Cheering Up a Friend

Welcome to a story of the Owenverse. Tales of the Owenverse are completely stand-alone stories, so don't worry. You need have done no homework to enjoy this tale. If you have read other Owen stories, be advised that they skip around chronologically. This one is from a couple of years after Car Wash, but again, that doesn't matter.

I do have fun connecting Owen to a whole bunch of my big series, and thus connecting them to each other, but his stand-alone stories are just that, overly elaborate strokers. If you expect anything more from an Owen story than porn plot made barely plausible, go check out almost any of my series! But even there, I do not seek deep truths or high drama in my writing, just a fun, plausibly ridiculous story! Cheers!

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Cheering Up a Friend

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"Yo, Owen," my neighbor Gretchen said when I answered my door. "How'd your trip go?" she added as she extended a package she had rescued from my porch while I was out of town, before the pirates could get to it.

Gretchen is the perfect kind of friend. She is not a work colleague. She is not even a scientist at all. She is a systems analyst.

No, shut up. Computer Science is not a real science. It is abstract engineering. Fight me.

But Gretchen was also kind, funny, and smart. And we liked the same sports teams.

Maybe not the perfect kind of friend, though. She was an openly ethusiastic lesbian, which meant I'd never get my hands on those perfect tits of hers. Or that tight little ass.

But otherwise, a really good friend and neighbor.

"It was a good trip, Gretch. But, um, I think it is more important to talk about you. How are you?"

The uncharacteristically stony expression she had worn when I opened my door instantly developed fissures, and there were tremors. "I'm all right. As Gloria Gaynor would say, I will survive."

Uh, oh. That was not the face of a comfortable survivor. A mutual neighbor of ours had texted me while I was out of town to tell me about Gretchen's rather spectacular breakup with her girlfriend after discovering that useless bitch in bed with another woman.

Gretchen was definitely better off without that wretched woman in her life, an opinion I had held even before the cheating came to light. But the breakup had clearly left a fucking big mark on my neighbor.

"Good to hear," I said heartily. "Want to come in, have a glass of wine, and talk about literally anything else other than her?"

Gretchen gave me a Look. "I could use a drink. But I want something a lot fucking harder than wine."

"I've got Tequila, Bourbon, Scotch..."

"Got any Cognac? I seem to remember..."

"I have a nice bottle of Hine VSOP."

"I would love a snort. As long as you understand that I need to finally vent, and if you are going to get me liquored up, I will talk about nothing whatsoever except the Whore of Babylon."

Excellent.

"If you insist, Gretchen. Come on in," I said, glad that my small house was still clean from the way I left it for my trip. Gretchen might be a lesbian, but she is still a woman. And women tend to get all judgey about pizza boxes and dirty underwear lying around out in the open, where it's convenient to leave them.

I have a set of very nice leaded crystal brandy snifters, and I poured us each a healthy couple of fingers.

I had not even gotten back to the couch to hand hers to Gretchen when she burst out, "It's not even her house! It's mine. And there she was, in my bedroom, in my house, on my Sealy, 69ing with some tatted up tramp! She was even using my lipstick, my favorite lipstick on that bitch's cunt!"

My brain warred between hearing the C-word on Gretchen's lips, and a total lack of understanding.

Confusion won out. "Huh? She was putting makeup on the girl's cooch?"

"Lipstick vibrator, Owen!"

Oh.

"Fuck. Sorry," I said. "Wait. Yours? Was she going to clean it?"

"This is what I'm saying. She's such a bitch!" Gretchen took a slug of good cognac so large it should have been illegal.

"I'd say you are lucky to be rid of her," I said supportively.

"I suppose you are going to tell me now that you always thought she was beneath me, and I was stupid to have ever gotten with her in the first place? Everyone else has!" Gretchen said bitterly.

Hmmm... How to handle this?

"Actually, yes, I am," I said firmly. She looked at me like I'd shot her. "Sorry, Gretch. You were a dumbass. But just because you were so stupid as to give a set of your house keys to a lying, cheating tramp, who you are lucky to have caught before she stole all your stuff on her way out the door under her own power, does not mean that this doesn't hurt. I'm really sorry," I finished, as blandly as I could.

She looked at me miserably, then smiled wryly. She held out her snifter toward me, and I clinked mine to it, reveling in the clear, bell-like ring of the crystal. We each took a more responsible sip. Then we each took another big old irresponsible one.

"You're right," Gretchen muttered. "Everyone is right, though most not so fucking bluntly as you!" She opened her mouth to say more, but stopped herself.

"What?" I asked. When she looked at me mulishly, I asked her again, "Come on. What were you going to say?"

"I was going to say," she blurted. "I was going to say, 'but she has such a hot little body!'"

Perhaps Gretchen had had a glass of wine before she even came over. She was by no means drunk, but the Cognac could not be working this fast.

"I will grudgingly agree to that assertion. Those are some nice tits on her," I said. "But you deserve a girl with a much better ass than that fat old thing."

"I like a fat ass," Gretchen almost sobbed.

I guess it takes all kinds...

Still, I was discerning some genuine... pain(?) here. Maybe not pain, though. Whatever, her feelings were suddenly intense.

More accurately, she was letting them out. That was probably a good thing.

"Okay," I placated her dishonestly. "A fat ass can be fun to grab sometimes," I pretended to admit. Fat asses are not that great to grab. A generous, round, firm one? Sure, from time to time. But not fat. "Listen, Gretchen, don't backslide! You know you are better off without the lying bitch." I then went back to my earlier gambit, because that was the only gambit I had ready. "And for the record, you totally win in the ass arena anyway."

