Full Frontal 1

Author's Note:

All characters are of the legal age, 18 and over. I didn't write this seriously. I did it just to try to get back into the swing of things, and to try some new things, while I was mentally and emotionally working through some complex life shit. You're all welcome to insist that I'm a terrible person.

*****

1

It was an exceptionally cold end to February, dropping the country into an icy average - 5 for the better part of a week. The news spoke all day, every day, of emergencies across the nation, all caused by the same old combination of snow and poor preparation.

And it was the climate change conspiracists crying loudest, but ironically because they had been hoping so desperately for an early warm start to spring. Same old...

I live in a major city on the Atlantic coast which is prone to so many weather fronts over the year that mild weather is not to be trusted. We share the blustery storms of the Atlantic and the Irish Sea with our cousins of the Emerald Isle all year round.

We usually finish off the summer on the business-end of a destructive jet-stream that rolls the country flat from south to north. And otherwise we contend with Arctic blasts and the bitter Norwegian fronts all through winter.

People are soft and not just in the head. True to English tradition, even in the face of the media's never-ending war on Trump, we will stop everything and prepare for the apocalypse when we're faced with...

*takes huge intake of air*

WEATHER!!

Even on a heated, warmly lit train, dressed in their finest most comfortable clothes, off to their friendly drinks and hot meals, the curse of winter was never off the lips of those forever blighted by inconvenience.

I was glad the snow had melted just so people could shut the fuck up about their sniffles and cold feet. But secretly I was hoping we'd get that ten degrees temperature drop we were promised, so that they would no longer have the breath to moan.

My then-girlfriend Carrie and I were taking the train to the end of the line outside of town to visit her Facebook friend that Saturday evening. I'd known Sam a few years on and off via the site, but not as much as I had since I got with Carrie six months back.

Carrie had visited her only a couple times but was running short on friends, since she started fucking them off one by one on account of me. I wasn't responsible for that. Carrie was openly paranoid and easily made jealous and insecure when her friends showed me attention.

That made me uncomfortable at times, but I had nobody to blame but myself for as long as I didn't talk to her about it, if not to confront her.

Carrie was a funny one. I got with her because at her best she was a great humorist and communicator, didn't push me, and she was absolute filth in the bedroom. At her worst she was a bickering old woman, which came out as the result of her drinking - just like her high-anxiety.

I was in the mood for a good drink myself though, and was looking forward to meeting Sam, who proved to be the perfect third wheel in our online chats. Hilarity ensued as she, like the both of us, liked to see how far she could push things.

It was starting to look though, in my eyes at least, that Carrie might find reason to hate Sam in the very reasons for which they got along so well. Carrie liked to push things at times. But don't dare push her, even if she pushes you.

2

Carrie was texting on her phone in that absent-minded way that so many people do. Who knows how they switch from one conversation to the other so quickly and frequently. She might have made an ideal switchboard operator, if only the man sat right in front of her was a random caller.

'I am listening you know,' she claimed, but I had given up trying to keep her attention after losing the signal so many times. I knew that badly masked frustration when I saw it on her face. The blood rushed to her face so that she went from being as white as a sheet to a hot shade of pink.

'Who is it?' I inquired a little more patiently.

'What is it with women?' she asked; her most favourite question in the world. I shrugged, not surprised that I didn't even get that one simple answer. None of my business I supposed.

'Sam needs to lay off you tonight,' she remarked. Oh there it was...

'Why are you bothered about Sam?' I asked. What I really wanted to ask was why did she cause bother for herself if she couldn't deal with it? 'You sent that fucking photo,' I reminded her with a soft chuckle, confident that she was being silly.

Social media - maybe not the root of all modern evil, but certainly the most suited vessel. Because Carrie couldn't stop going on about our rampant fuck sessions and how great they apparently were - and particularly her favourite parts of my naked body - that had given Sam the impression that it was open to discussion.

Sam decided, for a drunken laugh, to initiate a private group chat so we could tell her more. It was, at first glance, just one of the women's usual drunken shenanigans. I had two other active private threads going over the course of the five days that group chat continued. One was Carrie telling me that she was getting so fucking pissed off with Sam, and the other was Sam telling me that my girlfriend was fucking crazy.

