Beautiful Losers - Part Six

At breakfast we sat in Sebastian's kitchen and ate French toast. While we had been sleeping, the gods of weather had done their thing. It was a winter wonderland outside, and no one was going anywhere.

I looked down at my plate of artfully laid out food. The syrup had been drizzled on the plate in concentric circles along with a custard sauce and the streams had been pulled with a skewer to feather it outwards. There was a light dusting of cinnamon and powdered sugar on the top of everything. Yeah, I know there are hetero men who can cook, but they never bother making it look like something out of 'Bon Appetite' magazine.

"We should make some rules," said Sebastian, chewing thoughtfully.

Jean looked at him askance. "Sebastian? Rules? Oh, I've gotta hear this!"

"I think if we don't make some, we aren't going to last very long. There's too many feelings involved here. Don't call them rules if you don't want to; think of them as guidelines."

It was my turn to look at him doubtfully. I knew what this was about. This was about last night. "I'm perfectly okay about having some rules."

"Okay, okay... rules." Jean said, relenting. "Rules like what?"

Sebastian grabbed a sheet of writing paper and a pen from the telephone stand. I leaned over to see what he was writing. He was titling the page: 'Rules.'

"What got you thinking about this?" I asked warily. I felt uncomfortable about last night, but I thought it was better to talk about it than construct a set of restrictions.

"Well, last night actually. I thought that I probably shouldn't have been so present while you guys were fucking. I don't mean not there, I just mean - well, you know. Not interfering."

"You should have let us know you were awake, Sebastian. It's not interference that's the problem. It's not being honest," said Jean. "Anyway, How long are we going to last if one of us feels ignored?"

I kept quiet, feeling very much like the outsider in this, and wanting to see how they resolved it. But they didn't. Sebastian wouldn't, as Jean said, 'share', protesting that this wasn't group therapy. So, painstakingly and with much heated debate, we finally came up with a list.

1. No butting in on a twosome.
2. No coming to bed unshaven (that was Jean's - it was high on the list)
3. No pressuring anyone to do anything they don't want to do (mine).
4. No refusing to discuss why you don't want to do something and no turning a deaf ear to reasonable counter-arguments (Sebastian - who I could see had career potential as a lawyer).
5. No discussing the family's business with anyone outside the family. (Jean -the club incident was still stinging).
6. No more insulting gay "pussy jokes" (mine)
7. No sex with anyone outside the family (surprisingly, Sebastian's).

"That's it?" I asked.

"I think that's about it," said Jean. He turned to Sebastian and said, sarcastically, "Unless you'd like to draw up a schedule too?"

"So, why the monogamy? I would have thought it would go against your deeply held sense of entitlement to fuck anything that moves," I teased Sebastian. Actually, I didn't really know that much about Sebastian, but I'd heard he got around - a lot.

"Well, for one, I think it would complicate things. Three is hard enough. And there's also the disease factor. We do condoms, but it would be nice if we could all get tested and not have to," he replied. They were both reasonably sensible arguments. Then he stood up from the table, and walked over to the window, looking out onto the white landscape. "Anyway, the idea of either of you fucking someone else would just drive me up the wall right now."

Jean and I looked at each other with something close to shock.

"Why Mister Sebastian! I do believe you are at the mercy of the green-eyed monster," marveled Jean.

I kept my mouth shut. When Jean had first started dating Sebastian, I had been horribly jealous. It took me weeks of very harsh self-talk before the sick gnawing sensation had left my stomach. But it was interesting to me that he was the one insisting on the rule. I just didn't expect it of him; it reminded me how little I knew him really.

Jean got up from the kitchen table and hugged him from behind. "Oh, that's just the cutest thing!" He started showering him with kisses; it was Jean's specialty.

I thought about making myself useful by putting the plates in the dishwasher but reconsidered. It seemed a good time to abide by rule number one.

- - -

I didn't think I had any great gaping flaws in my personality. A few minor ones that some people hated and others found endearing, but on the whole, I had to credit my rather strange and now absent parents with doing a pretty good job - even if it was unconsciously.

In fact, of the three of us, I suspected I was the only one blessed with parents that would have actually understood that rather unconventional arrangement, and even applaud it. I knew for a fact that Jean's parents threw him out of the house, physically, when he came out to them. Sebastian's parents were dead, but had they been alive and even close to normal, I was pretty sure they wouldn't be thrilled.

I, on the other hand, had grown up surrounded by people most of the world would have frowned upon. My godmother, Auntie Pat (not a real aunt), was a lesbian journalist who looked exactly like a portrait by the German Expressionist Otto Dix. My godfather had been a choreographer for an all-nude review in London. My brother's godfather, a close friend of the family, was a well-known writer with sex-guilt issues; he could only sleep with prostitutes. All in all, I had a very liberal upbringing and, from a young age, was reared to believe that people are people. I felt at home in the world, wherever I went and whomever I met.

Perhaps I was a tad on the over-emotional side, maybe a tad idealistic, but my only true flaw was nosiness. So, instead of dealing with the dishes, I went on a sightseeing tour of Sebastian's massive domain. I would have asked permission, but he and Jean were busy being exceedingly gooey with each other.

It was a complicated house with passages in weird places, tiny narrow staircases leading to small and seemingly unused corridors. Everything creaked and felt slightly haunted, as if you might look in a room as see nothing, only to catch the glimpse of someone when you looked again.

