Best Fuckbuddies Forever

Best Fuckbuddies

Forever

"That was such a cute noise you made," she whispered.

"What noise?" I squeaked.

"Kind of a whimper-slash-moan." She kissed my neck again, and this time I heard it. She moved to my throat, which caused me to make the same sound and feel even weaker.

"Right there," I whispered as my chest began to heave. She kissed my throat once more, and I whimpered again. She kissed my chin, which was not arousing in and of itself, but made clear to me she was heading for my mouth, thus stirring my anticipation.

And then she really kissed me. I grunted between our lips and my instincts took over. I wrapped my arms around her neck, kissed her back for a while, then gave into the urge to shove my tongue into her mouth. She giggled, then cruelly pried her mouth an eighth of an inch away from mine.

"Why—hah—did you stop?" I whimpered while trying to catch my breath.

"I just wanted to point out that you're a natural." To my relief, she resumed kissing me.

Over the course of the next few eternal minutes of her touch, a need within me grew, a need for more which I was compelled to satisfy. With simultaneous reluctance and eagerness I pulled away and told her, "If you don't mind, Judith... I'd like to invoke the fuck part of our fuckbuddy agreement. Right now."

"We could do that, but I think we should take it slow, since this is your first time."

"Okay. Fine. You're older but wiser—‍" She snorted. "What?"

"Nothing. There's a song in a musical—never mind."

"Alright... If not sex, what do we do next?"

"Foreplay." She began unbuttoning my shirt—I took that as my cue to pull her tee up to her armpits; she took the hint and raised her arms, allowing me to pull it off and expose her toned-but-not-chiseled abs and her bare and surprisingly youthful breasts. While she resumed unbuttoning my shirt, I marveled at them, imagined touching them and feeling how soft they were. I spread my fingers out and held them inches from them, coiled tight and ready to spring forward and latch on. She giggled. "Damn, you're eager." I wanted to grab them, and I wanted her to grab mine and do things with them.

I grunted, and as she untucked my uniform shirt I hastily undid (popped off) the last button for her by ripping my shirt open and cast it away without a care for where it landed before ripping open my tank top and disposing of it likewise. She pulled my sports bra up and over my head, letting my ironically more mature breasts bounce, and as soon as my hands were free I grabbed her tits and brushed my thumbs across her nipples, causing her to gasp. I devoured her tender chest as she squeezed mine; she pinched my nips, forcing from me a yelp of pleasure. I wanted to rub my tits against hers but couldn't quite get them to meet because of our height difference, so I leaned against her chest until she got the hint to lie down. Once she was on her back, I climbed on top of her and rubbed myself against her.

By chance I breathed in through my nose and caught a full blast of her scent—

Fresh ground

French roast

Hot pressed

Steamed milk

Go juice

Fuck her

All night

A dial inside my head turned from 9 to 10. "Fuck." I hastily dismounted her, unbuckled, and undid my fly.

"Andrea, I don't know if you're ready..."

"I'm extremely ready, damn it." She had been compelling before, but now she was irresistible.

I peeled off my pants, then tried to pull her boxers off while she was seated, but she gently curled her long fingers around my hands and told me, "I'm not ready, okay?"

My heart was beating faster than a hummingbird's and my body was driving me forward at a mile a second and she was asking me to take a leisurely stroll like it was a balmy July afternoon— (And while it was July 12th in sunny Southern California, we were only a few miles from the chilly Pacific and the sun had set hours ago, so it was starting to cool off outside.) —whereas I was in the mood for a cross country sprint. On the brink of devastation, I stared. I gently, quietly, breathlessly explained, "You... You said we were fuckbuddies. Fuckbuddies, they, you know... they fuck."

"I did say that. But right now I'm telling you I'm not ready to go all the way."

I groaned and plopped down next to her. "I feel a need."

"Horny?"

Wait. She knows I'm a virgin, but she might be under the misconception that I'm one of those innocent virgins, rather than one of the pathetic incel variety... and innocent is sexy. As naïvely as I could, I asked, "This is what being horny is like? I've never felt this way before. It's like... a... a strange kind of tension, almost like... anxiety, but different because... it has this extra physical aspect to it. My body is telling me, 'Do something with your genitals,' but I don't know what it is I'm supposed to do until I've already started doing it. Is this what horniness is?"

