Journey Resumed Ch 1

"Francesca?!!"

"Uh...yes?"

The voice was vaguely familiar. But, Francesca couldn't quite place it. She disliked phone calls that started with this guessing game. It made her uncomfortable - someone familiar enough to use her first name, but not quite recognizable.

"I'm just calling to see if I'm still the only person who is allowed to call you 'Frannie'?"

"You're kidding me! Emma?.. Not good old Em? It can't be you,.. really?" She felt a strange excitement mixed with incredulity. Emma, her best friend from... how many years ago... Twenty, twenty-five?

"Yes!!"

"Good grief, how long... How long has it been? I guess it is, can it be...twenty years? I remember you as an annual post card from Paris, or Timbuktu. Good grief, how are you? I mean, where are you. How did you find me? All those questions!!"

"Well, I am back in the USA. I just visited the old home town, found your Mom still there and 'Voila', here I am practically on your doorstep! And stop asking me how long it has been, you snot, it will make me feel old! And I'm not, by the way. Bet you're not either, right?"

Emma had been her best friend up until the age of 17 when her family moved to, first, Texas, then Paris, then someplace in the Far East. They had long since lost any real touch with each other. Francesca thought of her sometimes, relishing the memories and sometimes feeling creepy about the "growing-up" insecurities they had shared. All the old neighborhood childhood games; going to camp together; figuring out boyfriends together; it sprang back easily and sometimes uncomfortably, but mostly it was a warm place to retreat to. She missed that kind of friendship in adulthood.

"Right! I'm still just the same, haven't gained a pound or formed a wrinkle. Lucky, eh?"

Their easy laughter still came bubbling to the surface quickly, easily, like a warm friendly spring flooding over them.

"Well, where are you, Em? Are you really here? Here in Chicago? Where? How can we get together? You better not be kidding me!"

"It is a little strange, babe, but we just moved here; here to Chicago. I live about ten blocks south of you! I just walked in the door and couldn't wait to call. Can you come over here? Can you come now? We need to catch up, big time! I'm literally dying to see you. Say you'll come!"

"Why not, I really planned to get at that laundry, but I guess I could break the date! How do I get there?"

The taxi ride was a short one. Just ten blocks down Outer Drive Parkway. Francesca passed her mind's eye over a fairly normal childhood of fond memories - slumber parties at Emma's house, sharing intimate details and questions huddled on her bed in the big pink bedroom that had been their home and haven from the world. She felt a strange tingling as she thought of it.

Really, Emma had probably been the first person she really felt love for -- probably only recognized now, from the vantage point of maturity and a well-developed understanding and appreciation of life. Yes.. love, that was definitely the word for it.

"Now what is it going to be like. God, what if we hate each other? What if we are bored? Think of all the memories sullied!" She couldn't get over the excitement of seeing her again. "Mustn't raise the hopes too, high," she thought. We've both gone off and found our part of the world, both changed in god knows what ways."

The door to Apartment 1510 opened immediately and a still willowy, now blond, grown up version of her friend Emma wrapped her in a welcoming bear hug.

"Frannie - you look wonderful," a big kiss followed. "I promise that's the last 'Frannie' I'll utter. Promise!"

"Emma, look how you grew up. God, you're a Vamp!"

She led the way to an opulent sunken living room with deep pile rugs scattered over a white carpet. Emma handed her down two steps and into the arms of a large curved sofa so soft and plump that Francesca felt engulfed.

"How about something to drink?" Her smile was just as it was when she was fifteen -- wide, full of teeth and warm.

"Yes, please, white wine would do fine?"

Over a bottle of Chablis, their conversation sprang immediately back to life in spite of the years that had passed. It was amazing, especially considering that they were seventeen years old the last time they were together. It soon seemed as if there had not been a lapse and, really, they filled in the gaps with fast talk between reminiscences.

In a pause between stories, Emma finally said:

"You know, I worried that we would have trouble talking after all these years, or that we would have grown in completely different ways! But, look, we haven't stopped talking and it's already eleven o'clock. Especially since our prime interest the last time was sex and boys, sex and boys!" Her peels of laughter were infectious.