Finally, I found a room on the second floor. A kind of library, walls covered in books and a huge reading table. Someone had taken it over as a work area and there were dozens of plaster masks laid out on it in varying stages of adornment. Not Venetian masks - decorated with feathers or sequins - these were more ornate and layered. Each one had tiny cavorting figures, or emergent buds and leaves, or things that looked like a clutch of fish-eggs, sprouting from the forehead, cheeks, lips, temples. They were extraordinary. But stranger still, I realized they were all Sebastian.

One, in particular, stood out. The decorations around the face were definitely rococo. Tiny figures of 18th Century ladies in French court attire draped themselves over the contours of the sides of the face. Each of their tiny faces was unique - some of them masked, some with flirtatious beauty marks. Each costume was also unique, and painstakingly detailed. The mask was finished, I guessed. It was gorgeously painted in opalescent pinks, mauves and aquas - billowing furbelows picked out in a dark gold. I couldn't believe Sebastian would actually produce anything with so many colours in it. Leaning in to get a closer look at the intricate texture of the of the tiny figure's skirts, I noticed that under each skirt, the genders of the figures differed. There were a number of hermaphrodites, too.

"You've discovered my secret."

I jumped as thought I'd been bitten. "Holy shit, you scared me!" I'd sauntered through the house to the constant sound of wooden floorboards creaking and door-hinges whining. I couldn't believe anyone could have come into the room so quietly. The fright had left my heart pounding, dry-mouthed, and with an awkward feeling that I'd been trespassing. I covered.

"Who does these? They're amazing! The colours are - wow - I don't know how they got the colours like this. And the detail! It's so detailed. Just amazing and a little kinky too. Who's making them? I thought you said you lived alone. I love this one, with all the French Louis Quatorze decoration - it's very intricate..."

"It's Quinze actually," said Sebastian, dryly.

"Oh, sorry - Quinze, then." It wasn't like there was *that* much difference, I thought huffily. The residual fear made me defensive. "So who makes them?"

"I do." He walked over to the worktable where they sat in neat rows. "Don't look so surprised. It's insulting," he teased. "I said I didn't work for a living, I didn't say I did nothing."

"You did actually...""

Sebastian waved his hand and dismissed the inconsistency. "Oh, well, whatever." He wrapped his arms around my waist and pushed himself against me, which forced me to look up, way up. "And anyway, haven't you ever read the story of Bluebeard, Shirakins? Don't you know it's dangerous to go snooping around the castle?" It was over-dramatically delivered, but I blushed anyway. He got the response he was looking for.

Staring intently at his shirt button, I said: "Well, you guys were busy, and I was bored. I didn't think you'd mind." The fact that he was taking pleasure in my embarrassment didn't escape me - I just didn't know what to do about it.

"Anything could happen - absolutely anything." he said in a whispered voice. "It's not safe for a little girl to be wandering around here. You might get lost and never be found. Or you could meet someone with nefarious intentions, someone who might take advantage of your size and sensibilities." He was overemphasizing every single consonant, especially the ones that made him sound like a snake.

I attempted a diversion. "Where's Jean?"

He crept slender fingers under the baggy sweater I'd borrowed from him and was wearing as a dress, and tucked them down the back of my panties. "I could eat you all up. Would you like that?"

Even before I had formally met Sebastian through Jean, I'd had a sense that he was manipulative. Despite the evidence of the previous twently four hours, my instincts told me that, if I let him get me all hot and bothered, he was very likely to just back off and laugh at my predicament.

On the other hand, if I refused to play along, I suspected he would accuse me of being a spoilsport. I had no real evidence for my suspicions - just a gut thing. There was only one way to win at this and it was to beat him at his own game.

I looked up at him from under my lashes and affected my very best little red riding hood voice. "Oh, I wouldn't like that one little bit, Mister Sebastian. I might get stuck half-way down your throat and choke you like a chicken bone." Then, for good effect, I wriggled against him. It gratified me no end to see his eyes shift faintly and pause for a moment.

He respond, not with witty repartee, but with brute strength. He hauled me up and plopped me down on the table top, spreading my legs with his hips. The masks rattled and jiggled. "Careful," I warned slyly. "You don't want to break anything."

"Whatever gave you that idea, little Shira? I want to break lots of things," he growled, caressing outside of my bare thighs.

"What a nasty destructive streak you have, Sebastian. Now why might that be? Don't you know you catch more flies with sugar?"

"I've heard that," he said, rocking his hips against me, moving his hands up under the sweater to cup my breasts. "But they don't struggle and scream with that approach. Where's the joy in that?" He had my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. Slowly he increased the pressure on them till I felt my eyes start to water. It was time to rethink my strategy.

"Oh... so that's what you're after, is it?" I was trying desperately to keep the pain out of my voice. I wrapped my legs around his hips and locked them at the ankles. "Well, then we find ourselves at something of an impasse, don't we? Since I want the same thing from you."

Sebastian was wearing a loose pair of sweats, the kind that tie up in front. I pulled the knot apart, shoved my hand down the front and grasped his cock tight. He made a very satisfying little 'eep'. I smiled up at him serenely, but the grip was vice-like.

He was hard and getting harder by the second. It actually made me loose my hold a little. Bastard, I thought. My nipples were throbbing now and I wasn't sure how long I could last before I cried uncle. It was an odd time to be thanking my Tai Chi master, but I suddenly remembered the whole thing about bending like a reed in the wind. I let go of my death grip and started to gently stroke his cock.

"Damn, Shira," he said, easing off on my nipples. "You are good at this game!"

I smiled enigmatically. I found the spot right under the head of his cock and rubbed it with my thumb. "Now, what were you saying about breaking things?"

"I'm genuinely surprised. You little minx! I wouldn't have guessed you had it in you, Shirakins." He bent down and kissed me quickly on the lips. "I do so like you - much more than I thought I would."

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