"Yep. And you're not always going to have someone to help you resolve it, so you need to learn how to take care of it yourself."

"Are you saying... I need to..." I dropped to a loud, scandalized whisper. "... touch... touch myself?!"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Alright, if I gotta solo this one... I gotta solo this one." (Gently put, I had extensive experience. Bluntly put, I averaged about 3 hours and 30 orgasms per night to help me fall asleep.) I realized there may yet be a way to persuade her to touch me. "So... how exactly do I... do... 'it'?" I asked in feigned ignorance.

"You can use your hands, a dildo, or a vibrator."

"The things lesbians use because they don't have penises?"

I narrowly picked up on the mild annoyance she took care to hide behind a tutor's encouraging smile, though it was hard to tell why my question bothered her. "Yes. They also use their mouths."

"Okay. Out of those, all I have are hands and a mouth."

"And while I would love to see you use your mouth..." I suppressed a perverted smirk. Oh, who among us doesn't find the concept of a girl eating herself out extremely hot? "... I'm not holding my breath that you're one of the lucky few who are that flexible, so hands it is. First, you want short nails—yours are already chewed smooth, so that step's taken care of. Second, you should wash your hands before you touch anything."

I generally skipped the second step out of laziness, but I figured following her advice would make her happy, so I washed in my bathroom then pretend-bashfully strolled up to her in nothing but my socks and panties.

"Now you're gonna wanna get comfy."

"Okay. My bed is the most comfortable spot in my apartment." And also the closest to being worthy of the adjective 'romantic'.

"Let's go."

I led her by the hand past my kitchenette to the area I called my 'bedroom'... my apartment being a studio, it wasn't really a room as much as it was an area partially separated from the living room by my closet to give me a shred of privacy while I was jerking myself to sleep. I reclined on my flank so that she would have a good view of the show, and just close enough to the edge that she would be right next to me when she joined me. "Won't you lie down? So that you can use your fingers... to point where I should put mine?" She shrugged, kicked off her crocs and took up that narrow space, her body inches from mine. "What now, teacher? Will you guide your student?" Fingers crossed she's into teacher-student fantasies...

Sure enough, her eyebrow raised, piqued. "Teacher and student, right... I'm assuming you don't mind me seeing your pussy."

"You need to see my... p-pussy? I... guess it can't be avoided." With less hesitation than would have been ideal, I yanked off my panties and handed them to her. "Can you toss those in the hamper?" With a hint of bewilderment in her eyes, she stared at my underwear for a second, then at my mound—my legs spread wide, the better for her to see—then tossed my panties in the basket. "Thank you. I'm ready for the next step."

"You can start by inserting your finger into your vagina."

I had never bothered to experiment internally because I had read somewhere that clitoral stimulation was the only thing capable of bringing a woman to orgasm; nevertheless, I had to go with the flow. I considered asking her to take my hand and guide it, but decided that might be a little too bold. "Alright." I placed my forefinger at the entrance of the place where only tampons had ever ventured before, then slowly slipped it into what turned out to be a very slick hole. "Oh!" The sensation was surprisingly pleasant, with a sudden and powerful rush as I crossed the threshold, as electrically stimulating as having my nipples abused, and more exhilarating to boot. "I like that." I repeated the motion time and again while she watched, intrigued. "Mm..." I even uttered for her enjoyment the sounds people make in porn—it was my hope that she'd get off on my noises and maybe give into her horniness. "Ah..."

"Wow, um... So, you're probably not gonna cum from just that, though, most women have to play with their clits to accomplish anything. Pull out your finger." Well, shit.

I removed it reluctantly, and a string of a substance resembling raw egg white stretched from my vagina to my finger, the stuff that would frequently overflow and soak my panties throughout the week following a bleed. "Can you grab me a tissue? I need to wipe off my finger."

"It's lubrication, you want that—unless you have a bottle of lube lying around." I shook my head in spite of the pint of Maude Shine I kept hidden inside my nightstand next to my Magic Wand. It was just about empty, so I wasn't being entirely dishonest. "Didn't think so. Get the other fingers on that hand wet." One-by-one I moistened the fingers on my right hand, navigating each as far as it would go up the rainy season Nile between my legs and savoring the sensation of being spread each time. As I pulled out my pinky finger, I was overcome by curiosity—and an idea for how to turn her on.