"Fuck you," she said, idly flipping me off in spark of good nature. "My ass is far too tiny. But you don't get it, Owen." She practically trembled in angry frustration. "It had been two fucking weeks since she and I had last... you know. I was heading home with a serious head of steam for her when I walked in and caught her getting her needs taken care of by Tattoo Bitch. That makes it almost three weeks for me now since I last so much as got off."

While I do pretty well, sexually, and honestly do so more often than I deserve, I have never had much success with relationships. Regular, on-going sex had never been a thing for me in thirty-two years, so three weeks did not seem like much of a dry spell to me.

But if this was what had her so upset, then I could safely go back to reassuringly busting her chops.

"So you are hard up," I shrugged dismissively. "In my experience, one can take care of that issue oneself when the need arises."

Gretchen glared at me. "Iamneverusingthatvibeeveragain, you dipshit!" she hissed rapidfire.

I laughed. "Sound plan!" I held up my hand and let the extended fingers move about a little. "But I am pretty sure that God's design lab included masturbation as one of its primary requirements when coming up with these."

Gretchen grimaced at me with gritted teeth. She seemed to be examining me to determine how best to disassemble me for maintenance.

How did I get to be the bad guy here?

"You are such a man," she spat. "I swear you are all born with a PhD in, and a predilection for, choking the chicken. Well, jilling off is just not satisfying to me, especially with just my fingers."

"Duh," I shrugged. "I'm not happy with it either, but it does take the edge off."

"I do not want the edge taken off," she hissed again. "I want the whole fucking cliff face to collapse into the sea! Even with my now never to be used again lipstick, that shit just doesn't happen when I'm alone."

Damn. Had the bitch been that good?

"So if you want a good seeing to, you need someone else to deliver it?" I mused, hatching an evil plan. I grinned inwardly. If she was so fucking pent up, maybe beating the shit out of me would give her some releif. Metaphorically. I hoped.

"Yes! Don't give me any more shit about how anyone's own fingers can ever do the job as well as someone else!" she grumped.

"Well then, fuck. I'll help you out with the situation then," I shrugged, taking a sip of my Cognac. I hoped having a leaded crystal class at my lips would keep her from reflexively punching me in the mouth.

"Yeah, sure," she scoffed. "I am not interested in dick, Owen!"

"I don't need my dick to help you out," I laughed, not being serious. "And regardless of your misguided opinion about dick, I'm pretty sure you are into tongue!"

"Of course I am! But you, a guy, are just going to go down on me, try to get me off, then not try to immediately stick your big ole' dick in me at one end or the other?"

"Since you wouldn't be into that second part, no, I wouldn't."

"Sure. You would have me naked and spread-eagled, and you wouldn't want to fuck me?"

"How would that be different from any other time?"

"Well, I'd be naked and spread. Allegedly, I'd be panting with erotic energy or some shit. The idea would enter your mind, and don't try to tell me otherwise."

"I think about fucking you everytime I see you," I said, warming to the bit, and taking the opportunity to use truth to fuck with my buddy's mind.

"What?"

"Sure. You know what kind of inner mental monologue guys have. A gorgeous woman like you? You are a regular feature in my spank bank."

"Oh my God, dude! You talk like this to women?"

"Jesus, no! Of course not. I value my hide! And besides, I'd never get into the pants of any woman that I did, for the first time or ever again. I talk like this to dudes, though."

"I am not a fucking dude!"

"Duh" I snorted. "Look, it's been a couple of weeks since I last hooked up with anybody myself, so I've been having to rinse off the walls of my shower most mornings myself. And I don't think of dudes when I jack off, not in the way I was thinking about you last week. No... two weeks ago..."

"Sweet Jesus on a jellyroll. You are so hard up you broke down and resorted to jacking off to me?!?"

"Gretchen. How long have we been friends?"

"What does that have to... Have you been jacking off to me the whole time I've known you? For two years now?!?"

"Well, not exclusively or anything. I mean, I also think of a bunch of past partners, random hot chicks I know or just saw on the street, plus celebrities like Scarlett Johansson, Sydney Sweeney, Katherine McNamara, Tina Louise..."

"Tina Louise?!?" Gretchen sputtered. "Owen, you nutjob."

"What? I've done nothing wrong here. It's not like I am cheating on you in my fantasies, Gretchen."

"Shit. This is really how guys talk to each other?"

"What? Discuss who we think is hot? Sure."

"...!" she goggled, momentarily and uncharacteristically bereft of speech. "Again, I am not a guy!"

"Obviously. I don't jerk off to guys. But I have the same kind of things in common with you that I do with my dudes."

"Oh, really?"

"Sure. We both think chicks are hot. We both like eating pussy. Neither of us is into sucking a dick. And to be clear, if you had a dick, you'd definitely want to fuck Scarlett Johansson with it."

"I have a dick. It's in my bottom drawer."

"And?"

"Oh, all right. Your point is taken. She's getting a little over the hill, but damn, she's still hot. I'd definitely strap it on for her. But Ginger? Really? Not Mary Ann?"

"Look, everybody thinks it's fashionable to be Team Mary Ann. And yeah, if I ever bring a woman home to Mom and Dad, she'll be a Mary Ann type. But for hot, sweaty, slightly kinky sex on the beach of a desert island? Give me the redheaded bombshell."

She could not help but laugh. "Fuck, why am I not killing you, Owen?"

"Because we have congruent views. I can talk to you this way."

"So I am just another dude to you?"

"Obviously not. I don't know any dudes with tits as nice as yours, for instance. But, yeah. Honestly, you kind of are."

