Beautiful Friendship

"Who's that lovely piece of femininity?" I asked my friend Scott, pointing across the campus.

He shaded his eyes. "The redhead or the blonde?" he asked in return.

"The drop-dead gorgeous blonde," I replied.

"Oh, that's Amy. She sure looks great, but she's a PK, Jeremy."

"OK, I'll bite. What's a PK?"

"A preacher's kid. You know, awash in religion. Holier-than-thou type," Scott enlightened me.

"That's OK. I think I can hold my own in a discussion about religion. But I don't just want to walk up to her. Not here, not now. Can you get her number for me, or something?"

"No problemo, mi amigo," Scott said, grinning. "I'll ask my friend Sonya. They hang out together sometimes."

Scott was as good as his word. I suppose I could've texted Amy, but I wanted to hear her voice. I especially wanted to hear her tone of voice as we spoke. When I called her, I mentioned both names, Scott and Sonya, so she'd have some idea of how I got her number, and possible mutual friends.

Her voice sounded as great as she looked. And she was pleasant, and surprisingly easy to chat with. Things seemed to be clicking, so I asked her out. That led to the first snag.

"You sound nice and everything, Jeremy," she began, and my heart started to sink. "But I really don't know you yet." I clutched at the word 'yet' like a drowning man grabs a life line. "I'm not into the blind date thing," she continued. "How about if we just meet for coffee, first?"

That was completely agreeable to me, and I said so. We agreed to meet at a quiet coffee shop in town, and fixed the date and time.

I admit I was nervous, physically meeting Amy for the first time. Even though it wasn't a date, I did the usual pre-date ritual, showering, brushing my teeth, combing my hair, and dressing nicely. I got there early, because I knew what she looked like, but I wasn't sure she had a clue what I looked like. I positioned myself where I had a good view of the door. Time went extra slow before she arrived. I checked my breath one more time, and it seemed okay, but I assumed that both of us would soon have coffee breath anyway.

My heart jumped a little when she came through the door. I waved as she looked around the room, and she smiled and walked toward me. When she was close enough, I said, "Hi. I'm Jeremy." Not knowing exactly what to do, I extended my hand, and she gripped it warmly. As she stepped into my personal space, I noticed how terrific she smelled. Her scent was the equivalent of eye-catching, but for my nose. I couldn't be sure how she might take any sort of comments on that, so I refrained from making any.

"Oh," she said as we shook hands, "yes. I've seen you around campus. It's nice to actually meet you, Jeremy."

"Thanks, Amy. Please have a seat. What can I get you?"

She put her purse on the chair, but said, "I'll come up there with you."

I was glad to hear that, because I was feeling a little odd at meeting her, and then potentially walking away from her, even though I was fetching us drinks. She ordered a cappuccino, while I opted for my usual latte. I saw her eyeing the pastries, so while we waited for our drinks to be made, I asked her which pastry she craved.

She grinned happily, and pointed at a blueberry muffin. I bought two of them just as our drinks were ready. Her cappuccino had an amazing heart design drawn in its foam. I hoped it might be some sort of auspicious sign. We took our light repast back to our table. I just enjoyed her proximity for those few steps until we seated ourselves.

I sat across the table, drinking in the sight of her as I sipped my coffee. This was my first closeup look at Amy's face, and I was struck by the fact that in that lighting, her eyes were an amazing shade of violet. It took no effort on my part to maintain good eye contact with her as we chatted, because I felt like I wanted to dive into those pools of violet.

In our conversation, we explored our interests and I learned that Amy and I had similar tastes in music. With regard to movies, she was more likely to see romantic comedies, and I was more likely to attend action flicks, but we both agreed on a propensity to watch some of the old black-and-white classic films.

Amy's sense of humor was delightful, and we shared some life anecdotes, and also recounted some of the more amusing scenes and dialogues from various movies and plays. I loved the way her eyes sparkled as she laughed. And when she smiled, she really smiled - displaying her captivating rows of straight, dazzlingly white teeth. I assumed that she must've worn braces earlier in her life, but I didn't pry.

Things were going great, right up to that fateful moment. Amy asked, "So, Jeremy. When was the last time you went to church?"

I hadn't anticipated such a question, so it took me by surprise. I decided that honesty was the best course of action, so I answered, "Christmas Day." This was almost the beginning of summer, and I could see Amy mentally calculating the passage of months. In my defense, I said, "I think a person can be religious, and strive to live an ethical, moral life, and be good to other people without necessarily going to church all the time."

