Chocolate Kisses Ch 01 1

Authors note:This is based on factual events. If not mentioned, all characters that engage in sexual activity are over the age of 18.

In this variation of the story, I choose to focus on the main heterosexual coupling, so this will be a plot and character driven romance with a fair amount of erotica throughout; however if your looking for a quick fix, you might wanna come back to this one. If not, grab your snacks and enjoy.

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Chapter 1: Pinky Promise!

"Mhhhhhhh," I moaned. My eyes closed, drawing a deep breath through my nose, "I want you in me so bad." My eyes shot open and stared at the oven's timer: five more minutes. "Dammit chicken, hurry up and cook!"

I pivoted in the barstool and let my head tilt back, spilling my black hair over the counter as if it were a waterfall. The slowly baking chicken's savory aroma hung in the air temping me. "If only I didn't have company tonight," I thought and bit my lip, chiding myself for comment.

My friend Taylor was moving to New York from Florida, and she wanted to stay with me while she was in the city looking for an apartment. I owed her more than a few favors for letting me room with her back in Florida before moving to New York. She was a good friend who I have missed since moving here. I was more than glad to see her, not to mention I would have another friend in the city.

Ding! I jumped off the stool and walked around the counter. My feet carried me down the hallway to the door automatically. My hand wrapped itself around the metallic knob, and in one motion flicked the lock open, twisted the doorknob clockwise, and swung the door open. And there she was just as I remembered her: her straightened shoulder-length brown hair—matching her eyes--swooped to the side, her face and ears pierced aplenty, and her curvy five-foot-ten figure was not so hidden in a pair of skinny jeans and a black Tee.

"Hey," she spoke.

"Hey" I replied.

"You need a new bra, Alice," she leaned forward, facing my breasts as if she was talking down to a child, "They're still growing."

I recoiled crossing my arms and guarding my front from her penetrating gaze. By the time I recovered, she had ninja'd though the door past me and was following her nose down the hall, dragging a suitcase in her wake. "What's for dinner?" she called back.

"Chicken" I shouted back. I shut the door, and still flustered, I followed Taylor down the hall stopping at the kitchen.

By the time I entered the kitchen the stove was beeping, signaling that its contents of its belly were ready to be eaten. I donned a pair of oven mitts and approached the oven, like a surgeon prepping for a C-section. I removed the chicken, spinning around and placing it on the adjacent counter below the bar where Taylor now sat. After tearing off the mitts, I doubled-back, closed the oven, and turned it off.

Turning all the stove top burners off with a click, I began to transfer the multiple pots to the counter. After sorting all the dishes to fit on the counter, I fetched the last dish from the fridge, baked macaroni and cheese. Upon setting down the glass dish on the last bit of available counter, I held out my hands, "ta-da."

Taylor stared at me utterly flabbergasted, "you cooked all this?"

"Yes."

"By yourself"

"Yep, I just followed the recipes," I gestured to a number of note cards taped to the cabinets.

"And you didn't set anything on fire?" She was still in complete disbelief, which was completely understandable given the last time I attempted to cook I almost burnt down her apartment.

"Nope," I smiled with pride.

"Um, okay, um, is it—edible?"

"I guess we'll find out" I chuckled nervously. I pulled a scrunchy off my wrist and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. Then I washed my hands in the sink and grabbed two plates from a cabinet. I caught Taylor getting off the stool to fix her own plate but stopped her, "nu uh, be my guest."

Taylor hopped back unto the barstool and started singing her favorite song from Beauty and the Beast. I fixed her plate as she pointed to what she wanted while she sang. She stopped when I slid her full plate in front of her and asked what she wanted to drink.

"Beer?" she answered, unsure if I had any.

I pulled a bottle out of the fridge, "this okay?"

"Yeah," she smiled; I had remembered the kind she liked when I bought it for her. I handed it to her and poured her a tall glass of water along with it. Then I fixed my own plate and sat beside her. We ate, filling the room with munching and moaning: yes, it was that good.