I placed my pinky finger in my mouth and sucked it off.

The flavor was... pleasant, albeit hard to describe other than the notes of vinegar and olive, and there was something about consuming my own juices that appealed to my pervy little brain, so much so that I found myself quietly moaning as I slowly withdrew my moistened finger from my mouth.

Judith muttered, "Christ."

"What's wrong?" I think I managed to hide my satisfaction that my performance had the intended effect.

"Nothing. Well... The sound you just made... The look on your face when you did that... You're acting like you've done this before."

"But I'm clueless," I lied. Well, I hadn't sucked on my own juices before, but I had seen many other women suck on pussy juice-slick fingers on camera. So, in a way, I was being honest.

"No, you're just inexperienced, and what you lack in learning, you make up for in confidence. Now try touching your clitoris."

I hovered my finger over my clit, stopping an inch short. "I'm... kind of afraid to do this, Judith," I pretend-whimpered, quite eager to 'do this.'

"You'll be fine."

"Maybe if you... took my hand... and guided it?"

"You don't need my help. You can do it."

It was worth a shot. I sighed. "Alright. Here goes." I spread my lips with my left hand and touched my clitoris with the moist index finger of my right, exactly as I had 10 to 30 times every day since puberty. I felt a familiar, gentle spark shoot up my stomach. I pulled my hand back and gasped in feigned surprise. "Wow!"

"Try rubbing it."

"Okay." I touched it again, causing a shower of sparks to carve its way outward from my crotch and throughout my pelvis, then made a little circle with it—the sparks grew hotter and attacked me more fiercely. "Holy—fuck," I gasped between machine gun breaths as I found myself overwhelmed by the pleasure, my habitual compulsion mindlessly accelerating my motions, jiggling my clit with my whole wrist, arm, and shoulder until every nerve in my body gently toasted beside the flames of excitement. I moaned continuously—until my mouth was smothered by someone else's.

I kissed Judith back as I thrust my crotch into my hand, eager, so incredibly eager to release that carnal energy that ever called to me from within—and even more eager to get her to do it for me.

That energy grew and grew with each stroke, I felt my desire inflate, I grabbed Judith's tit with my left hand and squeezed; I dragged my thumb across her hard nipple, causing her to shudder and moan into my mouth.

Then, unable to bear the thought of my first orgasm with a sex partner being at my own hand, I abandoned my clitoris, wrapped my fingers around her wrist, removed her hand from my cheek, guided it towards my crotch, and released it as I quietly whispered, "Please." She rolled her eyes—and humored me. Her fingers invaded my country and I surrendered to her every maneuver as she politely conquered me. She performed magnificently, vigorously ruling over my clit with a firm hand, and I let her know I was hers with my moaning and whining until time bled over into space, until I felt—

A fuse within me catches flame.

It burns and fizzes, throws its sparks.

As it grows shorter, closes in

To detonate my heart and mind

And spread my shrapnel

'cross the world,

Which folks make into effigies

To bury with their kin and pets.

I lived these lovely decades few

And died a million lives and am

Remembered by a billion more.

I rest, immortal as the earth

In which forever I'm entombed.

In my remains I plant a seed;

I germinate, extend my roots,

Foundation for self-masterpiece.

I sprout my stem into a trunk,

Proportions of which beggar awe.

My leaves spring forth

from branches high

And spread to eat the sun and moon.

My waist grows tall to reach the sky

Throughout a thousand years of life.

My cones will wait decades or more

To split and birth my progeny.

I am majestic, great and old,

I am Sequoia, Queen of Woods.

You laze within my shade, my child,

And marvel at my majesty;

So gaze upon this wond'rous tree,

And know I am your Goddess.

My explosive death and gradual rebirth caught me completely off guard as it forced my back to arch, my legs to stiffen, and my toes to curl. Pleasure rained down like El Niño, flooding my mind with a euphoria that outdid tequila by a wide margin before slowly easing off, then dissipating, leaving me drenched but thriving beside a tranquil pond fit for dreaming, with a pleasant buzz permeating my body not unlike a very intense marijuana high. I sighed, perfectly content without alcohol for the first time in my post-pubescent life.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

I smiled lazily and brushed her cheek. "All I can say is... I've been missing out for half my life. I wish we'd met before I became a cop. Maybe you could've stopped me from making that mistake." I softly dragged a fingertip up and down her cleavage as butterflies waltzed upon my skin. "Thank you, Judith."

