I'm not high maintenance. I'm not into high fashion. I'd much rather enjoy a beer and watch a game than have a cappuccino and go shopping for shoes. And no, I'm not fat, I'm not ugly, and I'm not an old spinster - I'm a fit, attractive, educated, professional woman of 24. I've just always enjoyed the company of guys and active, outdoor activities more than the girly activities most other young women seem to like. I'd rather put my hair up in a ponytail than go to a salon, and I never waste time on makeup when going out. Most of my good friends over the years have been men. Let's face it - I'm just one of the guys.
I'm single at the moment, as is my friend James. James and I met a few years back, when we were both, briefly, working for the same company. We've both since moved on professionally, but were such fast friends that we still spend lots of time together, especially when neither of us is attached. We had our favorite watering hole where we met once a week or so for a few beers. He hosted great parties at his house, which I attended without fail, and this summer, we'd actually gone in together on baseball season tickets.
James is older than I - just turned 40 in the spring - and quite successful. Even though he certainly knew how to put his expendable income towards lots of fun for himself and friends, he also seemed to have a good sense for making smart investments, and had done very well for himself. He's also a very attractive man - 6' with an athletic build, blonde with striking blue eyes. I'd always found him very appealing, but somehow we'd never been more than just buddies - the kind of thing you don't want to push in fear of losing your best friend.
I think the relationship was fun for both of us partly because we could talk to each other about anything - including ill-fated relationships. I tended to end up with guys who wanted to put me up on a pedestal and treat me like the lady I really wasn't - needless to say, it never worked out. James was always complaining to me about the silly girls he took out - how needy they were, how they never wanted to go with him to a game, how they'd break a nail when he'd try to take them hiking. We'd give each other advice, watching those patterns of choosing people who weren't right for us, but mostly just had fun spending time together, enjoying activities we both liked.
Occasionally, we'd be at the bar together, and one of us would unapologetically ditch the other, when we saw someone we wanted to pursue. Last Friday, it was his turn. I had to roll my eyes when I saw the hottie he'd picked out this time - Tiffany, I heard her say when he asked her name. What a bimbo, I couldn't help thinking. I couldn't deny that she was attractive, but James was practically old enough to be her father, and I doubted they'd find anything in common. Oh well, who was I to deny my friend a night of hot sex, assuming that was all he was after. As they found a table just out of earshot, I could no longer listen to their conversation, but studied her appearance - long blonde salon-styled hair, big blue eyes, way too much make-up for my taste, and a genuinely hot body which she shamelessly showed off in a tight top, short skirt, and heels. It was time to call it a night. I waved to James, and headed home, assuming I'd hear a few days later about how he was already fed up with her because all she wanted to do was shop.
This Tuesday, James and I met up at the baseball stadium, first time in at least a few weeks that we'd actually used our season tickets ourselves, rather than giving them away to other friends. It was the second inning, after getting our food and sharing some stories from work, that he brought up his night with Tiffany.
"So, Dani," - my name is Danielle, but all my friends call me Dani - "Tiffany sure was hot."
"Yes, James, I'm sure the two of you will live happily ever after," I said, giving him a silly grin.
"Well, I don't know about that, but she sure knows how to give head."
I gagged on my bite of stadium hot dog, making James laugh. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. She was incredible, took the whole damn thing deep into her throat, brought me to the brink several times, but each time slowed up just enough to prolong things. Best blow job I've ever had."
I mentioned that James and I shared everything, right? But this was the first time that he'd talked so explicitly about sex, and I have to admit I was a little shocked. I'm not squeamish around dirty talk, mind you - just one of the guys, remember - but somehow this really caught me off guard.
"You're so full of crap," I said, attempting to call his bluff. "I suppose you think you've found your soul mate, the hottie who gives the world's best blow job?"
"Who said anything about soul mates? Let's just say I think I'll keep her number. She said she was happy to just get together for sex, no strings attached."
"I can't believe you! Are you just trying to get me riled up? We both know you didn't get anywhere with Tiffany - once she found out how old you are, I'm sure she got out of that bar as fast as she could."
"Actually, turns out she has quite a thing for the older guys."
"Whatever, I still think you're full of crap. Jeez, can't we just watch the game?"
He nudged me with his elbow and smiled, and shut up for a while. Either he really was bluffing, and he decided he'd gotten enough of a rise out of me, or he was showing a little mercy. Either way, it was the seventh inning before I came out of the fog his words had put me in. I couldn't figure out why it bothered me so much - after all, as friends, we teased each other constantly about all kinds of things. Was I jealous? Really? Was he trying to make something happen between us? Really? I was thoroughly confused.
Over the next few days, I couldn't shake the thoughts about James and his supposed night of passion with Tiffany. When I woke up on Thursday morning, it was after a night of hot dreams, in which I - not Tiffany - was the star of James' story of 'The Best Blow Job of My Life'. Still half asleep, I realized that my hands were busy on my clit and in my pussy, which was wet, dripping wet, as I fingered myself to a powerful orgasm. A few minutes later, in the shower, I tried to confront exactly what I was feeling. This was beyond jealousy. I still wasn't sure if I really wanted to risk my friendship with James, or if I just wanted to prove to him that I was just as good a cock-sucker as Tiffany - but either way, I was determined to make it happen.
