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NOTE: I decided, as an experiment, to write a gender-flipped version of my previously-published story “Private Eye.” The plot is nearly the same, though I wrote new sex scenes appropriate for the gender-flipped characters. I hope you enjoy this experiment and this story! – PPF
Part One: Virgins Need Not Apply
Andy sent me the Craigslist ad over Facebook. -Photographer needed for private investigation firm. Must own camera and working car. Virgins need not apply.-
I wrote him back after checking out the ad and the rather generous hourly wage. -Ha ha, looks like just the job for me.-
-Are you going to apply May? You have a camera and you have something resembling a car.- My truck, passed down through three older siblings already, was more rust than vehicle. But it was, by definition, a working car.
I typed back: -Maybe! I could use the money.-
There was a gap in the conversation as I browsed my friends’ Facebook pages. There were a lot of pictures of parties: red cups, dark rooms, duck faces and peace signs for the camera. I tried not to feel jealous. My Facebook page was entirely photographs of trees, of birds, of the trails surrounding campus. It was my third year at college, and I still spent more time pointing my camera lens at nature than at prospective dates.
Suddenly, a message from Andy popped up: -When are you coming home?-
Now this was interesting. I was on my laptop in my room, and I could hear Andy through the door watching television on the living room couch. But he didn’t know I was here! This was the perfect opportunity. My roommate and I had something of a prank competition going on. Yesterday Andy had stolen all of the towels out of the bathroom while I was showering. I wound up holding a loofah over my pussy and the bathmat over my tits as I ran to my room, right in front of Andy’s gang of gay friends. If you didn’t know Andy and I, you might assume this was flirting. But I met Andy through his boyfriend, Rob. Searching for roommates online, Rob had remembered me from a portrait photography class, and offered a room in the two-bedroom apartment he shared with his boyfriend. I lived with Rob and Andy for a full year before they split up. It turns out Andy’s name was the one on the lease, and Rob moved across town near the river.
I might have met Rob first, but over the last year Andy and I became great friends. We both loved to watch weird old movies (my favorite: Repo Man, Andy’s favorite: Top Secret), eat popcorn with hot sauce (me: Tabasco, Andy: Mad Dog), and laze around in our underwear. Andy was like a living sculpture, with thick black hair, clear skin, and abs that somehow showed through the loosest of T-shirts. He claimed to be the only Korean gym-rat on campus. But of course, Andy was gay, and I had absolutely no chance with him. So to me he was like one of the girls. We hung out constantly, so much so that my other friends blamed Andy for my lack of dating.
“No guy thinks he can compete with Andy!” said my friend Celina. “They assume you’re together. By the way, are you together? Is he bi, or totally gay? Is he into me?”
This, by the way, is how all my conversations about Andy went. Even my mom said she was waiting for the day that Andy fell in love with me. It was embarrassing. But worth it, for the friendship.
I took some time thinking up a reply to Andy’s message. For all the ways he tried to be badass, Andy had a jump reflex like no one else. If he saw a spider, or heard a creaking floorboard, or didn’t know you were behind him when you said hello, he would jump about three feet into the air and scream. I knew now how to pull the perfect prank.
I replied: -I’m up at the library working on an assignment. I won’t be back for a while.-
In the living room, Andy laughed at something on the TV. I decided to wait a bit before I lept out of my room. It was hard though to not laugh and spoil the surprise. Honestly, the suspense before the prank has to be the most rewarding part of it.
Meanwhile, I opened a stealth tab on my laptop and quickly flipped through my various online dating profiles. Last night I’d felt desperate and sent out about twenty or so messages. There were no replies. I stared at the portraits who popped up as my matches. Beautiful women, in tank-tops beneath redwoods, in tight pajamas snuggling their dogs, in bikinis at the beach. I’d been on some first dates recently, but nothing promising.
Meanwhile, I opened a stealth tab on my laptop and quickly flipped through various online dating profiles. There were all the usual neanderthalish grunts from random men. ‘Hey.’ ‘Hi.’ ‘Sup?’ ‘Hey.’ And then a few wordless, faceless pictures of abs, and of course a random dick pic. Last night I’d gotten desperate and actually messaged some of these faceless, monosyllabic men back. But something about my replies- maybe it was the word monosyllabic?- just killed the conversation. Despite all I’d heard about horny men trolling for easy women online, I’d received not a single message back.
