Photo Realism

I tried something different with Daisy. Not that it was a strategy with any agenda, I just happened to discover the freedom and safety in being open about my attraction to her. She had lived much of her life knowing it's how the majority of people felt about her anyway, and I liked to think someone being upfront but unentitled was refreshing. In the final year of our college program, we got quite close as friends, and we cooperated in a cheeky repartee wherein I would allude to my feelings, and she would laugh and nudge me.

Sound like the friend zone? That's what some people said, but it wasn't quite like that, and I'll try to explain how. Another of our classmates, Mason, was a chronic member of the friendzone, and Daisy and I got especially close when he fucked off chasing some girl named Tess. I knew that wasn't going anywhere, and I assume he thought the same about me and Daisy.

We were in the habit of texting a lot when each of us began our respective end-of-term work placements. She stayed in the city, and I went to New Field, a small town where it was commonly believed I'd get more hands-on experience. The hands-on experience I truly wanted was waiting for me back home and it made being away very difficult. I hated it there. The town was dead and dull, and right when I sensed momentum building in my perceived situationship, New Field hauled me off to the boonies. Still, Daisy and I kept texting, and it was through that medium where I was continuing my cracks about wanting more from her. She always laughed, and if there's any inclination to think she was brushing me off, there did come a night, about halfway through the month away, when she gave something back.

"What are you up to?" she asked.

"Nothing," I texted. "Biding time. What are you up to?"

"Trying on swimsuits," she said, frankly.

This was immediately strange because she'd already established she was at home, in her father's basement. So she wasn't in some clothing store. She was trying on her own swimsuits, I guess for kicks.

"Why?" I asked.

"Just to see myself in them."

"Can't argue with that," I said. This was exactly my flavour of comment; not presumptuous or propositional, just flirtatious.

She laughed, textually, and then added, "I'm not sure about the one I'm in now though."

"Why not?"

"Just not sure if it looks good."

I chanced a flavour one notch beyond my own. "Care for a second opinion?"

She did not respond with words, or in fact with anything at all for several minutes. Just the amount of time necessary to have me second-guessing whether I'd crossed a line. This was how Daisy maintained control. This was how I let her.

Just as I began drafting a meak apology, I saw the photo appear in our chat thread. A dim selfie featuring Daisy, blonde and thin but not without a waist, posing in the mirror, wearing a blue and beige bikini. It was sexy but not overly skimpy. What made the image inherently suggestive was the angle of her hip, which she popped to the side and held with delicate fingers. She smiled. Her mirror was a bit dirty but the image was pristine. This was all I'd ever need.

I did my best to play it cool, asking her, "What exactly is the problem here, then?"

"Just not sure about it," she said.

"I am."

She laughed, and that was it for the night.

I jerked off to the bikini photo multiple times that night, and I'm sure it was the context of its reception that made it so hot. I'd seen female friends in bathing suits before, but there was definitely something about this photo, the contrivance of it. I was sure there was.

The next night we were texting again.

"Whatcha up to?" I asked.

"Nothing much."

"No personal wardrobe perusals tonight?" It felt bold referencing the swimsuit, but I couldn't help it. It was all I'd thought about all day and I think a part of me needed her to confirm it happened. The photo saved in my phone wasn't enough.

"Not tonight," she said. "I'm dressed more comfortably."

I knew what that typically meant. "Sweats?" I asked, hoping there could still be something erotic about it.

"Nope," was all she said.

I hadn't the boldness left to chance a second guess, so I left her reply unaddressed for a moment, and sure enough it was followed by those teasing three dots that precede a text.

When her message finally came through, it wasn't nearly as long as the pause suggested.

"Too hot in here for sweats," she said.

I was pretty sure she was in her father's basement again, and basements aren't famously hot places, especially in April which was when job placements occurred.

The ball was in my court, so I relocated my boldness. "If not sweats, then what?" I was careful not to ask the full what are you wearing, which easily could have been called out as corny and cliche. I evaded this successfully and Daisy remained coy.

"Less," she said.

I fucking went for it.

"I think you need a second opinion again."