To show off, Carrie had uploaded a private photo, meant for her eyes only, since she took it. It was a head to toe photo of me, butt-naked, showing off my smooth but masculine posterior. Sam actually played it down and then dared Carrie to show her tits. After a few drinks more, Carrie did indeed show her tits, but in one of her padded black bras.

To keep it humorous, I pulled off a feminine pose and squashed my pecs together, feigning a titty shot complete with nip-slip, and then it seemed we were all waiting on Sam, who did not disappoint. Well, she had bigger tits - I'm guessing a double-F - but hid them modestly in a supportive but still fancy French-styled bra.

'Now let's see the full frontal,' she suggested, which was meant for me, whether she was joking or not. That was when Carrie stopped seeing the funny side, despite the fact that she had sent several of her friends a photo or two of my raging hard-on before.

Those people were notably no longer with us!

'How big is it?' she asked further. I left the discussion. And over the duration of the following days that same group chat came back into action, occasionally joking about when that full frontal was going to come about.

Honestly I have no idea how these drinks happened at all, but we were getting off at the station when Carrie's reply came somewhat late. 'It was innocent to begin with!'

'Innocent in that you posted a nude of me not wanting it to get attention, or innocent in that you thought she'd be too shocked to want to up the ante?' I had to ask. I wasn't complaining about that happening. Sam showed off some pretty impressive cleavage, which gave me some decent wank material.

'It was just a joke,' Carrie tried to assure me. Or was she trying to fool herself? Of course, I had to ask before we put on our poker faces for the night.

'You really don't trust her do you?'

Louder and sharper this time; 'She's a woman, isn't she?!'

'Oh yeah you don't trust women,' I recalled somewhat selectively. She claimed to prefer guys, but most of her friends were women. However, like I said, most of her friends were by then no longer her friends.

'I don't trust anyone,' she reminded me.

'Not even me?'

'I don't trust anyone,' Carrie repeated bitterly. And that was how the night started; her wondering what we were doing here, and me wondering what I was doing with her!

3

Drink in one hand, woman in the other, pressed up against the kitchen counter as if to shield me from this supposed man-eater in waiting - that's how I spent the first two hours of the night at Sam's place.

When you speak to people online for years and all you have is a couple of well-posed profile pics to go by, but then you meet them face to face and find them to be the opposite of what you expected? What you saw was what you got with Sam.

Sam was a fair-skinned bottle-blonde, and otherwise naturally pretty attractive. I observed pretty quickly that she was in good shape but also a little on the soft side. Of course all I had to go by was a pair of well-fitted yoga pants and a chequered flannel shirt, which she casually wore with a bit more class than my almost identically dressed girlfriend.

And not to ignore those fantastic tits of hers, she wore that shirt exceptionally well too, unbuttoned from her impressive cleavage and on up. I tried not to look. But that would be a complete lie. In actuality, I tried not to be seen observing how those tits jutted to and fro with the slightest of movements.

Sam caught me immediately, and yet she paid no mind, probably knowing the drama it would cause if she were to pull me up about it!

What was easiest to pick up on Sam was her attitude. Dylan was the sole provider of the house and yet they had no kids (yet). He worked away and she sat home and behaved herself, medicating for loneliness with alcohol and laughing at other peoples' drama.

The hard thing to get was that Dylan was a serial cheat. Either she loved him to death or she was making the most of the easy life he provided, but I reserved my judgement, because there were way worse kinds of people to be - myself included - even if she did revenge-cheat on him that one time.

'Honestly I thought you'd be fatter,' was how she greeted me with feigned surprise. What wasn't there to like? In Carrie's eyes, there was no telling. All I knew was that it took her two litres of sparkly to pry her off my side so I could actually relax, and for one of the women to finally compromise their shitty pop for the other's shitty hip-hop.

4

I'm not a heavy drinker. I'd be sending the wrong message even if I claimed to be a drinker. I like being sober, and I like the experience of being sober not to be marred with a hangover. I like a little drink once in a while and I like a little smoke too, which made me a bad match for Carrie. She drank every day and she needed copious amounts just to feel tipsy.

