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I never slept with Mom’s Best Friend again. Without realizing it at the time our four month fling ended with the school year. Years would pass before I found out why. Nevertheless, my busy young life raced on. At their invitation I began a training regimen at ASU in Tempe which can only be described as draconian: six hours a day split between weight room, pool, flexibility & kinestetic therapy, followed by sports massage, nutrition and sports physiology. I arrived home physically exhausted every night. It wasn’t an Olympic year, but I was in training for the opportunity to spend a month at the Olympic Training Center in Boulder, Colorado. I had four weeks before tryouts.
Mom’s Best Friend stopped calling me, stopped pursuing me, stopped making excuses to have me come over. Nor did she return any of my calls. For a while I wondered if her husband found out and drew the line. If so I never heard anything about it. A week after the graduation party she and her family escaped for a month-long vacation to Europe just as the usual blast furnace of 115F heat descended upon the Valley of the Sun in early June. At the same time my folks flew up to Seattle to visit mom’s family for a month. Unable to take a break in training, I had the house to myself for four weeks. I hoped Mom’s Best Friend might use it as an opportunity to shag as frequently as possible, but since their vacations coincided it was left to mom’s Second Best Friend to look in on me, make sure I was still alive and not throwing any wild parties. As if it mattered: mom called twice daily and I was required to call them before I went to bed each night. Second Best lived just two doors down and rang our doorbell each night around suppertime to check in with me, usually finding me stuffing my face. Like her Best Friend, mom’s Second Best had been around all my life and I liked and trusted her.
My high school girlfriend, Naomi, wanted to use parental absence as an opportunity to sleep together for the first time. I agreed and we did it in my bed the night my parents left. I enjoyed the freedom of getting around on my own, even if it was in mom’s tragically uncool old minivan. Especially cool was taking Naomi out for dinner and a movie before returning home and getting naked. She said she was a virgin and I had no reason not to believe her. After long, warm friendly foreplay I let her be on top first. Nervous about it, nervous about what I thought of her and nervous about how she looked naked, it took her a long time to relax and she wasn’t able to climax on her first attempts. Not a problem. I didn’t push, she enjoyed herself, loving the passion and tension in her body and the exquisite foreplay and affection we shared. A natural extension of previous make-out sessions, it wasn’t difficult for either of us to go all the way.
With my fingers between her legs, she eventually came after long, relaxing spoon fuck.
“I want you on top,” she said, resting after her first ever climax with a guy.
I obliged her, working slowly to increase and extend her pleasure as along as I could before letting my body go, screwing my hips into her, liking the way she lifted her legs and planted feet on my chest, then wrapped ankles around my neck. Taking a second turn on top, she finally achieved a full climax, grunting, gasping and moaning, before collapsing on me. Still, it felt muted compared to the unbridled coupling I was used to with Mom’s Best Friend. Naomi was so amped she wanted to do it the next night, too, and we did. In fact we coupled each of the first four nights my parents were away, but always I had her home well before her 10 pm curfew so I could get the sleep I needed.
Mom’s Second Best was well aware that I brought Naomi home each of those nights after our date. I didn’t hide the fact, pulling into the driveway, opening her door and escorting her into the house for an hour or two before driving her home. Second Best wasn’t supposed to chaperone, but still managed to stop by each night after I returned from Naomi’s.
One night the doorbell rang while I was playing for Naomi after our date. She sat next to me on the piano bench, her arm around my waist, her head on my shoulder. I invited Second Best inside where she found Naomi fully dressed and sipping a Diet Coke. I introduced them and offered Second Best a drink, which she politely declined. I returned to the piano and continued playing. Second Best excused herself, said she was glad I was okay and departed. Ten minutes later the front door was locked, barred and alarmed, and Naomi and I were naked in my bed, kissing.
To this day I don’t know why Second Best came on to me. Had Mom’s Best Friend whispered something to her? She was another of mom’s friends who clearly ogled me. Had she decided she wanted me? I had suspicions: her interest in me began immediately after Mom’s Best disappeared on vacation.
