Friends, and More
In my last post I alluded to a girl who sat next to a former lover of mine in a college class. Her name is Lynn, and we have had a long, somewhat meandering, and very erotic friendship together.

We became friends while working on the student newspaper together in college.I followed her life via e-mail while she spent six months in Europe, and we talked on the phone incessantly when she returned. We spent part of a spring break together in a cabin on a ski retreat (it was a group thing), and when she decided to move back to the area I was living in to finish her degree, I was pleased. For two reasons: it would be nice to see her regularly, and I had fallen quite in love with her.

This was a problem, because I was dating someone who I would later be engaged to.

Cheating is a complex subject; I had no real intentions of cheating, but I knew I wanted Lynn. One night, at someone's house for a party, we found ourselves sharing a piano bench and playing four-hand duets. Everyone trickled out of the room to go out back and smoke some pot, and Lynn and I found ourselves alone. Sitting on the piano bench, I asked her why she had never fallen for me.

"Honestly, I have wondered that myself."

We shared a kiss: brief, intense, beautiful. People were coming back inside. Later that night we had a major heart-to-heart in her front seat. We decided to just "be friends." I wanted to scream: "I love you!" I wanted to fuck her right there in her driver's seat.

Years go by. I am now engaged, and so is she. She is living far away, yet we've found ourselves doing something dangerous: phone sex. We are both incorrigible cheaters, and we confess our sins to one another, masturbate together, and earnestly try to do better, though we never will. (Later, she did get better. She is happily married and faithful to her husband.) Our friendship is still deep, but there is this new, oddly erotic dimension. I don't know how it will play out, but she is coming up to visit around New Year's.

We meet at a friend's house, then the three of us go out for dinner and drinks. He has to get along to something else, so Lynn and I hop in the car and cruise over to a bookstore. I turn off the car and turn to her, noticing her beauty in a new way, as if I had never appreciated all those things before: her auburn hair, lush and slightly wavy, her beautiful brown eyes, her full lips, cheekbones that a model would die for. I stroke her cheek. She looks at me and I know she wants me.

"Want to do this?" she asked, so quietly, tenderly. Scared, but desirous. I lean in; we kiss.

Worlds collide.

I can't remember or count the number of girls I've kissed and Lynn is still the most memorable. Her lips were tentative, then assured. Her small tongue darted about, adding a touch of naughtiness to our kissing. The hunger, the desire was there. I leaned across the seat and pressed myself to her. I could feel the heat of her body, the arousal through her clothes. My cock was aching.

"Let's go inside," she said. We did. We bought things we didn't need and probably didn't want; we made out in the back of the bookstore. (Interestingly enough, one shelf over from where we made out was the history section, where an ex once sucked me off. I have yet to fuck in that bookstore, but I think I should.)

We found ourselves back in front of my friend's house; ostensibly, to take Lynn back to her car, which was parked there. I was trying to figure out how to get her in the house, which was empty at the moment.

We were kissing in the front seat. There was arousal and desire in the kisses, but also a measured restraint. My hands went to her breasts, enjoying the firmness of them through her shirt. I could tell she wanted me, but not in my front seat, not on this tree-lined street.

"I need to use the bathroom. Want to come inside?"

She looked at me, knowing what I was attempting. "You're just trying to get me inside."

She knew, yet she followed me in. We went into the basement. There was a couch and a futon, and I couldn't decide which one to take her on. I turned around and kissed her with great passion, backing her into a wall. She moaned and gave over to her desire, and her body went limp, then pressed against me, gently rubbing. Soon we were on the couch and I had her shirt up, her bra off. Her tits were small but beautiful, I sucked one, then the other.

"I want to see you in your underwear," I said.

"I look cute," was her reply.

"Let me see."

"I don't think so." So I began to lick her nipples, small, very textured, very sensitive. She moaned, her hips bucked. I put my hand between her legs. She pushed it away. I grabbed her ass. She leaned forward at took my face in her hands, here eyes dilated with desire. I could smell her pussy juice. I was rock hard.

She licked my ear.

I knew I was in. I pulled off her shirt and bra, and she ably undid my shirt and removed it, along with my undershirt. We thrashed around, our kisses wild, our bodies feverish for this act we've both so long desired from one another. Each revelation of her body was exquisite to me: her shoulders, so strong, her legs showing her soccer background, her breasts beautiful from every angle. The only thing left to uncover was her pussy. Even then, a few stray hairs showed around her panties, driving me wild.

I was kissing her stomach, fondling her tits, listening to her moans. She was so into it, and I loved it. Her hands were all over me. We were very physical, moving off the couch, pinning one another to the floor, pleasing each other with hands and tongue. She managed to pin me by straddling me reverse cowgirl, then pulling off my underwear. She held my cock in her hand, stroking it. She leaned down and kissed it, licked around the head, tentatively took a short suck on it.

"This is the biggest dick I have ever seen in my life," she said.

"Suck it." And she did, with abandon. I couldn't convince her to put my balls in her mouth, but she blew me with a beautiful fervor, a controlled passion, and took every drop of my cum. Lovely.

I kissed her, relishing tasting myself in her mouth. I got those panties off: her cunt was charming, unshaved, the lips full, hiding a large and remarkably sensitive clit. She was on top of me and I was hard again. I made it a point to gently stimulate her clit with slow, gentle movement of my cock head. She loved it. She told me she loved me.

I told her I loved her, too.

We fucked, twice. First on the couch, her back pressed against the cushions, her leg on my shoulder. It was hot and it was a little too fast, but afterward I went down on her pussy, tasting myself on her, making her cum again. She then jumped on me and kissed me, as though my face wasn't covered in our mixed juices. Then she fucked me, on top, on the futon, only this time slow, and romantic. We had had our fuck. Now it was time to make love, and we did. She stayed close to me, her hard nipples occasionally brushing my chest, her hips bucking and tightening the grip her pussy had on my cock, us kissing. She came with a moan, a beautiful cry of total surrender to the act of love. Though we both could have used a shower, we realized, laying there naked, that it was soon time to go, that soon my friend or his roommates would be back.

We went back to our fiances. She fooled around a few more times, then found the straight and narrow. She is married, happy; we are still friends, and we let the past stay that way. I would be a liar, though, if I didn't admit that part of me wants her, still.

I think she might feel the same, sometimes.