After that, things got virtually icy between us. Even though Scott had warned me how religious Amy was, it really hadn't sunk in how important it must be in her life. The conversation no longer felt spontaneous, and I saw Amy glancing at her watch. I figured I'd blown it, and I was right. A few minutes later, Amy made an excuse about having to be somewhere else. As we stood up and shook hands goodbye, even her hand felt cool to my touch. I never bothered to ask her out.

About a year later, I was hanging out with Scott, and out of the blue he said, "Oh hey. Remember that chick Amy that you were panting about?"

I punched him playfully in the arm, saying, "I never panted about her. I just said I thought she looked nice."

"That's funny," Scott replied. "I could swear you were raving about how gorgeous she was."

"OK,OK," I relented. "But when we met, it was obvious to me that I was not religious enough for her. Like you said, she had a really holier than thou attitude. And I couldn't cope with that."

"That's all changed, man," Scott informed me. "Didn't you hear? Amy's father, that sanctimonious prick of a preacher, impregnated one of the married choir members of his church. Not only that, he'd also been dipping his hands into the till, so to speak. So the church threw him out."

"Oh my god! Really?" I exhaled.

"Yep. And to top it off, after his wife divorced him, she was cleaning out his things. She ran across an envelope he'd hidden away, containing photos. Photos of Amy. That sleaze ball was spying on his daughter, secretly taking pictures of her in various states of undress. This was the same guy that was always taking issue with the way Amy dressed, and in general creeping her out."

"No way!" I said, unable to believe this. But Scott nodded. "How can you know all this?"

"I heard it from Sonja, who heard it directly from Amy," Scott assured me. "Besides, Amy's becoming very vocal about it. She rebelled. She's so angry about her father's actions that she's rejected all his values now. She's gotten strong, changed her life completely, and is now an open minded spirit who detests hypocrisy and never lets anybody push her around. To her, religion seems a scam, and she's become a bit of a hellion now. If you really liked her, maybe you should try calling her again," he suggested.

I rubbed my chin. "Maybe I should," I agreed.

I did.

When she answered the phone, I started with, "Hi Amy. It's me, Jeremy. I don't know if you remember me. We had coffee together maybe a year ago or so." I wasn't exactly sure what to say next, so I was grateful when Amy took control of the conversation, and ran with it.

"Yes. Yes! I do remember you, Jeremy," she practically gushed. "And I remember having a great time with our talk, except when I flew off the handle about religion. But you were right! All that garbage that my so-called father fed me was hooey! I'm sorry I was so harsh with you about your church-going habits. Can I make it up to you? Maybe we can go to dinner and a movie or something?"

"Oh my god," I thought. "Amy's asking me out!" I was flabbergasted, and my jaw may have flapped up and down a couple of times, but I stammered out, "Sure. I'd love to do that. Ummm. Do you have anything specific in mind?"

"Tell you what," she said, and I could almost hear the smile in her voice. "You pick the place to eat, and I'll pick the movie. On Friday evening, they're showing 'Casablanca' on the big screen, and I think we'd both enjoy seeing that."

"That sounds great," I agreed. "It's a date."

When I picked Amy up for dinner, she even looked more fabulous than I'd remembered. She was a knockout - violet eyes, blond hair, winning smile, and a figure to die for. Gone were the staid, conservative clothes. Judging from what she was wearing, she was now into micro-minis, tight fitting tops and four inch heels. And her scent was as amazing as I remembered, perhaps even more so. I started to suspect pheromones, but whatever it was, it was enthralling. This time I decided to mention it. "You smell absolutely wonderful, Amy. What scent are you wearing?"

She blushed prettily. "None, Jeremy. I just showered, dried my hair, and here I am. Thank you for the gracious compliment." She gave me a sweet smile that almost stopped my heart.

At that moment, I wondered if Mother Nature gave us clues about our perfect mate by cuing us with scent. I filed that thought away for future consideration.

During dinner, we hit it off splendidly. She said she loved the place I'd chosen, and she wasn't shy about asking to share what we'd ordered, so she could sample both, and so could I. Her sense of humor seemed intact, apparently unimpaired by what it occurred with her father. I was smart enough, and considerate enough, not to mention him at all. After sharing a dessert, we went to view the movie. In the darkness of the theater, Amy took hold of my hand, and squeezed it at intervals, looking at me. This enhanced the feeling that we were caught up in the same experience. Her eyes glistened with tears near the emotional ending of the film. To be honest, so did mine.

