The next evening I had the kids packed off to their grandparents' place for the night, ostensibly so I could have a perfectly ordinary and innocent 'girls night in'. Well, fair enough, a girls night in was in the planning, but perhaps not the sort of night anyone else was expecting... and as it turned out, certainly not the night I was exactly expecting either.
I had no idea what to expect out of it, out of inviting Libby over to talk about what we had done, what I was feeling (though even I didn't know what I was feeling -- I hoped/feared that by learning how Libby felt about it, it may shed some light on my own feelings), along with other questions: what did it mean? What, if anything, could we do about it?
In only the past couple of days, Libby and I had gone from Best Friends Forever to something more. I had found her stash of nude, semi-porno and hard-porno photography on Literotica, and I had taken and shared some raunchy pics of my own, and we had both masturbated over pictures of each other and we came, coming separately at times and at other times coming together; in one instance even coming together on the phone, confessing and hollering our utter horniness for each other as we did so, in what may (or may not?) have constituted phone sex. Even that much was not certain.
And now -- now that the heat of the moment had passed -- I simply couldn't let it lie without some sort of good, thorough dissertation. What did it mean? Were we really that hot for each other? Were we gay? Was I, or was she gay? We never thought so, never for one second in our previous twenty years of friendship did either of us feel or notice an attraction for the other... but now we had come to this juncture, where I only had to look at a picture of her soft pink lips spread rudely wide, her sticky juices running fast and free and covering every square inch of her, and I'd have myself coming in nearly no time at all.
I couldn't leave it lie; I couldn't ignore it, pretend it was nothing, simply forget it. I had to sort it out, had to chew it out and discuss it with her, and find out where it had us once and for all. So I invited her over for drinks. Well, hell if I could have done it while sober!
I got myself dressed, did my hair and applied my make-up to my very utmost and best. For some reason I really wanted to look as good as I possibly could, I simply had to impress her with my beauty. (And again: what did THAT mean?) And as I got ready, as I tried on outfit after outfit and struggled to decide what looked hottest on me, the clock wound down to our agreed rendezvous time. Watching the clock, I found my heart beating harder and faster; I haven't been this nervous about a meeting since ten years ago, after Tom and I had flirted over the internet (in a forum different -- and far more innocent -- than Literotica's) and we had finally arranged to meet face-to-face.
But that was different to what I was preparing for now. Much different. Back then I was meeting Tom for the first time; all I knew of him was what he had told me in emails and over IM programs, what he sounded like over the phone, and as good an idea of what he looked like (very cute -- instantly likeable) that I could get in a few photos he had sent. But now: now I was getting ready to meet Libby at my house for a few drinks, like we had done a million times before -- except since the last time we had met face-to-face, we had shared pictures of our naked bodies and of our most personal, intimate parts, pictures of ourselves touching ourselves up and bringing ourselves to wet, gushing orgasms -- and to top it all off, the last time we had spoken on the phone it had been an incredible, heavy, hot session of phone sex. And now I had invited her over, to try to talk it out...
Was I mad? How could I possibly approach this -- how were we going to sort it out? I had no idea what it all meant; I was afraid of what it might mean. I didn't really want to be attracted to Libby. I was happily married to such a wonderful man in Tom, and we'd gone and built such an enviable life together, had two kids, built a mansion off the proceeds of his success... and here I was, jeopardising it all for the (vain?) hope that what Libby and I had done together could be easily explained away, laughed about and simply forgotten... and risking the possibility that it may instead grow, may become something even more...
'Maybe I should warn her off,' I thought, as I finally settled on an outfit: a nice black dress, cut to the knee and nicely-fitting, showing a fair length of bare back and just a tasteful hint of cleavage in front. 'Maybe I should call her, tell her it would be best if we just left it alone.'
But no, I decided. Libby and I had been friends, best friends in fact, since the first day of high school -- for decades, twenty years now. Our friendship was itself an important relationship to me; too important to risk losing if we were to let this fester, if we tried to ignore it and ended up ignoring each other. I didn't want to lose Libby; as afraid as I was of where we might go if we delved into this, I was equally afraid -- more so -- of what would likely happen if we didn't.
I'd just barely come to that conclusion when I saw Libby's car turn into our long driveway at the bottom of the hill. "Too late now..." I murmured to myself; so I started carrying the requisite booze, glasses and nibblies out to the patio by the pool.
"Hey there, sexy!" crowed Libby as she tottered into view, dressed and made-up to a similarly high standard of my own, wearing a white strapless dress that was cut quite low on her chest and high on her legs, tight-fitting and flattering. I'd seen it before, she had been wearing it quite a lot recently; Libby tended to favour the one dress for weeks at a time, sometimes buying two or three copies of the same dress just in case. That's our Libby for you...