"Your right," I sighed, "I didn't cook this. It tasted amazing. I must be delusional."

"Agreed, you're crazy," she said as I took our clean plates, "do crazy people have cable? Or is that a sane people thing?" She grabbed her beer and headed for the Japanese Katatsu--a Japanese low lying table that has a quilt sandwiched underneath the top--in front of the TV.

"No cable," I replied, "Netflix's on the Xbox though."

I cleaned up and saved the leftovers in the fridge; meanwhile, much to my dismay, Taylor had discovered the new episodes of Doctor Who on Netflix.

"I don't understand how you can watch this," I placed another beer in front of her on the table and sprawled out half underneath the Katatsu's quilt.

"I don't understand how you can like anime," she countered.

"Point taken," I was too inoculated from the food to think of an intelligent answer in my defense, "Different people have different tastes."

"I'll drink to that," She took a swig.

"You drink to anything."

"Your point?" She took another swig.

"Don't you have to go apartment hunting tomorrow?"

"Don't remind me," she finished off her second beer, "I might need another."

"You could always stay here," I said without thinking, "I have a spare room." I sat back up.

"You'd be okay with that?"

"I don't see why not," I smiled, "just us two girls living together, no drugs or smoking though."

Her face lit up, "You finally got everything sorted down there?"

"Yeah," I said bashfully, "I had the surgery about two months ago—I'm serious 'bout the smoking and drugs thing, Taylor."

Her face flashed back to normal, "Yeah, I know. I won't be doing drugs anyways; they were very adamant on the drug testing in my job interview, and I don't smoke."

"You already got the job?"

"Yep," she finished off her second beer, "starting in two weeks I'll be a new secretary for the Anderson, Beckworth, and Holly and associates law firm and soon I'll be a Mrs. Anderson, Beckworth, or Holly."

"You're still going through with that?" Taylor had developed this plan: she would get a job at some law firm as a secretary, use her charms to marry some rich lawyer and never work another day of her life.

"Yeah," she laughed, "It'll be a piece of cake—so does everything," she motioned to my lower half, "—work down there."

"Yeah, kinda," I sighed, "The um-equipment is still kinda unresponsive."

"Is that supposed to be that way?"

"Yeah, it's different for everybody, I think."

"Oh that's good, I guess." She got up and walked over the kitchen and trashed her two empty bottles. She returned and plopped herself back down. She put her fist out, extending her pinky finger.

Puzzled, I looked at her, and she said, "Pinky promise."

"What for?"

"Best friends and roomies, and that I'll marry a lawyer and you a doctor."

"Why a doctor?"

"Because doctors and lawyers go together."

"Since when?"

"Since ever, just do it."

"Okay," I laughed and wrapped my pinky around hers.

"Pinky promise."

"Pinky promise," we shook.

She let go and smiled, "good, now we have time tomorrow."

"For what?"

"Shopping, and on that note our first stop is to get you new bras." She broke into a lighthearted laugh her eyes stuck to my chest.

My lips scrunched to the side in protest, "well sorry."

"Awww! God, you're cute! It won't be hard for you to find a nice guy." She smiled, blushing: the alcohol showing on her face.

I highly doubt that. The one thing I've noticed about Taylor is that the minute the alcohol starts to influence her she has an instant case of puppy syndrome: anything and everything is cute.

She yawned, "Jet lag."

"You can crash on my bed. Come on." I got up and led her down the hall a little ways past the guest bathroom to the second door on the right, my room. She entered quickly behind me with her suitcase, and I went into the connected bathroom and grabbed a stealthy, travel-bag looking black bag. I caught my reflection the moment I flicked on the bathroom lights: my blue eyes shone like azure sapphires against my soft black hair witch draped down the sides of my face and over my breasts protruding from the low-cut v-neck I wore. I stood six feet tall, and my body not-so-proportional: my breasts now—according to Taylor—c-cups made the rest of me look like a stick.