Once more, she forced me to sit in a nervous moment before rewarding me with a photo. Indeed, she wasn't in a swimsuit this time, but her pose was not dissimilar. It was in fact less than baggy sweats, and with context and my months spent pining, it might as well have been less dress than a woman's ever had on ever. Daisy wore a loose-fitting halter-tee with an old picture of the Ramones on it. She was fucking cool like that. The hem of the shirt stopped below her breasts so that they were fully covered, although her flat stomach was on full display. The focus of the image was below all that. Daisy had on lacy panties, which the lighting of the basement left looking either baby blue or ashy gray. There was a subtle ruffle on the hip where she rested her hand in signature stance. What I couldn't clock from the front was the coverage of the underwear on her backside, but with the sheen of the fabric and the perfect framing of her little mound, there was no denying this was a sexual article. She smiled into the spotty mirror, allowing her upper teeth to nip gently at her bottom lip.

I felt a lot of things, and one of them was cool. With the certainty of intention in this transmission, I wasn't just the friend-zoned simp many thought me to be. There was reciprocity here. Or, at the very least, I wasn't getting nothing. Still, Daisy maintained control by expressing her reticence.

"If I'm going to be sexy with you in this case, I might get carried away."

"I don't see you getting carried away," I said, smoothly.

"I'll come around," she replied, and before I could ask what she meant, she announced she was going to sleep.

I didn't go to sleep for a while.

The following night, she levelled things up yet another wrung. We cut to the chase with minimal preamble because I'd spent the day sneaking glances at her panty pic and I was desperate to pick things up there again.

Daisy put on a charade again, indicating that she just happened to be wearing a certain garment, and that I might as well see for myself. There were two photos: one of her standing, in a black bustier with red silk fringe; the other, she's lying down in the same garment, snapping a selfie over her shoulder so I can see her back and the black thong that's gloriously intersecting her perfectly heart-shaped ass.

This was straight-up sexting, and I wondered if I was expected to send a dick-pic. I didn't though because her photos had been tasteful and that might have seemed crass, or worse, needy. Besides, she seemed to be enjoying teasing me as much as I was enjoying being teased. In truth, that was what our entire relationship had always been. I loved the new photos and what they represented, but I think I liked the Ramones shot even more. It was so her, and the reality was that I didn't just find Daisy impossibly seductive, I was also completely, agonizingly in love with her.

That's not for now though. It was short short short-lived, me and her. But it was good good good while it lasted. I made a plan to invite school friends out to my family's cottage for the weekend between coming back from work term and graduating our program.

Mason came, but not Tess. Called it. Also two other dudes and a gal pal of ours named Lena. And of course Daisy. It was Daisy's idea to have the getaway, in fact. I had mentioned having access to the place and she insisted we all go up. When we mused about it one night while texting between photo shares, she asked me what the sleeping arrangements would be.

"There are lots of beds for everyone," I said.

"It would be helpful if I stayed in your bed though, right?" she asked.

"Very helpful," I said.

And that was that until the time came. We didn't sext regularly. It was more like veiled references to the fancifulness of a few bored and lonely evenings. I was starting to think it was all a dream, and I stopped actually thinking Daisy would want to share a bed with me at the cottage.

We slept together one time before. Not sexually, I mean. We just snoozed in the same bed. It was Lena's bed, and she was there too. The three of us went out drinking one night and stayed at her place. I've occasionally thought since then I might have missed a chance at a threesome but I don't know if that was in the cards and I never would have had the guts anyway. When we woke up, Daisy made a show of cuddling me. That was months before and I was cautious about enjoying it too much. Plus, it was friends crashing near each other. Two people in a bed can mean something so different.

The cottage was relaxing and simple. We brought food to barbecue, guitars and enough liquor for a multi-night stay even though it was only one. I drank gin, and the more the bottle emptied, the more I sang and played silly made-up songs. Daisy drank wine and the more I sang and played, the closer she got to me, eventually occupying virtually the same square foot of carpet and bobbing her head against my shoulder at every laugh. She laughed a lot, which was one of the thousand appealing things about her. There was nothing original about my attraction to her, which is how I knew it wouldn't be awkward if I was a little bit crazy about her out in the open.

