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All comments, good and bad, are always appreciated.

This is a true story, from a good friend, written with just a little…creative licence.

All characters are over 18.


She had no idea.

She would probably never know what this was to me. How much this one night would mean. How I was feeling now, how I would feel after. She’d never really get it. How long I’d wanted this. Wanted her. And how badly. She’d never feel like this for anyone. I’d never feel like this for anyone else. I knew this. But I couldn’t stop.

It had come out of nowhere.

“I’m so buzzed right now.”

My best friend. She had been for so long. Like a sister. A sister who I wanted to fuck. A sister who filled me with clichés; weak knees and quickened heartbeats. Every smile and every hug and every whispered word became my new best memory.

“Look how much we’ve drank.”

It took me so long to realise it. I liked guys, sure, and I’d known I’d liked girls for a while now. I simplified it for myself, I was a girl who was attracted to attractive people. Wide shoulders or thin waists, strong jaw lines and high, pert breasts. It was never a problem for me, defining or labelling myself. No. The problem came later.

“Isn’t it, like, really warm in here?”

Watching porn on a lonely Saturday night. Not in the mood to find a willing partner to pass the evening with. Spending some time alone. Me time.

Two girls on screen, their tongues dancing wildly in each other’s mouths. My fingers slowly caressing the front of my underwear. It was the way they looked at each other. They’d talk, and smile their fake little smiles, “I’ve never felt this way about a girl”, “I didn’t know it could be this way”, and so on. But the second their pre-written, shitty, amateur porn lines ended, the masks were off. True passion. They attacked each other. They each made the other squeal and moan with expert precision. They’d done this before, many times.

“I’m feeling pretty hyper, ya know? Pretty crazy…”

It was true love on screen. Real life passion, a loving relationship, hiding beneath a thin veil of pornography. This was what I’d wanted. All those one nights with the pretty boys and handsome young women. All the cock sucking and clit licking and empty intimacy. This was what I’d unknowingly wanted. They were lost in each other. I loved it. So where is the problem? The problem lies with: why, as my fingers slid inside myself, as my ass bucked up and down on my desk chair, as I launched my head back and joined the duet of wailing pumping from my desk-top speakers: why.

Why did her face come into my mind?

“I kind of feel like…anything could happen…”

These were her lines. I’d heard them before, but never like this. With her eyes locked onto mine, her sloping smile directing her trite, generic words at me.

She probably didn’t even know what she was saying, or how often she said them. It was her unconscious slip, her switch from normal tipsy chattiness to seductively sexually interested. Experimental. I’d seen it before, the look in her eyes, the way she stuck out her chest. Every time I’d seen it in the past, I could feel my panties dampen, but now it was like my body didn’t dare. I didn’t dare hope that these were the same lines, the same look. We were the only two in the room. A random, late night visit from a good friend.

A pair of faces sprang to memory. Two brothers, about 2 years between them, about 3 between her and the youngest. Handsome, sexy. At first I thought we were going to split them. That’s what we’d discussed in giggled whispers between hits 4 and 5.

“Anything could happen.”

It was awkward, the morning after. I’d spent the night with their not-so-little sister, who was buxom but shy. Inexperienced, but eager to please. Not the worst I’d ever had. But between the brothers…well, they could barely look each other in the eye. But she didn’t notice. Still flirting, still winking away. Still vapid and self-centred and entirely tempting. She joked about it. Her two big boys. What fun.

Who knows what happened to their relationship afterwards. Or maybe it wasn’t that unusual, their weekly, not-quite-incestuous 3 way with some unknown hot chick.


She convinced them. She seduced them.

The same way she seduced a good friend’s little brother. 18 and still a virgin, he’d have done anything. Literally.

Well, at least he’d seemed to enjoy it. Where had she even gotten a strap-on? Where had she been hiding it all night, waiting for the right lull in the drunken chatter to excuse herself and drag him along?

It doesn’t bare thinking about.

Or does it?

Our eyes were still locked. She was still smirking that almost smirk, letting the question as to what “anything” would entail linger in the mind of her chosen target.


After years of not saying anything, never making a move because of the absolute knowledge that she’d never shown a hint of lust for the fairer sex. I’d have noticed.

“Gaydar” taksim escort is the common term. A sixth sense, well honed. I can spot a lingering look, or an eyebrow raised in curious pondering, from a “straight” girl from across a dimly lit bar, almost completely wasted. This…wasn’t that.

This was how she lived. Admirable, in a way. When she realised she wanted to try something, some dirty little fetish, she didn’t think about it very long. She didn’t search for porn of it on the internet, and she certainly didn’t talk to anyone about it. She just did it.

Find an eager young man, willing to experiment, or two handsome brothers, hopefully closer than people realise…and live out her fantasy. These events were fairly few and far between, afterwards it’s back to plain old boyfriends and straight sex in the missionary position. Well, not quite that vanilla, but you know what I mean.

This wasn’t a change in lifestyle choice, nor was it a confession of long held desire. It was a whim. An impulse, almost.

The question was; Was I smart enough to walk away from this?

We were already kissing.

It was intense. From both sides. Tongues exploring each others mouths, hands already stroking hips, moving south. I was bringing an adolescence and early adulthood full of barely contained lust, and she was apparently bringing the same frenzied attention she brought to all of these encounters.

And now she’s lying down, our bodies touching at every point. My hands were working on automatic, gently teasing out the clips from her hair and quickly, expertly, unhooking her bra with a snap of my fingers. Like magic. Suddenly she was squeezing my ass, hard. Electrical pulses ran up my spine and all over.

She was touching me. Groping me.

My hands moved downwards. I slid them behind her back, and into the waist of her jeans. Always just a little to loose, so that they’d just hang on the hips, rather than hug them.

Her eyes were closed.

I let my fingers slip slowly down, feeling her deliciously soft skin. No panties.

‘Atta girl.

She moaned loudly into my mouth. I could literally feel myself dampen in response. Too soon she was pushing me away, smiling.

I said the words in my head along with her, taking in every delectable syllable, marvelling at the fact that they were directed at me.

“Shall we move this…somewhere more comfortable?”

Somewhere more comfortable. A parent’s bedroom, a blanket stretched out on the floor, a gazebo under the stars, a freaking garden shed; it didn’t matter. The move from one place to another was a switch being flipped, a physical sign of an otherwise unnoticeable emotional level being reached. From making out, or preparing whatever else, to the act itself. From foreplay to the real deal.

She was still smiling as I pulled reluctantly away. The warmth of her body disappeared from under my arms. I followed her. I followed her ass as it wiggled away, all the way to my bedroom. And my bed.

She jumped on and span around. Splayed out like a model, looking infinitely better. Smiling. And there was the wink. I couldn’t hear her now. I’d never been to this chapter. This was when the door closed and I picked up the next hottest person in the room for my own amusement.

I closed the door behind me.

As I stepped closer, she moved a little farther along, arranging herself comfortably. I was going first, obviously. Good. Give her something to try and top.

We kissed again. I pulled her top off. She was beautiful. Her perfect, soft skin. Her breasts were large, D-cups, if I had to guess, and I’m quite good at guessing.

She never wore any kind of special bras. I’d laughed when she first told me this. She’d come back one summer, suddenly unintentionally shoving the things under everyone’s nose. Some kind of wonder bra was expected, rumours of surgery floated around.

But no.

One hundred percent real, all natural, gravity defying, God-inspiring flesh.

I’d never seen her nipples before. Very light pink, small compared to their surroundings, and standing on end. And, as my tongue soon discovered, incredibly sensitive.

I licked and flicked and rolled and rubbed, never letting up for a second. I was constantly aware that this may well be a one-time thing. I wanted to make love to every erogenous zone she had. While my tongue and teeth continued the good work upstairs, my hand drifted down, stroking at random areas of toned stomach and wide hip. It was all about the sounds.

She was let out a low moan every now and again, every flick of the tongue, every nibble eliciting a little intake of breath, small but noticeable. It was when I grabbed her hips hard with both hands that she started squeaking. I slid my hands down, just under the first inch or so of loose waistline, and added pressure. This was it.

I never once stopped looking at her face. She couldn’t stop licking her lips. Her hips bucked against my grip, as did her chest against me clinging etiler escort lips. Her own hands quickly covered her mouth, in shock I hoped.

It was.

I slowly stopped, digging my fingers inside her jeans and gripping her useless belt. I needed to watch her recover. Her beautiful eyes had been hidden from me so far, but now they were revealed.


Good sign.

“I’ve never…”

She was shy, nervous. I couldn’t tell if it was an act. I started panicking a little.

“…from…from that.”

And she was giggling again. She ran her fingers through my hair, gently rubbing my head. She took my face in her hands.

We just stared at each other.

But I was wasting time.

I didn’t bother unhooking, I just yanked the jeans down hard, bringing them to about the knee in one. She giggled again, and let her head fall back against the soft wall of pillows behind her.

She was almost completely shaved, with just a small triangle of fuzz left behind. Adorable.

I finished my extraction and threw them to the floor. I took a precious second to look at her. Completely naked beneath me. She was perfect. Every inch of skin, of taught, tight body, toned and perfect.

Her toenails weren’t painted.

I slowly lifted her legs apart and got into position. I had to make this good. This was the one and only chance to make her mine. To show her what sex with me was like. I decided to go with my best play.

This was usually reserved for women I’d been with many times, that I had a relationship with. It was my speciality. Not to brag, but it had been called a “special treat” by someone who knew what she was talking about.

It was slow. Ridiculously slow. I started on one inner thigh, with just my fingertips. I massaged, carefully and slowly until I reached the very edge of her glistening pussy. Then I switched sides. Again taking my time, I worked up the side until I was just about to reach the centre. The I worked both sides, circling my fingers gently, every few rotations pushing a little harder. Soon, I was massaging the whole area with the palms of my hands, never once touching her pussy, while my fingers reached up to lightly stroke her hips. I moved both hands suddenly towards the centre, unbearably close.

She gasped.

I pulled away. She moaned loudly. I watched her for a few seconds.

It was strange, the best way to do this long, sensual massage type of thing was when the woman was a little bit…restrained. Nothing too hard core, just a scarf or something to stop her from intervening, stimulating any area too soon, and a perhaps blindfold to keep the suspense.

But she was taking care of it herself.

She had both hands wrapped up in the metal bars of my headboard, and she was pushing her eyes into one arm.

By waiting a few seconds, I had made it even better for her. She was now so wet that it was running down onto my expensive blankets.

It occurred to me that she’d probably never, in her whole life, considered having sex below the covers on a bed.

I started back at the very start, this time with my tongue. Each thigh, slowly licked until completely glistening, although the closer to her pussy I got, the more I was just licking away her own moisture.

Just a taste.

I reached the same point again, except this time only on one thigh, obviously. I twitched my tongue towards the centre, and her whole body jumped. I stopped again. She was moaning almost constantly now, sighing and gasping at every unexpected twitch on her delicate skin, but this was by far the most expressive.

And still she didn’t move her hands, or turn her head. The first time I’d had this done to me, I pulled against the fluffy handcuffs more times than I can count, trying to do anything to get myself off sooner. It was like torture, being so desperately close to release, yet never reaching it.

Beautiful, wonderful torture.

This was where the real fun began, and where the real skill came in. I touched, with the absolute faintest of licks, the outside of her pussy lips.

She was delicious.

She gasped, and moaned, and for a few heart racing seconds, began bucking her hips. But I was nowhere near her. She was already very close. Naughty. Can’t let her finish too soon. It ruins all the fun.

It really is a delight, playing with your lover like this. Slowly, so slowly, using only the barest of licks, working your way farther and farther around her pussy, constantly bringing her to the brink of orgasm, and then letting that brink move higher.

The attention I was giving her now would have finished her just a few minutes ago, but now she needs more. And more. Until I’m basically tongue-fucking her with hard, long strokes, and she’s gasping and panting, her knuckles white against around the metallic grey.

So close, her breath escaping in long, desperate squeals, the wordless begging of a woman on the edge. You just have to wait until almost every inch of her beşiktaş escort pussy has been explored, and licked, a dozen times.

Then, and only then, did I go for the clit. No more teasing here; direct, pulled into the lips, licked swirled and nibbled, while my arms sneaked around to restrain her waist. Couldn’t have her bucking away from me.

Which she very nearly did, despite all my practice.

She said one word, a thankful prayer after almost an hour of begging.


She came harder than anyone I’d ever seen, screaming and whimpering with every breath, every muscle taut then limp, that glorious chest bouncing and jiggling along. She pulled so hard against my headboard that it started to bend slightly, her athletic arms flexed with effort.

Not once did I let go, or stop. I dipped into her pussy again, and out, making my tongue flutter against her clit, and inside her pulsating centre. I started to grab and lightly pinch her clit, fingers taking the place of tongue, then switching back.

I couldn’t say for how long she climaxed. She was exhausted. Her breath coming in long, shuddering sighs.

At last she looked at me, her eyes full of tears and cheeks red with arousal. She kissed me again. I caressed her naked, still-twitching body, not at all concerned that I was fully clothed.

Luckily for me, she was concerned.

She undressed me slowly. She was fascinated with every inch of my body, the way virgins are. She was inexperienced, to say the least, but I’d been so close to my own release, ever since I’d first tasted her, that I barely noticed.

It was her. She was finally touching me, undressing me, wanting me.

It was…indescribable. Wonderful.

She didn’t have the skill to pull off what I’d just done, and she knew that. I sensed she had some more lines planned, some witty dialogue, just like always. But I never stopped looking at her, and every time our eyes met she seemed to lose track of what she was doing.

Too soon, I was naked. And she was starting. Not slow, but straight in. Like she was trying to make out with me again, I felt could feel the same moves she had pulled in my mouth. It would be enough.

I was already so close, I hadn’t touched myself once for fear of ruining my favourite kind of climax, the long postponed one. But this wouldn’t take long. She was working hard, licking me furiously. The one, small piece of my brain that was still rational pondered how long she’d be able to keep up the pace without the rigorous training my tongue and jaw had undergone since my first time.

Turns out, I went before she did. I didn’t take some skilful trick, all it took was for her to find my clit. I melted, my whole body from the waist down. It was my turn to scream and moan now. But only her name.

We kissed again. We didn’t sleep for hours. Without saying a word, we kissed and licked and played and came, again and again, until sunlight started to peak through the curtains.

She fell asleep first. I held her so tight I thought I might hurt her.

I woke first. I could do nothing but stare at her. She fell asleep in my arms, but now her back was turned to me. Hardly subtle imagery. I already felt like crying. All I could do was keep staring, and enjoy her body as long as possible. I hoped she would sleep forever.

She woke up, eventually, of course. She smiled. She showered. I made breakfast. On my way to the kitchen, I found a D-cup bra lying on the floor. Good guess, I thought.

She came out almost fully dressed. We ate, we chatted. She would bring it up before me. I wasn’t going to make this any faster than it had to be.

And then she did.

“Last Night Was–You Were Amazing–I Don’t Think–One Time Thing–But Who Knows?”

The whole speech. In one go. As if I couldn’t recite it word for word.

But who knows. The worst part. The hint of hope in the victims eyes.

Well I knew. There was no stopping this. She’d leave, it would be over. A nice memory, perhaps even a joke to tell at parties. A bit of fun.

I felt the tears spring to my eyes without warning. I felt like a child. I knew this was coming, why hadn’t I accepted it yet?

I wasn’t going to beg.

She was taken aback by the tears.

“You have to have known…” I said,

I couldn’t believe I was doing this. But I had nothing to lose. Make your case or let her leave. Chances were, it would end the same.

“how…I felt…” I was almost sobbing now.

She reached over and took my hand. She said something. Nothing. Just words to try to placate me. Try to make it easier. She didn’t get it. She was genuinely confused. All those years, and she’d never understood how much she meant to me. I think it scared her.

I told her I loved her.

She left some time later.

I stood alone, tears again flowing freely. For a few seconds I hated her. She’d ruined everything. Loving her from afar wouldn’t have been so bad.

I could have survived.

Now I had nothing. Just a lifetime of empty sex and not even the hope of love.

But by that night, I had already realized that I had needed this to happen. All of it. The whole tragedy, from hopeful beginning to inevitable end. If it hadn’t played out, it never would have ended. I would always secretly, hopelessly love her.

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