Both Sides Now
Part One/Anna’s Side
I met Lou last night, a chance encounter at the lesbian bar that ended in my bed. I moved into a one-bedroom on Eleventh and Union a couple months ago and haven’t regretted it once, even though the exorbitant rent makes it hard to make ends meet.
The first piece of the morning to hit me isn't the light or the car alarm going off outside. It's not my hunger after a too-small, too-early dinner last night. It's the spicy, woody, vanilla scent that they’ve left behind on my pillow.
I chase it before I open my eyes, breathing deeply. A second one hits me, a lingering, more intimate scent, fainter than their cologne, but even more enticing. My eyes blink open to the bright room, then closed again. Images of last night dart through my mind, and I land on the way they looked up at me from between my thighs, keeping eye contact that I did my best to return.
Blearily, I move my sheets aside and reach into my bedside table’s drawer. My fingers hit what I’m looking for immediately. This vibrator is relatively new, but a favorite already. It feels good in my palm. The blue and green tones swirl in a unique pattern.
I click the button on the bottom of the toy and close my eyes again. I take another deep breath, chasing their scent as I recall how their tongue felt against my clit. I hold the vibrator to myself.
I’m not the loudest in bed, but a few quiet sounds escape me now as I feel myself close to cumming in only minutes. I gasp, and as I cum I think of how they hungrily moaned against my cunt last night.
I’m grateful that it’s Sunday morning. I take a hot shower and drink a coffee, scrolling through my Instagram feed. I get a text from them.
thanks for a fun time, it reads
hope we can do it again sometime.
I don’t always do repeats. In this case, though, I think I would like to, and I tell them as much. They reply with a smiley face.
---
I sink into the nearly-scalding bath I ran as soon as I got home from work. This new office job is supposed to be cushy, but in some ways, I’m finding it even more stressful than being a barista was. Maybe it’s unseasonable, but not much else relaxes me like the ritual of a bath, especially with a lavender candle and glass of wine beside me. The heat starts to sink deep and warm my insides, and I submerge my whole body, blowing air out of my nose. When I come up I rub my cheeks under my eyes and run a hand through my wet hair.
I haven’t been keeping track of the numbers, but as my mind wanders I count five weekends in a row that I’ve seen Lou. I decide that it qualifies as a habit that I don’t want to break. I take a sip of wine and taste the tartness.
The word they had used on Saturday is “insatiable.” I really can take and take and take.
“You’re insatiable,” they’d said, delighted, as I ground hard against their thigh. I let out a choked “Mhhh” sound that made them smile wide, and they slid their hand between our bodies, putting just enough pressure there.
I sip a bit more. I reach for my phone and my slippery hands narrowly avoid dropping it into the water. I scroll through my Spotify for an annoying amount of time searching for the right thing to play, then I scroll back up and put on my daylist because sometimes it’s easier to let the algorithm make the choice. Charli xcx coming on after Lauryn Hill gives me whiplash, and MUNA following that is even weirder—but it’s all stuff I like so I can’t complain too much.
My decision to text them plans tonight? on a Wednesday evening has nothing to do with the now-empty glass I’m setting down. At least it’s their weekend. Their quick replies always remind me of the guilt I feel about my own generally long response times. I pull the stopper out of the drain and rise when I read it: none, yet, suggestions?
There’s a new cocktail bar I’ve been meaning to try, I type out, but as I walk into my bedroom I realize I desperately don’t want to put clothes on. I slip on my robe so I don’t scandalize the cat, but the thought of a dress, even a pair of jeans feels like a fate worse than death. I send: I opened some pinot noir, if you want to come help me finish it.
Their response is very simple: sure :) it reads.
---
It has been hot as hell out this week and Lou doesn’t have AC. So, I turn my thermostat down to a crisp sixty-eight before they come over—their response to my Saturday morning invitation had been immediate and very enthusiastic. They let out a relieved sigh when they open the door.
The sight of them makes my mouth water: they’re wearing running shorts and a tank top that would cling to their slim frame even without the shimmer of sweat all over their skin. Their toned muscles are on full display like this, their shoulders are shown off. My desire must be evident on my face, because they bite their lip and smirk.
“You don’t wanna touch me, I promise,” they say like they’re predicting my thoughts.
“Yes, I do.”
“I’m very sweaty.” I don’t let that stop me, and I step close. “Anna,” they fake-protest. I kiss their neck first, and the sharp saltiness of their skin excites me. “Anna, I’m gross.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I say. Lately, they have the capacity to be completely irresistible to me. Though it’s not like I try that hard, I truly don’t feel like I can control my attraction around them sometimes. It’s a dizzy kind of spaced out feeling that starts in my stomach and rises up to my ears and out to my fingertips.
