Bi Friends: The Satrap’s Hat

Amateur

I have been recounting two close yet very seperate periods in my life in these stories. One, at the end of high school and that summer leading up to college, takes place at the end of the 70s. The other is a few years into college, in the early 80s.

The former was a time of finding myself, sexually, and included a remarkable amount of straight lovemaking with willing neighbor girls and various schoolmates and relatives, and an incredible number of bi oral encounters with neighbor boys and schoolmates and relatives, in my barn and my neighbor Donny’s barn. Donny and I grew up 69ing each other all the time, sometimes twice a day, and always laughing and goofing about it. He also had two sisters close to my age who were a part of our ongoing sex play, in stories I have yet to pen for Lit.

The college years were entirely straight for me, yet my closest friends were a few straight and lesbian girls who redefined what was acceptable sexual interaction between us and gleefully tossed society’s norms and restrictions out the window. It was beautiful, and always pursued and practiced with a grin! Remember, this was the era before k.d.lang, and such behavior was considered… well, read on…

Please feel free to read the other stories… just look up ‘Bi Friends” and please feel free to e-mail comments or send similar reminiscence.

Raj Pepper

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THE SATRAP’S HAT

Anarkali and I regularly daytripped to New York, and one day we found ourselves in a shop where moderately expensive, custom made new wave clothes and accessories could be had. She bought a modest yet well concieved camisole, and then we talked to the gay owner about some custom hats.

We had decided to bring something special back to Margaret’s. Since our circle gathered in her Orientale room, we thought it would be fun to have some hats made up for all those present to wear. I pulled a picture from my jacket of the painting with the nude and the fierce souave, and we ordered up five hats in the style on the souave’s head, brocade fabrics, a big tassle, etc. Then, just for fun, we ordered bahis firmaları up a hat that looked more like something a chubby Turk in an Aubrey Beardsley drawing would wear. More of a big flat pillow that could be worn on the head, and very funny. Anarkali picked up the tab after I negotiated the price, and a few weeks later, they arrived at her dorm room, UPS.

Bringing something special to Margaret’s was something that we expected of each other, all the time. That something special was often an unusual food item or exotic drink of some kind. It was a suggestion of something nutty or deviant to do, a new game to play or song to learn. We gathered at Margaret’s every week, Jo, Annie, Anarkali, Margaret, and myself, and cooked and drank and studied… and studied… and studied. At some point we would tire of studying (unless a paper or project was due) and we would light an endless number of candles and settle into the Orientale room to drink and share…

We’d share a story, read a passage, sing a song, confess a debauch, lay out a complicated proposal, etc., all the while drinking, wearing a selection of Margaret’s collection of exotic robes, open, and naked underneath. Anarkali and I presented the hats to the group with much ceremony, amid comically girlie claps and squeals of delight from the girls. The hats went on immediately and the Satrap’s Hat went into the center of the gargantuan coffee table. We decided that whoever’s turn it was to share or tell or recite or perform or demand would wear the satrap’s hat to indicate their command of that moment.

That night, Jo told the story of being a lesbian jock at Penn. I remember it as clearly as if it was told last night. Jo was either on every possible women’s sports team or, more often, served in some sort of assistant team manager’s position. She stood at one point, her robe open and the silly Satrap’s Hat on her head, and described entering the shower room, eyes on fire and nostrals flared, and extending her arms like an Indian chief speaking to the Great Spirit, she would turn slowly in the hot shower, hands clenched into fists. It was a power that roared kaçak iddaa through her body like slow lightning. As she would slowly open her eyes, she would see one or two freshman team mates who couldn’t take their eyes off of her. She would approach one, slowly, steadily, extend one arm and slowly slip it around her waist. The girl would be frightened of her own sexuality, breathing in short panting breaths. Jo would bring her face up to the girl’s, cheek to cheek, and then pull back slowly till their lips were touching, and let the girl kiss her, which she always did. It was an animal dance, very romantic, and Jo shivered as she told the tale.

Annie broke the spell by shreiking and jumping up onto the coffee table and pushing Jo over onto the cushy divan, then pounced on her and drank her kisses. They rubbed pussies and came amazingly fast, then panted and laughed and came back to the circle.

“Well”, said Anarkali, in a sort of Jack Benny style. She took the Satrap’s Hat and told a tale of our lovemaking, which I admit that I loved to hear. Anarkali wasn’t a virgin when we met, but had never had good sex until our first night together. When she told a tale of our passions, it became an epic story, incredibly romantic. We really did plan some beautiful times together, but in her tales I was almost a prince and she certainly sounded like a princess. To hear this proper Indian lass put words and all the details to the actual sex acts was always funny.

Annie read a passage from one of the smutty classics, Candide or Sallambo or the Marquis De Sade. All the girls were addicted to the banned books of their parent’s generation, or at least to the juicy parts, and we heard them all and acted out parts of many of them.

I made up a story for Anarkali, called The Sadhu Who Could Tie His Wille In A Knot, and told it with much drunken flourish.

Margaret, who had been unusually quiet this evening, asked us to define the power of the Satrap’s Hat. We all decided that it could, among other things, embolden the wearer to ask anything of the others, but could not compel them to do those things. “I wish to be kaçak bahis so emboldened!” Margaret said with a grin, and she had us put most of the candles out. “I would like to have Johnny and Anarkali make love, here on the table, with Anarkali on top, with Annie and Jo holding Johnny’s arms, gently. I want to bring my face so close that I can breathe in the scents of their sex together”

Anarkali and I looked at each other and smiled. By now we were all lit, and the idea seemed delightful. It was safe to ask for such a thing here with close friends. We liked it.

Margaret blindfolded me with a large, silk scarf, and four sets of hands laid me back onto quickly placed, flat pillows. Anarkali climbed on top and Margaret’s hands guided her down onto my very taut pole. I could feel Margaret’s breath between our legs, and she spoke a few soft words that I couldn’t hear. Anarkali’s breasts moved across my chest, teasing gently. She kissed me, deeply, while rolling her hips in a beautiful rhythm. With her hands on my face, she pushed her thumbs up and moved my blindfold up just enough so that I could see down the front of us both. No one noticed or said anything, and she said she had to change positions. As she stood, I could see that Margaret was also straddling me and as Anarkali stepped out of the way, Margaret lowered herself down to take her place.

It was so exciting, and so different. Even if the blindfold had been tight, I would have known the difference in an instant. Margaret was thinner and longer, her breasts were smaller, her kiss completely different, though VERY enthusiastic. I could hear Jo and Annie giggling as they held my arms and hands, and my face was suddenly covered with a familiar scent and taste. My tongue went for Anarkali’s button and caressed the length of her beautiful peach. There followed much drunken comming and collapsing and laughing… a little violent, a little funny.

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My stories have been read 46,000 times, literally, in the short few weeks that they’ve been up, though I’ve only heard from half a dozen readers… no shit! I would like to know what folks think, especially fun folks with something cool to say, so don’t be shy… feel free to leave feedback……… contructive criticism……. a ribald riddle, what have you!

Raj Pepper

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