Queer Sex Horror Stories: The Tale of Two Tongues

feature art border: Autostraddle
Welcome to Queer Sex Horror Stories! This Autostraddle miniseries features embarrassing and shriek-worthy events that have happened to our writers during sex (and they’re all 100% true). Gather around our virtual campfire and prepare to clench your butt cheeks. In the words of R.L. Stine: Reader, beware…you’re in for a scare!


I’m 22 and feeling bold at the gay bar, so I’m legally required to flirt with the DJ. I don’t think anything will come of it — in a way, I’m testing myself. Do I have the nerve to approach a locally famous DJ who is clearly out of my league? I do, and somehow she’s charmed by my DIY haircut and terrible dance moves.

The DJ invites me back to her place, and that’s when I meet her cat. To protect the cat’s identity, I’m going to call her Cheddar.

Cheddar is adorable. We play a few rounds of Chase the String and Attack the Feather, but then it’s time to put the toys away, because Cheddar’s mom and her Special Friend need to have some Adult Human Time. Wink.

We enter the DJ’s bedroom, shut the door, and start making out on her mattress (which was, of course, on the floor — we were both 22, remember?). I’m grabbing her tits. She’s biting my neck. But then, as soon as we start taking our clothes off, Cheddar starts meowing outside the door. Well, it’s more like bone-chilling, murderous howling.

But I’m determined. I’m here to fuck, so I try to ignore Cheddar’s wails. But the DJ can’t take it.

“I’m just gonna let her in — she gets really stressed when she’s not near me,” the DJ says.

I don’t mind. I’ve had sex when there’s a pet in the room, and it’s usually not an issue. Sure, it’s kind of creepy when you’re flogging someone and her 90 pound Labradoodle is staring at you like you’re a monster, but it’s fine. As long as the pet is quiet, I can hang.

Cheddar, however, has zero chill. The DJ and I start going at it again, and Cheddar gets right in bed with us. She’s weaving around our ankles and running laps around the mattress like she’s competing in the Solo Cat Olympics.

Let me revise my previous statement: As long as the pet is quiet and NOT IN THE BED, I can hang.

I gently remove Cheddar, but she rockets her tiny body back onto the mattress and continues with her tumbling routine.

“Could we maybe put her back in the hall?” I ask, trying to be polite.

“She’ll settle down eventually,” the DJ insists. “She just has the zoomies. This always happens.” We go back to making out.

And she’s right — Cheddar does settle down, curling up on the floor next to the bed while I do all kinds of perverted things to her Cat Mom. Then Cheddar falls asleep. The DJ and I continue the Great Lesbian Tradition of marathon sex, and I forget that Cheddar is in the room at all.

Then the DJ asks me to go down on her. She’s lying back with her legs spread, her eyes closed. I’m lying on my stomach with my feet hanging off the mattress. I’m tonguing the DJ’s clit and I’m taking my time — she told me she likes to be teased. This continues for a few minutes, and then I feel something wet…but not in a place where I’m supposed to feel something wet. Also, it’s kind of rough.

I thrust a finger inside the DJ while I peek over my shoulder. Yep — while I’ve been licking the DJ’s clit, her cat has been licking my toes.

But the DJ wants my mouth again, so I dive back in. Surely, Cheddar will give my toes a few licks and go back to her nap, right? No. Cheddar continues licking my feet feverishly, like the last scraps on tuna on god’s green earth are cruelly tucked between my toes. I gently nudge Cheddar away, but she’s insistent. In Cheddar’s little peanut brain, a full foot bath needs to happen and it needs to happen now.

The DJ has no idea this is happening, probably because all of our sex sounds are covering up the sound of Cheddar’s tongue. Also, she’s about to cum.

Reader, this is the part of the story where I’m going to sound like I’m bragging, and that’s because I am. In true Service Top fashion, I don’t pause. I don’t flinch. I don’t give any indication that a cat is slathering my feet with her saliva, despite being grossed out and horrified by the situation. My vagina may have dried up like a climate-change-ravaged riverbed, but the DJ’s blissfully unaware clit is hungry for an orgasm. So I continue going down on the DJ — yes, while Cheddar goes to town on my toes — until the DJ cums. All the movement and moaning scares Cheddar, who finally scampers away from my now-sticky feet.

I don’t tell the DJ about what was happening at the foot of the bed before her climax. I don’t want to ruin her experience. Next time, I silently vow, we’ll have sex at my place.


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