Daisy was the first to call it a night, which she implied was due to tiredness, but she had come here with a plan and she still sought to enact it. Before standing, she whispered in my ear, "Which room is yours?"

"I'm going to bed too," I announced to the group. I did the obligatory host thing, quickly telling everyone where they could crash when ready, and where to find blankets and pillows. Then Daisy and I disappeared behind the thin screens that divided the bedrooms.

There was some pretence in our private space. Daisy, who knew full well what was about to happen, instructed me to avert my eyes while she changed into a pajama shirt. I obeyed politely, although the room was small and there was little to prevent my seeing what was ultimately a tame sight, Daisy swapping one shirt for another, bearing her back in my direction. I took this time to remove my jeans, knowing the inherent understanding in sharing a bed with a man, even platonically: I would wear a t-shirt and boxer briefs. That's what I what I wore the last time we slept together, the time that we didn't, that is.

When she was ready to crawl into bed, we faced each other and it was suddenly clear that Daisy had slyly removed her pants. Now we wore the same number of articles, and we were nearing at the mouth, both grinning wide and drunkenly, and making no mystery of where this ought to head.

We kissed tenderly and I resisted the urge to tell her what she already knew, which was how long I'd wanted this. I allowed my hand to drift to her waist, and tactilely assessed her underwear - a black g-string with animal-print on the front.

It was no longer just a photo.

I moved my hands to her ass as she climbed on top, straddling a leg on either side of me. We continued to kiss deeply, settling into an enthusiastic, grinding make out. Daisy's blonde hair fell down over me, but soon she flicked it back as she rose to squat and looked down over me.

"Will anybody come in here?" she whispered, pointing to the doors on either side of the room.

"No," I grinned. "This is just for us."

With this as all the clarification she needed, she lifted her shirt over her head, tossed it onto the floor and released her tits into view. They were medium and shapely, with milky purity and dainty pink nipples. She presented them with the confidence she always carried. Daisy knew she was sexy, and she knew her sexuality was a power. Trapped beneath her and unable to reach her breasts, I pawed further up her half naked side. Refusing me the satisfaction, she retained control and began prying my shirt upward and over my head. It came off clumsily, but when we were both bare-chested, we returned to a horizontal position and kissed. Our gently dewy skin pressed tight and our hands roamed freely.

"You're so hard," Daisy hissed between smackings.

"Of course," I said, which felt a little stupid.

She could tell the degree of my engorgement from how it was pressed up against her, but that didn't stop her drifting her hand downward and testing the bulge with a soft graze over my underwear. With her on top, I had less access to her frontal area, but I made sure to keep my hands firm and exploratory. It gave me such pleasure just to touch her skimpy little thong.

Withdrawing from my lips, she kissed my neck, and then my collarbone; then my chest and my stomach. Daisy quickly worked her way down my torso, crawling backward on the sheets all the while. When she arrived at my crotch, she smiled at me again and used both hands to lift the waistband and tug down to release my cock. By the time she'd brought the shorts down my full length, she looked me in the eye again.

"You're fucking huge," she said.

I absolutely could not believe what was happening.

Daisy took my cock in her hand and fed it into her lips, teasing shallowly at first and then more eagerly lowering it into her throat. She slumped over my body, resting into the blowjob, which actually made it difficult to watch her performance. I'd like to have a clear image imprinted in my memory, but on the other hand, the mystique kept me surprised by the oral activity itself, and I was forced to give over to the pleasure. I heard the slurping sounds of a hungry mouth as she took me deep and rolled her tongue around my shaft. Throughout, she was careful to maintain a hold of my rod, gently pumping it with each forward suck. It was nothing short of glorious head, and I had to thank the gin for preventing my coming directly into her mouth.

After a healthy duration, Daisy released from my cock and climbed back toward my face where we shared in more hot and horny making out. I was fully naked now and my saliva-covered dick was writhing against her porcelain skin. Within reach of her hips again, I tucked my fingers beneath the sides of her g-string, but I was not granted the opportunity to remove it myself.