“The shower,” they say with a laugh and they step out of their sneakers. “At least let’s do this in the shower.”
“I really don’t mind,” I say.
“As flattering as that is,” they say, “Trust me, I am way too sticky, and a shower would feel so good. I’ll make you feel so good, come on.” They finish the sentence with a pointed finger on my chest, peck my lips, and pull off the tank top as they start to walk to the bathroom.
“So, how do you want it?” they ask when I join them. The water is not warm at all. The cold is refreshing, but what makes the moment is the contrast of their warm hands, which hold my breasts, their thumbs idly grazing my peaked nipples. Oh, don’t be shy,” they continue when I hesitate, which only makes me more flustered. “Anna,” they punctuate, and trail off.
I finally get the answer out. “On your knees.” they grin.
“You got it,” they say as they drop. They’ve always had a gift for giving head, but this time something feels different, and the dizzy feeling in my core flutters and sparks when their tongue touches my cunt.
“Fuck,” I say, bracing my hands against the tile wall. I make a less articulate sound when they moan and look up at me, directly into my eyes. I know enough about them now to know they’re not deliberately showing off like I initially thought. They’re just paying careful and close attention to me, which is somehow hotter.
I claw at the tile behind me when I cum. I try to control my trembling so I don’t fall and crack my head open. Lou steadies me and stands.
“Can I use your body wash?” they ask, impossibly nonchalant. I’m still catching my breath. Eventually I get out a reply.
“Fucking,” I say, “of course, Lou. Oh my God.”
“Told you I’d make you feel good,” they say, and take the bottle off the shelf.
---
From this part of the lake, you can see two mountains. Tahoma and Kulshan are slightly hidden by a few clouds like smoke around their snowy peaks. The water is pleasantly cool. Thank God—the heat broke last week, and now the first glimpses of fall are starting to come out. Still, the sixty-five degree mornings can turn into eighty-five degree afternoons, which means that I still get to see Lou at the nude beach, stretched out on their stomach in the sun, their skin deepening to sienna. I float on my back a minute more, listening to the quiet of the water and someone’s speakers, playing Lady Gaga, muffled.
When I get back to our blanket, they’re asleep. The pre rolls we brought are gone, I’m bored of my book, and horny, and I want to go home and fuck. I grab a towel, but before I dry off, I let a few drips fall from my hair onto their back. They stir, and I trace their spine from the nape of their neck to the small of their back, resting my palm there.
“Mmm,” I hear. “Feels good.” Their voice is thick with sleep.
“Good,” I say, and keep going, rubbing a circle with my thumb. I take a sip of my remaining water, then lean down and kiss their shoulder. They relax even further. I place another kiss, then another between their shoulder blades. They stretch.
With a “Hmm” sound, they start to push up on their hands and I lean back to accommodate it. They turn to face me. The blanket has left an imprint on their left cheek, so I cup that side of their face with my hand and kiss them. I feel them smile into it. It’s hot for it, but I can’t object to their hand resting on my waist, then moving downwards.
They move their body towards mine and angle themself so that nobody can see when they place their hand between my legs.
“Lou,” I say, centimeters from their lips. “Fuck.”
“Yeah?” they respond. “I bet you’d like me to.”
I would. But, while it does feel like there’s nothing in the world but me and them, I hear the guy next to us cough. His friends laugh, and I’m reminded we’re in public. We slip on some clothes, pack up our things in record time.
The thirty minute bus ride back to my place is excruciating. We share a pair of headphones, my phone audio set to mono so we both hear it all. They whisper into my free ear.
“I can’t wait to fuck you.” They rest a hand on my thigh and I tingle under the touch. I ache for more.
I shakily fumble with my keys when we get to my place, and they are not helping, coming up behind me and pressing their body flush to mine. Their hands are on my ribs when I finally get the door open, and as soon as we get inside they’re holding my tits and kissing my neck.
We don’t make it to the bedroom. They guide me to the couch and I flop down.
“I’ve wanted to do this all day,” they say, untying my cotton wrap dress. “You look so good,” they swallow.
“I’m glad,” I say. “Thanks.” I wore the dress for them. They make me more and more nervous lately. I think it’s because I can see doing this together for a while. I hide my face with my hands for a moment.
“What’s wrong?” They ask.
“Nothing,” I say, and move my hands out of the way. They kiss the knuckles of my right hand, and I don’t think about it anymore.
