“I’d like to see how you give love to a girl,” Étienne* said.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, thinking my French lover had made a charming grammatical mistake. Then again, he did know I was bisexual.
With a mischievous smile, Étienne closed his eyes and stretched his tattooed, muscled bulk out on the bed where we were lying naked. We may have been dealing with a language barrier, but his body said it all: Do with me what you will. I had no idea where to start, but damn, did I want to try.
The windows were open and we’d both just showered, but somehow we were still sweating. We seemed to have a thing for hot places, having met a month earlier in sweltering Seville. I came down the stairs of my hostel one morning and stopped in my tracks. There, standing shirtless next to the turquoise pool in the courtyard, was the most masculine human being I had ever seen in my life: broad shoulders, barrel chest (with the perfect amount of hair, of course), and powerful thighs. Étienne, who was charmingly vain, kept his brown hair at a luxurious length and sported a thick but well-groomed beard. A wicked-looking tattoo snaked along his ribs. He looked like a young David Beckham, but with bigger muscles. Victoria Beckham I am not, but, by some miracle, after a few days of sheepishly running into each other all over the hostel, I found myself straddling those powerful thighs on the terrace and wishing, as the kissing got hotter, that I had booked a private room instead of a bed in a ten-person dormitory.
We both flew out that evening, me to Greece and him to France, our romance unconsummated. But over the following month, we couldn’t stop texting and calling. So in July, we split the bill for me to visit him in the south of France and finish what we’d begun.
From the moment I landed, Étienne oozed a sexual dominance that had me quite literally oozing in turn during our first kiss in the airport as he held me against him, his hand strong and powerful on my lower back. For the next three days, I found myself beautifully and irresistibly dominated by him every time we hit the sheets, which was often. He was a carpenter by trade and it showed—not just in the roughness of his fingertips but in the way his hands never faltered or hesitated, always in control.
My bisexuality came up during pillow talk on the first night. Like 99.99 percent of hetero guys I’ve dated—sorry, bros, but it’s true—Étienne didn’t believe I was really into girls, yet wanted to hear all about my experiences.
But now this man, the manliest I’d ever slept with, was stretched out on the bed, glistening from his shower, asking me to make love to him like he was a woman.
Not so sexily, I froze. I had never had anal sex. Old boyfriends had tried to convince me to try it; friends of mine, both male and female, had raved about its delights. But I remained unconvinced. In what I now recognize as a fairly heteronormative mindset for a queer person, I had always imagined that I, being a woman, would have to be on the receiving end. All of which is to say, I had no experience with the inside of anyone’s ass. What if I did a terrible job?
Before I hit full panic mode, I thought again about what he’d said: I’d like to see how you give love to a girl. And I immediately felt less scared.
With women, as Étienne had somehow sensed, I’m a very attentive, confident, and giving top. My pleasure comes mostly from watching them get pleasure, not just because women are so damn sexy but because of the heady sensation of power that goes along with it.
My cocky inner top (pun intended, maybe?) told me that I would figure out the ass stuff when I got there. In the meantime, here was a gorgeous creature who wanted, needed my hands and mouth all over her.
With all this in mind, I straddled Étienne and, gently cupping his face in my hands, gave him my softest and most tender kiss. To my surprise, he melted as if he had been waiting for me to kiss him like this for days. His cock, which was as thick and burly as its owner, leapt up eagerly to tap between my thighs. But that wasn’t where we were going today.
When his hands reached for my breasts, I took his wrists and pinned them to the bed. I kissed his neck, buried my face in the soft fur of his chest, and gently sucked on one nipple, then the other, softly at first and then more firmly. With each lick I felt him melting more and more. He began to writhe beneath me.
His cock was too thick and juicy to ever resist, so I bent my head and began licking it as if I were running my tongue just along the inside of a woman’s labia. And then, imagining what the female Étienne’s clit would be like, I delicately devoured the head.
If I were with a woman, I would be getting wet with the anticipation of soon having my fingers in the indescribably silky warmth of her vagina. And now I felt exactly the same way about having my fingers in Étienne. We had lube on the nightstand already, so with the shortest possible interruption of what I was doing with my mouth, I slicked the fingers of one hand and carefully made my way behind his balls to the warm, velvety opening of his anus.
Étienne let out a soft gasp.
I continued to suck and lick him while gently massaging his hole with a finger. Then, little by little, I began to slide in the tip of one, then a second one.
“Oui, comme ça,” he breathed. From the way Étienne was writhing, I could tell he wanted to be filled up completely, but I also sensed he would let me take the lead. So, just as I would with a woman, I took my time. I continued to lick and suck while I slowly stroked into him, allowing my fingers to penetrate a little more each time. Then, when I couldn’t stand to wait any longer, I held the base of his cock with my free hand and took the entire shaft into my mouth, just as my fingers went all the way inside him.
Étienne’s head was flung back, his eyes closed, his fingers gripping the bed sheets. He moaned as I began to thrust slowly, just as my head started to move up and down his shaft. I couldn’t believe how warm and soft he was inside and that there was actually plenty of space for my fingers. From the way he was writhing, I understood he wanted me to take him harder. I pulled my mouth back to just the end of his cock so I could focus on this part of him that was new to me. A drop of precum beaded up against my lips as I continued to thrust more and more quickly, his ass gripping my fingers as if eager to have me deeper inside him each time.
I was lost in the bliss of fucking him when I felt Étienne’s rough fingertips graze my left hip, beckoning me toward him. I pivoted slightly so he could reach me. His fingers slipped tenderly against my clit in the slick of wetness his pleasure had created.
Now I was losing all control. I wanted him to explode in my mouth even more than I wanted to come against his fingers. I began thrusting harder and faster and took his entire cock into my throat. He arched his back to encourage me. Just as I felt him clench around my fingers and tasted the salt of his cum shooting into my mouth, my own orgasm ignited, sending shock waves through my whole body.
When I could think about moving again, I slid my fingers carefully out of him and knelt on the bed, admiring him. He was breathing heavily, still glistening but with sweat and sex and pleasure now, his light brown lashes thick against his flushed cheeks. Suddenly touched by his having given himself to me in this vulnerable way, I lay down next to him and pulled his head against my neck, wrapping my arm around his muscled back and bulky shoulder as if to protect him—this man who was a good 7 inches taller and 50 pounds heavier than me.
During the rest of my week-long sexcation with Étienne, he pretty much went back to being a stereotypical dominant male in the bedroom. Then, on the last night, I fucked him from behind in the shower, my free hand reaching around to clutch his cock and my clit pressed against the back of his leg. And while the sensual memory of all this certainly turns me on, it’s something else entirely that has me thinking about it years later. During these encounters, it was like I was meeting a man not as a man but as a human being, finally free from all the stifling cultural and social baggage about what it means to be a man or a woman in the bedroom or outside of it. We were just us, our respective genders deliciously obliterated by pleasure. Two humans getting it on.
*Name has been changed.