'Right, and look we haven't even talked about that. How's your sex life, Em, wasn't that the way we used to say it?"

Emma got up to get more wine and Francesca couldn't help admiring the full beautiful curve of her bottom under the tight white slacks. It was simply a beautiful bottom, an artist would kill to be able to paint the curves.

Francesca shook herself. 'Whoa, what is that about?' she asked herself. She also noticed that two buttons on the silk blouse were unbuttoned. "Weren't they buttoned before?" she wondered.

"Well, since you ask, pretty good, I'd say. James and I have been married for lo' these past fifteen years; fairly compatible, I'd say. You've not married? How about lovers?"

"Well yes, they've come and gone, haven't found one yet I couldn't live without I guess! No one I found worth giving up my privacy. Some very nice people though, for the most part. Maybe I'm too fussy?"

"Ugh, can't be too fussy about that subject! Anyone currently?"

"Not at the moment, I seem to need an occasional celibate season, I guess that's what I'm in. Sound crazy?"

"Nope, being married has its down side, though I think we are fairly happy. It is a long time between... well, how should I say it... You don't get exactly stale, but something like that. Sometimes you want something new and different to happen and it usually doesn't. At least you can pick your poison -- even change it!" she laughed.

"Yes, go onnnnnn! That sentence sounds like it needs a "but..." at the end."

"Well, it doesn't matter really whether you are married or not, if your bod says 'I want a new adventure', you will eventually do it, won't you? I mean it just makes it a bit more complicated to be married, eh?" Emma was getting borderline philosophical. She laughed and shook her head.

"What is going on, Em? Come on, you can tell me."

She slipped off her shoes and swung her feet up on the couch, slipping her nylon covered toes under Francesca's thigh as if seeking warmth. They had each done that same maneuver back in the old days; a sign of affection and intimacy. Francesca felt the same warm glow it had given her years ago. She waited for Emma to continue.

"Oh, never mind, what are we getting serious about? Remember when we were twelve, you were trying to decide to let Billy Bowman play with your boobs or not? We sat there and play-acted for practice and I played Billy? Then I put my arm around your neck like in the movies and put my hand on your tit?"

"Yes, then we fell on the floor giggling so much that your mother came up and wanted to know what was so funny?"

"Yeah, I was afraid she'd decide to throw a bucket of water on us!" Emma guffawed.

"You must have been good, though, because I remember that on the next Saturday, Billy got his dreams fulfilled! I thought he was going to have a heart attack, he was so surprised!" Francesca squeezed the arch of Emma's foot, strangely attracted by the sleek nylon and warmth of her friend's foot. She withdrew her hand quickly, regretting the squeeze a little. Then, embarrassed at the feeling, she put her hand back and squeezed again. They looked at each other and smiled happily.

"It is nice to be together again, isn't it, Francesca?"

"So, how about this James guy you married?"

"Oh, You'll like him; I'm sure. He's a true Texan. All oil man, as they say. He's funny, easygoing, and actually quite sexy. This sounds like a joke but is actually true. The only compatibility problem we have had is size!" Emma giggled wildly.

"Size?"

"Yes, size, you remember when you had that theory that a boy's penis size could be predicted by the size of his pointer finger? Well, wait 'til you shake hands with James!"

They fell about laughing on the couch, ending in a mutual hug. Francesca was aware of her breast brushing Emma's and felt her nipple bristle at the touch. It was strangely erotic, touching this old friend even in this casual way. At least it should have been casual. "But why this ticklish feeling in my stomach," she wondered.

Francesca had her coat on, ready to leave, when the door swung open and the Texan himself strode in like the Marlboro man stepping off his billboard.

"Hey, howdy, where y'all headed? I'm James, and you would be the famous... Fran...cesca????" He waited expectantly, his big open smile and craggy good looks immediately making her feel comfortable, to say nothing of the sincere blue eyes smiling into hers. He held out his hand and she took it. Its size dwarfed hers and she turned to Emma to greet the expected laughing face.