I bahis firmaları didn’t know what I was doing wrong! I tried to search out for all the cute, nerdy men of my dreams, the quiet ones who wanted to spend an evening watching scary movies on the couch, or reading a good book before getting distracted by making out. And I’d gotten a few first dates. But nothing promising. No heart-fluttering, no googly eyes, no love at first sight.
It’s not like I was lacking in social skills. Just this past weekend, I’d met a psychology major at the 24-hour Thai restaurant. He was a tall guy with a beautiful brown eyes. He had this quiet smile and dimples that just made me blush. We’d talked, we’d flirted, we walked out into the parking lot bumping shoulders… and then as we said a lingering goodbye, and he leaned in for a kiss-
I didn’t want to leave!
But there was this voice in my head warning me that a first kiss leads to a date with a second kiss, which could lead to an invitation to his room, which could lead to sex.
And here was what I hadn’t told even my best friend Andy.
I was a virgin.
I was a virgin on a college campus surrounded by beautiful, interesting, intellectual men. I was a virgin with a ripped roommate who brought even more muscular, intellectual men into our apartment! I was a virgin with no good excuses except for the fact that I was embarrassed to be a virgin, and I knew the first time would be awkward and unsexy and…
Well, honestly, I was probably still a virgin because I thought about it too much!
Closing the dating websites, I noticed that Andy wasn’t watching TV anymore. I listened for footsteps- the floorboards of our old house are as creaky as they are drafty- and heard none. In fact, I heard nothing from behind the door. Andy had to be on the couch still, probably with his headphones in, watching something on his laptop.
I suck silently to the door. Slowly, slowly, I turned the knob, trying to not make a single noise. Inch by inch I opened the door, peeking through. Perfect, Andy’s back was turned to me as he lay on the couch. Just as I thought, he had his laptop on the coffee table and his earbuds in. He was totally captivated by what he was watching, which seemed to be a romantic gay film. Two men were kissing, grasping at each others’ bodies. They were… naked. One of the men, muscular with flawless dark skin, started kissing down the other man’s body, taking a nipple between his lips. His hand swept down over the other man’s taut belly, then around to grab a handful of ass.
Oh my god.
Andy was watching porn!
Oh, this would just be too embarrassing.
I was about to leap out to scare Andy, when I noticed that my roommate wasn’t just watching porn. One hand rested on his tight white t-shirt while the other moved over his gym shorts. I could see that Andy was breathing heavily, his shoulders rising and falling. He still had the back of his head to me. I could see the rise of his cock within his gym shorts, his hand feeling out the shape of it, stroking the shaft and then rubbing the head. On the laptop, one of the men, a red-head, lay back on white sheets while the other man licked his cock from balls to tips, over and over. On the couch, Andy let out a little moan. With one hand he reached down between his legs and started gently kneading his balls. With the other he stroked his cock, still tented in his gym shorts. I could see his hips rising a little with each stroke.
My own hands were moving down my body. With one hand I squeezed my breast and teased my nipple. The other hand was crawling down, down towards my pants, where I could feel my pussy already wet.
Wait, what was I doing? I blinked, took a deep breath. I needed to close the door, give Andy his privacy. No wonder he asked when I was coming home. He was horny and bored and- oh my god, he was now removing his gym shorts.
Beneath, Andy wasn’t wearing underwear. He pulled his shorts down, and the waistband caught on the head of his cock. As he pulled more, his cock sprung free, slapping against his tight abs. Andy’s cock was enormously swollen, the head like a huge pink strawberry. Andy licked his fingers and rubbed the saliva on the head of his cock. Precum glistened at the tip. With his thumb, he rubbed the precum down to the base of the head. On the laptop, one man was eagerly swallowing the other’s cock, taking it down into his throat in hungry bobs of his head.
Andy groaned in pleasure. His hips bucked the air as he stroked his cock. I could see the effort he was making to hold back from cumming. He timed his strokes with the bobbing of the man’s head on his screen. Andy reached down and grabbed his balls with his other hand. He ground his ass down against the sofa. I would have to sit on that sofa later. I wondered if I would be able to smell his body there, his sweat, his exertion.