By the time I retrieved the bag and reentered the bedroom, Taylor had stripped to her underwear: a pair of black lace panties with matching bra. Undressed her figure was gorgeous. Her bust was rivaled by her hips, and her slim stomach pierced at her navel. Her legs toned, and her entire body evenly tanned and freckled from the harsh Floridian sun.

"Like what you see?" She flaunted.

"Your gorgeous Taylor, I'm jealous," My heart sunk.

"Don't be so honest, kiddo." She said softly.

"Well," I stuck out my tongue, "I wouldn't be a real best friend if I didn't say what I really thought."

"In that case, you're not so bad yourself hot-stuff," she winked at me sarcastically.

"Uhuh, sure," I ran over to the mattress on the floor and stole one of the blankets and a pillow and then ran out of the room.

By the time I was situated in the living room, Taylor reappeared in an oversized t-shirt, "Do you have work tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'll be back a little past twelve."

"Okay, Good night,"

"Good night Taylor."

She retired for the night, and I was alone again. I powered on the Xbox and played matchmaking on the newest C.O.D. After a few matches I decided that Taylor was most likely passed out, and I should head to bed soon.

I produced my smart phone from my pocket and pulled up the erotic novel I was reading. I laid back and started to read where I left off. It took only a few pages before my imagination took off and I was feeling flushed. I shed my shirt and jeans and scooted away from the Katatsu to stretch out on the floor. I grabbed the little black bag and unzipped it, producing a dilator and lube.

I lay back down and squeezed the dilator in between my legs, warming it up. I continued reading; the sexual tension built as the novel climaxed into a vivid sex scene. The cocktail of my horny imagination and the kiss of the cold A.C. made my nipples hard and gave me goosebumps.

My free hand fumbled with the hook on the front of my bra, but I managed to undo it and throw the bra to the side, freeing my breasts. I began to tweak my nipples, pulling, twisting, and squeezing them sending shivers of pleasure throughout my entire body. I bit my lip and tried to quiet the involuntary moans.

My body was squirming; I could no longer concentrate on the tiny print on my phone. I glanced at the time and grabbed the tube of lube. Squeezing a large glob of the clear stuff on my hands, I spread it on the lukewarm dilator.

Completely skipping to remove my last piece of clothing, I pulled the already wet fabric to the side and work the dilator in to the humid sex. Too fast! I grimaced and gritted my teeth as the sharp pain from stretching too quickly. The pain was quickly killing my mood as I tried to work the dilator in and out without hurting myself any further. I get it all the way in and pulled my panties over it, trapping it in. I felt full, completely stretched.

I begin to relax again. Closing my eyes, I replaced myself with the girl in the novel:

An average built blonde haired man stared back at me. We are connected at the groin. He begins to pump me, pulling out almost all the way and bottoming out at each stroke. I receipted the movement with my hips, shifting the dilator in and out. My right hand found my clit and started to strum it, sending jolts of tingling electricity up my spine and across my body.

The man flipped me on my stomach. He was pounding me into the ground with each stroke, my hand furiously rubbing my clit in response. My body was livid.

And then I hit the wall, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't climax. With a frustrated groan, I flipped myself back over, and I let myself continue for a while enjoying the sensations and slowly started to wind down. I felt warm from head to toe despite lying almost naked in a 55 degree air conditioned apartment. I checked the time. I spent more than enough time dilating. I removed the dilator: I felt empty.

I got up and walked to the kitchen and cleaned up and then disinfected and washed the dilator. I returned it and the lube to the black bag and threw my tee back on: I was cold again.

Straightening up the mess of the room I made, I threw my bra, jeans and black bag under the table. Then I flattened out the blanket I was laying on and grabbed the pillow that somehow made it to the opposite side of the room.

Back in the kitchen I mixed a glass of chocolate milk and took my bi-daily medication, dissolving it under my tongue. I watched my breasts jiggle unrestrained underneath my shirt. The little hard nipples poking through and grinding against the soft, thin fabric; I bit my lip and giggled at the feeling. I finished the glass and returned to dive underneath the blanket. After a quick glance at my phone to set the alarm and turn it off silent, I dozed off.