Second Best was beautiful. Oldest of mom’s close friends, she looked like Kim Basinger only more naturally beautiful. Unlike mom’s outgoing Best, she was canlı bahis şirketaleri quiet, thoughtful and introverted. Like Best, Second Best was a housewife to a career man who could afford to live comfortably in our swish Phoenix suburb. They had two children, a boy and a girl, both in middle school. At forty-two, Second Best was the oldest of mom’s circle, mom being thirty-nine and Best being forty.
“I’m sorry I barged in on you and your girlfriend last night,” Second Best said when she stopped in to check on me the next night. “I had no idea you brought someone home.”
“That’s okay,” I replied. “We went out for dinner and she wanted to hear me play.”
“Everyone likes to hear you play,” Second Best smiled.
“And watch you swim.”
I smiled. “Would you like something to drink? There’s a fully stocked wet bar around here somewhere. I’m not sure it was a good idea to leave me home alone with it for a month.”
“You don’t drink, do you?” she said. “Not with your swim schedule.”
“Nah. It messes up my body too much.”
“And you’re too young. When do your Olympic heats begin?”
“Try outs. Four weeks.”
“I’m sure you’ll do well.”
“If I survive till then. Training is brutal.”
“I have every confidence you will succeed.”
She always talked like that. I loved it.
“Only if I can unwind on this every night,” I said, sitting at the piano. “Any requests? You like Chopin, don’t you?”
“You know what I like. Play it again, Sam.”
She sounded just like Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca only my name wasn’t Sam and I was the one flirting with her. And it wasn’t a tune of love lost. Without hesitating, I broke into Chopin’s Polonaise
in A major, her favorite. After tripping over a few bars, I recovered, missed a few more notes here and there, then finished strongly.
“Bravo!” she clapped. “Now play his first waltz.”
I bashed out his Waltz
in E flat major and Second Best began waltzing around the room led by an imaginary partner, curtseying to him when I finished.
“Bravo!” I said, applauding her graceful movements.
“Oh stop,” she said, waving a hand, then sighing, “Too bad there’s no one around to dance with.”
“Sure there is,” I said, getting up and heading to the sound system. Tracing a finger over a stack of CD’s, I pulled Chopin, loaded the disc and hit play. And repeat.
Turning, I bowed to her and held out my left hand: “May I have the honor, madame?”
She blushed, but didn’t hesitate to take my hand. The music started and I began the simple 1-2-3 step of the waltz, sweeping around the room the way my mother taught me (she couldn’t sit still to Chopin, either, waltzing with dad or me). Only now I swept Second Best around the room, her right hand in my left, her left hand on my shoulder, my right hand on her narrow waist, pushing and pulling her around.
“You’re very good,” she smiled.
“Mom taught me.”
“I know. How tall are you now?”
“You’re very powerful.”
“It’s all these hours in the pool.”
“And weight room,” she added, her hand sliding over the top of my shoulder and squeezing the muscle there from the side.
A second later her hand slid further down, squeezing the bicep/triceps combo of my right arm. She did this purposefully, knowing I was strong enough to move her around the room while she placed her left hand anywhere she wanted or not at all. The shoulder was just a polite place to rest it. Traditionally. As her hand slid from my bicep to my forearm, I realized she was feeling me up. We never broke eye contact as her hand moved back to my shoulder and slipped down to my right pectoral muscle, which she traced with fingers, then cupped and squeezed, first on the outside, then the inside, pressing her hand over my heart.
The waltz finished, but began again since I had hit the repeat button, so I kept her moving around the floor, pulling her powerfully, controlling her her every movement, clamped as she was in my grip. I knew it gave her a thrill to be moved this way. Her hand kept moving, too, running down my ribs and stopping over my belly where her fingers traced the hard little lumps of my eight pack, then found my navel. From there she had to turn her hand so her fingers pointed down and I thought she was going to go all the way to my crotch, but her hand lifted my shirt and slid underneath, found skin, and returned to tracing my abdominal muscles with gentle fingertips. Then those same fingertips found my navel, traced it, then slid lower, pushing under the waistband and into my shorts where they immediately discovered my massive erection.
God! She really was pushing it! Without so much as a moment’s hesitation, her hand left the flat surface of my lower abdomen and wrapped around my cock. My chest swelled at this and I blinked, but continued sweeping her powerfully around the room. What a sight that would have been if anyone had seen us: a tall young man leading a woman in a waltz, only canlı kaçak iddaa her free hand was stuck down his pants holding his erection as they swept around the room!