When we reached the aisle on our way out of the theater, again Amy took hold of my hand, and made our hands swing forward and back in a happy little pendulum as we walked toward my car. The neighborhood around the theater over the years had transitioned into what some people might call depressed - others might call it artsy - and still others might call it raunchy - in its atmosphere. We were approaching an adult bookstore, and, being in good spirits, I jokingly asked Amy, "How'd you like to drop into that place?" I was pleasantly shocked at her response.

"I'd really like that," she answered, grinning. "I've always wondered what a place like that is like inside. But I've never had the courage to go in to one of them by myself."

I looked carefully into her face, figuring she might be kidding me. But her body language seem to be signaling that she was telling the truth. "If you're serious, I'd be glad to escort you," I informed her. We reached the door, which I opened, saying, "After you." I made a gallant hand gesture.

"Thank you, kind Sir," she answered, giggling.

I was extra nervous now. How would she take being in such a place? It was grimy and sleazy. Near the front was a glass display case, with a cash register on top of it. The guy behind the counter looked old and sort of worn out. He had a scraggly beard and his hair was drawn back into a ponytail. He'd been chatting with another guy who was in front of the counter. That guy was overweight to the point of being obese, and had a mustache that needed grooming. His bald head gleamed in the sickly overhead fluorescent lights. Their discussion halted the moment they saw us.

Not wanting to engage them in conversation, I took Amy by the hand and led her a couple of rows deep into the store, passing the only other customer - a guy wearing a trench coat, for heaven's sake! All we'd need to do is find a glory-hole in the back, and the stereotypes would be complete. "Well," I sighed mentally to myself, "she wanted to learn what a place like this is like inside." I waited for her to tug my hand and hiss something about us getting out of there, fast.

Instead, Amy's pupils dilated as she drank in the sights around her. I was reminded of a kid in a candy shop, with ten dollars to spend! First, she looked at the wall displaying the sex toys, taking her time. She looked at dildos, vibrators, nipple clamps, handcuffs, floggers and riding crops. I was expecting her to ask me what everything was, but she acted too mesmerized to talk. And for my part, I was having trouble getting my mental gears to mesh. This was the same woman I had coffee with over a year ago?

When I realized that instead of being appalled at what she saw, she was appreciating it, maybe even getting turned on by it, my nervousness began to evaporate, and was slowly replaced by arousal. Was I imagining things, or were Amy's nipples stiffening, and pressing forward against her aforementioned tight fitting top? My cock started mimicking those nipples, as hot blood began flowing into it, making it press against my underwear and pants.

She turned her attention to the display racks of DVDs behind us. The images on their display jackets were lurid, leaving very little to the imagination. Amy's eyes were wide, scanning everything before her, and then she started a soft giggling.

I leaned my face near to her face, glad to have an excuse to be close to her, asking, "What?"

She whispered, "Look at these titles. She read off names like 'Pulp Friction', 'Easy Ride Her', 'Throbin Hood', 'Star Whores', 'A Few Hard Men', 'Great Sexpectations', 'Midsummer's Night Cream', 'Against All Bods', 'My Bare Lady' and 'Romancing The Bone' between stifled giggles. She was taking this so well that my arousal grew. My cock now tented the front of my pants, and there was no way to hide it. I turned my torso partially away from her, afraid she'd think the DVDs were making me stiff, when it was really her attitude that was responsible.

Satisfied with her perusal of the DVD racks, she turned her attention to the magazines on display. To reach them, she had to pass by me, and her hand brushed across my groin, bumping my hard-on. I couldn't tell if she'd done that on purpose or not. But she had to know what she'd touched. She made no comment.

The magazines were even more explicit than the DVDs had been. They catered to almost any fetish imaginable. OK, some were rather tame. The magazines dealing with foot worship, spanking, and tit fucking were not too shocking. I tried to look cool, detached, and nonchalant, as if unaffected by them. Amy was picking up this one and that one, studying the covers of magazines devoted to anal sex, gang-bangs, and a special one that glorified the wearing of rubber/latex/leather garments.

