Danielle was a friend. Just a friend. Just a friend with a boyfriend…who knew me…and was a lot bigger than me. Yes, definitely just a friend.

Danielle was just a friend who was unhappy in her relationship. I knew her boyfriend and did not think well of him. He was nice enough when he wanted to be, but he thought it was funny to act…no, he delighted in being a prick. He would tell people horrible things about themselves whether true or not. The chance to gain the ire of all around was always too much for him to resist. Danielle did not mind this about him, I did.

About a month ago, she called me to talk at me. Yes, at. She talked for an hour about what she didn’t like about Randall and what she was really looking for. I’d like to say that I gave her good counseling, but the fact is, I didn’t say much more than a handful of carefully and quickly wedged-in words.

“What would you think about…you and me?” she asked, smacking me squarely in the face with this verbal knuckleball.

“No, no. You’re with Randall. You owe him. At least talk to him about all of this;” I finished the sentence silently: Even if he is a dick. “Talk to him. Tell him how you feel, let him know what you want. He’s a guy. We’re stupid. We can’t read what you want. We’re not wired that way. If you walked up to us and hit us in the face with a baseball, we still wouldn’t know it was you unless you autographed the ball.”

“But,” she started before I cut her off. “You need to talk to him,” I said not giving her the chance to get in another word. “And, after you talk, call me. Let me know how it went.”

A couple of Fridays later, I was at my second home: the Dugout. It’s a great bar with a dance floor at the other end that I’m an expert at avoiding. But the drink specials allowed me to be my gregarious self; buying pitchers for everyone as well as fries and nachos. I figured, I was making decent money and had no one to spend it on. Besides, for 50 bucks once a week, I was everyone’s hero.

While at “the Dug,” No problem was ever really a problem, especially when you tipped Bethy well (or any of the other waitresses). However, when you’re not that big a guy and are usually in the middle of multiple conversations at once, there will always be someone who thinks you’re a target. I lost track of how many times I was pushed, shoved, or otherwise manhandled, and then rescued by just about any nearby random individual I was either there with or that was an employee. I guess you could say I was The Dug’s official mascot.

That particular Friday night, I was having a great time talking with people when Danielle runs up to me and drags me towards the dance floor. Of course, I adamantly resisted my way right into the middle of the flashing lights and loud music. It is not like I had never danced with her before. I danced with practically everyone. After all, I had to be equally nice. It was just never more than one dance and then I retreated right back from whence I came.

The thumping music was fast, the lights were brightly “dark” and she was grinding against my leg as she told me what Randall did THIS time. “I’m done with him. If he thinks he is getting his stuff back…” As usual, I was quickly falling into the counselor role. But, how do you counsel someone when they are rubbing their pelvis into your hip?

Sunday morning, Dani called needing someone to talk to. She started out with “We talked and he knows it is over.” That was it. There was nothing to prevent some sort of a tryst except maybe her making a serious invitation.

She invited me over to watch movies and drink Sunday morning mimosas, as long as I brought the orange juice…and the vodka. A mimosa is perhaps the healthiest drink. You get your vitamin C AND you can be assured that the alcohol will have killed off anything harmful. Who could refuse an offer like that? So, my bottle of Absolute and I got in the car, picked up a container of orange juice at the market, and headed over.

We started off with a cheesy movie that soon lost our interest and quickly pivoted to her favorite topic: Randall. Only this time, with a fair amount of coaching by Mr. Absolute, she grew more scathing. Apparently, Randal was not all that well-endowed. That was information I neither had nor needed. But, by now, my tongue, like the vodka, was flowing. “Just how big do you think big is?”

“Over 7 inches,” she replied.

“Good,” I said in an exaggerated sigh. “I’m in the clear. Barely”

Her eyes lit up as she scooched to the edge of her seat. “Really? I can hold that over you. I wonder…just who would pay to know that? Bethy?” she teased.

“I don’t know. I may be willing to PAY you to tell her tho…HEY!” I yelped as my arm was sharply whacked.

“I think I’m changing my mind. I’m not sure I want anyone else having that 411.” she declared. “You wouldn’t even know what to do with someone like her.”

“Of course I would. I’d take her to dinner and a movie…”

“No!” she exclaimed. “This is a fantasy. You would throw her on the couch,” she said as she flopped back in her chair “and lick her! I know I wouldn’t complain.”

Yes, the mimosas had definitely removed her filter. She was rocking on her back with her knees pulled up and her legs spread, giggling, “I’d probably ask for more. Yes, I would.” She looked hungrily at me and said “I want it! I want more mimosa now!” She was quiet for a few beats, and then giggled, “Bethy is really Hot. I’d do her.”

“Now I know you are drunk.”

“What? You think I wouldn’t.” She thought very hard for a moment and continued, “There are THINGS you don’t know about me. Like…I’m bi!” She was right. I didn’t know that. I wanted to say that was information that I didn’t need, but it wasn’t.