She didn't even look like she wanted to hit me for that one, but I hadn't really been expecting it that time. All women like it when you compliment their tits. They may strike you off the list of people who might ever get to see them if you do it the wrong way, but they still like it inside. Since I was not trying to actually get my hands on those lovely ornaments, I was fine with that.

"Regarding your outrageous offer earlier," she snarked, "I'm guessing if one of your dudes is feeling hard up, you'd be willing to just spoon him and provide a nice reach-around?"

"Fuck no!" I laughed again. Maybe the Cognac was starting to have a little effect. "But none of my dudes have a body to die for, or a pussy that I have convinced myself over the last two years in the shower is fucking delicious."

"You are a psycho on the best of days, Owen. But you have outdone yourself today. I should kill you."

"But you won't, because you have smiled more in the last ten minutes than you have in the whole time since you made Miss Cheating Douche available to the market."

"Son of a bitch! All this shit you've been throwing around was intentional?"

"Gretchen. You were fucking cheated on. Granted, it was by a girl who was never remotely in your league, and whom you are better off without for a host of normal reasons beyond the cheating tattooed tramp she had in your bed. You really should have a CT scan done, before you make any more mistakes like her. But the whole fucking ordeal has to have been a blow to your ego, which deserves to be pretty healthy. I just thought a little outrageous discussion of your desirability might be a good tonic."

"Maybe you are not actually everything that is wrong with men."

"Thank you. I'm glad to see you smile. But I am pretty bad as men go, though. I mean, I meant every fucking word I said."

"Oh, my God!"

"And the offer very much still stands..." I grinned.

"Oh. My. God!" she repeated in angry frustration, but with a big-ass grin on her face.

I just cackled like a loon. I love it when a plan comes together.

She threw back the last of her Cognac and extended the glass. "More, you degenerate reprobate," she demanded.

Somehow, my glass was empty too, so I took it for another splash as well. I returned and handed hers back to her. We grinned at each other as we toasted once more. "To a long illness and a shallow grave for that tramp nympho whore," she said, raising her glass.

"To her taking an expensive cruise and being seasick the whole time," I responded.

She stared at me. "I'm going to need a little more lethality from you, Owen."

"Fine," I grumbled. "To her taking a cruise and falling overboard in shark-infested waters."

"That's better."

We traded increasingly baroque death fantasies about her ex for a bit.

Suddenly, when it was her turn yet again, Gretchen just paused and looked at me intently.

Uh, oh. I really hoped that she was not going to try to make this evening one of those stories where someone enlists their friend to bury a body for real.

Instead, she just mused, "About your offer, Owen..."

Thank God. I just laughed. "Yeah? What about it?"

"I'm pondering taking you up on it."

"What?" I yelped.

She looked almost skittish. "I thought you said you were being serious," she said softly.

"What? I mean, yeah. You genuinely are hot as fucking hell, and I would utterly love, in all ways, to see if your O-Face is as totally goofy and I suspect," I said, temporizing as I tried to figure out what she was really after. "But as alluded to before, I have a dick you are uninterested in!"

"I am indeed uninterested in your dick," Gretchen snorted. "But you were offering your tongue, and, um..." She cut herself off.

Whew. My banker friend was trying to get some back at me. Good. Doing that meant her emotional state was improving.

"Um? What does 'um' mean?" I challenged.

She glared at me. "'Um', as in, um, I understand from certain mutual acquaintances that you know what to do with that tongue," she admitted. "I mean, I do not believe that you can possibly be as good with it as a fully-certified lesbian, but even a mediocre..."

"Wait a minute. What mutual acquaintances?" I interrupted.

"Sheila..." Gretchen thought out loud. "She didn't say it outright, but... Persephone did."

"Wait! I didn't even know you knew Persephone."

"Duh. She's a client at my branch. When we were refinancing her condo, it came up that you and I are neighbors."

"So naturally, my skill with cunnilingus was a subject of conversation," I challenged incredulously.

"Oh, like you men don't talk about women all the time."

"We do. But..." I sputtered. "In the highly unlikely event that the subject of you came up with the manager of my Chase branch, we might, might go so far as to say you were extremely attractive. By a second of third conversation where you came up, we might even debate whether your tits or ass were more appealing! I cannot foresee a circumstance where one of us would find himself telling the other about your various skills in the bedroom!"

"Well then, not only are you men all horndogs, you are pretty boring horndogs. And I keep telling you, you need to get your money out of Chase."

Jesus, not that again. I ignored the banking rivalry. Gretchen was competitive with all banks, but she loathed Chase. "Well, I guess I should be thankful for the recommendations," I instead said.

Oops. I had let some enthusiasm enter my voice and she fucking heard it.

"Oh ho! I thought you were just doing this as a selfless favor to your hard-up friend!"

I looked at her, honestly getting a little embarrassed by this point. But what I saw was more than a teasing expression. There was some insecurity there.

And some need.

Fine. Embarrassment, it would have to be!

"Gretchen, this is honestly something I never even considered in a real-world kind of way. But if we really are talking in real-world terms, then I am all-in, and quite selfishly so."

"We are not talking about much of an opportunity for you to be selfish," she said, in both warning and apology.

"Gretchen," I said, realizing I was almost in pain here. "Are you going to let me help you take care of your problem, or not?"

We locked eyes. I am guessing we each saw uncertainty in the other. I certainly saw uncertainty in her.

Then her lips compressed. Wordlessly, my lesbian buddy stood up, reached up under her knee-length, conservative skirt, and tugged a set of quite utilitarian panties down her legs. She kicked them free of her ankles, and she sat back down on my couch into a posture that was somehow both utterly non-erotic and completely wanton.