---
I get the news only three weeks before they need me to transfer offices: not across the country, but across the globe. It’s an opportunity I have no choice but to take. Suddenly, I have to scramble to get a visa, and pack up my apartment, and I don’t see Lou for more than a week and a half, the longest we’ve gone without fucking since we met. I miss their body. When I masturbate, I think about their deft hands and able mouth. I haven’t gotten much better at texting, but when they reach out I reply within minutes. Going through my books, I tell them. So much to do.
come over, they reply. the books aren’t going anywhere. I chuckle.
I’m over at theirs in less than an hour, and they greet me at the door. I see a familiar album cover on their TV screen. I realize I’ve missed them, not only what they can do. Maybe it’s the stress of the move, but my eyes water for a moment when they kiss me.
“I’ll miss you,” they say and I’m grateful they did it first. “I like spending time with you, Anna.” I sniffle the threatening tears away. I don’t know what to say, and I take a moment before I speak. They look concerned.
“It’s a big change,” I start, “I’m going to miss you, too.”
They don’t prolong the conversation. When they kiss me again, it’s slow and methodical. I return it, letting them take as much time as they like. When they pull back, they have dark eyes and flushed lips.
I have the urge to show off, leave them with something to remember. I take their hand in mine and I rub my thumb over their index and middle fingers. I bring them to my mouth. I look them in the eye, breathe in, and take the tips of their fingers between my lips.
“Fuck,” they say quietly. I keep looking at them as my warm mouth wraps around their long fingers. Their mouth hangs slightly open, they look entranced. I always feel like I’m the one falling apart in front of them. It feels good on the other side. “So pretty,” they say. They push their fingers further into my mouth, gently. I lean up so my back arches and they groan. I let my eyelids flutter closed and open again as I suck and lick. They pull out of my mouth.
“Take your clothes off.” It’s not a command, but their voice is serious, and I follow their instructions. It doesn’t take long to get out of my dress and step out of my panties. They take off their shirt and shorts. I don’t realize how thoroughly my cunt is dripping until they touch me and moan in satisfaction.
~~~
It’s afternoon when I wake up for the day again. The gloom of the morning and the sound of the rain put me back to sleep after breakfast. When I open my eyes, Lou winks at me. The book they’ve been reading recently rests on their chest and they have a mug in their hand. I yawn.
“Hey,” they whisper. I make a noise that I mean as a return of their greeting. “Sleepyhead.” I smile at them.
“You wore me out,” I say. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” they say. “Just making the most, I guess.”
“Yeah,” I say and yawn again.
Part Two/Lou’s Side
Recently, I feel as though I’ve forgotten sex exists. I came to the lesbian bar straight from work to relax, come down after a long Saturday double shift. I haven’t fucked anyone since I broke up with my ex last November. December, January, February, March, and April make five months, plus the first week of May. I feel rusty, but when I see this beautiful woman in line at the bar, I brave it and walk to her. I ask to buy her a drink.
“Whiskey sour,” she says when I ask her what she’s drinking tonight. I order hers and mine, a tequila soda. Anna is her name, and she’s tipsier than I am. She probably got here before I did. I was first cut tonight, but that still meant I had tables until eleven. “My friends all went home,” she says when we have drinks in hand. An older butch-femme couple lets us sit at the opposite side of their table, with a view of the dance floor. We almost have the same haircut. Mine is longer than I want it to be right now. I prefer it cropped to my ears. It’s too loud for the small talk we’re trying to make, and I want to dance, so I drink quickly and watch her do the same.
We throw out our cups and she takes my hand, pulls me decisively to the dance floor. I was worried that I had lost my touch, but evidently, I haven’t. It takes a moment, but we find a rhythm. She grinds her body into mine and I reciprocate, hands on her hips. The music here usually sucks, but tonight it’s been passable, and she turns around when a remix of “Buttons” comes on. I like the view when she bends down then back up, tosses her hair with her fingertips. I let my hands roam how they want to, up to her waist, then her ribs, my palms flat and open. Her back presses into my chest, and her ear is close enough to my mouth that I can talk to her. I put on my best low voice when I speak.
“Should we get out of here?” It’s risky, but she’s starting to move clumsily, like she’s getting distracted. Why not shoot my shot? She turns around again, and her reply is just a tad slurred.
“Yours or mine?” She asks.
“Where’s yours?” Unless her place is in the suburbs or something it’s probably closer than mine. It’s a two-bus, forty-five-minute affair to get to my studio in West Seattle from here.
