The apartment spanned the entire top floor of the old, three story building, and was drafty. Four bedrooms -- four college kids in their senior year. Carla and I had been housemates as juniors, along with another guy who had since graduated. Linda and Shelly were Carla's friends, but neither were around much. My schedule was completely packed with activities and responsibilities that would routinely go from eight am to two am, so I guess I wasn't around much either.
That was a little tough on my relationship with Carla. We had been friends for two years and I think she had expected to see more of me than she did. She was a somewhat heavy girl, who had never really had a boyfriend, and valued the frank sexual discussions we would often have. I valued them too. Carla was so funny and bold, on the rare occasions I would be home when she got back from school, she would talk about her day until I was crying with laughter.
Carla was perpetually angry with me because we weren't seeing as much of each other as we used to. And I missed her, as well.
We went out in the snow to rent movies one night, just like I'd promised. Somehow we ended up with porn. But we were intelligent college kids, so it was classic porn. We plodded home and watched the original Debbie do the original Dallas.
And I noticed a few things. First of all, no part of that movie takes place in Dallas. It's all about these cheerleaders trying to get to Dallas. Secondly, those old porn flicks are sexy. Really sexy. A lot sexier than either of us had expected. And the third thing is that no matter how platonic you think a friendship is, watching an hour of hot fucking together will reveal deep veins of sexual tension you never even knew existed.
A month or two went by, and I was still never in the apartment. I was fairly popular in college, and I could always find a place to sleep that was closer to the theater or the coffeehouse or class or whatever I had to do in the morning. So it was unusual that I was home that snowy afternoon.
Carla was sitting on the couch, stretched out, watching her soap. She liked to be warm; big sweatshirt, quilt. I was keeping her feet warm by sitting on them, and leaning sideways against her bent knees.
"Quit it," she said.
I was tickling Carla a little. Just enough to irritate her and relieve my boredom. The soap was not holding my attention.
"Quit it, asshole."
"What?" I asked, as if my hand wasn't just under her sweatshirt, tickling her side.
Carla glared, but not seriously. I relaxed my hand against her skin and let my eyes drift back to "Santa Barbara".
Her skin was soft, under the sweatshirt, and my mind wandered to thoughts of Carla's tits. I knew she wasn't wearing a bra- she never did when she was at home. She was at least a D cup, and she liked to release them from their constraints as soon as she walked in the door. And I knew they were only seven or eight inches above where my hand was resting.
If it had been anyone else, on any other day, I would have just gone to my room and jacked off. But something about Carla, and the day, and my mood...
I moved my hand a few inches up Carla's side. Carla turned and looked at me. I gave my best "who me?" look and moved another inch up.
"You don't have the guts," she said. Normally she'd be right. Lot's of our male friends would play similar games with Carla, always backing down before quite crossing the line.
Slowly, I moved my hand across her skin. Carla stared at me; daring me. I stared back.
I lifted one finger and gently touched the underside of her tit. She didn't move. The flesh was warm and smooth and I slowly slid my finger across the bottom of her enormous boob. We just looked at each other, unflinching. I added two more fingers, slid them up the side of her tit, and gently pressed.
I brought my thumb up to the underside and softly moved my palm against her flesh. Now my whole hand held her incredible tit. Still Carla didn't move or change her expression. My finger slid up from the side of her breast- across the landscape of her soft mountain.
Her flesh was smooth and warm and I could feel the blood rushing trough her veins- and my own. But the smoothness ended when my finger found Carla's large areola. There, her skin was tight and rough, with tiny ridges betraying her excitement.
"Nicholas..."
I didn't respond as my finger finally reached her nipple- swollen with blood, rising almost an inch off the expanse of her areola. As I gently circled Carla's hard nipple with my finger, her chest heaved slightly with her labored breath.
Then, believe it or not, the phone rang in Carla's bedroom. She paused a brief moment, then slipped from under the quilt and went to answer it.
I moved to where she had been sitting, in the corner of the couch, with one leg up on the cushions and the other on the floor. I rubbed my cock through my jeans while I waited. Carla came back in just as the commercial was ending on the TV.
"You took my seat."
"Sit here, in front of me."
"Why, so you can fondle my tits again?" She was already settling down between my legs.
"Maybe." She must have felt my hard-on against the small of her back as she leaned against me.
"Do you have a hard-on?"
I reached around, under Carla's sweatshirt with both hands.
"Of course I do, can't you feel it?"
Gently, I brought my hands up under her tits and lifted them slightly.
"This is weird, Nicholas."
"Why? Doesn't it feel good to have your boobs touched?" I massaged her huge tits slowly and firmly. Her breathing deepened.
"Yeah. It feels... good."
"Well I like to do it."
We watched TV in silence as I continued to knead Carla's breasts, her flesh hot and yielding under my strong hands. Since the phone call, I hadn't touched her nipples, but only the ample areas under them. Now I let my fingers fan across both large nipples, which spiked upward, hard as thimbles. Carla gasped slightly.
"Does that feel good?"
"Uh huh. Maybe too good."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know how much more of this I can take..."
"You mean before you have to go masturbate?" Carla and I had talked about masturbation more than any other sexual topic. We were both fascinated to know about how the other gender did it. But we had never talked about it like this. We'd never done anything like this.
"Yeah," she sighed. "I have to leave for rehearsal in twenty minutes."
"Why don't you just do it now, Carla?"
"What?"
"Well, wouldn't you rather do it while I'm rubbing your tits?" I took each nipple in my fingers and pulled slowly and firmly. "It'd be like assisted masturbation."
"You are so weird, Nicholas." She tried to sound casual, but her voice caught in her throat.
"I would if I were you." I said. "And I've never been with a woman while she jacked off."
I squeezed Carla's hot, heaving tits in my hands, the nipples caught between my fingers. I watched the quilt move as Carla put both hands down her pants. She leaned her head back on my chest and closed her eyes. I could see the rhythmic movement under the quilt as Carla's fingers stroked her pussy. I knew she had to be as wet as I was hard.
I pulled one hand out and brought it to my mouth, where I wetted my fingers with my saliva. I put my hand back under her shirt and rubbed my spit into her stiff, aching nipple.
"Unghh..." she moaned, and the movement under the quilt became faster. I wet the other nipple, and twisted both carefully in my fingers.
"Ahh... ahhh..." I could feel Carla's body beginning to tense as she rubbed her pussy faster and faster. I lifted both tits and closed my hands around them hard and slow, tweaking the wet nipples with my fingers.
"Ung... AH." She moaned and her body began to shiver. She was coming. Her tit flesh was flushed and sweaty in my hands and her nipples as thick as my little finger and hard as my cock.
I continued massaging Carla's globes until her spasms subsided. But that was as long as I could wait.
"Ok. Let me up." I said.