"Um..."

I'm not sure which of us said that.

Inhaling sharply, I slid off the other end of the couch and went to my knees near her. I shuffled forward, and her legs parted some more, hesitantly.

"This is weird, isn't it, Owen?" she said glumly.

My pride was stung. No girl should be acting glum with me about to shove my face between her legs. I have my pride.

My pride warred with the fact that this was, in fact, weird.

"Listen," I said, looking up from where my gaze had been fixed on the darkness beneath her skirt. "I hope you aren't going to mind if I enjoy getting my face sticky while I make you lose your sanity here."

"Ha! Brave words, male human! But don't feel pressured. Honestly, all I am expecting, all I'm hoping for, is a nice, solid, externally administered release. You pull that off with that man tongue of yours and you may feel free to enjoy yourself... while doing that."

"Challenge accepted," I growled, crossing my arms and jutting out my chin. I was quoting a favorite internet meme/joke between those of us in the neighborhood. Though it usually was deployed in reply to things like being presented an obscenely large plate of nachos at Chili's, not trying to make a lesbian's twat spasm...

She giggled nervously, but still needfully. But then she gasped as I leaned down and began kissing the inside of her right knee.

Whatever body wash she used was nice. I wasn't familiar with it, but I assumed it was a body wash. Who puts perfume on their lower legs?

Considering what I was down here for, maybe lesbians were the people who put perfume on their legs...

Gretchen's legs, while not masterpieces, were very nice. In keeping with her tiny ass, they were pretty slender, but still had the shape you want in a quality pair of pins.

Her skin was smooth and expertly shaven. Gretchen, despite her recently morose attitude, had not let the landscape go to seed. That was good, as I assumed that it meant I had less to worry about her emotional state long-term.

Whether she beleived me yet or not, I intended to fix the shit out of her emotional state short-term...

I kissed all over her knees, and a few inches up the succulent flesh of her inner thigh. That was all lovely, so I decided to leisurely move to her other leg for a similar investigation. It was similarly pleasant to brush with kisses.

I heard her breath getting a bit shallower as I worked, until suddenly I felt fingers grabbing my earlobe. "Listen, dude. I know you guys are clueless, but those are not the areas where you make things happen!"

"Really?" I asked innocently. "Then where?"

"Are you going to take this seriously?" she asked, sounding as if she might be giving up.

Couldn't have that. Not when I was so close!

"Absolutely not," I snorted. "I'm way committed, but there is nothing serious about this whole ridiculous situation." I kissed my way up her thighs until my face was displacing the hem of her skirt just a bit.

"Please, Owen, I'm not asking to be made love to here. I just really want to get off, and I'll admit I am now fully curious if you can manage that even close to how you boast!"

"Oh, you are going to get off," I purred, looking up at her intently while letting my fingers on both hands begin to creep under the skirt along her inner thighs. "But I have a policy about going slow. I am going to take my time with this and do everything I can along the way to remind you that you are a total babe, and genuinely deserve most any girl you want, all certainly better than that fat-assed cheater."

To illustrate my point, I swiftly let my hands, which had not yet reached her crotch, sweep up and over her legs to the outside of her thighs, while simultaneously pressing them all the way under her skirt. As I slid them further around, she almost instinctively lifted her hips slightly, letting me take a good, firm grip on her small, highly ornamental glutes.

She gasped. "Hey! I said you could lick my pussy. I did not give your hairy male ass permission to feel me up all over!"

"Oh, please," I said dismissively, not removing my hands from her ass, nor feeling her trying to make me. "With the way your hips are going to be thrashing around shortly, I'm going to need something to hang on to so you don't wrench my neck."

"Thrash aroun... Owen, guys are just not that good at this," she said exasperatedly.

"Look," I crooned, pushing my face up under her skirt and breathing in some heady aromas. I still kept my face from her pussy though, for the moment. "I know you are into girls and all, but guys can be pretty competent in this arena. Our tongues work just as well as girls'," I asserted. I licked her for the first time, dragging just the tip of my tongue across her inner thigh.

"I have been with a guy before, douchebag," Gretchen retorted.

"Really?" I asked in surprise as my head popped up involuntarily from under her skirt. As long as I had known Gretchen, being lesbian was as much a part of her as her blonde hair.

"I had a boyfriend for most of my last semester of high school. We had lots of sex. Mediocre, mediocre sex," she growled.

"So you had one bad experience with one pimply-faced child and decided to switch teams?" I asked.

The back of my mind kept on task, though. I knew that was important. My fingers continued to relentlessly creep closer to the source of the steamy warmth under her skirt as we talked.

"No, I had many mediocre sexual experiences, all quite unfulfilling emotionally, with one pimply-faced man-child. I then swore off relationships for a bit, and while I was getting my head together, I realized that I only got all those cool emotional attachment sensations from women. After that, sex got way, way better." She said softly. Then her voice hardened. "For instance, it was almost always better than whatever this shit is you think you are doing!"

I smiled at her, and she could not help but smile back. "Well, before I do some more shit where I know what I'm doing, we need to get this skirt off you."

"Do you need to do that?" Gretchen asked cautiously.

"You have to still walk back to your house through the neighborhood," I said reasonably. "Do you want to do that with the whole back of your skirt soaking wet?"

"Oh, you are going to be that slobbery?"

"No. You are going to be that leaky. Maybe squirty."

Gretchen squinted at me.

I just looked back blandly. "Do me a favor--on multiple levels. Unzip this skirt and help me pull it off?"