“Around the corner.”
"Yours then," I say, and she nods, then we weave our way through the crowd swiftly. We each drink two thimble sized cups from the water station before we go. Her cheeks are flushed.
I buzz with excitement as we make our way to her building down the street. I’m grateful we skip the antique-looking elevator, and I don’t mind walking the five flights of stairs to her floor.
"Sorry, kinda messy," she says, when she flicks on a lamp in the corner of her living room/kitchen. I barely even notice. Maybe she’s referring to the dishes drying on the counter.
"No worries. Can I kiss you?" I ask. I don’t feel like drawing this out. I want her urgently.
"Please," she says, and steps closer to me. I close the remaining distance. Any trace of my previous nervousness melts away when I kiss her. I am gentle at first, but she kisses back hungrily and wanting, and I take her cues to intensify. She rests a hand on my waist. I put mine over it, and the other on her shoulder. She bites her lip and leads me to her bedroom.
---
Aspen, my best friend, is asleep in my bed when I get home from the gym, snoring like he owns the place. It looks like he made lunch and did the dishes before passing out, so I guess he earns his keep. It’s so fucking horribly hot in here. I open the Tupperware on the counter to find some pasta salad. I don’t like the chickpea stuff that much, but Aspen can’t eat gluten. My first forkful is delicious nonetheless; the dressing is perfect. I sit down at my counter (the only place to sit in this shoebox) and reach for the bong that sits there. I only take a couple hits, it being two PM and all. The salad is good, and I eat it quickly with a shaker bottle of Liquid IV to drink. Refueled, hydrated, I open the door to my bathroom.
The tiny room steams up immediately when I turn the water on. I wash my face before I do anything else, the sweat stinging my eyes. My mind wanders. I’m trying to get a shift covered for next week and nobody has picked it up yet. My mother has been on my ass about not calling her enough. But it’s my weekend, and I don’t want to be thinking about all the stress I’m under. I try to distract myself from it with more enticing thoughts. I land on the last time I saw Anna. I count the weeks, and I realize it’s been five since we’ve been sleeping together. I’d like it to continue.
My thoughts start to arouse me. She can take it for hours and doesn’t ask to reciprocate. I don’t think she’s necessarily a pillow princess— I’m sure she’d fuck me if I asked, but she’s said she’s content for me to be stone. As I spread conditioner through my hair, a particular image comes to mind: leaning against her headboard with our legs in a tangle. She’s already cum twice, but she’s pressing her cunt hard against my thigh and I can tell she’s getting close again. I call her out: “You’re insatiable.”
I recall the “Mhhh” noise she’d let out, a whine, and how soaked she’d been when I slid my hand between our bodies and put just enough pressure there to bring her over the edge. She’d still let me eat her out again after that, and I would’ve kept going if I hadn’t needed to catch the last bus to my place.
I linger at my chest as I wash myself. I don’t always feel good about my breasts, and I bind a lot of the time because of it. But the suds and my hands feel good, and I glide over my nipples before I rub them between my fingers. I breathe in. As a rule, I fantasize more than I masturbate, but I still know what I like. I drop my right hand, and when it meets my clit, I enjoy the inviting feeling the mixture of my wetness and the warm water creates. My ample bush drips. It doesn’t take me long to finish, it never does. I’m satisfied, a little light-headed. I rinse myself and turn off the water. Aspen is awake and scrolling Instagram reels when I emerge.
“Look at you, handsome,” he mocks me. “You are glowing ever since you started getting pussy again.” He’s seen me naked countless times, both when we were dating and since. I throw the towel in my hair at him, and he pretends to be extremely offended.
~~~
I’ve been saying I’ll buy a new strap on harness with my last three paychecks. My old, underwear-style one, is falling apart after less than a year of using it. I haven’t gotten around to going to a sex shop to find one yet. I’m busy, and I can get the job done just fine in other ways. But Anna asked me the other day if I was going to get one soon, so we’re at the closest place with good-enough reviews to her apartment. The salesperson is very enthusiastically talking to her about all the dildo models they have available while I look through the harnesses. I examine each one. The pleather ones are cheaper, but a real leather one catches my eye. I take it off the hook to feel it in my hands. I’m a little startled when I hear a perky voice behind me.
“That one’s very popular.”
“Is it,” I reply. “It looks nice.” Anna comes and stands beside me, feels a buckle between her fingertips.
