Best Friends Forever

Best Friends Forever Best Friends Forever

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Sensuous carnal love making: including homage to Collette’s poignantly famous reflections on first love from The Vagabond.

Summary

Sensuous carnal love making: including homage to Collette’s poignantly famous reflections on first love from The Vagabond.

Content

Submitted: June 08, 2017

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: June 08, 2017

A A A

A A A


In college my BFF was Meg. Megan Thomas and I did everything together. In the end I felt we did too much together. We were listening to music on her bed one Saturday afternoon in our midyear break: we were just lying back in that close I thought totally innocent girly way we always had. Close, body adjacent, in fact virtually our intimate spaces but nothing sexual or arousing. God we were both unashamed cock chaser then: doing what was expected by our peer group; giving hand jobs in parked cars and letting guys get excited touching our titties under our bras. The randy pricks were being kept on hold till our college formal: known worldwide as virginity parting night.

Anyway this particular Saturday afternoon, will always be locked clearly in memory: we were hetro girl snuggling, my head was on Meg’s thigh, the music was relaxing and we had just related our Friday night hand jobs with Pete and Joe respectively. We did the usual giggle and nestle burrow, the girly best friend brushing. We were women seeking men. We knew our cock focussed aim in life. We were sharing our guy exploits together and we were primed to lose our virginity on the same night, at the formal. A pact made long ago.

We were our usual close, we were comfortable, we were inseparable, and we were BFF’s. So why did Meg lean down, not so impulsively but so assuredly and frickin french kiss me. And why did I initially embrace it. I know now. It was so moistly sensually unexpected, more arousing than any guy had ever been in my mouth. I felt uplifted. A strange rousing high surged through me. Heart heaving.

Then: God I can’t be a lesbian and what were we doing? Then I pulled back and got up because at that point Meg’s fingers were touching my breast softness on the edge of my bra cup and I knew she was waiting; getting ready to move deeper on a murmur from me and I knew I wouldn’t stop there.

“Hey Honey its okay. Please, please don’t back away” she said softly as I got up.

But I was already swiftly over by her bedroom door.

“Sweetie: stop” she implored. “You’ll always regret it. I know this is right for us” she added.

Her eyes close to tears. She would never ever hurt me. She was confused too.

I hesitated. My mind a jumble of mixed feelings. I was hetro. My pussy existed to hold cock. Surely I wasn’t bi-sexual and geez Meg was my best friend. My close friend and she couldn’t remain my bestie if we kissed and went further together. I sensed lovers risked everything and I could lose her. I think in that instance I felt she had crossed the line, our closeness or trust was broken and unrepairable or was I feeling guilty for not letting go myself. I was so confused and Meg didn’t help: as I still hesitated.

She got up. I thought, she going to say sorry, surely she would say sorry and build a bridge back to me. My BFF, however, she came closer and was pinning me against the inside of her bedroom door. Her body melding against mine and she touched my face softly and said; “You know this is you Melody and please foe me, don’t fight it.”

And I didn’t want to in my body but my mind was perplexed. Sexually mystified.

Then she brushed her lips so feathery light but moist against my dry lips and I nearly exploded with pleasure between my legs but my damnable reason held sway and I pushed her away. I pushed my BFF away but with tears in my eyes. And I saw equally the pained lost expression in Meg’s eyes as she reluctantly slumped her shoulders, inches from me, but a chasm of imposed values holding passion in check through me.

I was running down her stairs and out her front door and across the street to my house. Up the stairs, into my own bedroom, locking the door and collapsing onto my own bed. Sobbing; my immediate world, my mind and my pussy, all in turmoil.

We didn’t speak after that, anywhere.  We drifted apart from that Saturday. I avoided her in second semester elective choices. I chose options I knew Meg wouldn’t like and then Meg was gone. Megan’s parents got a surprise fast no contest divorce. She went away to live with her dad before the end of college. I was numb, like my body and mind were annulled.

For a long time, I drifted through school but my deeper conscious self eventually stirred.

Then strangely, here I was eighteen months later back across the street. Not for Meg; though now I wished she was here and I could kiss her. A lot had happened in my mind and to my body since that college kiss.

I was at Uni and needed money, so I was babysitting for a remarried Mrs Thomas. Mrs Field, these days and god a step brother to Meg: twenty years apart. No wonder Megan never came home these days.

I had tried sex with guys a few times and Meg was right. They were enjoyable but the thrill; the taste of my first kiss with Meg was what I still sought. I was seeking Meg in any kiss. I craved Megan in any touch. When I touched myself I wished it was my BBF caressing me.

When I looked furtively at other girls or focussed on long brunette hair or body shape in a crowd, I was seeking Meg and I knew it.