Daisy dismounted from her straddle and whispered one more thing before whipping off the final clothing item. "I'm going to fuck you," she said, and quickly peeled off her underwear.

I was naked with Daisy and my purest fantasy was coming true. She returned to a straddle and reached to align my cock with her pussy, easily slipping it in and beginning to rock.

Again, the gin had my back in a big way. What a disaster it would have been if the anticipation caused me to end this too quickly. I never once ran the risk of disrupting this utter elation.

"Oh my god, you feel so big in me," she wheezed as the pumps increased. She braced herself with straight arms on either side of me, leaving enough of a space between us that I could see her full figure, her swinging tits, and the shadow of my cock crashing in and out of her slit. Each time she enveloped me, I felt her tight warmth. She was soaked and slick, allowing for any pace we might desire.

We fucked for a while like this, and then Daisy lifted off and twirled herself around. She lowered onto my cock again, now in reverse-cowgirl, proudly pointing her back and ass in my direction. Nothing was to stop me now from reaching forward and taking her incredible butt in my hands and worshiping it. The fuck felt even better like this, with my member pressed against the front inner wall of her pelvis. We moaned and panted as the thrusts continued, remaining in perfect rhythm all the while.

Eventually Daisy dismounted again, and she turned to face me with another key directive.

"I want you to fuck me," she said, dropping to the mattress beside me and widening her legs for my eager welcome.

My instinct was to take my time. I began kissing her neck and chest, indicating an intention to go all the way down. I would have loved to eat her pussy, but she didn't want to wait.

"Fuck me with your big dick," she begged.

So I did.

I eased in steadily, and both of us sighed from the delight of the penetration. Rocking into motion, I leant to kiss her. This must have been my way of tenderizing the whole affair. She kissed me back with deep affection, and when I ran my tongue down her neck, she whispered in my ear, "You can come inside me."

I never wanted this to end. We fucked for as long as I could last, not a care in the world which of our friends could hear us. Frankly, a part of me wanted them to. Daisy whispered again, "I want to feel you come."

Accelerating my thrusts, I drove my cock in and out of her luscious opening and took joy in every forward pump as it returned the coy smile to her face. Eventually, I let loose, flooding her pussy with my hot come and making the connection all the wetter.

"Yes! Yes!" she hyped, as I simply exhaled in all-consuming release. At the slow of our thrusts, we kissed some more and I pulled out.

Daisy went to freshen herself up and then stopped in the kitchen for water. She stayed naked for her entire trip, and it was indescribably hot how little she cared about being seen. When she returned to our room, she stood over me and sipped water. Here, I could take in full view of her perfect nude figure. She crawled back into the bed and wedged her ass against my cock, which stayed hard for much of the night.

In the morning, she smiled at me and I said "That was fun." I was dramatically underselling it, but I knew that was a safe confession.

"That was so fun," she clarified, and I kissed her once more before the hangover took hold.

The drive home was rough, but by the evening, Daisy and I were texting again, and not at all pretending the fucking hadn't happened. She was happy to report that she was telling people, not only that we hooked up but that my dick was huge. How could any of this be real? It was only ever marred by the fact that it didn't happen again, although maybe that's for the best.

The night after graduation, our class went out to a club and Daisy was all over me again. She ground up against me on the dance floor and said into my ear that she could feel my boner, that it made her hot knowing how turned on I was. We made out a lot that night, and she pawed at my crotch from under the table, which I'm not sure was all that discreet.

I'm sure we could have fucked again then if either of us had our own place to go back to.

She took up with another guy soon after, and broke up with him at the end of the summer when she got a job and moved away. The charming transparency of our feelings and impulses lost its ease that summer. I couldn't put the toothpaste back in the tube, to use a graphic metaphor. I think of her often, and I don't regret any of it. It was a rare moment of a dream coming true and then a waking to follow. The very memory is the kind of thing greater men have ruined their lives over. But I've never felt imperiled that way. I'm grateful to her. It would take only the very angel I always saw to break a heart so gently. And anyway, I'll never forget how it happened.