Author's Note: As some of you may have figured out by now, I'm preoccupied with a few things. One of them is having to wait for something and how that waiting makes the something even better as a result.
A few minutes before noon the next day, Heather and I were lounging together in the loveseat on my front porch when Samantha pulled into my driveway in her sporty little black two-seater. She stepped out carrying a small travel wardrobe bag. Her long straight dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was wearing a t-shirt and shorts like the rest of us. It was mid-July and it was already hot. This "casual Sam" looked funny to me at first. I'd only ever seen her at work in business wear. Her shorts showed off her lean little dancer's legs well though. We hung her bag inside and piled into my larger car for the local park. Once there, we spread an enormous blanket under a shade tree. Heather poured white wine she'd concealed in a cooled thermos into dixie cups (to avoid park rangers hassling us) and I spread out a picnic lunch.
We talked while we nibbled. No one mentioned the raunchy interlude the night before in my office but Sam began a brief explanation of how Heather had been steadily wearing her down all summer. "She just stopped in my office first thing every morning and cheerfully asked the same exact question: 'So, are we going to lunch today?' "
"It took about a month," Heather grinned, patting Sam's thigh. "She's stubborn. But, it only took her two weeks to kiss me though."
I raised an eyebrow.
Sam blushed. "After we had lunch a few times... and I don't know... maybe she picked up on something... she started asking me a new question over and over again every morning..."
"Yup," Heather nodded, "I started asking her 'So, are you going to let me kiss you today?' "
"It worked," Sam admitted, "I caved."
"She gave me a hot, wet smooch as a present for my 18th birthday," Heather leered. "From there, my daily questions just kept getting dirtier."
When we'd digested lunch a bit, I pulled a frisbee and a football from a backpack. We played in the sun. As it got even hotter, Heather watched enviously as Sam pulled her t-shirt off to reveal that underneath she wore just a bright green string bikini top on her slender little dancer's body. The top covered Sam's perky B-cup breasts and its green picked up her nearly hazel eyes. "Awww, I'd knock myself unconscious if I tried to run around in just a string top," Heather grumbled, looking at her huge chest. Beneath her t-shirt and bra were giant round breasts that I hadn't yet seen despite our advanced sexplay.
"Those perfect superboobs aren't getting much sympathy from me," Sam sassed her.
Perfect boobs aside, we soon identified one of Heather's few flaws - she couldn't throw a frisbee worth shit. I chased down her horrible tosses while Sam coached her on proper form. Sam soon saw the problem. "I think it's her tits," Sam marvelled, "look, she can't curl her arm in right." We laughed together at the diagnosis.
"So what do I do?" Heather asked.
"Breast reduction," Sam teased, "It's tits or frisbee. You'll have to decide." Sam's good humor made me smile. This was a happy Sam. One we'd hoped was in there somewhere.
For her part, Heather soon redeemed herself with the football. Her spiral was even tighter than mine. Peaches continued to prove that she was more than a pretty face with a hot cartoon-like body. "Dad and I played catch a lot in my hardcore tomboy days," she explained, hurling another 20 yarder with practiced ease.
When we'd had enough, we collapsed back on the blanket in the shade. As we passed around a large bottle of cold water, Sam stretched her feet out, pointing her toes this way and that. She'd been running barefoot while we played. I pulled one of her feet into my lap and began massaging her sole. Sam's eyes narrowed with pleasure. Heather scooched over and did the same with Sam's other foot. "Uh, that's good," she groaned and laid back to enjoy. It gave me a tantalizing view up her shorts. Something lacy, black and pretty was under there. Heather caught me looking and smirked indulgently at my immaturity. At length, she softly asked, "Soooo, how are things going with Danny?"
"Shitty," Sam sighed, "same as usual."
Curiousity got the best of me. "How did you guys meet?" I blurted out. Heather darted her eyes at me then looked away.
"I thought you'd have heard by now. It's a sordid story. I figured it had made the rounds at the office or that Heather would have told you."
I shook my head.
"It's your business honey," Heather said simply.
"The short version is this: Danny was best friends with my last boyfriend, Stephen. Stephen and I dated all through high school and into college. Before that, we had been best friends growing up. He was the first boy I kissed, the first boy I saw naked, the first boy I slept with. He was my first love - we were soulmates. We did
everything
together. Stephen had quite the imagination. God, the things he did to me. The things he let me do to him." She swooned a little. "I'd need several drinks before I described them."
"What happened?"
"Stephen was killed four years ago," Sam's voice tightened, "Car accident. On his way home from dropping me off one night after our date a drunk driver crossed the divider and plowed into him. He was killed instantly. Just like that, he was gone. Wiped away."
"And Danny?" I asked softly after a moment.
Sam sighed. "Like I said, Danny was Stephen's best friend. He hung out with us a lot. On the first anniversary of Stephen's death, we hooked up after a night of crying and drinking. I moved in with him. I think we were both still missing Stephen. Things were bad from the start though. Danny just isn't Stephen. It's probably not fair for me to ask him to be. We still have a connection, but it's thin and getting thinner. For one thing, he's more interested in beer, watching sports, and playing video games than spending any real time with me.
"You deserve better you know," I said, meeting Sam's green eyes with my own for a long moment.