“I like this one,” she says, and I know where her mind is. She’s also holding a sparkly, hot pink dildo. It looks to be about six inches. I might not pick it myself, but it looks right in her palm. I decide I can absorb the one-hundred-fifty-dollar price tag if I pick up an extra shift sometime. I buy the harness, she buys the dildo, and we listen to the very long explanation of their warranty policies. I tuck the receipt into my wallet just in case.
“Let’s get ice cream,” Anna says, nodding to the gelato place across the street. I shudder to think what that will do to my stomach but agree. It’s hotter out than this city is built for, and the shop was sweltering. She gets a cup of espresso chocolate chunk; I spare my gut and get peach sorbet. We sit at a sidewalk table. I admire her lithe tongue as she licks the ice cream off the spoon, and when she catches me, she looks into my eyes. She slows her pace and, holding eye contact, swallows.
I lean over the table and kiss her. I like the way my peach mixes with the coffee flavor on her lips. The kiss is very light, soft, and quick, but she moans quietly into it. Thankfully the walk to hers is very short, and we’re almost done with our ice cream.
I get a sugar rush when we get back to hers, and she giggles at my energy. She washes the dildo while I struggle to, but eventually succeed at, getting the foil off the top of the new bottle of lube. Strap-ons take some spontaneity out of sex, but all the preparation they require lends anticipation. She stares for a moment at the sparkly thing, and I leave her to it while I go to the bedroom to fiddle with all the buckles and straps—I have never found a sexy way to put on a harness. I call her name when I’m done, and her footsteps are quick. She hands me the dildo, and I slip it into the O-ring. I look at myself in the full-length mirror on her closet door.
“You look good. Really good,” she says.
“Thanks.” I couldn’t be more in the moment. I like how my cock looks, and I know what I want. She can’t read my mind, so I give her a hint: I hold and stroke it like I can really feel it. Her eyes widen, and she replaces my hand with hers. She pumps it from the base to the tip and then kneels.
“I haven’t done this before,” she says shakily. I’ve never seen her nervous like this.
“No pressure.”
“I mean, I’ve always wanted to.” She smiles. Honestly, looking at her on her knees in front of me is plenty.
But, “Want some help?” I offer. She nods. I reach down and hold her face with my thumb on her cheek. She blushes. “Open your mouth,” I guide, and she does. I pull her closer to my cock and close my eyes a moment to process the sight. I feel the pressure when her lips touch the tip. I open my eyes. I’ve always liked getting a blowjob, but something about this feels different, intense. “Wider.”
She opens wide enough to take me. My cock slides into her mouth and her eyelids flutter and open again. I can’t help but moan.
~~~
It’s afternoon when she wakes up again for the day. It’s gloomy and rainy, finally it’s starting to feel like fall. I put my book down and wink when she opens her eyes. She yawns. “Hey, sleepyhead,” I whisper.
“You wore me out,” she says. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” I say. “Just making the most, I guess.”
“Yeah,” she says and yawns again. I’m not sure if I’ll ever see her again once she goes home. I want to leave her with something to remember. I play with her messy hair, and she hums, scooches closer to me. I move my fingers to her back and gently scratch. She starts to wake up more, and kisses the outside of my thigh, the part of my body closest to her face. She stretches, then rises to kiss my lips. I rest my hands on her back, then grab her ass and pull her so she straddles my lap. Her mouth is yielding and open for me. I take her bottom lip between mine and suck. She moans and makes a tiny circle with her hips.
“Needy,” I remark.
“Mhm,” she returns. “Yes, I am.”
“Tell me.”
“I need you,” she starts. I stay still. I want to hear more. “I need you, Lou.” She bends down and kisses my shoulder. I breathe deeply and swallow the lump in my throat.
“Yeah,” I say. I kiss her again and roam my hands from where they are to her tits, squeezing, then drawing circles with my thumb. She closes her eyes. “Look at me,” I say seriously. She does and bites her lip.
“Fuck me,” She requests, matching my tone.
I can’t reply with words. I flip our positions and kiss her neck, collarbone, shoulder, breasts, ribs, trying to cover all the ground I can. I want to remember what every inch of her feels like. I kiss her thighs and suck, nibble. I can leave at least a temporary mark.
She’s wet for me. I am hit with her familiar taste. Paying close attention to her over the past few months has paid off, and she gasps when I take her clit into my mouth, circling my tongue.
She arches and sighs when she cums. I know she can usually take more, but I hear a faint, restrained sniffle and I don’t continue. I sit up and take her hand in mine, kiss it. She wipes the few tears that have escaped with her other hand and has a melancholy expression when she looks up at me. Her nose always scrunches when she smiles.