Now on the laptop, the redhead was standing behind his partner in front of a mirror. He had his partner’s hands against kaçak iddaa the mirror, and was reaching around and stroking his cock like a madman. I could see both of their reflexions in the mirror, all their lithe muscles taut with passion.
I suddenly noticed my own hand was pressed firmly against my pussy through my jeans. I felt like my panties were soaked through. I could smell my own smell of sex. I yanked my hand back as if I were touching a live wire. I couldn’t believe what I was doing. And yet, I had not closed the door.
On the laptop, one of the men came all over the mirror. As the other man stroked his cock, huge ropes of cum shot out, smearing over their reflection. Like a starving man, his partner kneeled down and started licking the cum off the mirror’s surface.
Andy groaned again and thrust his hips into the air, his hand firmly grasped around his cock. His other hand pulled up his shirt over his abs, and he pinched one of his nipples. As he started to cum- pumping even faster, even harder- his feet kicked against one side of the couch and his shoulders slid over the edge of the other arm. Cum gushed onto his abs, white strands pooling into his belly button. His head finally dropped, and I suddenly realized he was facing me, albeit upside down, staring openly at him masturbating on the couch. But luck was with me- Andy’s eyes were closed in pleasure and release.
I’ll admit, I still didn’t close the door right away. I looked at the upside-down face of my roommate for a split second longer. His mouth was pursed open, and his tongue darted out and licked perspiration from his full lips. Relief had smoothed his beautiful face, with his high cheekbones and dark eyebrows. I had a sudden urge to kiss him. Or to take off my jeans and soaked panties and plant by pussy down on his mouth. Squirt all over his chin when I climaxed.
Oh god, what was I thinking? I stepped back into my room and silently closed the door. I just prayed Andy hadn’t opened his eyes in time.
I scanned my room for an escape plan. Andy still thought I was up on campus.
The window of my room opened on a little side yard maintained by our landlord, and then the sidewalk and street where my old beater of a truck was parked. I grabbed my laptop, my backpack, and my camera. I gently placed my goods outside the window, then squeezed out myself.
My truck was infamous in our neighborhood. Its peeling red paint left rusty patches like some sunburnt cow. Its engine started with a gunshot, whined like an injured buffalo, and coughed like a starving artist with tuberculosis. It was, in other words, not a great getaway vehicle.
Instead, my legs shaking and my panties still soaked, I scurried down the sidewalk. There was a coffee shop I liked a few blocks away. I’d spend some time there and then walk home. As I walked down the sidewalk, I practiced the neutral face I’d have to keep up when I came through the front door. But I kept picturing Andy’s face instead. Upside down, flushed with erotic energies, biting his lip as he came. I shook my head. I would have to calm down before I reached the coffee shop. I could feel my nipples prodding out of my shirt like goddamn antennae.
I’d gotten things under control by the time I reached Coffee & Pie, a coffee shop and bakery I’d been visiting since I’d first moved in with Rob and Andy. It was a real local’s joint, visited by families and retirees rather than college students. Other than myself, of course.
Coffee & Pie was hidden in a strip mall in between a Brazilian Jujitsu school and a private dental practice. I guess if you got your teeth knocked out in Jujitsu you could get fixed two doors down, then celebrate with a slice of home-baked pie. The coffee shop was an unassuming little square of a place, just a glass counter filled with pies, a couple of tables and a single lumpy couch. But it had great wi-fi, it was quiet, and I was in love with a boy who worked there.
Well, I should amend that.
I wanted to be in love with him. The truth was, I’d hardly talked with him. He had sandy brown hair kept messy in that artfully tousled way. Bold black glasses framed these warm blue eyes. In the morning his strong jaw was freshly shaved, but if he was working in the afternoon or evening he had a perfect five-o’clock shadow. You could tell, just by the way he peered out at the world, that he had a great sense of humor. He had a tattoo of a dragonfly on his right forearm, and a little scar above his left eyebrow. He smelled like cardamom.
I didn’t even know his name.
Here’s the limit of our conversation each time I come into the coffee shop to relax or work:
“I’ll have a latte and a slice of pie.”
“The pear pie is especially good right now.”
“That’ll be $5.50.”
“Here you go.”
“Have a nice day.”
Then I sit down and eat my pie and drink my latte and try not to look at him.