Wordlessly, she unzipped the left hip of her skirt one-handed. Then she brought her second hand across to unbutton the waist. I instantly coached her hips up off the couch. The second she began to lift her ass, I pulled the skirt down with my hands inside of it.

I gently tossed it to the side and looked at her, bare below the waist.

"Wow, that is a relief," I said, in all honesty.

"My naked twat is a relief?"

"No, your freshly shaven twat is a relief," I said. "Honestly, Gretchen, I really have been worried about you since I heard. I've had friends go to dark places after a break-up. But if you are still taking the time to shave, instead of spending your days drinking Chardonnay in the tub, you are going to be okay."

"I'm pissed. I'm not depressed," Gretch snorted. "She is not worth depression."

I looked back between her legs at all that soft, bare skin and licked my lips. "Given how you are okay, you probably don't actually need this, do you?" I asked carefully.

"Backing out?" she challenged. "I'm still even hornier than I am pissed, or I wouldn't be sitting here with a fucking man staring up my cooch."

"Thank God," I sighed. "Now lean back and let's see if I can make you regret some life decisions."

That got her. She was still laughing when I leaned right in and dragged my tongue up the length of her slit.

That, in turn, got her as well. She gasped as I dragged my tongue, wet with all the saliva I could summon, up and down her length.

Um, yeah. Just as tasty as I had always imagined. And that meant she was utterly fucking delicious. I had been turned on since the start of this goat rodeo, but now I let myself outright fucking enjoy myself selfishly. I stopped my strokes up and down her slit, and hardened my tongue to push it within her. I groaned happily as I slid into her, her flavor exploding now.

"Listen to you. I'm the one supposed to be enjoying this," Gretchen growled, sounding very much as if she were enjoying it.

"Gretch," I said, reluctantly extracting my tongue to speak, "you taste every bit as marvelous as I told you I had dreamt. I am abso-fucking-lutey going to enjoy the fuck out of this."

"Do you always talk this much during sex?" she said in a shallow breath. While my tongue was busy with conversation, I had brought up my fingertips to tease at her opening.

"Sometimes," I said. "But tonight I had to make sure you really wanted this."

"Thank you."

"Also, I've wanted to shove my face between these gorgeous legs since I first met you at the Harris' cocktail party, so I've had to keep talking to prevent myself from pouncing on you and shoving your legs apart like I'm a rabid wolf. That might have scared you off..."

"Yeah," she sighed. "Oh, yeah," she added, even more deeply, as I once more displaced my fingers with my tongue. "It would have been a crying shame to be scared off before this."

I slid a finger back into her gently, curling the tip upward once I had maneuvered it deep. My tongue began circling her bump, deliciously bathed in the marinade of her arousal.

"Oh fuck, Owen," Gretchen sighed. "Guys are not supposed to be this good at this."

I pretended to ignore her. I was done talking. I had better things for my mouth to do. Later, when we were done, I'd give her shit for lesbians' problematic bigotry about men's tongues.

God, I had wanted this. I'd wanted to do a lot of other things to Gretchen, of course, but somehow, eating her out had been the one thing I'd fixated on, on the occasions I let myself think about her.

Actually getting to do this to her was... almost surreal.

The whole experience was surreal, in a lot of ways. Fantastic, but surreal. Even weirder than the sudden fulfillment of my apparently precognitive fantasy was the whole fact that this was profoundly going nowhere. I've had a lot of sex that clearly wasn't going anywhere in the future. That's almost been the default for me in my life. But this wasn't going anywhere further today. And honestly, even limited sex with a lesbian had not been on my bingo card this morning, nor any other day in the past.

A new, louder moan from Gretchen brought me back to the task at hand. I really needed to get down to enjoying this unique opportunity. I also needed to hold up the honor of men everywhere. Can't have these lesbians thinking we don't know how to lick pussy!

I ground my face against her sex, probing deep with my tongue, my finger helping make room. Since I was never going to fuck Gretch, I was going to eagerly take the opportunity to tongue-fuck her. I probed into her depths, savoring the musky flavor. Her slick, perfectly shaven skin slid wonderously against my face.

"Jesus, Owen," Gretchen called out, her fingers now buried in my hair. "I thought I was going to hate that stubble you've been rocking lately, but it feels kinda fucking hot!"

For an instant, I shied away. The stubble look was a recent experiment I'd been playing with after a 'friend' had bought me a fucking stubble trimmer. I had recently discovered old reruns of this show called Miami Vice and had gone on and on about it with him over drinks several times. Wally is a sarcastic bastard, so I had actually started using the stubble trimmer, just to get him back for the gift.

But Gretchen seemed to like the stubble, so I leaned into it now. Since doing so meant I got to roll my face all over her unfairly flavorful and aromatic pussy, I was happy to add the stimulation.

"Fuuuuck!" she moaned, clearly liking the rough feel even more as I went on. Her fingers wrapped even tighter into my hair, making sure my stubble tickled over her nether lips even harder. Her hips bucked.

Yeah. No way was I going to make her come with my goddamned beard. That was my tongue's job!

I plunged it deep into her once more, as swiftly and suddenly as I could manage, and Gretchen gasped delightedly. She started saying 'fuck' again, repeatedly, each utterance with a different tone or inflection from the previous.

I considered forcibly pulling away and leaving her to fall back from the edge. But I wasn't feeling that cruel. I was doing a favor here, right?

Also, I didn't want all my hair yanked out...

I moved my tongue back to her clit, rubbing the tip side to side over the throbbing bump. 'Fuck' became too articulate a word for Gretchen to manage anymore, and she just started moaning in a high pitch, each sound a little more urgent than the last.