I called James from work that morning, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, and confirmed our usual Friday night date at the bar. He teased about Tiffany, hinting that he only had time to meet me because she was busy with something else. Little did he know, he was just strengthening my resolve. The poor guy didn't know what he was in for. Of course, before I'd be ready to meet him the next evening, I had quite a bit of work to do. I worked hard to get ahead on the pile of work on my desk that day, and just before I left, told my boss that if she didn't mind, I really could use a mental health day that Friday. She was always encouraging her staff to do bullshit like that, and I never did, so I knew she'd take me up on it this time.
I fantasized about James once again that night, this time enjoying a long hot shower together with my favorite vibrator, picturing his face and imagining his cock as I fucked myself to orgasm. I collapsed into bed and quickly fell asleep, knowing I'd need my rest if I was going to spend much of the next day at the mall - probably my least favorite place.
After sleeping in that morning, I took a long bath in the tub, shaving my legs and then once again touching myself as I daydreamed about James. This time, though, I stopped short of working towards an orgasm. After a quick lunch, my afternoon at the mall started with an appointment at the salon, where I'd have my hair done and a professional make-over. Again, I'm very attractive - just don't ever bother to style my hair or put on make up. The stylist complimented me on my long, healthy brown hair, and has to admit that it's probably been to my benefit that I've never colored it, curled it, or otherwise damaged it for the sake of fashion. An inch or so was cut, some layers added, before I made my way to the make-up chair.
I asked the overly made-up woman to go for a subtle, classy look, explaining that I had an important evening out. I didn't elaborate further, allowing her to assume that I had to make an appearance at a work function, rather than that I was going to surprise my best friend with a fabulous blow job. Leaving the salon after those few hours, I had to do a double-take as I walked past mirrors in the mall. I had to admit, I was looking pretty hot. But there were a few more stops before I could leave.
The first was at the department store, where I planned to pick out a dress and some shoes. I browsed for a few minutes, but quickly realized I was in over my head, and searched out a professional for assistance. The salesperson I found happened to be a man, and I decided to make the most of the opportunity.
"Yes, miss, can I help you?"
"Let me be completely honest with you about what I'm looking for, so you can give your honest opinion. You can see how I normally dress," I said, motioning to my jeans and sweatshirt, "but this evening, I want to make quite an impression, showing someone just how sexy I can look. Just this side of slut is the look I'm going for."
The man blushed momentarily, but quickly regained his composure, and helped me pick out a little black dress. I chuckled to myself as I realized a dress like this was a staple of most women's wardrobes, but the kind of thing I'd never owned. I went into the fitting room, put on the dress, and stared for a while in the mirror, almost in disbelief at how good I looked. The expert salesman had chosen exactly the right dress in exactly the right size to emphasize all my best features. The top of the dress was perfectly fitted to my best asset, my beautifully proportioned breasts, and the skirt was just long enough to be decent but just short enough to be a little flirty, even a little slutty, the fabric ending mid-thigh. My skin was naturally tan after a summer of outdoor activities, and my green eyes really stood out against the black of the dress and the professionally applied makeup on my face.
"Sir, could you come in here, please?"
"Um, alright?"
I opened the door for him, and he looked relieved that I was dressed - presumably he wasn't supposed to join half-naked women in the fitting rooms while on the clock - but then gasped as I turned around for him and posed. "So, how do I look?"
"Well, miss, I think you've achieved just the look you're going for!"
"So, if I were to do this," reaching for his crotch and massaging his cock through his dress pants, "and offer you the best blow job of your life, you'd take me up on it?"
"Oh god, in a heartbeat!"
"Thank you, that's all I needed to hear. I don't want to get you in trouble, so I'll be on my way. But perhaps you could show me some shoes?"
Grabbing a few dresses off a nearby rack to carry in order to hide his erection, the salesman followed me out of the room and then across the store to the shoe department, where we picked out an open-toe four-inch black heel with laces that tied up on my ankle. I wore the ensemble out of the store, carrying my old clothes in the department store sack after I'd paid my bill.
"Well, miss, I don't need to wish you good luck, so I'll just wish you a good time this evening. You'll have him wrapped around your little finger, believe me."
"Thank you!"
My next stop, now that I had the dress, was the lingerie shop. This time I was assisted by a perky young salesgirl - Tiffany, her nametag told me, ironically enough. After admitting to her that I was hoping to surprise that special someone that evening with a sexy new look, she set to work to help me pick out a bra and panties that would give me just what I needed. After trying on a few other things, I settled on a matching set in black lace. We first chose a 34B, but after joining me in the fitting room, Tiffany decided I needed a 'C' cup. She helped me out of one bra and into the other, her fingers grazing my breasts innocently as she did.
The young girl complemented me on the look with the better-fitting bra, and gave me a smile as she noticed my erect nipples. "I can tell you're quite excited about your evening!"