When she tugged on it I could no longer keep waltzing her. I slowed us to a stop and slid my hand from her waist to the small of her back and pulled her close. Her arm and hand on my erection were suddenly trapped powerfully between us and we could both feel her breasts pressing against my chest. When I let go of her right hand, she put it on my lower back and pulled us even closer together, if that was possible. My free left hand went to the back of her neck and pulled her in under my chin. I felt her face nuzzle against my neck and her warm breath there as I softly caressed the back of her neck and ran fingers into her hair, beginning a gentle scalp massage. She responded by squeezing my erection in her hand.
“I want you,” I said.
“Me, too,” she replied, her face against me, her voice resonating in my chest.
I was about to let go of her and pull her to the couch when she stuck her other hand in my baggy old shorts, let go of my erection and pushed my shorts down, her hands returning to my cock, one grabbing it, the other cupping and fondling my ballsack. I gasped at this.
“Sorry,” she said, letting go.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I like it.”
“You went commando today,” she said, running her hands around my butt and lower abdomen where underwear should be.
“It’s nice to let it all hang after being confined in a speedo all day,” I said, lifting and pulling off her top.
“I bet,” she giggled, her hands returning to my shorts and pushing them down, not getting they were caught on the thick muscles of my thighs.
I unbuttoned her shorts and she pulled my shorts the rest of the way down, her hands magically returning to my sex.
“God you’re big,” she whispered.
I unhooked her bra and slid it off her shoulders, feeling her breasts, belly, shoulders and arms before returning to her waist to unzip her casual shorts. Two seconds later both her shorts and undies were around her ankles and she stepped out of them.
“You are extraordinarily beautiful,” I said. “Your eyes are like the ocean.”
“Thanks,” she sighed, blushing, her eyes twinkling, then watching her long beautiful fingers lift my baggy shirt over my head. I cleared it myself only because she wasn’t tall enough. Her hands and eyes ran over my chest, ribs, belly and arms, her fingers feeling the cut of every muscle group as if she can’t believe it, like Thomas putting his fingers in the wounds of Jesus.
“Adonis,” she whispered.
My body is smooth. All swimmers shave, use depilatory creams or have themselves waxed, usually some combination of these. Even my pubes are trimmed down to the skin so they a) don’t stick out of my tiny speedo anywhere and b) don’t add to my bulge. It’s all about getting the the smoothest possible flow of water over the surface of my body, reducing resistance in the water in a sport where a hundredth of a second may mean the difference between first and second place, moving on to the next heat or being eliminated. My legs I shave daily, my back is waxed, my forearms and belly hairless. This is what she likes, Second Best: my smooth, hairless swimmer’s body with almost zero body fat exposing every muscle in my body in exquisite detail. Add deeply tanned skin and you get a specimen that women love to ogle. And men, too.
After caressing most of her, I slipped fingers between her legs, liking that it made her gasp and open her stance and spread her legs as we leaned against each other.
“May I kiss you?” I asked.
“You’re so polite,” she sighed, squeezing my erection in her hands.
I looked deep in her eyes.
“You don’t have to ask,” she whispered. “I want all of you.”
A short, tentative kiss quickly became long, deep and sloppy, but so powerful and erotically evocative that she let go of my cock and put her arms around me, pulling at my butt and lower back, squeezing my shoulder blades in her hands, then raising and resting her arms around my neck and shoulders.
“You’re a handsome young man,” she whispered.
“You are drop dead gorgeous.”
“Do you have any condoms?”
“In my room.”
“Take me there and take me,” she whispers. “I don’t have much time.”
Take me?! Yes, ma’am!
I lifted and kissed her. She wrapped legs around me and I carried her down the hall to my room. She bit my earlobes along the way and rubbed her torso against my erection, which was trapped between us.
“I bet you wear a magnum,” she whispered.
“You’ve had lots of girls, right?”
“Just two. There’s never time.”
“I’m your third?”
I laid her on the bed, opened the drawer in my nightstand, retrieved a strip of condoms, opened one and rolled it on. She moved to the side of the bed next to me and was caressing my thighs again, enjoying the exquisite detail of the muscle groups there, tracing canlı kaçak bahis the cuts with her fingers. Before I finished rolling it on, Second Best lifted my erection and took one of my kahunas in her mouth, then the other, not minding when my fingertips brushed her lips unrolling the sheath all the way.