She slipped her hand around his pointer finger and squeezed. The two women laughed and leaned against each other, weak from giggling while James stood by with a quizzical look.

"Inside joke," Francesca, managed to gasp. "Good to meet you, James. I'm too embarrassed to explain, but I'm sure my best friend won't be able to keep her mouth closed, so next time we meet I'll be embarrassed again!... Promise you won't hold it against me."

They nearly had to hold each other up with laughter as poor James stood helplessly wondered what the hell was going on. He felt strangely left out.

"Hey Frannie, remember when we had the sex lecture at girl scout camp, and got scared that everyone would think we were queer if I kissed you, my very best friend? And I said I'd have to take you behind the door to kiss you? Want one behind the door before you go?"

It had amused them then, and here tonight the memory was fun again. Emma squeezed her behind the door and planted a slightly wet kiss on her lips. Again that tingling in her stomach. What the hell was that. A childhood crush revisited? Good god, not with another girl?

Francesca was a little perplexed as she stepped onto the street and stood waiting for a cab. A frown crossed her forehead as she pondered the evening. It had been a sheer delight. What a treat to find that the years could melt away and reveal a soul mate. It seemed impossible, but there was nothing about the evening that wasn't... well,... terrific.

'Impossible.' she muttered aloud.

But what about the tingling sensation she kept getting from the closeness, and especially the touching...?

The cabby opened the door and asked "where to, Miss?" she started to get in, then stopped. "Sorry, I changed my mind." She slammed the door. She had spotted one of those white horse drawn hansom cabs.

"I need a new adventure, is this where you start? She asked the driver.

"You bet! Hop in! What's your pleasure?" He dropped the lap robe across her lap and tipped his hat before swinging back up to his seat.

Francesca leaned back into the seat, inhaled the crisp fall air deeply and thought over the events of the evening; re-living the stories from her teen years. She put her feet up on the other seat and leaned back, hands in her lap under the robe. The glow of the streetlights cast their shadows as she passed. She found herself unbuttoning one button of the tailored dress, rubbing slowly across her stomach and then fondling the tuft of curls marking her prominent mound of Venus. (She giggled at the old-fashioned romance novel term).

Slowly, she pulled her slip up until the warmth of her mound was under her fingertips. The silkiness of her panties enhanced the sensual feeling. Her finger slipped under the elastic and lace and found it's way to the center crease of her body.

As she parted herself and slipped the finger along the very wet valley, she muttered. "I thought so. You tramp! All lady on the outside, but a tramp underneath it all."

"Beg pardon?" the driver turned.

"Oh, nothing, drive on! Just muttering to myself." She thought, 'if you only knew.'

She gazed at the stars and continued her stoking and found her clitoris, now rigid and longing for attention. She was very moist,... she loved the feel of the creamy thick juices lubricating her way. With the other hand she pulled the blanket up and cupped her generous breast, remembering how her nipple had tingled when they had bumped accidentally. 'It was accidentally, after all, that was the right word, wasn't it?'

They hit a bump, her legs tensed, and then she felt it beginning. Her fondling finger, rubbing from side to side, rapidly now, was bringing a rising warmth, a rattling, raging shudder from the root of her clitoris, up over her mound, into her stomach and now exploding somewhere behind her breasts. Francesca clamped her legs together and hung on as the big shudder of orgasm cascaded around her body. She tensed her shoulders, seeming to squeeze her large breasts together for their combined pleasure.

"Ohhhh!" she heard herself gasp, her eyes closed in pleasure.

"We're here miss. How did we do?"

"I beg your pardon?" she started, looking at him quizzically.

"How did we do?... I mean, at starting your new adventure?"

"Oh,..." she laughed, "Well, we'll see. We'll see. Very promising so far, though. Very promising!!"

She turned to go, then came back.

"Excuse me? Could I shake your hand for luck?"

He extended his hand; she found his pointer finger long and thick. She smiled at him. "Have a good one!"

Continued in Chapter 2...