"Look at this!" she exclaimed, showing me a magazine about water sports, and I don't mean surfing and scuba diving. As quickly as she showed me that, she grabbed another, demanding, "Oh! Look at this!" This one was about domination and submission. My mind was busy, trying to process what was happening. Was she upset about them? Interested? I had my own troubles at that point. My busy erection was oozing precum and enough of it had been released to cause a small wet spot to appear on my pants.

That's when she cried out gleefully, "My god... look at this! It's amazing!" It was a magazine about bukkake! On the cover was a picture of a woman whose face was covered in semen. Her hair was plastered to her skull with that gooey stuff, and huge gobs of cum were dripping from her nose and partially opened mouth. She was smiling as if she'd received the gift of a lifetime.

I feared that Amy had said that too loudly, and was trying to figure a way to quiet her down, but it was too late. Her outcry had caught the attention of the man behind the counter.

He grinned a lecherous grin, and said, "You two should check out the booth in back." That's when I noticed a sign on the wall behind him that proclaimed 'Private Booth - Nude Girls - Adults Only!' as he pointed toward the rear of the other wall.

Amy grabbed my arm as she pressed herself against my side, whispering with what might have been mock coyness, "Let's look at the booth, OK?"

I looked into those wide, violet eyes and could deny her nothing. I nodded, and she practically dragged me across the bookstore, almost colliding with trench coat man in the process. We read the sign, which gave us some inkling of what the booth offered, and learned we needed special tokens, available at the front counter. Amy called out, "How many tokens do we need?" to the man standing there.

His grin widened. "I'd suggest ten dollars worth, doll."

I certainly didn't like the way he was leering at her. But she pulled my ear close to her mouth. "Please get twenty dollars worth," she begged. I swallowed hard, and dug into my wallet for the requested amount, not making eye contact with the ponytail guy as he took the money and counted out the tokens into my hand.

"Have a good time," he said, chuckling, as I walked back to Amy.

She watched me approach, her eyes lingering long and hard on my crotch, with its tent and its tiny wet spot. "This is going to be fun. I just know it," she assured me. I wasn't so sure. If I endured much more stimulation, I'd have a big cum stain in and on my pants.

We entered the booth. There wasn't much room in there, and I didn't look too closely at the floor, or inhale too deeply. There was a sort of bench, with just enough room for us to sit side by side, if we pressed our hips together hard. I didn't mind that one bit. In front of us was a tall steel shutter, and off to one side was the machine that accepted the tokens. Amy started feeding them into the slot, and the shutter slid upwards revealing clear Plexiglas behind it, separating us from a small, well lit room. That room held a single occupant.

Before us was an almost naked redhead, sitting in a wooden chair. Almost naked, because she wore a skimpy black thong, and 4 inch black leather pumps. She had a lovely patina of freckles that ran from her face down almost to her areolae. Her breasts were quite good looking indeed, large, and with the firmness of youth, lacking sag. She'd been reading a book while she waited for customers, and I noticed it was 'A Room Of One's Own' by Virginia Woolf. The thought flashed through my mind that she might be a coed, working her way through college.

The redhead stood up, set down her book, and approached the glass, speaking in a seductive purr, "My name's Tina. What can I do for you?" It was obvious she could see us as well as we could see her. She was making good eye contact.

She'd barely finished when Amy barked out, "For a start, you can get that thong off and press your butt against the glass. My boyfriend's an ass man, so show him what you've got."

I think Tina was momentarily astonished to hear a woman telling her what to do. I assumed this booth was usually used by men. She teetered on her heels for a moment, then smiled and pivoted. Her butt cheeks made contact with the glass, and her hands hooked in her thong and pushed downward. She bent at her waist, looking over her shoulder at me as the thong skimmed downward. She stayed bent over as she worked the wisp of cloth free from her shoes. She shimmied her ass flesh a little.

"Spread 'em!" Amy demanded. "Show my guy your pink, puckered hole. Show him how much you'd like his big, thick dick screwing your ass!"

It was a good thing I wasn't chewing any gum - that would have made me swallow it, and maybe choke on it. But Tina took the command like a trouper. She spread her ass cheeks wide apart, revealing her cute ass hole, pink against her paler skin. "Do you like this, big boy?" she whispered. "You wanna fuck my pretty ass hole?" she asked, actually fingering the opening in question. Both Amy and I gasped quietly as Tina removed her finger and proceeded to dilate and constrict her anal opening, almost making it wink at us. That woman had some motor control!