And as often happens in life a passage of literature hit my heart with a pounding resonance that brought a near unstoppable flow of tears  and it was as if Collette in The Vagabond had written directly to me: what I came to learn later is the most poignantly melancholy reflection on lost first love ever composed:

Love, if you can; no doubt this will be granted you, so that at the summit of your poor happiness you may again remember that nothing counts, in love, except the first love, and endure at every moment the punishment of remembering, and the horror of comparing. Even when you say "Ah, this is better!" you will feel the pang of knowing that nothing which is not unique is good. But Love is not so merciful. "You, who have found me once," he says,"you shall lose me for ever!" Did you think, when you lost him, that you had reached the limit of suffering? It is not over yet. In striving now to be again what once you were, you will realise the height from which you fell; and the first, the only love will instil its poison into each feast of your new life, if you do not stem its flow."

Meg and I were BBF’s once but I hesitated to be her lover and I can’t stem the flow of tears now.

The baby sitting was a dream. The nipper, Jake, had been fed and changed before Mrs Field and her new husband went out. He was soundly asleep. I basically had the place to myself.

I had that moment when I knew where I wanted to be, back in time on a Saturday afternoon in Meg’s room. I drifted with no fixed purpose up the stairs I had run down so quickly eighteen months ago.

I was in her room. It was still ready for her like she would walk through the door behind me. I saw the photo frame by the side of her bed. It was us. Surely she didn’t think of me like I thought of her. She probably had a regular boyfriend or a hot steady girlfriend.

I held the picture frame, looking into her eyes, seeking to touch what I would never touch again; her body. Her press, her press into me.

I lay on her bed, thinking of our girly closeness that Saturday so long ago. I put my own fingers to my lips to try to recapture that searing defining kiss. I recalled it but couldn’t replicate it myself. In frustration my hand wandered under my t-shirt and bra, to my nipples. I imagined it was Meg touching me. My other hand was tight in my jeans but I didn’t care about comfort. I was imagining Meg was seeking my cleft of wetness on that far away afternoon.

God I was so aroused on Meg’s bed and as I fondled my girly bits slowly; I started to moan:  “Oh Meg, Oh Meg, mmm, yes, touch me, touch me Meg.”

Then like a dream, a fantasy, lips were wetly sliding over my lips. Lips were nibbling my lips. I didn’t open my eyes because as our tongues swept into each other’s mouths the surge of bliss rekindled in me and all my senses were heightened and my pussy got so wet, so fast.

My pants were being unzipped and slid down and I still didn’t open my eyes. I was greedy for the touch and it was so soft to start. A sole finger caressing my labia. A single digit feeling me up. An exclusive nail rimming my arsehole. Tactile, carnal and cute. Followed by the warmth of her breath and her long strands of loose hair that were equally playing with my sensitive now slightly parted flapettes.

Then Meg, as I finally opened my eyes was shaping all my desires for her with her tongue. She knew how to lick a girl not just because she was a girl. She knew how to really lick another girl not as she wanted to be licked, not as she had her preference as we all do. But sensually. So frickin slowly, so teasingly, so perfectly and letting my wetness mix with her wetness in joy, and allowing my aroused clit to enjoy the building sensation. Each lick separate yet blending together; deft, tender and caring of my private bits and my inner self exposed. Body and soul pleasured together.

When I moaned repeatedly because it was so intensely, stirringly powerfully given she ramped it and took me on a whorish ride of mutual self discovery. Her butt naked self given to me as an equal; as a lover, my lover, her lover.

We clinched and clenched flesh in the lovers sixty nine. The delight of giving and taking at the same time, tongues probing in unadulterated acquiescence, consensual happiness and bodily bliss. Arousing primal avaricious animalistic avatars in us both.

As Meg climaxed under my tongue; she gave a squeal of pleasure. Her body withdrawing and pushing into my face in basically the same instance. Her body sliding up, pressing mine, her legs spreading wider, her clit wanting release from my focussed over sensitive tongue flicks but knowing if it held; if it met my tongue tip the explosion of pleasure would be intense, super intense and it was.

Then her head was again lowered between my legs for me; ready to equal in me her own spasms of delight. Friction given, friction received, simple enough but the equation was WOW.  

Concupiscent paramours. I too was lost in her love; given through her flicking tongue.  Tingly filaments, more rewarding than any I had known because I was excited by the giver, my climax concertinaed through me; till I collapsed in inner happiness.

There only remained the canoodling caresses and our moulding softness and the adoring joint love gazes, as we held each other.

We held that moment when the relationship we have with our own genitals expands beyond self; when genitals combine in love. When you have more than another’s body. You insert pleasure and belonging in their mind.

We kissed as lovers do and we kissed again and again, we were best friends forever.

 


© Copyright 2017 Janus. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

Other Content by Janus

More Great Reading

Popular Tags