This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
It's going to be a little slow to start as I establish the setting and characters, but I promise that once we get to the smut it will fly thick and fast. If you're just here to get your jollies from the sex scenes, you'll want to come back and join me when I put chapter two up. You were warned! That said, I hope people enjoy the story I'm telling and welcome any and all commentary on it, even if it's to tell me I suck and don't belong in a 50-mile radius of Literotica. :)
Chapter 1
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I've got to be honest: I've never thought of myself as a slut. A little promiscuous? Yeah, I'll grant you that, but I wouldn't have described myself as a raging nympho or anything. And as I peeled off my clothes to take another photo the entire internet could see, I thought back on the events that had proven me entirely wrong.
***
My friend Dana was everything I wasn't. Beautiful, comfortable in her skin (which was flawless, by the way), fashionable without being arrogant, stylish without being garish. It sounds trite to say "every guy (and some girls!) wanted to be with her, and every girl wanted to be her" but in her case it was unequivocally true. I guess what I'm trying to say is she was a hot piece of ass, and she knew it. I mean, I'm completely straight but if ever I were to drink from the furry cup I'd probably fill it at the fountain of Dana.
"Sarah, girl, you seriously have to stop wearing your grandmother's clothes," she said to me one hot July afternoon, with her signature laugh, which was (of course) perfect and pleasant to the ears. "When are you going to start showing off what God gave you?"
"The only thing our lord above blessed me with was an abundance of love for doughnuts and cake," I said with a smile, patting my belly. "You forget that we're not all supermodels like you."
"Aw c'mon, don't be like that. You say that every time, and I keep telling you it doesn't matter! You've got a killer bod, and you'd know it too if you ever took that cardigan off."
"Hey, I happen to like this cardigan," I said with mock indignation, pulling it tightly around me. Dana laughed and tackled me to the ground, tickling me until I couldn't breathe from laughing so hard.
And this was how the majority of our conversations went, in the years I knew her. Her wearing next to nothing and trying to convince me to do the same, me pretending to be offended and genuinely refusing to change my style (if you can call baggy tops and cardigans a style). I often wondered if she might have ulterior motives for trying to get me practically naked, but the steady stream of guys trundling along a conveyor belt from her apartment was a fair indication that Dana's bread wasn't buttered on that side, at least not entirely.
I enjoyed the arrangement, however much I tried to convince Dana that I wanted her to stop with her earnest efforts. I didn't have many friends, so my time with her was usually the highlight of my day, and despite our differences we did have a lot in common: musical tastes, a love of terrible B-movies, and a secret passion for yaoi that would forever remain unspoken on pain of death. However much I enjoyed our back-and-forth, though, I always knew in my heart that I would never be able to bring myself to do the things she wanted me to do.
All that changed after she broke up with her boyfriend.
He hadn't been a great guy. He treated her like crap, and from what I heard he hadn't been that great in bed either. Honestly, I never quite knew what she saw in him, but for a certain definition of happy she seemed relatively content. So when she texted me to say the relationship was over, I loaded up on the holy trifecta of supplies: chocolate, Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and a box of tissues. I went over to her apartment and rang the bell, a consoling "boy, that guy's an asshole" smile on my face and my shoulder ready to be cried on. What I wasn't expecting was for her to open the door looking incredibly flushed with an equally big if not bigger smile.
"Sarah! Hey girl, come on in!" she cried happily, pulling me into a hug that, not for the first time, made me wonder if her nipples were permanently that hard as they collided with mine. "I was just about to put a movie on!"
My "boy, that guy's an asshole" smile turned into a "what the fuck have you been smoking?" half-grimace as I made my way into her spacious living room, trying and likely failing to hide my obvious confusion. I gave up the pretence and decided to just put the cards on the table. "Uh...hi Dana! I brought...comfort?" I said, finishing as lamely as I felt and turning my statement into a shaky question delivered with all the poise and confidence of a mouse staring down a hungry cat.
"Aww, honey, you shouldn't have!" Dana squealed with delight, causing my confusion to intensify by a factor of about a million. Like I said, he hadn't been the nicest guy, but I'd seen Dana reduced to floods of tears for lesser men. I had to find out what was going on.
