then she broke the kiss and leaned away. "Roxie, we've really gotta talk," she repeated. What was she up to? Oh, she'd kissed me before; we had never been lovers or anything, but we'd definitely had moments of intimacy. Anyway, there was clearly something on her mind, and it wasn't making out with Roxie! I watched her face intently, waiting to hear what was clearly so important to her. She was slightly flushed with excitement, and on top of everything else, her eyes were filling with tears! She realized that she was about to cry and sort of halfway-laughed, giving me a trembling smile to put me at ease. Then she reached out and took both of my hands softly in hers. "Roxie," she began, "I've been waiting a long time for this." Her thumbs ware tracing little circles around the mounds of flesh at the base of mine, her fingers holding my hands in the lightest of grasps. "Honey," she continued, "I didn't know when it would happen, but I think tonight's the night. You know, that guy in there, in my shower....well, you see what he's like. I doubt that he's a virgin - - - Hell, right before you walked in, he was about to flip me over and take me - - - but I don't think he's had much experience with women, maybe some farm girls, but not grown women like you and me. And I wanted him so bad, and, in a way, I had him. But, honey....you know how much I love you, don't you?" I nodded my head; was she trying to ask me to leave, so the two of them could be alone? "Well, Roxie, I've been dreaming of this night for a long, long time. Honey, tonight I want YOU to have that boy. And I want him to have you. Baby, I want you to make love with him. And I want to help, because it's your first time. And because you'll need some help. And, oh, Roxie, it'll be so beautiful...." ***************************** My first time. Well, yes, it would be, and I'd postponed it for so long. I had a few questions, but those could be easily answered by Ronnie or my physician or even a book. I certainly knew how sex worked; but, at the age of 26, I had never had sexual intercourse with a man. The plain fact of the matter is that I'd been scared, scared as a schoolgirl (although they're becoming less and less scared every year!). This was the reason for my "tough Roxie" facade, for all the wisecracking and dirty jokes for which I was known at school. (Oh yes. I'm a sophomore English teacher at Belle Glade High, where Ronnie coaches; in fact, it was Ronnie who brought me to Belle Glade.) This was the reason for my flirty, sometimes slutty persona: it was all an act, a defense mechanism. I needed a defense mechanism, because I was (according to Ronnie, anyway) a very attractive woman, with long, auburn hair framing my delicate face, my size 38 breasts, and my tight, muscular derriere. But despite my age and my appearance, I had never had an "intimate" relationship with a man, and so I played the bawdy, joke-cracking "toughie" to keep the men I worked with from seriously hitting on me. Because I could never let them in close enough to know my secrets, and my heart, or let them strip me down and stretch me out and take me. I know it sounds crazy, but Ronnie understood. And because she understood, she had helped me along. As I said, we were never really lovers, but there were times when we made love. How tender she could be! I know that she was sometimes "overpowering" with her occasional boyfriends, but she never showed that side to me; instead, she would simply dim the lights, and stroke my hair, and whisper girl secrets in my ear, and before long she'd be undressing me, freeing my pendulous breasts (and their implants) from my bra and sucking so sweetly on my nipples.....then she'd strip, all at once, and sit on my lap, or we'd lie down together, and her hands would slide all over my body, my feet, my legs, over my face and through my hair, until finally, inevitably, they were inside my panties, or pulling down my panties, and her fingers would oh-so-gently probe and preen the thick auburn pubic hair that covered my innermost secrets like fur. And sooner or later she'd be licking me there, touching me there, pulling my virgin pussy open and daintily peppering it with tiny kisses, and once she even found one of those big awful dildos, but it was sort of nice, she said it was called a "jelly cock," and yes, she strapped it on and very slowly pushed it into me, until it could go no farther, and our groins were grinding together, mine so heavily furred and hers so slick and smooth; and I put my arms around her and cried, and soon we were sobbing together, sweating and groaning and grinding together, weeping over our loneliness, and our need for a man, and all the secrets that only we could share....but that was the only time a "cock" had ever been in me, and of course it wasn't enough. And now Ronnie had decided that this handsome young stranger should be my first! And that she'd "help" me! I became more and more aroused as I considered it. I know one thing: I couldn't have done it without her help, that's for sure. I needed a guide, a protector, a big sister.....And then, long after Ronnie had dropped this astonishing invitation on me, as I sat on her couch considering these things, we heard the water shut off in the shower, and we knew that the time, if there was to be a time, was at hand. "All right," I whispered, tears now welling up in my own eyes. "If - - - if you'll help me, honey." Ronnie leaned over and hugged me close, then said, "Of course. I'll lead you every step of the way. But, Roxie, this isn't gonna be any menage-a-trois. I've had my fun with young Buster, and I'll only be there to help you. Of course, he won't know that at first!" Then she released me and hopped up from the couch. "Buster!" she called out. "Are you through in there? I want to take a shower, too!" So she took her shower, and Buster and I had a few moments of awkward, but very funny conversation, and then the pizza arrived. And we had a lovely dinner, sitting there in the tiny kitchen, Ronnie and Buster wearing sweatsuits, and me still fully dressed. So Buster, who really was very sweet, finally relaxed and felt at home with Miz Ronnie and her best friend Roxie, not even suspecting that I had once been Ronnie's little brother Roger, and that Ronnie had been my support and my strength and my protector all along my journey, through the surgery and beyond. That Ronnie had helped me become a woman once; and that tonight, she would do it again. "Okay, you guys," Ronnie announced, after we'd stacked the dishes and refilled our Cokes and returned to the living room. "Let's have some fun! Roxie, come let me show you my new treadmill; it's in the bedroom. Come on, Buster, we can't afford to lose you now!"