I wanted the phone to ring. I was already in the mood for some delicious sex talk and a thoroughly deserved orgasm of monster proportions.
I was expecting my husband's call. He was away for a week and we had a kind of erotic tradition: whenever he was staying in a nice hotel, he liked to turn off all the lights in his room and stand naked in front of the window, gazing out at the lights of other hotel rooms in whichever city he was in, while I told him how much I was missing him, how much I wanted to feel him licking my body all over and so on. Listening to his heavy breathing and inevitable ejaculation would immediately make me cum as well: phone sex at its best, we always said.
I was lying on our lounge, watching an old Candida Royalle video, wearing just my silkiest wrap, deliberately keeping my first orgasm at bay although occasionally I couldn't resist squeezing my thighs together around my hands as the juicy heat of the romantic coupling on the screen intensified.
At last, the phone rang. I gave my voice extra huskiness as I spoke.
"Hel-looo?"
There was a squeal in my earpiece then a breathless female voice.
"Hi Jo, guess who this is!"
Stunned, and quickly grateful I hadn't said something more explicit, my memory stalled for a long moment: wait, it was Sheana! My god, I hadn't spoken to her in years. In a moment my irritation evaporated and I smiled as I recalled her lovely face from school; bright, funny, always happy.
After quick greetings, there was an awkward hesitation before she came to the point: as she would be passing through my little town soon, by herself, was there any chance of a bed for the night?
I assured her this would be completely fine, confirmed the address and date and then she said she had to go β but was looking forward to a long reunion chat.
I had barely replaced the phone when it rang again and this time it was David, as expected, in position and with oiled cock in hand. I had meant to make up a story for him about seducing the postman, but my mind was already recalling long-forgotten but very sexy images of Sheana and myself⦠and others too⦠years ago⦠elsewhere.
Had we really been so wild when we were younger? Or had I merely dreamt some parts, embroidered them colourfully over time? I hadn't even thought of Sheana for ages, but her voice brought so many memories back, image after image wrestling for prominence in my mind, a weird hazy collage of girls having fun, drinking, laughing, touching, being touched. Where had it all started? Ah yes... I remembered now...
"Let me tell you about my old friend Sheana," I murmured.
Closing my eyes, I began to tell David the story, knowing he would enjoy me teasing him by stretching it out. My fingers slipped down once more to where I enjoyed them most; the action on the screen ignored as I focussed on recalling every delightful detail.
***
It must have begun with being sent to a new school. As the only daughter of a state politician, I grew up in a well-to-do but extremely hectic household where certain decisions were put in place and there was absolutely nothing I could do about them.
Luckily, I enjoyed school and had no regrets about my parents' decision. But then came the shock. With less than a year of my schooling to go, my father's party lost office and soon after I was told I had been enrolled in a well-known private girls' school in a better part of the city. My initial reaction after I realised they were serious was blunt refusal but when they explained the facilities on offer and the likely benefits for my future, I changed my mind, very grudgingly. My academic results and participation in school activities such as music, drama and sport were sufficient to achieve an interview with the Headmistress, but my family's name and social standing turned the meeting itself into a trivial formality. For better or for worse, I was to make a new beginning.
So it was I arrived for my final year of school determined to succeed, but nervous about knowing no one in such a large community. Fortunately, there were other new girls in the same boat, one of the friendliest of whom was Sheana (pronounced "She-AH-na").
Sri Lankan by birth, Sheana had a beautiful coffee complexion and an extraordinary train of dark, wavy hair that the school required kept up in a bun, since, when loosened, the long strands reached well past her shoulders. She was shorter than most, but her breasts and bottom were so prominent, at times her posture seemed rather awkward. Her lovely smile and perpetual expression of wide-eyed innocence meant she invariably attracted attention from males in her vicinity, yet she never seemed to take her would-be wooers seriously. Sheana laughed a lot and was always good fun. We quickly became close friends.
As well as meeting the new girls, it was important to recognise the social leaders. Of these, Kimberly was certainly one of the best-connected, a rather broad-shouldered girl with a dark bob framing a round face. She had big blue eyes with long eyelashes, and was always, and I mean always, presenting a perfect smile. As captain of the debating team, she seemed popular, but had a disconcerting tendency to act as though she were more mature than all around her. Her family was obviously wealthy and her grooming and taste in clothes reflected her highly privileged upbringing. Her parents had even given her a red sports car for her birthday, despite the fact she was unable to drive it alone until she gained her licence several months later. Her pampered appearance, her confident manner, her ease in conversation with students and adults alike - everything about her indicated familiarity with power and wealth.
Kimberly and I shared classes but exchanged very few words, mainly because she struck me as an outrageously spoiled snob - after learning of my schooling background, she seemed totally uninterested in allowing me access to her established circles. This situation continued without regret on either side until late in the year, specifically until the night of the 'all-schools' social which marked a major turning point in my social standing.
Sheana and I went to the dance together, keeping each other company but also determined to have an excellent night out since our last exams were approaching fast and study would have to become our sole priority. There were no strict dress regulations at socials, but obviously there were teachers and parents on duty to prevent fights, smoking, and so on. We had spent a lot of time deciding what to wear, eventually daring each other into wearing tasteful but teasing outfits we hoped would attract the boys we wanted to meet without being too 'sluttish' and damaging to our reputations among the girls.
In the end, Sheana wore an almost too short, very tight and shiny synthetic number in bright scarlet with a thin gold belt and red heels, guaranteed to create a sensationally exotic effect against her dark skin tones. I chose a short ivy-green sleeveless silk sheath with a scooped neck which clung closely to my developing curves and emphasised my legs without much danger of riding up, with black pumps to permit the energetic moves I loved. After a joint visit to the hairdresser and careful application of our make-up at Sheana's house, the enthusiastic reaction from Sheana's brothers left us satisfied we would make a suitable impression.
As a social event, the dance itself was a bit of a dud - the boring DJ had no idea about sequencing songs and the boys all seemed to be too afraid of being rejected in front of their mates to ask us to dance. But since it was obvious many of them were watching, and since we were there to enjoy ourselves, Sheana and I decided to really go for it on our own on the dance floor. Ignoring everyone else, we danced up a storm, letting the throbbing bass beat move through us, from our shaking breasts and thrusting hips, right out to the tips of our whirling limbs. Once or twice we held each other closely, striding about with our breasts pressed together in an exaggerated pseudo-tango. It was all terrific fun.
When the music finally stopped after a long set, the boys cheered and whistled wildly: only then did we realise what a performance we had given. Many of our classmates were furious their partners had been more interested in perving at us than dancing with them, but neither Sheana nor I could have cared less. We had enjoyed our uninhibited dancing tremendously, had fun together on our night out, and if we had given the boys something to fantasise about while they wanked in their beds that night, then so much the better.
Early the next day, Kimberly stopped me between classes and, smiling widely as usual, told me Sheana and I were the talk of the schools after our "provocative" performance.
"Now darling..." she began. She called most girls "darling", an affectation I found typically snobbish and silly of her.
"I really must apologise. I certainly should have welcomed you aboard long before now, but how was I to know you were hiding so much talent in there? Now, listen, darling, I'm sending you an invitation to a little sleepover I'm hosting very shortly. It'll be great fun, just a few girls, a few drinks and things, and I just know you'll find it an extremely entertaining evening, and, of course, Sheana will come as well, so do let me know you'll be there as soon as you're sure." And then she was gone, whisking away to rejoin her regular admirers before I could say a single word.
As promised, her invitation arrived within 24 hours, professionally printed and highly formal in every respect: "Ms Kimberly Kitchener requests the pleasure of...", etc.
However, one line stood out startlingly: