KarMel Scholarship 2008

Fictional Story

“Some Friend”

By J. Brundage

Desciption of Submission: “Short story with erotic content about coming to terms with what one wants in a lover, and wants in a friend.” – J.

I wasn’t prepared for what she had to say. Go away? I’m confused again? Quit following me around like a lovesick puppy dog? Don’t think our flirting will lead to sex?

“Fuck me. Please?”

I agreed and motioned to the bed, knowing that I was just going to be teased again-- feeling like I wanted to be teased even if it was all I ever got from her. At least being teased made it so I didn’t have to pretend not to want her. She was going to do this again and again, until one day her love life would reappear and things would change. She’d find a man, get bored with my lusty attentions, then fish me out again the moment her relationship was over -- using my feelings to bolster her self-esteem. Repeat. This had been happening for nearly four years.

She and I met through common friends. One of them was a woman she had sex with twice. Hypothetically, it was just to satisfy her curiosity. Hypothetically, women weren’t her thing. She said my friend was the only woman she’d ever fucked and she was completely trashed at the time so it might as well have been anyone. About a year ago, during a brief time when she was hibernating with a boyfriend, I found out that our mutual friend was not the only female lover in her past. There were at least three others. Each one of them slept with her only once. Each one of them did the bulk of the work while she took advantage of shouting religious clichés and bumpy squeals.

So... she lied. Maybe she was embarrassed or didn’t want me to be too hopeful. I just know that when I confronted her, she refused to speak with me for several weeks. I didn’t worry, she’d come back. She called me up on a Saturday, invited me to a party, and acted like nothing had happened. This was how she always reacted to confrontation.

If I didn’t actually like her, being around her, or the fun and wackiness that she brought into my life, I would have cut her loose a long time ago. She was almost always up for going out somewhere and her buttery laugh caused tempers to be reversed and doors to be opened. She was utterly charming, but wore low-cut, trashy sheer dresses anyhow. She had more pleasant qualities in the flesh than in the wallet-sized naked picture I could have tacked up and used for repeated masturbatory purposes. Okay, I admit to using her picture for that reason, but really I’d miss her presence in my life if I just told her to go away.

“Please?” she repeated while lowering her bottom lip and raising her jagged mascara-coated eyelashes.

I began to take her seriously. Since we were both sitting near the edge of her bed, I stood up and moved her back flush with the down comforter. She squinted while making kissy faces and squeezing one of her breasts, giggling. I straddled her while half-kneeling on the bed, undid the buttons on her shirt, then helped her silk pants come down ankle-warmer style. Off went the lacy snap-front bra. There were no panties to remove, but I played like I was removing a string-bikini by grazing the edges of her tan lines.

I almost paused to ask her if she was sure that this was what she wanted and intended to happen -- I could’ve faked the politeness. Then my second brain, my pussy-fueled brain took over. It said that this could be my only chance ever to touch her like this. She was going to toss our friendship aside the moment she stopped being single, but pick it up when she was feeling needy. Yeah, that’s fucking polite. She had the advantage -- I wanted her.

I moved my fingers in waves across her arched chest; avoiding her breasts until my willpower gave out. I cupped them together and then buried my face in her cleavage. She smelled of little-girl-candy drugstore perfume and tasted like tart apple juice from a plastic bottle. Her nipples were hard; the room was hot, so I knew it had to be me.

I dragged my tongue down her soft, peachy-tan belly to her sparse, trimmed, rather wispy blonde pubic hair. I combed through it with my sinking fingers, rubbed it against my cheeks, smelled it, and kissed it downward by giving her tiny little pecks all around her outer lips. She made whiny little fake moaning noises to indicate she wanted more. That wouldn’t really have been fair, would it? After years of teasing me, a longer wait would only be appropriate.

I alternately nibbled and bit her inner thighs while forcing them apart with firm pressure. This was met with near-mute whimpers. She sat up, trying to coax my hand to her pussy. I pushed her back, pinned her down, and withheld my tongue as we kissed. I went back to her beautiful, soft pussy, and spread it wide open. From the peach, to the mauve, to the deeper and ruddier; I wanted to lick her like a savory ice cream confection.

Shininess glinted temptingly. I ran my fingers in number shapes, in absentminded geometric figures, and waited for her to become impatient again. It worked. She swore and begged until I had little choice but to shove an embroidered bra into her mouth so I could get some quiet. This, by the way, also worked.

I gave her another kiss. It was a lot lower on her body and my open mouth pushed steamy breath against her skin. My right hand toyed with her clit while my tongue did the rest of the work. She was a lightly fragrant, well-lubricated woman. She was so well lubricated, in fact, that there was plenty to spare. I smeared the extra dampness across her anus, making sure my left index finger was coated, and gave her a pleasant surprise. Her legs twitched, but she relaxed, opening up for me. I gently probed her, matching rhythms with tongue and hand. She came loudly, almost angrily, nearly crushing my head with her thighs. Damn. It was still attached to my neck at least.

I walked to her bathroom, washed my face and hands, gargled with chlorine-scented tap water, and left her shivering with post-orgasmic shocks on the bed. She knew of every possible way to reach me. Now our connection would be her choice instead of mine. With my crotch-throbbing, head-aching pain of the heart, I drove away. Perhaps we could be friends or fuck buddies -- probably not lovers. I was through being convenient... some friend, but never lover.

<end>

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