I open the door and invite Julie into the quiet house after the doorbell practically scares the crap outta me. She looks good. She smells good too. Gyrlz.
Things start out ok. I don’t act like a dork, and I feel pretty confident knowing that nobody will be home for three or four hours. Mom and Dad went out for dinner, and their movie doesn’t even start till 9:30pm. Lisa “the socialite” didn’t even come home after school.
Julie follows me into the kitchen to witness my one ability–zapping microwave popcorn. With a couple sodas, we head to the living room, sit on the floor and eventually start the movie. Gawd she looks good. Her nails red hot. Jeans, no socks. Her top isn’t tight, but you can still see the outline of her big tits. I can smell her blonde hair when I get close enough.
Things are going fine, and I’m wondering if we’re even gonna make out…until the fireworks commence at 9:00pm. It starts in the driveway with car doors slamming, then giggling and uncontrollable laughter that gets louder and louder as it approaches the house. We sit up and turn around. The front door flings open, and Lisa and Talya literally fall into the house, arms around each other, laughing their stupid brains out about nothing. Damn, there goes my evening.
Talya is the first to stand up, her compressed jean-covered legs and ass walking away from Lisa on the floor behind her. You can tell Talya is drunk, but it’s not sloppy; she manages composure. After introducing herself to Julie, she proceeds to outline the embarrassing condition of my house-guest and that we need to get her into bed and lights out before my mom and dad get home or fucking else. “Yeah,” I agree, “Don’t worry. They won’t be home till after midnight.” The three of us carry Lisa upstairs, her condition and balance and coherence slipping by the minute. She’s no longer forming words, just laughter. Annoying laughter.
Talya is all business: opening windows for fresh air, spraying perfume to hide the stench of alcohol, making Lisa drink water, and forcing her head above the toilet for ten minutes in case…you know. Eventually, Lisa is placed teetering on the end of her bed. “Pajamas,” Talya pronounces. “She can sleep in her skirt and your parents won’t know. Just find her pajama top.” While searching, Julie stops to admire and touch the angora sweater, her red fingernails lingering over it. Oh my gosh.
By now, Lisa is hanging on by a thread, hardly able to sit without falling over. Talya’s intent is to change Lisa and get her into bed. Repeat: her intent. No one thought Lisa might not be wearing a bra. Talya raises Lisa’s arms and lifts her top over them only to discover this is Lisa’s last moment of consciousness. She falls back onto the bed. Arms stretched above her head. Entirely topless. Talya is motionless, holding Lisa’s top in one hand and her pajama top in the other.
The next six seconds or so contain three interesting qualities:
- They are deafeningly silent.
- They bring the last thirty frenzied minutes to a grinding halt.
- They last an eternity.
My eyes travel from Lisa’s hands, down her arms, across her breasts and continue to where her flesh finally disappears into her skirt. Her skin is flawless, equally toned the entire way. She has a tiny cute blemish beneath her belly button. And close up in the bright lights, her tits are more amazing than any of us ever imagined: huge, perfectly round, with two big delicious brown nipples crowning each succulent globe. Even lying on her back, both breasts practically stand upright. I look up at Julie and Talya only to realize they are still looking down at Lisa, drinking in her incredible assets. The silence is broken with, “Tom—get out. Now.”
What I didn’t know waiting in the hallway was that Talya and Julie spent the next five minutes getting Lisa dressed and into bed very slowly. In the process, each of them was accidentally touching the side of a breast, or moving their fingers across a nipple to get things properly arranged. They made eye contact on a couple occasions, but neither had words for the moment.
Leaving the room and closing the door, Talya has done all she can. She is a good friend. The rest of Lisa’s stupidity is up to Lisa to deal with tomorrow. Now, downstairs, Talya needs another drink. She pokes around the kitchen and then makes her way back to the living room with a pitcher of something pink, three martini glasses, and a determination to pour drinks for all of us. It’s good. Strong, but a lot like a fruit drink. Talya wants to party. We drink up. They go down quickly. And by 10:30pm, it’s all getting a little hazy.
Julie pretends to be worried and wants to “check on Lisa”, then slurs something about a nice sweater. Talya responds with “whatevs.” And the minute Julie walks upstairs, Talya looks at me and whispers, “She’s into you, it’s so obvious.” I can only smile. Talya just giggles and leaves for the kitchen to make more drinks, when Julie comes back downstairs wearing the angora sweater. Oh no. This isn’t happening.
She sits beside me and asks, “Where’s Talya?”
When I tell her, “In the kitchen,” Julie moves closer. I’m on the floor leaning against the chair. She turns to face me, then moves to sit on my lap, straddling me with her knees on the carpet. Our lips are within striking distance. Vaguely, I can hear Talya rattling glasses. Julie and I look at each other, her hands placed on her thighs holding herself up, her elbows pressing in against the sides of her tits, showing them off. Like they need any additional help.
The jumbling factors of today’s events bounce through my head fast and unpredictably, like the electrons we study in Science. And now, this: Julie in the sweater sitting on my lap. I suppress any attempt at reasoning these events and breathe deeply hoping the moment will last. These muddled emotions blend with the ensuing intoxicating seconds to mix a cocktail more fruitfully lethal than anything our new resident bartender could create. The only thing left to do is move forward, eyes open, and let my lips touch Julie’s. When I reach her, it’s not even a kiss; it’s more just trying to find each other. Julie does not retract; rather, her lips accept the touch. She pouts slightly and the engagement of our touch evolves into an actual kiss. There is no hurry, only the stillness and beauty of her mouth and the wonder of exploring it. The experience of her lips is heightened by the absence of any other touch. The lips delve to find tongues, and the tongues begin the dance of intimacy that is more sexual and passionate than most things I’ll learn about later in life.
Eventually my hands reach to touch the sweater and her in it. We continue unfazed by the sounds of Tayla leaving the house, closing the front door, driving away. My hands move up and down now, all over the sweater. I move her to the couch, taking more control of the situation than I believed I had in me. I find no necessity in words and communicate with my eyes. On the couch, I slide her jeans down and for the first time have my fingers inside a girl’s panties. I don’t know what I’m finding, but I pretend that it is the same as the lips on her face and so work my fingers to kiss the lips between her thighs. Her moans escape between our mouths and below she becomes soaking wet. I undress, pulling it out, getting directly on top of her, my eyes telling her that I want her, but that everything is “O.K.”
I take it and put it into her soaking panties. The top side of my erection pressing against the warm wet exterior folds of her pussy, the bottom side gliding against her soaking cotton panties. We are face to face, mouth to mouth, trying to catch our breath and kiss at the same time. I start to fuck her panties, my cock sandwiched between cotton and her pussy. We fuck as slowly as we kiss, making it last. “Remember to pull out,” she says. When the time comes, I remove myself and press my thing against her stomach, the angora sweater now caressing the length of my member. It brings me to finish, and I reach for it, pumping out my whiteness, unloading all over her front, all over the sweater. Oh my gawd, yes. Ohh! Oh! Oh no! Wait! Not all over the sweater! The sweater!
To be continued…
Go back to Friday Afternoon or see all posts in “The Sweater Diary”
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