"Hey Libby," I said, warmly and with amusement; she walked right up to me and laid a delicate, non-lipstick-smudging kiss upon my cheek, her hands clutching mine and holding them tightly. "Look at us!" I had to laugh. "We're so dolled up, both of us... it's like we're heading off to Derby Day!"
"Well, I simply HAD to put on my gladdest glad-rags before I came to meet the newest Queen of Literotica," Libby told me, with a wicked grin.
"Now now, I'll never dethrone 'Libya's Finest' from that title," I demurred; and so it was said, out in the open and face to face: we'd acknowledged what we'd been up to on Literotica. "Well, come on -- let's sit down and have a few cocktails, shall we?"
"Let's shall!" Libby agreed, and sit we did, treating ourselves to tall brimming glasses poured from the pitchers of booze I had mixed in preparation for a big, nerve-wracking night.
"Kelly, I have to tell you," Libby began, in a conspiratorial, confessional tone. "After I'd been checking out these pictures that had been sent to me privately by a beautiful, voluptuous, totally sexy young woman, and then she finally sent me one with her head not cropped out -- and it turned out to be you..." her grin, which had been growing throughout her story, cranked up another notch "...I very nearly inked myself!"
"Surprise!" I giggled, belatedly and self-consciously.
"Surprised? You could have knocked me down with a feather!" she declared, followed by a hearty sip from her drink.
"Well, I thought it would be the best way to get you back for all those cheeky little shenanigans you and Tom got up to behind my back," I told her, but not unkindly; she and Tom had behaved (relatively) innocently enough, and I bore neither of them any malice. "I just wish you guys had gotten me involved sooner!"
"Oh Kelly, we couldn't! I couldn't!" she cried. "It's such a wonderful, mind-blowing thing, posting pics of yourself up for all to see... but to try to explain it to someone else? You just couldn't do it! Imagine if we had switched places -- if you had gotten into all of this before me, and if you were trying to convince me how fun it was and trying to get me to join in..."
"You'd never have had a bar of it," I agreed.
"I know!" Libby cried. "I mean, me of all people," she went on, with a hand on her chest that drew my eyes to her bosom -- a bosom I had seen quite a lot of, these last few days... "I would have been the last person to understand!" she continued. "I used to be so stuffy, so conservative..."
"And now you're sending people pictures of your twat," I finished for her, with a wicked grin all the same.
"Exactly!" Libby laughed. "It's such a NAUGHTY little thrill, isn't it?" she added, beaming at having someone with whom she could share in this naughtiness.
"I'll say it is," I nodded, wholeheartedly; this was going well, I had noted. It was going so well, and it was such a relief that I needn't have been so worried -- I was drinking fairly heavily from my cocktail, and I felt my abandon slipping away more and more. "And you know what I love? I love the artistry available to you... like, you know, anyone could just slap up a picture of their glistening slit with no more than a how-de-do. But to attract and hold the admiration of all, and keep them coming back with post after post of how horny you make them, all you need to do is slow it down; show them just a little bit, take off your clothes nice and slow, piece by piece..."
"You just can't beat a good strip-tease," Libby agreed. "Tom was right -- he taught me all about this, you know," she confided. "He taught me everything I know, he gave me every trick I use; we've got Tom to thank for all of this, all of the fun we've had!"
"That's right," I remembered. "I haven't asked him exactly how it all started... How did he put you on to Literotica? I know he's been a fan of it for years, but all I know is that you came to stay at our house that time, and then all of a sudden you were taking pictures of yourself in our spare bedroom..."
"Okay: here's how it happened," she began. "You remember the last time Glen kicked me out because I kind-of-sort-of gave his best mate a blowjob?"
"How do you 'kind-of-sort-of' give someone a blowjob?" I quizzed her.
She grinned, caught out in her sluttiness and utterly unabashed. "Anyways..." she said, to move us on. "So I came to live with you guys, but you were off to work every day and your kids were off to school, so it was just me in the house and Tom was always there -- he is such a bludge, I'm sorry to say," she added. "He spends all day every day lounging round the pool, soaking up the sun, drinking Long Island Iced Teas and looking up amateur porn!"
"He takes it pretty easy, sometimes," I was forced to agree. "But when he does get into the thick of his writing, he works very hard; he'll go solid for days, locked in front of the keyboard for eighteen, twenty hours a day -- he'll do a hundred thousand words in the space of a week."
"I'll believe it," Libby nodded. "I've read a lot of his work. A lot of his erotica, too," she added, with a wink. "Have you got into any of that yet? He's got tons of stuff up on Literotica..."