On the other hand she hated weed. He claimed it made her paranoid. That wasn't the only reason I didn't smoke it around her, because she didn't need a reason to be paranoid. She was loud and I was quiet, and she ruined my highs all too easily.

I found myself plied with vodka - the punishment for all non-drinkers in this country, if you were expecting to move to a quaint little country where everybody sips tea and knit woolly hats. And eventually I too took part in the ritual of loud wailing and ridiculous dancing, thinking that the night would carry on safely without somebody getting screamed at.

What had started as a body-popping contest between the two girls was starting to look like it might turn into a stripper dance-off, only replace the metal pole with a big dork like me who doesn't know the words to any of your songs, all but for the background cheerleading noise.

Okay, so no clothes were shed in the making of this scene, but with Carrie rubbing her ass up against me from behind and then Sam rubbing her tits up and down my chest and abdomen, all that was really missing was the Vaseline.

It had an effect on me, something I was way too conscious of the moment Carrie turned around and became aware of Sam grinding up against me with a playful look in her eye, while she looped her arms around my neck.

Sam even went so far as to look Carrie in the eye and then whoop back at me, 'show us your stuff!'

'You've seen enough of my stuff,' I reminded her, only to be spun around on my heels to face Carrie. Now she was trying to show Sam who was boss, rubbing up against me with force to show off her own moves.

I just remember hoping that she thought she was the reason my hard-on was now straining between her arse cheeks. How else she couldn't have noticed was beyond me. Polishing off another large glass, Carrie soon after went upstairs to the bathroom, leaving me alone with Sam, whose eyes were filled with tipsy mischief.

'You need to chill,' I told her quietly. 'You know what she's like. I won't hear the end of it even if you do!'

'Oh fuck her, it's just harmless fun,' Sam dismissed, downing her vodka and orange juice. 'She's jealous of nothing...'

'And stop asking to see my cock,' I added, sternly waving one finger in the air. Sam turned bright red, momentarily inflated at the gills, and then burst into laughter.

Calming herself, she cleared her throat and pursed her lips. 'Umm, speaking of which, was that a gun in your pocket just then?'

'No,' I blurted indignantly.

'You need to look down a second,' she said, grinning and nodding to my crotch. I couldn't deny what was straining against the crotch of my blue jeans, outlined all the more absurdly as it stood out against the material of the inleg.

'Oh shit,' absently came the words from my own mouth.

'Did I cause that?' she asked, before masking her own shocked expression with one hand clapped over her mouth. I refused to answer, which likely told her everything. 'Show me,' she whispered, flushing red again and trying to be serious about it.

'Fuck,' I muttered to myself, eyes pinched closed.

'Just a little flash, I won't tell,' Sam almost begged.

'It's not happening,' I rebuked. The funny thing was, I knew there and then I'd have happily pulled it out in front of her, hard and throbbing, if I thought I could pack it back in without any trouble; trouble which would likely lead to me getting bottled in the face by my plenty paranoid girlfriend.

Sam pouted like an upset child, but without the conviction. 'What do you think happens to a guy's dick when you rub tits all over him?'

'I'm very aware of what happens,' she hinted and then winked. Now I knew that she had deliberately tested me. Was this a trap? Was Carrie so paranoid that she'd have a friend test me?

I had to put another major thought out there. 'Don't you see Dylan's enough?'

'I know what his looks like...'

I wasn't going to stop her, and yet I wasn't going to turn my girlfriend off the leash like an attack dog either. So I did the only thing that made sense to me in that moment. 'You show me yours then,' I dared her. And thankfully, Carrie was the type to spend five minutes just passing water.

5

Just like I expected, negotiations had broken down and all bets were off. Hello reverse-psychology my old friend, if that's what it was. I don't know. I was already buzzed and here I was standing before somebody's fiancée, the crotch of my jeans having grown incredibly tight.

I didn't just whip my dick out for anybody, even if I was the type to whip my dick out anyway. There has to be fair trade or nothing, otherwise I was alone up shit creek on the chances that all secrets come to light in the end. If blackmail was going to be part of this game - then not without equal opportunities!

Slyly I rested the fingers of one hand on my belt buckle and let them hang there with a smirk of defiance. 'You know what she gets like,' I reminded her once again.