Alright, it was my tongue's show, but my finger could help, I decided. I gently slid it up and into her again, right below my feasting tongue, and probed to find her G-spot.

Found it.

The moans lifted into an ecstatic shriek, and Gretchen thrashed as she came. The orgasm lasted long enough to make me feel conceited and she thrashed against my face, humping her hips up and down against me. Then, like her strings had been cut, she collapsed back on my couch, her fingers that had been holding my head tight to her crotch now pushing me feebly but desperately away.

Yep. Goofy O-Face.

"Oh God, that is so what the doctor ordered," she mumbled, drunk on hormones.

"Glad I could be of help," I said smugly but sincerely. And glad to score some reputation points for the male team.

Gretchen sighed happily, lying back in a limp puddle. I will admit to taking the opportunity to just flat out stare at her spread legs.

What a pretty, wet and sloppy but pretty, pussy.

After a moment, Gretch lifted her head. Doing so seemed to take all the energy she had, because the rest of her remained pleasingly splayed out. This had not been about me, but I was going to load up on imagery for my next dry spell.

"Fuuuuuck," she panted. She shook her head. "What do I need to do for you now?" she asked, more to herself than really to me.

But I answered anyway. "Huh? You don't need to do anything. We were specific about that. This was just to help you reset your brain and start transitioning any residual lust into good healthy hate for the cheating bitch." No way did I want my friend to think I was going to take advantage of the situation!

"Sure," Gretchen snorted dismissively. "You are telling me that a guy is going to bring the bliss like that, and not expect some kind of return effort?"

"I am telling you..."

"Hell, If I helped out a girlfreind like that, I'd be fucking desperate by the time I was done," she went on. She grunted the last of that as she sat up, sadly pulling her legs together.

"Gretchen, I really am not trying..."

"Owen," she said, focus returning to her eyes. "Thank you, but am I going to sit here and leave the guy who fixed my blue bean, with blue balls? I have never ever seen you pitch a tent before, but even with you sitting there on the floor, it looks like you bought those khakis from Ringling Brothers."

I didn't even need to look down to know from my discomfort that my cock was making me look like a self-serving douchebag.

"Come on, stand up," she snorted. "While I am still in a compulsively thankful condition."

I didn't want her compelled to do anything. "Gretch..."

"Stand. Up."

I stood up. The concept of whatever my friend was suggesting made me move a little faster than I should.

She laughed. "Ah! So you are eager! I guess I should be flattered."

I was about to object again, or apologize, or whatever, but my words died in my throat as Gretchen grabbed the fly of my pants and opened it. Instead, I sighed involuntarily as my cock was freed from its uncomfortable situation.

"Jesus, bro!" Gretchen snorted good-naturedly, but without a trace of intrinsic desire. "You are as big as my fucking strap-on!"

I had no idea what to fucking say to that. Before I could try to say anything, she grabbed my cock a little more tightly than necessary and stared at it.

"I really do owe you," she said, looking up at me now. "But fair warning, it has been a dozen years since I did one of these, and I don't think I was very good at it back then."

"Gretchen," I tried again to tell her I didn't expect this, but she squeezed my cock to shut me up again.

When I subsided, she stared intently at my dick and pumped her hand up and down once.

"I don't suppose you have any lube?" she asked me. "I forget even the real ones need to get slick."

"In my bedroom," I said, starting to turn. Her hand turned me back again.

"Forget it. If this will lubricate a dildo, it should do for this."

Gretchen let go of me and spat several times on each palm, then began to sloppily lick both hands until they glistened.

I manfully refrained from suggesting that she might more easily lubricate my dick by licking the appendage in question directly.

In a moment, my dick was clasped again, by both hands this time, and being pumped aggressively.

Honestly, it felt amazing, and the situation was an embarrassing turn-on. But she was going a little hard. "Slow down," I almost yelped. "You are awesome, but please work up to it."

"Sorry! See what I mean?" Gretchen said, unhappy with herself. She was always anal about any job she did.

And she did slow down. She even loosened the death-grip she had on me and now slid smoothly and softly up and down my shaft. She still really did not know what she was doing, I could tell. But this just might turn into an enjoyable handjob. At the very least, I expected she would manage to fix her accurate diagnosis of blue balls.

But then she opened her mouth and stuck a couple of inches of me between her lips!

I felt her tongue brush gently across the bottom of my glans, but it did not fully engage. I still hissed happily at the sensation. Gretchen rolled her head around gently, let me out of her mouth, then took me back in again. Again, the touch of her tongue was amazing, but too brief.

I found that it was hard, in a situation like this where my cock was already needy as fuck, and every touch was electric but unfulfilling, not to start pushing my cock deeper into my friend's mouth.

I doubted she would like that in any way, shape, or form, so I controlled myself.

And honestly? I felt great. Every little thing she did felt great. But I also knew that this was never going to actually get me off. She had even stopped stroking my dick.

She just wasn't into it. And she just didn't know what she was doing. She wasn't disgusted by my dick in her mouth, I was desperately releived to discern, but there was no hunger, no urgency.

I groaned again at another, all too brief tongue caress.

How could my blue balls, in the middle of a fucking blowjob--a blowjob from a fucking certified lesbian, be getting worse?

My next happy sigh was tinged with a hint of frustration. I couldn't help it.

Worse, Gretchen heard it.

Worse than that, she took me out of her mouth again. "I told you I wasn't very good," she fretted. "Back with my one boyfriend, well, just like he wasn't very good at dining at the Y, and was never that into it anyway, I was neither eager nor good at sucking cock."

"It's all right," I reassured her earnestly. "I never expected..."