I couldn’t help comparing her to Mom’s Best Friend. She, the outgoing talkative extrovert said nothing at all as we undressed and had each other on her bedroom floor. Now here was Second Best, the quiet introvert, chatting with me, talking, asking questions, unafraid of words.
I sat next to her and pulled her into a kiss with both hands on her neck and jaw, trapping some of her golden hair.
“You are such a gentleman,” she sighed, opening her eyes after the kiss. “Why did I expect you to be really immature and selfish?”
While I silenced her with another kiss she pulled my hands off her face, moving one down to the side of her breast and the other slowly, evocatively down her torso to her sex, leaving my fingers in her curly dark yellow pubic hair.
“It’s okay to touch me,” she exhaled after a kiss.
I did. Everywhere. Soon I knelt on the floor, my lips working between her legs and my tongue moving her erect little nub until she couldn’t remain sitting anymore, laying all the way down on her back and opening her legs even more, her fingers running thru my short swimmer’s haircut, the other holding her side as if it hurt to breathe. She began moving, pushing her sex against my tongue.
She tried pulling at my shoulders a few times, wanting me to come up to her and put it in, but I ignored those signals and kept flipping my tongue across her clitoris until gasps became moans, moans became groans and she cried out, squeezing my shoulders between her knees. Then I snuggled next to her on the bed, resting the palm of my hand on her mons, my fingers resting gently over her sex. She didn’t move it away, so I presumed she liked it.
We rolled under the covers, kissing, caressing and holding each other until she straddled me and took hold of my erection.
“Is it okay?” she asked
“Yes. You don’t have to ask anymore.”
She slid onto my shaft, not quite taking all of it. Sliding back and forth a few times, she pressed down hard and I felt the last few inches of her vagina open to take the rest of me. Second Best hummed in pleasure. All women stop when it’s first in like this. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s to savor the moment, perhaps remembering what it feels like again. Or maybe they are unable to form any memory of what it feels like and it’s a brand new experience each time. If that’s true, in one very real sense some part of a woman is always a virgin.
Her eyes closed and her hips began moving. I expected she wouldn’t speak at all one she started, but she kept talking.
“My God you are big and hard.”
“I can’t believe I’m doing this. You’re eighteen, I’m forty-two.”
I pursed lips to shush her, but decided against it. Instead I slid a hand up her torso till it came to rest between her breasts. Over her heart. At that point her big blue eyes opened and looked into mine and I thought I’d die when she pressed a palm over my heart as well. It didn’t stay there long. She bucked and romped until she came again, rarely opening her eyes. I watched the whole time, loving every aspect of her body.
“I really have to go. They’re expecting me back.”
I looked at the clock. She had walked in the front door twenty minutes before.
“Is it okay if I?” I said giving her a few tiny thrusts.
“God yes, only you be on top.”
I pumped my hips for two minutes and flooded her pussy with come, loving her hands reaching up and caressing my torso as I trembled in the throes of release. She squeezed my erection inside her and my torso between her legs, rocking side to side a little, which intensified my orgasm.
“I don’t want to go,” she whispered.
“Maybe next time you can stay longer.”
Her eyes lit up at this. Had she expected only one tryst?
She unwrapped legs from around me and let go. I climbed off her and stripped off the latex, then we retraced our steps, gathering clothes and dressing along the way. Chopin still waltzed on the sound system and I grabbed her for a quick little spin as we crossed the family room floor.
“God you’re cute,” she giggled.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” I said.
“I want to see you again, young man.”
“Same time tomorrow?”
I wanted to go outside and watch her sexy hips swing while she walked away, but prying eyes might see me and figure out the truth. All the houses on our street were far apart and mostly hidden by foliage, so hopefully no one noticed her leaving my house twenty-five minutes after she arrived, or if they did they didn’t think anything of it. And hopefully anyone who heard the Chopin thought it was me playing for her and not a CD repeating over and over. I don’t know why I worried about it. Everyone knew it was her job to look in on me while my folks were away.
We coupled again the next night, Tuesday, her husband’s bowling night, same night as Best Friend’s husband. Still constrained by time, we did it once each and I held her in my arms afterward.
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