'It's not like I'm going to tell her, is it?' Sam somehow justified. At that same moment, the both of us heard the bathroom door lock snap undone and the light-switch flip. Eleven thumping footsteps would signal Carrie's return downstairs, upon which Sam suddenly straightened up and put on her own poker face.

But I wasn't going to make it that easy on her...

With less than ten seconds distance between Carrie and us, I took Sam's hand and placed it over the outline of my swollen cock and forced her to hold to the point of almost being caught.

She gasped. Across the broad spectrum of facial expressions she went from fright to shock, and from shock to urgency, and then finally she betrayed a hint of arousal, before giving me a suggestive squeeze and then quickly letting go.

'Where the fuck did the music go?' Carrie asked upon her return, and appeared genuinely offended.

'We were talking,' I lied, my back to her while I poured another drink, so that she couldn't see that I'd actually grown harder in my pants. I pleaded with it to go down in that moment, so hard...

So hard!

'So what do you want on next?' Sam piped up.

I didn't give anyone a chance for not wanting to leave the slightest measure of silence. 'I'm on the bathroom next,' I excused myself, and headed quickly for the hallway. When I was done, I came out of the bathroom to hear that the girls had come upstairs and were now in the bedroom.

Sam had a pretty big collection of her underwear on display, everything from frilly knickers and boy-shorts to thongs and g-strings, and from lace to silk and to the sexy stretchy shiny stuff I'd particularly enjoy on a good body.

'I'm fucking jealous, I don't have anything like this,' Carrie said absent-mindedly.

'Hint-hint,' Sam said loudly as she saw me approach the bed. I was honestly more envious of the king-sized bed itself, being how hard it was to afford something sturdy enough to support a sloppy drunk.

'Buy your girlfriend some undies, you,' Sam scolded me further.

'I can't even afford to buy myself undies for all the shit I buy her,' I deflected.

Carrie, who was previously infatuated with a pink leopard-print thong, the one tacky thing on display as far as I was concerned, turned to me with a hurtful look and asked what I meant. 'You never fucking buy me anything,' she harped defensively.

'Apart from all the alcohol, taxis, restaurant food, tickets to shows...'

'You're supposed to do those things aren't you?' Sam interjected, the sly bitch. She even grinned right at me behind Carrie's back when it spurned Carrie to seek the issue further.

'I'm happy to, so long as I can afford to live as well,' I added.

'I don't ask you to buy me things,' Carrie protested.

'I know you don't,' I agreed. 'Which is just as well because I can hardly afford to,' I went further before laughing off my own growing discomfort.

'Then don't act like I'm the reason you're always broke. You don't know broke!'

Thank you, Sam, I thought to myself - and I was so close to saying it. Thank you for getting her started and turning her on me. She bit her lip to quell the rising laughter.

'You know, maybe I'd like a pair of frilly undies once in a while, Carrie,' I shouted. For a moment I caught the both of them in my act; until they made the connection. 'But you don't think of these things, do you?' I asked. 'No, you only think about yourself!'

'Something fucking wrong with you,' Carrie said as Sam could no longer hold in her own laughter.

'Oh you'd like these,' Sam suggested, handing me a pair of bright blue panties. On the crotch was printed the Wonder Woman logo. 'But you might not be able to stretch into them!'

It seemed from that moment on like I wasn't the only one waiting for Carrie to go for her next five minute piss. She didn't disappoint...

6

'You're a bad man,' Sam whispered. Her eyes said she was serious for a moment, but then again they betrayed her when I asked what I'd done, considering that she was the one that had stirred the pot. 'You know what I'm talking about,' she hinted, her eyes straying south once more.

She had gotten worked up. That much was clear. Now there was only a wall and a door between us and my girlfriend, and she was still bold enough to bring it up, there and then.

'I'm still not showing you,' I whispered back. We were stood over her bed almost shoulder to shoulder as we spoke. I was thinking of something extremely wicked too, as she was not the only one becoming more and more preoccupied with what had occurred between us in the kitchen.

'Fair enough...' Blissful silence - just what I actually hadn't counted on. Two more words escaped her mouth.