"I'll just fuck you instead," she said.

"Huh?" I gulped. "Gretchen! No! I do not expect you to..."

"Shut. The Fuck. Up," she said sternly. "I never got him off with my mouth, so I'm not sure why I expected to do it for you today. But he always, always came when he fucked me."

"Gretchen..."

"And," she went on. All this overriding everything I said should have been getting on my nerves, but considering the circumstances... "And, at least once, he sort of, by accident, I am sure, made me come too," she added. She looked up at me. "Owen, from the way you ate me out almost as good as a girl..." she started.

Almost?

"I'm betting you might fuck well enough to get me off again," she said quietly. "And while your good work at least got me back on balance about craving my cheating ex, I am still kinda gagging for another."

Conniving bitch. My buddy was always manipulative, witness the issue with the concert tickets the prior spring. Now she was appealing to my apparently generous nature.

"Oh, God," I moaned.

"There we go," she crooned, self-satisfied, knowing she had me broken down. Of course, there had never been any way I or any other dude, this far in, could have possibly said no.

Gretchen turned on my couch and laid herself out along its length. "Let's do this," she murmured.

My last ditch, extraordinarily uncommitted defense was to ask, "You don't want to be on top?"

"You are the expert in this, Owen, not me," she snorted. "Lead the way!"

"Buy you keep talking a good game about your strap-on," I said, unable to resist the tease. I also was unable to resist climbing up to kneel with one leg between hers.

"The bitch was the one who wore it, not me," she snorted.

"Fine then," I gumbled, finally capitulating. I grabbed one of the extra cushions from where it had been shoved off the couch. "Lift," I said, grabbing her ass and pulling up. Gretchen obediently lifted her hips, and I slid the firm cushion right where I wanted it.

With her hips lifted and tilted, I wondered for just a second at the amazing sensation of living an impossible fantasy. But just for a second. As I said, I was fully beyond any more objections.

I lifted my other leg up between hers, and braced myself over her with one hand, grabing my cock with the other. I pointed it down and I pressed its tip against her bare, and still extremely sodden slit.

"Ohhhhh," Gretchen groaned. "Do it!"

I sighed as I pushed inward.

Honestly, she wasn't as tight as I had expected. I mean, she was still wonderfully tight, and I had to work to bury myself inside her. But I had kind of told myself that a girl who hasn't fucked in twelve years or whatever would need one of Elon Musk's tunneling machines to get into. Instead, my little old dick did the job just fine, and we both explosively sighed as I slipped fully into her.

"Gotta," Gretchen groaned, "remember the pillow thing!"

I pulled myself almost free, then slid in again. And again. And again, a little faster.

"Just a reminder," Gretchen said, suddenly grabbing my ass, "I'm sure I'm okay, but better not come inside me, okay?"

"Fuck!" I yelped. Of course a lesbian would not be on birth-control! What kind of asshole was I?

"I... I have some in my bedroom," I said, yanking myself free of her. It surprised her, but her fingers dug into my ass, stopping me beforte I could bolt.

"Fuck that! No, wait. Fuck me. Now!" she gasped. "That felt surprisingly good. Way better, unh," she grunted as I shrugged and slid back into her, "than I remember."

"The condoms are just down the hall," I said, fucking her anyway while I made my case.

"My period, Owen, is as regular as a bond coupon," she snorted. "I never miss. It starts tomorrow. I am not ovulating. I'm just saying, in the interest of security, pull out anyway."

"You are really trusting me," I grunted.

"Dude, if I didn't trust you, I'd have never let you tongue my hoohaw in the first place!"

I really, really did not want to stop fucking this woman to go get condoms, for fear than she might come to her senses while I was out of sight.

I committed to the bit. If she was going to have some dick for the first time in over a decade, I was determined that it be the best dicking possible. I grabbed her hips and shifted her on the pillow so my shaft would stroke her clit as I enjoyed myself.

Because I was now utterly enjoying myself.

And while I wanted her to love every minute, I also determined to take my time. I was not going to let either of us come for a good long while, because if I was going to get to actually fuck Gretchen, I was going to extend the experience as long as possible.

Oh, piss off. This was a once-in-a-lifetime data collection opportunity. I was going to extend the experimental run as long a possible.

"Oh, fuuuck," Gretchen moaned again, looking up at me. She bit her lip as she looked me up and down. I wasn't sure if it was desire, or if she just wanted to stop embarrassing herself with how loud she was being with a dude. "Take your shirt off," she demanded. At my startled expression, she went on, "You look fucking ridiculous going at it with a tennis shirt on," she went on. Then she grinned. "And I remember your chest from the Falken's pool party last year. I want to see it again, all sweaty and flexing."

I grinned at her. This was getting fun.

A great thing about missionary with a woman whose hips are elevated significantly is that you can often keep thrusting without needing to support your weight with your arms. I tugged my shirt off without missing (much of) a beat in my rhythm.

"Wow, fucking a guy, and wanting to oggle his pecs. Here I thought you were a lesbian," I teased.

"Oh, I very much am," she replied, grunting because I was thrusting into her pretty hard as I gave her a hard time. "But I can still appreciate the chest of a good-looking dude. Just because I don't feel any emotional draw from guys doesn't mean I can't still appreciate their bodies. When Chris Hemsworth pulls off his shirt in Thor, I'm there for it."

"Good to know, especially if I ever have a torso like Thor's."

"Don't... ungh... get too cocky," Gretchen said, squeezing her thighs together against my hips. "I'd still way rather watch... oooh... that scene in American Pie where Shannon Elizabeth... oh hell... strips down in the douchebag's bedroom."