Once- just once- there was a variation to the conversation. It was the first or second time kaçak bahis I’d brought my new camera with me. I’d scrimped and saved for this camera, foregoing coffee for two months. I was very proud of it, and brought it everywhere to show off. When I asked for my latte, the boy behind the counter said he hadn’t seen me in a while. I told him I’d been saving for this camera, and that segued into a little conversation about photography. He said his mother was a photographer, but he had no talent for it. Instead, he was going to the local community college to figure out what he wanted to pursue in life.
All the while my heart was beating out of my chest and I kept thinking, ‘Ask him out, ask him out, ask him out!’
I finally got up the guts to introduce myself. I said, “My name is May.”
And just as he took my hand in his, a customer walked through the door. The loud ringing of the bell above the door covered the sound of her name. And before I could ask again, the customer was ordering a carafe of coffee and a dozen pies for their office. It was too late.
So now I fell back on the old conversation, all business, too embarrassed to introduce myself again.
I opened my laptop and noticed the Craigslist ad was still open. -Photographer needed for private investigation firm. Must own camera and working car. Virgins need not apply.-
Well, I had a car and a camera. And that last sentence had to be a strange joke. I had some time to waste, so I decided to apply. I opened up my resume, added a few updates, and selected some good photographs to go with it. Thinking of the old detective noir films my mom had loved, I selected black and white photographs with heavy shadows. Many of them were of Andy, my usual subject. There was one of him standing shirtless against a blank white wall of our apartment. The sun was low in the sky and casting these incredible dark criss-crossed shadows from the picture window at the front. He was holding a white sheet about three inches below his bellybutton, so you could see the contours of his muscles pointing down towards his crotch. The shadows of the window frames and the shadows of the sheet intermingled into a sort of rorschach test ink-blot. His pale skin, his black hair, all played into this intricate chaos of light and dark. He looked damn sexy, too.
I noticed, suddenly, that the coffee shop boy was behind me looking at the screen. I closed the window, my face turning beet red. “Here’s your latte and pie,” he said, bending down and placing the plate and mug next to my laptop. He was wearing this tight striped shirt, unbuttoned at the top, and even tighter black jeans. As be bent over my eyes drifted to his ass, its shape within the black jeans a sort of extension of my chiaroscuro photography.
I blinked, yanked my eyes away, and mumbled a thank-you. I just couldn’t get anything right today!
I sent off the application, then read some articles for class while enjoying my pie and coffee. The articles were all about architectural photography. Different theories on how to shoot a building. We had a big architectural photography project coming up that I’d been procrastinating. And now I was even more distracted. I felt my eyes were magnets turning towards the ass or abs of any man I saw. I kept remembering Andy touching himself on the couch. I kept thinking about how clumsy I was in staring at the coffee boy’s ass. I decided I would never look at a man again. I would buy thick sunglasses, the ones you wear during an eclipse. I would take a vow of silence, so I could never say something embarrassing. I would sequester myself in a cell in the most isolated nunnery in the world. I would-
An e-mail popped up from someone named Marshal Saint-Claud. It had a simple message:
-I received your application. The job is yours if you want it. Meet me tonight at 8:00 at the office. – Marsh-
There was an address and a phone number.
I immediately messaged Andy online. -Holy shit, I got the job!-
-Detective May!- he replied. -Ready to take pictures of husbands fucking their mistresses?-
My face blanched white, then burned. I hadn’t thought of just what my camera would be pointed at. ‘Virgins need not apply,’ I thought. Andy was probably right. Then again, I had a picture of Andy with his hand wrapped around his cock in my mind. Maybe this job would help me get my mind off of certain other things.
-I’m heading home,- I typed to Andy.
-See you soon!-
Part Two: Shots Fired
With a shot, and a whine, and a desperate cough, my truck pulled into the office park. It was nearly eight, and the parking lot was empty. A single light shone in an office window up on a third floor. The whole office building was built Mission-style, with adobe white walls and odd, fortress-like roofs. I felt like a thief invading a castle.
I walked up the stairs and rang the bell at the door. A voice inside said, “Come in!”
Inside was less an office than a single room. Half the space was taken up by a long desk covered in piles of folders, binders, and loose papers. On the wall was a framed poster for the film ‘The Girl from Ipanema.’ And in the center, sitting in the only chair in the room, was Marshal Saint-Claud, or Marsh as I’d come to call him.
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