From the moment she got home from work, all Chrissy could talk about was her date. I must have heard her mention Thomas seven or eight times before she even bothered to ask me how my day was.
“It was fine,” I said. “I have a date tonight, too.”
“Really?” said Chrissy. “I thought you said you were staying in.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “I just texted Kris, and we’re going out.”
I should have been more excited for her. I should have been helping her get ready. I told myself I was being protective; I was worried Thomas would break her heart. The truth is Thomas was a great guy. I might be the bridesmaid at their wedding, for all I knew, the godmother to their kids. Yet I felt willing to sabotage it all on the off chance that I might one day reveal my secret crush on her.
Yeah, I guess I had it bad for her.
I don’t know if I’ve ever been in love. What I do know is that Chrissy and I lived in very tight quarters and—despite lots of stress in our lives—I only wanted to strangle her on a few occasions. We were busy and broke, busting our asses as paralegals while taking night classes. Our apartment was more or less a studio with a small nook that the landlord had the audacity to call a kitchen. We split everything, even a full bed that barely left room for a desk. The walls never felt like they were closing in, but they were white and sparse. We couldn’t even afford a curtain for our clawfoot bathtub.
The lack of privacy would have seemed to be a good enough reason for Chrissy to keep me out of the bathroom, even as I banged on the door telling her I was going to “pee my pants.” But I saw her naked all the time. Something else was going on.
I heard the door click. “OK, fine, come in,” she said.
Chrissy couldn’t hide her embarrassment behind her freckles. Her legs were crossed and it was painfully obvious that she wanted to draw attention away from the can of shaving foam on the vanity next to a razor.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“What’s it look like?” she said.
“Shaving?” I said. “Where?”
She paused. “Down there,” she said, using her code word for vagina.
“With that stuff?” I said. “Seriously?”
“Original thick and rich shaving cream,” she said, reading the label. “It was, like, a dollar.”
“First of all, this is your first date, so, I mean good for you if you think he is going to go down on you,” I said. “But if he does he’s going to think he picked you up from the nursing home.”
“Do you have any better ideas?” she said.
I had plenty of better ideas stowed away in a plastic tub under my side of the bed. I brought her a bath bomb and some organic shaving cream. "It's never been tested on animals," I said. "So, good for beavers and stuff."
"Oh, wow,” she said. “But is it gluten-free? He might have a wheat allergy or something.”
I did my business quick and gave her almost an hour of peace in the tub. I stripped down looking for something to wear but was distracted as hell. The thought of her in the tub forced me onto the bed. When I heard the water draining from the tub I stopped playing with myself and quickly threw on a thin, loose shirt and some white cotton undies.
Chrissy came out with nothing on but a long, white tank top that was tight around her nipples and clung to her butt cheeks. It was the same thing she wore to bed when our room sweltered in the summer. She would often throw the covers off and the sweat on her body would glow like embers with the reflection of the streetlights. I could stay awake for hours with my hand “down there” watching her sweet tushy roll around.
There were a few times I think she caught me staring at her and once I woke her up midway through an orgasm. “Are you OK?” she said.
“Sorry,” I said, as soon as I was able to speak. “I must have been dreaming."
It wasn’t awkward the next morning, which made me bolder. Sometimes I would go to sleep naked and I would wake up to her sweaty and in my arms. Those were the mornings we’d lounge in bed as many extra minutes as we could, wishing we were cats.
Chrissy had thanked me for the bath goodies but otherwise seemed preoccupied getting ready for her date. I was struggling to get her attention as she looked in the mirror putting her makeup on. I got a few glances as I twirled my hair in my fingers and my struggles to put my hair in pigtail braids finally got her attention.
I thought it was pity that inspired her to sit behind me on the bed to help with my hair. But her hands were shaking and her breathing was irregular. She was quick with my braids but didn't get up. The sound of her nervous exhaling could have knocked me over if I were standing up.
I turned back towards her to find her bottom lip hanging low like a peach ripened with the color of her hair. Her anxious tongue wouldn’t sit still and she struggled to catch her breath until our lips locked.
Her tongue had a taste that made me question my allegiance to men. As we kissed she put her hands on my neck and slowly weaned my shirt off my shoulders. The shirt dropped over my breasts and got hung up on my hardened nipples until her fondling hands knocked it free.
I pulled her shirt down as we continued to make out. Her nipples were soft and inviting, like they were painted in watercolor. I got to suck on them a little but she was in a position to do what she wanted with me. She told me to turn my “sweet ass” over, and she went down on me. Her tongue felt so good on my ass and pussy. I longed for the slow burn of the tip of her tongue but the click of the long hand convinced me otherwise. I didn’t want her to feel the pressure of time when it was my turn to spread her love lips. I asked her to finger me and I came after a few minutes.
“Did that feel good?” she said.
“I think I came when you were breathing on my neck,” I said, laughing. I lifted my head from the duvet cover to look back at her. “But you know what I’m waiting for.”
She got back in bed and opened her legs for me. “This, maybe?” she said. "Will you tell me if I missed a spot?”
“I'll need a few minutes,” I said, diving in to lick and suck on her clit.
“Only a few?” she said.
“Mmmmmmmmm,” I said, refusing to lend my tongue.
Truth be told, I would have given up orgasms for a year just to get one taste of her. Her shaven skin was still as warm as she was on the inside. I continued to moan and hum with the delight of my first taste of wet pussy—or any kind, for that matter—and stretched my tongue down on her until I made her ass glisten.
“Oh, yeah baby,” she said, taking my braids like reigns.
I wanted to give her a kiss and tell her how good she smelled but this honey bear wasn’t taking her nose out of the jar voluntarily. But she began to rub her clit and I had to relent as her hand began to move vigorously and unpredictably. I started finger fucking her, which brought her along even faster.
“Yes, yesss, yeaaah, babeeee,” she said, losing the structure of her words in a climax. “Ohhhh, fawwwwww!”
She clenched her legs together, squeezing my fingers out along with a few drops of love juice. When she had stopped shivering I leaned forward to taste her wet fingers but she jerked them away, still sensitive to touch. I slowly crawled up in between her legs and rested my head on her breasts. Her heart was racing and thumped like it was inside my eardrums.
“You messed up my hair,” I said. “Maybe I should cancel my date.”
“Oh, fuck,” she said. “We’re going out tonight.”
“Maybe we should call in sick,” I said.
“Of what?” she said.
“Of men,” I said.
She took it as a joke, not a hint. She stroked my hair for several minutes and then separated it into strands to stitch together. I sat up so she could do the other side. With my eyes locked on hers, she was slower with the second braid.
When she was finished, we started kissing again, slow and wet. I wanted to tell her I wanted her again but she was the first to get words out. “I need to go,” she said.
She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and threw herself together in five minutes. She rushed out the door without saying goodbye or closing the door. I giggled when she poked her head back in.
“I forgot something,” she said, calling me over for a kiss.
“I hope it goes early,” I said, pushing some stray hairs away from her forehead. “Well, I mean. I hope it goes well.”
“Me, too,” she said with a big smile. "For you, too." She gave me another quick kiss and then a longer one before forcing herself away from me and scurrying down the hall in a tiny dress and heels. I waited until she was out of sight to say goodbye. “I’ll wait up for you.”
About the author: The Junkman is a contributing writer for the MetArt Network, blending his twin passions for erotic storytelling and high-class porn. He shares a range of musings at JunkPixels.com
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