"Heh heh heh! Gretchen likes big boobies!" I sang like a school kid. "Gretchen likes big, fake boobies!"

That earned me a swat. But then she grinned. "Yeah, I do like a nice set of good fake boobies..."

We both giggled. Then we spent about ten thrusts and thirty seconds literally agreeing with each other that among movies from before puberty, or even before we were born, only Jamie Lee Curtis in Trading Places had a better scene.

I sobered and drew my cock in and out of her in long, slow strokes, absolutely reveling in the silken feel of her inner embrace. I also stared at her expectantly.

"Wha... what?" she asked breathlessly.

"Don't I get the same consideration?" I asked, staring at her blouse and slowing my in and out movement, replacing it with a languid corkscrew rocking.

"I'm fucking you, Owen. I did not sign up from having my tits mauled by a ham-fisted dude," she snorted.

This was totally fucking weird.

But I wanted what I wanted.

"I don't need to play with them," I said, acting as innocent as I could with my cock streaming in pleasure as it danced inside her. "But I also like to see a nice chest."

"Mine are not big, fake boobies," she moped.

"Please. I saw you at the Falkens' party, too. Even in that terrible, ugly, dowdy one-piece you were wearing, it was clear you have tits worth seeing."

"Fine, but do that thing with your hips some more, please," she said, her hands going to the buttons of her white blouse.

I obliged, and she grinned happily.

She threw the front of her blouse wide, and her nicely sized, not at all fake tits bounced gently in the ordinary white lace bra she had on underneath. She grabbed the bra in the middle and opened the clasp there, tossing the bra wide, too.

Yes! They had some nice heft, though not exactly grapefruit-sized or anything. And her nipples were premium, roseate, and eagerly pointed upward. The aureoles were generous and looked crinkled with arousal.

And man did those tits bounce wonderfully as I thrust my cock into Gretchen.

So I thrust still harder. They were now almost flailing around.

"Damn! I never realized how much harder a guy can drive than a strap-on," Gretchen gasped. "Mine would have been knocked off by now!"

"Is it okay?" I asked quickly, slowing my roll.

"Yes, it's okay," she groaned. "Keep it up. If I'm going to fuck a guy, I might as well enjoy the aggression a little."

I resumed my fast pace and observed, "These are really nice tits."

She just snorted. I did not have Thor's chest, she did not have Jamie Lee Curtis's or Shannon Elizabeth's. We were both pretty fucking happy at the moment.

Best of all, my mouth finally, finally felt happy just panting, instead of talking. I pumped in and out of her, making sure that, as I enjoyed myself, I heard plenty of happy hisses from stroking that internal spot which made her shake.

And she was shaking now. "Oh, yeah, Owen. This is a helluva lot better than I had hoped for. You are so much better than Petey was."

Yeah. I wasn't going to preen too much over that. I sure hoped I was better than some pimply-faced douchebag teenager who didn't want to lick pussy.

Apparently, I was preening anyway, because Gretchen outright laughed at me. She did clamp down around my cock as she did, so I had that going for me. "You are still no woman, dude."

I stuck my tongue out at her. "You are not a woman either," I said incoherently.

She looked at me archly.

"I mean," I tried to recover, "you a no woman who wants me to suck her nipples!"

"Sucks to be you," she chortled.

I never slowed my now firm, powerful, not too fast rhythm. "It does not... suck to be me right now," I practically moaned.

"Me either," she groaned.

Fuck. I might come before her! No way that was happening.

I shoved a hand down between us and diddled her clit.

"No... fucking fair!" Gretchen gasped. "That's too... oh, shiiiiit!"

She came again. Holy fuck, did that feel good around my cock. My arousal, already near the edge, surged up fast.

Pull out!

Fuck! I had to pull out!

I had not resorted to coitus interruptus in a long, long time.

It was harder, much harder, than I remembered.

But I managed, barely. With a cry of frustration, I yanked my hips backward and my cock popped free from its happy playground.

Gretchen, like the true quality broad that she is, lesbian or not, reached swiftly for my cock to help me finish, but I had left it almost too late anyway. I grunted and my cock spewed... prodigiously, even for me. Another reason I need to fuck a biologist at some point would be to find out the scientific term for balls like mine, that produce a lot, and reload quickly.

My loins spasmed, and my brain went, um, yellow? Everything definitely had a yellow hue to it as my cock throbbed in ecstacy. I felt Gretchen's hand grab, albeit inexpertly, at my cock, and before she could so much as move her fingers, it drew a final mighty plume of jizz from me.

"Oh, fuck!" I gasped, suddenly tottering back and forth over Gretchen, bereft of breath, brawn, or brain.

"Shit! You okay, dude?" she asked, not exactly coherent herself. She reached up to help support me, but I, not wanting to flop down atop her, sank off to the side. Unfortunately, we were fucking on a couch, and there was no surface beside her to flop onto. Instead, I tumbled to the fucking floor!

"Owen!" she yelped, twisting to her side and reaching out toward me.

I just laughed... somewhat hysterically. "I'm okay! You came, right?"

"Fuck, yeah! That is your concern? Not the half-gallon of jizz you sprayed all over me?"

"The woman always comes first!" I said, waving my finger in the air almost desperately.

"Damn, I may have to recommend you to any fellow lesbians who want to take a walk on the wild side," she snorted.

"Really?" I asked, suddenly almost interested in the future.

"Fuck you," she laughed, shoving my shoulder. "But thank you for asking to see my tits."

"Huh?"

She pointed at her belly and her breasts, all streaked with sticky white. "I would never have been able to explain this to my dry cleaner!"

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