“Then he angled himself a little and his tip pushed my little thong string aside and he caught the wrong hole. He knew it too because he stopped. But he also started rubbing me up front more, I was getting so close. I braced myself against the stage. I was going to cum any second. He pushed himself inside! By that time we were a slippery mess back there so, while it felt huge, it didn’t kill me. I just remember grunting out loud. Then he rubbed me harder. And he pushed in more. Then he pulled out. Then pushed back in. He was doing me in the butt I didn’t frickin’ care. He did it again and that’s when I came really really big. I felt him come too. I felt him spurt up into me and he leaned forward, brushed my hair aside, and sucked on the back of my neck. My knees were shaking like crazy.
“When he slowly pulled out of me, he put his lips to my ear and said, ‘Did that hurt?'”
“I looked back at him and smiled, ‘A little, but in a good way. Wanna kiss it and make it better?'”
“He laughed. Then he let go of my hips and I figured he was zipping his shorts back up. But when I turned around he was gone. My mystery stud had just disappeared into the crowd. I fixed my skirt and turned back to watch the concert with my butt all warm and slippery inside.”
When Stacey was done the story, all I could do was just stare at her with my mouth hanging open.
She tucked a little bit of her auburn hair behind her ear and a blush spread across her ivory cheeks. “I’ve never told anyone that story before. Please, please don’t tell anyone.” She sighed. “So, yeah, I’m a big ‘ol ‘V’. But I’ve done plenty of sex stuff. It’s just, I dunno, I never found the right guy to do the actual deed with.” Then she grinned wickedly. “How old is your brother?”
“Bobbie’s way too young for you, pervert!” I threw a pillow at her, giggling. I didn’t think any less of her. In fact, I was glad that she’d shared her wacky private story. I wished I could do something free-spirited like that. I got boinked by a dufus I didn’t really like in his parent’s basement on their musty old couch. She’d surrendered herself completely to a hot stranger in a stadium full of people. I wanted to be more like her.
Anyway, Stacey hung out at my house a lot. She quickly figured out that my dad’s over-sized recliner in the family room had a heat and massage thingy built in. When my Dad went to bed, she’d scoot over into it and turn the heat on. Then she’d wave me over. I’d squeeze onto it with her together. Sometimes side by side, sometimes in each other’s laps. Again, it was an excuse for more contact. More warmth. More closeness.
We were still just best friends. Best friends with zero personal space, but still just friends. We might have never gotten further if Stacey hadn’t asked me something. Her question, and my answer, were a kind of turning point.
I still remember it. We were sitting in the corner of a coffee shop on a Saturday night. Stacey was wearing her chocolate brown cashmere sweater – it was my favorite and I daydreamed about resting my head between the soft brown hills of her chest. We’d been talking about boys again. Then she asked me what kind of girls I liked. She’d asked it jokingly and sort of looked away. But she kept glancing back at me waiting for me to answer.