You were always there for me. And I for you. A week before my sweet sixteenth birthday I came to you crying because I was “Sweet Sixteen and never been kissed.” So, even though all of the exploring we had up until then had only been the hiking in the woods, or swimming in the creek, or at the most, in-depth verbal discussions of our passing childhood and maturing sexuality, you kissed me. We fumbled through it and afterwards we laughed, deciding it was gross and from now on we’d just be best friends forever. None of that sex crap, it would ruin a good thing.
That’s just what best friends do, we both agreed.
When your girlfriend dumped you a week before your prom you called me up, crying. It broke my heart and I offered to go to her house and give her a black eye so she wouldn’t be able to go to the prom with anyone else. No, you said, and instead asked me to be your date. I borrowed my sister’s prom dress from last year, cancelled an all night roller skating event I had planned to attend with a bunch of my friends, and went to your lame prom. Afterwards we went to the beach bonfire with the rest of your class. We laid down on the blanket and listened to and watched everyone laughing and singing and making out all around us. You fell asleep with your head in my lap, crying. I cried too. We woke up at dawn, when the sun was beginning to rise pink, orange and magenta over the rolling ocean horizon.
That’s just what best friends do.
Every time I broke up with a boyfriend, regardless of who was at fault, you were there. Every time you broke up with a girlfriend, regardless of who did the dumping, I was there. We talked, we hugged, we snuggled. We loved each other but we never made love. We never even kissed again.
That’s just what best friends do.
Eventually we started living our own lives. We double dated a while, but that soon became messy when I started realizing none of your girlfriends were good enough for you. And all of my boyfriends were jerks, you told me repeatedly.
Finally, we came to an understanding where we would talk on the phone weekly, and we would get together a few times a month without our respective partners.
Now? We still love each other. That’s just what best friends do.
So I wasn’t in the least bit surprised when you called me up for your weekly bitch session, complaining about Joanie. She loved you, I was sure of this, but she just didn’t like sex. And it was driving you nuts. Sometimes when we had these conversations we would get horny as all hell, and we’d talk each other through cumming. That was the closest we ever allowed ourselves to get to having sex. I figured tonight would end up like that so I made myself comfortable on the couch and slipped a hand beneath my nightgown while we talked on the phone.
“It’s driving me crazy. How am I supposed to go on like this?” You asked me in earnest. “It’s been two months and she’s fine with it.”
“You sure she isn’t cheating on you?” I asked again. How could she NOT want to make love to this man? He was everything I ever dreamed about in a man, a lover. So much so that none of the men I ever dated matched up to him-my measure of the perfect man.
“I don’t know. I try to be a good lover. I spend so much time on her, I don’t rush. I could eat her out for hours if she would only let me, Lee. She just doesn’t like it. She never cums. Not like you, Miss Two Minute Moaner.”
“How can she not let you???” I slipped a finger over my clit, imagining it was your tongue. I moaned softly and I heard you chuckle.
“Are you gonna cum for me tonight, babe?” I just love it when you call me babe.
“If you want me to I can. I would cum for you every night if I were your woman.” I love you so much, I can’t understand how any woman wouldn’t want to cum for you.
I heard you groan and the phone made a rustling noise, as you shifted position. “Me too.” You said. There was silence and I knew you were slipping your hand down your pants as well. I always know the exact moment you do that. You don’t even have to tell me, I can hear it in your sigh.
“Where is she now?” I bit my lip and slipped a finger inside my cunt, dripping already with anticipation of you cumming with me.
“Inside watching the Soprano’s.”
“Ohh.” A quick, involuntary shudder of a mini climax, trembled through me. I removed my soaking wet finger out from between my cunt lips and sucked on it loudly, so you could hear what I was doing.
“Taste good?” You asked knowing all too well my reply. Your answers were coming clipped and short, and I knew you were working your cock as feverishly as I was rubbing my clit.
“Mmmm hmmmmmmm.” I responded and moaned again, a bit louder this time. “I’m cumming,” I offered you.
“Me too,” You replied, panting a bit. “Oh shiiiiitttt.” You said this breathlessly as you came and that set me off so I echoed your phrase. We breathed heavily for a moment together, then both of us laughed at the same time.
“I love you so much.” I said, waiting for your response. But you hesitated this time.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I was just thinking.”
“About?” I continued to rub my clit, enjoying the small tremors rippling out through my body.
“About why Joanie can’t enjoy sex like you do.”
“Maybe she’s gay?” I teased.
“Bi would be better. I could handle that. I wish she could just see. I wish you could just talk with her. Just once.”
“Ohhh no. No way. This is your relationship, I’m not gettin involved.”
Silence filled the air between us.
“What?”
“Are you still touching yourself?” Your voice was still deep, deep like it gets when you’re working your hard cock and looking to get off with me.
“Um. Yeah. I guess you would say that.” I started caressing and rubbing in earnest again, circling my clit, massaging the folds where the lips part, slipping a finger in and out of the very juicy entrance to my cunt.
“What if you came over for dinner tomorrow night. And talked to her.”
“Nope.”