“Bi? Wouldn’t that mean you want her AND a guy? A Threesome?” She just smiled, accepted the mimosa with her left hand and held her right hand like she was giving me the finger.

But instead, she dragged her middle finger slowly down her body from her throat to her belly button saying “And, I’ll bet you would just Love that, wouldn’t you.” I had to admit, “Yes.” I mean, what guy wouldn’t want to be with two very sexy girls. I continued “But, I mean…I wouldn’t want to have to beat you off.”

“It’d be better than having to beat yourself off.” She countered. By now her hand had reached her shorts and was playing with the elastic band, pulling it away from her skin. “So, is that your fantasy? Two girls?”

This conversation needed to be quickly toned down. “I don’t really have fantasies.” It was a lie I knew she wouldn’t believe, but it was all I had.

“No? Then tell me, what is the kinkiest thing you have ever done?” Her fingers were now inside her shorts, slowly tracing right to left where the fabric met her skin.

“Do you mean besides watch you play with yourself? Or are you saying you didn’t realize you were doing that?” She just smiled, closed her eyes and sighed as she brought her fingers to her mouth and started sucking.

“Do you like what you see?” She paused to return her hand beneath her clothes. “Or would you like to see more?” She pulled her waist band down till I could see her pubic hair and then back up again. “I think you want to see more.” she said emphasizing the word “think.”

“You ARE drunk.” I told her stressing the middle word.

“And you ARE hard.” She mimicked my stress as she pointed to my crotch. It’s ever so hard to pretend you’re not affected when your body doesn’t cooperate.

“Yes, well I am male. A sober male.” Noticing that her curtains were open, I walked over to ensure that nobody saw her performance. When I turned around she had taken off her shirt exposing her breasts. They were stunning, beautifully round with nipples that stuck out.

“I’m not as drunk as you think, but I am that Horny. Sit down, right there.” she pointed at the arm chair. She slowly started to play with her nipples for me. Her hands manipulated her big breasts, pushing them together. She slid a finger between the pair, while maintaining great eye contact.

She slowly crawled across the floor towards where I was sitting, slid up my lap and kissed my jeans covered crotch and working my belt. My zipper was gently pulled down without even realizing how far we had gotten.

Standing up, she took my hand. “Come on. I have something to show you.” I followed her to her bed where she turned around, and danced. This dance was the same as the one at the Dug. She ground her Ass into me, wiggling and writhing. Well, not exactly the same. She was bare chested. And, my pants were slowly sliding to the floor.

She pulled away, dancing to the silence, sliding her hands across her skin, showing off for me. She was working hard on this performance and I had to admit, I wanted to reward her hard work. She turned her back to me and swayed her hips as she slowly slid her shorts down. With the cloth at her ankles she gyrated, pitching her lust in a line drive at my crotch.

Little by little, her feet were freed from the bonds of her fallen shorts. Enough that when she danced backwards into my arms, her underwear clad backside slowly rubbed against my briefs. When I turned her around to kiss her, she grabbed my arms and fell backwards onto the bed, her weight dragging mine to the cool sheets.

She closed her eyes, reveling in the feeling of our skin clashing. As I kissed and fondled her neck and breasts, she ran her hands over our collective asses and legs. As we progressed, she worked her knees to her chest and pushed me off of her. “Do you like what you see? You know, one of us had a fantasy earlier that can be fulfilled…” She looked at me with lust that quickly turned to impatience. “I was talking about you eating me out.”

Many times I may be described as dense, but this wasn’t one of them. Starting behind her knees (which were near her breast), I kissed and licked my way to her little box, never touching her most sensitive furry part…always teasing, teasing so gently.

“A little higher, please…please a little higher.” she pleaded as I tongued the area between her Ass and Pussy. I placed one finger on her back hole, tapping lightly, teasing her. But even though I still hadn’t actually touched her muff she was soaking wet, her juices dripping from her Pussy.

“Oh, oh gawd, that feels so good.” She drawled out focusing on the word “so.” “I need this so bad. It has been so long.” I worried unnecessarily that she might bring “his” name back up. “So long. Oh, shit!” She screamed as she played with her nipples. “Make me cum…please.”

I moved my tongue up to her Pussy lips and began teasing her. I kept this up for quite a while before I touched her clit. She arched her back and growled, “I’m gonna cum. Faster, lick my clit, please lick my clit.” She shuddered every time my tongue touched her body. “Oh gawd, here I cum, here I cum, here I cu…” she cut off her words, her movements, and her breathing as I felt her clit repeatedly jump against my tongue. And then, a clear liquid shot from her Pussy against my face.

I had read about women that squirted, but did not actually think it happened. I thought it was just a trick. But here I was with girl cum on my face to prove it. It was so erotic that I lost control and slipped myself into her and began pumping as slowly as I could. When she started breathing again, she pulled me up to her and licked my face clean. “I Love the way I taste,” she cooed. Just a few strokes later I spent my load.

“I feel dehydrated.” she said. “Are there any more mimosas?”