Rekindled

Donna M.

“Donna, you devil, you wrote about it … about me.” She shook her head when she said that, making her beautiful natural blond hair swirl.

We were on her deck, indulging our over-forty bodies with some topless sunbathing. She’s been my best friend forever, yet that didn’t make it any easier for me to accept coming up short in any comparisons with her. I wasn’t a bad looking broad for my age, but in the hair, tits, ass, and bank account areas she was the clear winner. I lived with it.

“I figured sooner or later someone would find it. You mad at me?”

“Shit no. We did have fun that day didn’t we?” She was smiling so I knew she really wasn’t angry about it. “ ‘The Lonely Pussies Club’, I’d forgotten about that little joke. You can imagine how surprised I was to stumble on that story with your name attached to it.”

“I hope Linda has the same reaction when and if she reads it. You’re not gonna tell her, are you?”

“And spoil things?” She chuckled, “ ‘Spanorexics’, damn it girl, you can sure come up with some good ones.”

“Well, look at who she’s bedding now. The guy’s so scrawny his pants barely stay up, like some of those ghetto kids where you can see most of their boxer shorts.”

“I can’t believe her husband hasn’t figured it out yet.”

“Maybe he has. Maybe married to Linda has its benefits even if she spreads it around.”

“Spanorexics!” We both laughed heartily as she said the made-up word again. Shannon looked like she was going to say more, so I waited. Eventually, “You really did pay an escort, didn’t you?”

“Of course. That wasn’t my crazy imagination, though if you read the whole story you know what he did to my imagination—and other parts of me.”

“I can afford what you paid, but … I don’t know … would I?”

“Only you—and your neediness, let’s say—can answer that. I sure needed it.”

“How you handling this writing stuff? Must be lots of guys e-mailing you looking to hook up.”

“Yeah, but I’m having fun. What about you? You still seeing Debbie on the side?”

She hesitated before answering, “No, Deb is playing with somebody else these days.”

“You miss it don’t you … with a woman, I mean?”

“I read the story you wrote about the summer camp. See, unlike you I never even thought about sex with girls when I grew up.”

I interrupted, “Until then I didn’t think about it either.”

“OK, but what I mean is even as an adult I never looked at a woman and thought of sex until Debbie seduced me. Yeah, that’s what she did … she seduced me. She’s a lesbian all the way and she went after what she wanted—me.” She paused a few seconds, then added, “And, Jesus, did she open me up. Sex with her cut me to the bone and I loved every fuckin’ moment!”

Why I said it I didn’t know; I thought it, but saying it aloud wasn’t like me: “Sex with you did that to me too. We never talked about it much after that summer at Millie’s place, but maybe we should have.”

She reached a hand out to me and in the softest voice said, “I don’t know what it would do to our friendship, but you’re right, we should have talked about it … and done it again.”

Our fingers entwined as we touched from one lounge chair to the other. “I think our friendship just makes anything we do that much better,” I said.

“Oh God, Donna … we have more than a friendship. I love you.”

I looked at her. Her eyes bore through me. Her breasts were heaving and she’d unconsciously spread her legs ever so slightly. “I love you, too.”

“Let’s go in the house.”

The look in her eyes opened the floodgates; my pussy grew hot and wet. She looked so beautiful lying there, and she wanted me. I wanted her.

We picked up our bikini tops and dashed into her house like kids running to the playground, and maybe that’s what it would be—our playground. She led me toward the sofa and in a blur our suit bottoms were off and we were as one.

Deep tongue kissing and fondling went on forever, well, at least until I moved my lips from her mouth to her nipples. Shannon has marvelous breasts and I sucked and kissed and nibbled and caressed both of them until she was moaning and writhing, wanting more. Unlike that fateful summer day when we made love the first time, nothing about this coupling was tentative. Chests heaved, nipples stiffened, pussies dripped, and clits throbbed. I moved down to her thick-lipped and shaved-smooth pussy and didn’t so much lick her but devoured her.

“Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah … Donnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa,” she crooned and climaxed, slaking my tongue’s thirst for her.

I kept at it, drinking her in, suckling on her pulsing clit, soliciting more convulsions and dollops of sweet pussy juice. Why had I waited so damned long to do this again?

She was flushed and breathless when she took her turn at my desperate pussy. She stopped long enough to gasp out, “Oh Donna, you shaved. You look so good down here,” before resuming her hungry feasting on me.

My orgasm was sublime. The spasms began at the walls of my vagina and radiated up through my torso until I saw bursts of light in my mind. Somehow I knew I screamed but the voice didn’t sound a whole lot like me. My stomach muscles contracted and another wave of screaming ecstasy went through me.

Shannon muttered, “Oh my.” Maybe I squirted.

I wondered (sadly) if I’d had a better orgasm than this one since the last time Shannon and I made love. We tumbled to the floor in a sweaty pile, both basking in our own post-orgasmic heaven.

I didn’t have a chance to say anything before Shannon whispered “Wow,” before throatily saying, “Let’s go to the bedroom. I’m not done with you yet.” Music to my ears!

We walked to her bedroom and in a more leisurely though no less passionate tempo made love once more. We spent more time in our own way exploring with our lips and our fingers. After several minutes we both begged for more. I begged her to suck my clit. I squirmed and arched my back, and sensed déjà vu. We’d done this before at Millie’s beach house. I was whimpering like I did that day.

“Yes … yes … yes,” I sang my song. When I came, I didn’t so much scream, but growl an otherworldly groan, as every nerve ending from my clit to my tongue became a burning tip of internal flame.

Shannon didn’t let up on me and soon had me cumming again and again. Somewhere in the fog of my orgasmic mind emerged the thought this was love, not sex. I returned her love.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA,” was her response to my tongue-tip at her clit and a fingertip at her g-spot. That fingertip felt the most amazing spasm a woman can experience.

I looked up from between her thighs to study her face. She was so beautiful in climax, and I was the acolyte worshipping at her altar. Her eyes were rolled back in her head and her mouth was agape. I wanted so much to kiss that mouth. I crawled up on top of her and did just that. She moaned when our lips came together, and damned if I didn’t too.

And unbelievably we weren’t done with each other yet. Nearly out of breath, she croaked, “I love you, Donna, I love you.” She was at my pussy again and soon I was cumming again.

“Ooooooooooooooh Shannonnnnnnnnnn!” I cried.

We spent the next hour and a half luxuriously studying each other's body, bathed in sweat and the afterglow of our multiple orgasms. Our juices were tangy on our lips; so much so that kissing was like eating the other’s pussy all over again.

“Whew! We both needed that—what do you think?” She whispered at my ear after she nibbled on its lobe.

“I’m not thinking. God, that was good!”

“We still friends?”

I looked into her eyes to see if she was kidding. She wasn’t. “We’ll always be friends, no matter if we never do this again.” I kissed her, then said, “But we’ll do it again, I know.”

“Yes, I can feel it. We’re two hopeless married women and I guess that won’t change. When we have that need, that itch, we’ll have each other.”

“Always.”

“Oh, Donna, I meant it before—and I hope it doesn’t scare you away—I love you, I really do.”

“I love you too, Shan.”

We changed the bed linen and then showered together. The fire in me that had been missing for too long was rekindled. I contemplated my marriage—nothing would really change there. Shannon was right. We would be each other’s port in the storm, safe harbor from our sexual frustrations. Like my newfound hobby—writing.

“Still friends?” She chided when I was leaving to go home.

“Always,” was my answer, along with a hug and kiss.

“You’re gonna write about this, aren’t you?”

What could I say?

Donna

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