It's amazing how easily my dysfunctional thoughts about one gender can be transferred to the other gender, given the right circumstances. "I invited Fran here. I got Fran fucked up. I didn't stop her from kissing me. I didn't stop her from taking my clothes off. I led her on, and it wouldn't be fair for me to check out at this point. I've given her every reason for her to think she's going to get some tonight, so I might as well go through with it. It's the least I can do." Yeah, I know, this is a very bad attitude to have. I know, okay?

I keep drifting in and out of consciousness, which is definitely not good--one minute I'm topless with my jeans still on, the next minute we're both completely naked and Fran is pushing her thigh up between my legs, hard. She keeps sticking her tongue down my throat as far as it will go, and I keep pushing it back with my own tongue 'cause she's about to make me gag. More blackness--when I come to again, my nipples are swollen and sore, and Fran's quickly kissing her way down my stomach.

She makes it down between my legs, and...oh yeah, that's right, I forgot, that's what oral sex feels like. What can I say? A tongue against your clit is a tongue against your clit. I'm not denying that. Pot makes me horny--I'm not denying that either. For fuck's sake, that's one of the reasons I like smoking pot so much in the first place. A warm body against mine feels good tonight. A warm tongue snaking its way up my pussy feels good tonight. If cunnilingus while trashed is a crime, then count me guilty.

It's just too bad I keep passing out in the middle of it. Every time I start to get excited, blackness overwhelms me again. I'll start thinking I'm in bed with Eric, then suddenly I'll wake up and realize it's Fran. I keep thinking she's going to notice sometime soon that I keep falling asleep, but she doesn't. I start watching the clock--twenty minutes she's gone down on me now, thirty minutes, forty minutes. I take back what I said earlier--Fran's worse than a teenage boy. She seems to have this compulsive need to show me she can make me come--given the way that boys' equipment works, I expect this from them, but Fran's a girl. She should know better.

The semi-pleasure from before turns into pure annoyance. I'm starting to get really dry between my legs, and my clit is starting to get really sore from overstimulation. Jesus, Fran owns the same equipment as me--you'd think she'd get a clue. I start kicking my legs and groaning, hoping she'll finally understand that I'm not enjoying it anymore, that 50 minutes is too long to go down on someone. She doesn't understand--she lays into me even harder, and suddenly sticks two dry fingers up inside of me. Ouch. Yow. I start sending out psychic vibrations, hoping that Fran will somehow telepathically get my message--"Stop it, lady! Enough! Go to sleep!" But she doesn't, so finally I just have to grab her head and yank her body up against mine so she'll give up on the Impossible Dream.

Oh fuck. I guess it's my turn now. I flip positions with her on the bed--my eyeballs go reeling from the sudden move, and it takes me a good twenty seconds to stop feeling like I'm going to puke. Okay, here we go. I start kissing my way down her belly, like she did to me, when I feel her sit up and grasp me by the shoulders.

"No," she says, looking into my eyes. "You don't have to do that. Just..." She kisses me passionately again. "Thank you. Thank you for letting me go down on you."

Whatever--I'm seriously about ten seconds away from passing out. I slump down, let my head crash heavily on Fran's stomach. And the next thing I know, I'm asleep.