Sometimes we feel lonely and desperate. Words have power beyond our imagining. Those two things can combine in the most unexpected ways. This is a short tale examining one possibility...
*****
There are times in any woman's life - any person's life - when, no matter how independent-minded you are, you simply need another shoulder or ears. Or two. To cry on, to confide in, to take comfort from, to receive much-needed support from - or to laugh with.
My call to my best friend of thirty years standing, Sara, was a combination of all of those things and more. She knew all-too-well just how useless and dangerous my now ex could be, but she also knew that I'm a woman of immense desires with an appetite for danger and wildness. She had supported me through the worst of the ex's behaviour with little more than a sigh of disappointment - always there for me and always supportive.
Sara and I had met on our first day at 'proper' school, both just turned five years old and both full of excitement and wonder. We had been firm friends ever since, despite the relationship getting off to a shaky start on that first school day when she had yanked on my pony tail and made me cry. We've never worked out why she launched the attack but since it was forgotten about by that first day's lunch-break it's never come between us. Other than as a long-running and very tame joke. 'It Started With a Yank' has been our popular variation of the Hot Chocolate classic at many karaoke events.
Thirty years, then, the friendship has lasted. Ten times longer than my first marriage and five times longer than Sara's. It's seen off the ravages of teenage childbirth for each of us - within a week, believe it or not - and the sad parting of both of our sets of parents (together, as it happens). It's seen us both grow breasts to one extent of another (she's got a wow-inducing set compared to my little things) and both grow ever sillier. The camaraderie has seen many men come and go, with the balance there resting about eighty-twenty in my favour (in terms of percentages, not numbers!). It's seen us grow our own business - together - selling ice to Eskimos (or at least medical supplies to doctors and nurses), and most of all, it has seen us share every intimate 'secret' with each other. I even know that Sara's so ticklish she will pee her panties giggling if someone so much as touches the back of her knee.
Our sons, both strapping eighteen year-olds now (yes, we really were that young when they arrived so unexpectedly), also share a great bond of friendship. Had they been of opposite genders, then who knows? Perhaps Sara and I would be sharing a common grandchild by now.
Disastrous marriages aside, it's normally been me who makes the mistakes first that we both then learn from, and the other major difference between the two of us is that headstrong me will always seem to end up leading us into trouble. To be fair to Sara, though, the years have taught her to keep a modicum of distance between herself and some of my more stupid life choices, and the phone call that night was very much a product of her well-placed caution.
"He was never the right guy for you, G."
"I know that now!" I complained, loving her for her honest concern, "But it doesn't change the fact that he's disappeared for a week now. He's not coming back, is he?"
"The 'goodbye and good luck' note seems to indicate that, angel, but in any case you'd be mad to take that loser back."
I swigged more wine, "That's easy for you to say but he did have one thing going for him that I could really use about now."
Sara's laughter pealed around the room, "A big dick doesn't make a guy a big man."
"It does make him a great fuck though."
"G! I know you're sex-mad but there's more to a guy than sex, no matter that you've got the libido of a rabid rabbit. That loser just wasn't right for you, and you know it."
I sighed, "That doesn't change the fact that my period finished two days ago and I'm desperate for some loving."
Sara's laughter this time was tempered by her concern, "Perhaps my rabid rabbit needs a Rampant one."
I stared at the phone, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"G, you have more toys than Hamleys, and I know for a fact that you have at least half a dozen vibes. One of them must be a Rampant Rabbit - unless you've worn the poor bunny out. I suggest you grab one and go play for an hour. You know as well as I do you'll be much calmer afterwards."
I might have complained if she wasn't so close to the truth, "A few inches of plastic is no substitute for the real thing."
"But what about having to give up control to the 'real thing'? Don't you sometimes wish you could control things completely?"
I shook my head firmly then paused and said, "Nah," realising that this was a conventional phone call and she couldn't actually see my head-shake, "I like the element of surprise." I drained my glass and refilled it.
"Oh, like when they cum inside a minute?"
The wine was snorted all over the table-top, "That was a one-off! He wasn't expecting sex there in the car park!"
"Like I said," Sara giggled, "He was a loser."
"Not all the time!"
"Oh, so you admit at least that he was for some of the time?"
I knew what my friend was trying to do - get me to admit that she was right - and I also knew that I was running out of options except to agree, "Whatever. But that doesn't change the fact that I have a pussy crying out for a nice fat cock!"
"G! I understand you're a horny mare right now, but watch that mouth. Soccer practice will be over soon and you know full damned well what that means."
"Yeah, well," I grumbled, "Our kids are still well out of things for now, and I don't mind the rest of the entire world knowing I have serious snatch deprivation going on here!"
"Drink more wine and go play with an electronic friend."
I slurped more of my drink - good girl that I am - and set the empty-again glass on the table, "I'd prefer wine and cock."
"Well you only have one of the two to hand, so be a good thing and do as auntie Sara tells you."
"Cock," I said, no longer really able to string two thoughts together, let alone multiple words.
On the other end of the line, Sara sighed, "Oh angel, I know you well enough to know you'll get some soon. But tonight's not the night. You've had too much drink to drive and you need to face the fact that you're alone for the foreseeable future. God, G, if I were there I'd help in a far more practical way, but you know full damned well I'm entertaining Chris tonight."
"See?" I moaned, "You've got plenty of cock!"
"Not that much, angel, but enough. I choose my guys for more than their appendages."
"As amd... adma... andi..."
"Admonishments?"
"Yeah that. As adon... as they go that one don't help much. I want cock!"
"Shush yourself, angel. There really will be teenage ears around very soon. And more to the point, just remember that penis isn't on the menu for you tonight."
"You mean cock," I corrected her, pouring more French produce.
"Stop saying that."
"What?" I giggled, "Cock? Should I say 'big fat dick' instead?"
"G!"
Something was nagging at my brain beyond my libido, "Here, what do you mean by practical help?"
"You know full well what I mean, angel."
"Oh right, you fancy lapping at my snatch again to help do you?"
"Will you stop with the bad words? And yes, if that's what it takes, I'd happily entertain you for a while."
I snorted a laugh, "I keep forgetting my little Sara can be such a pussy-lover. Anyway last time we got arrested and tonight I want cock!"
I could almost hear the shudder down the line, "We wouldn't have had a run-in with the local gendarmes if you hadn't made such a noise about your climax!"
"Not my fault you made me cum real good. I still want cock tonight though."
We'd experimented over the years (well I did say we shared everything) but the bi-gene had passed me by, more's the pity. My focus that night really was elsewhere, anyway.
"Just stop it with the 'cock' thing, will you?" Sara sighed.