"You're welcome, Andrea. Is this a queen? It feels bigger than mine."

"King. I need a lot of space to be comfortable. I take up the whole bed when I sleep."

"The size might come in handy."

"For what?"

"I dunno, it just... might."

A moment passed as I tried to figure out what she had in mind for the bed, but my mind wandered until I got to thinking about what my newfound sexuality meant, and how my frustration had been so easily released after a decade and a half of silent physiological readiness. But then, despite having so recently declared myself queen of my newly formed forest cult of bliss, I began to worry. "Am I a... a slut?" At that point in time, I still thought that sluttiness—like fatness—must be a trait undesirable to anyone and everyone who might get to know me.

"You practically ripped your clothes off then started jerking off in front of me only 6 hours into our friendship... then grabbed me by the hand and begged me with the saddest pair of eyes I've ever seen to finish you off. But you also have a very recent history of being a chaste virgin, so what happened now might just be a fluke. I would say your slut status is... debatable."

"When you say it's 'debatable', are you just being diplomatic, or is that your honest answer?"

She shrugged. "It's my honest—‍"

I sat up and leaned over her. "Keeping in mind I was dead set on skipping the masturbation and just fucking you on the couch."

"Okay, fine, the evidence favors you being a slut."

I'm a slut. The rumors in school were true—it just took a couple decades for authentic evidence to surface. Lightheadedness mixed with euphoria, yielding a short-lived anxiety. I wanted to tell her that I didn't like the idea of being a slut.

I asked for her honest opinion, and the verdict was 'maybe'.

But when she said the word...

"Are you worried about being a slut?"

All the bullshit my classmates put me through in middle school and high school floated in and out of my head before suddenly deflating and dropping to the floor, flaccid and impotent. I shrugged. "Eh. I'll be fine, I guess."

With concern she observed, "Based on how long it took you to answer that question... you don't sound fine."

In fact, her words hurt so little that... "Coming from you, it doesn't bother me. I..." Dare I say it? "I guess you're just what I needed." 'Just what I needed...'

"Is it the perfume that I wear?"

I grinned. "No, and 'It's not the ribbons in your hair.'"

She snorted and nodded with an appreciative smile. "Do you mind me coming here?"

"I don't. And in case you're worried about wasting all my time... my time has never been so well spent. You came along when I needed you most—‍"

Three words tickled my throat, three words that needed to hold their fucking horses... three words that would have better gone unspoken until much later in any other seemingly healthy relationship.

And in the case of our relationship, I could have avoided pushing Judith to run away—to abandon what we had made together, to leave me all alone with only tears for company—if only I had left those three small words unspoken till the end of time. If only—after those few days together, too beautiful to last and too brief to deserve import—I had held my tongue. If only—when her eyes caught fire, burning with fear—I had held back my emotions and refrained from speaking to her those cursèd words over and over and over again, driving her to flee from the woman I knew damn well she loved more than anything. If only—when she told me repeatedly that I was wrong about what kind of relationship we were in—I had closed my mouth and heeded her warnings, I could have saved myself from the greatest fear I had ever felt, which would also be the greatest despair I had ever suffered.

I hurt her when I finally said those words. I wish that I had found another sentence to tell her how I felt. Having in hindsight just an inkling of what she had gone through before me, I wish I hadn't hurt her.

But the most horrible moment in our ephemeral romance did not yet come that night—a few fleeting days of bliss would pass before she threw open the door and took that single step without me.

"—though I wish you could've come to me sooner," I said instead.

"Aw. That's so sweet," she said dearly, and... with... what I almost swore to myself was pity... and... sorrow... and... regret. "You're... a very... sweet woman. I'm glad... I'm glad I came into your life at the moment I did, too." She was silent, pensive for a few seconds, but then she looked like she had some kind of revelation and cleared her throat softly. "You know, I don't even know your last name. Isn't that crazy?"

"Bachman."

"Lucas. So, it feels a little weird to be talking like we've known each other for months—and yet..." Even as she admitted this, she relaxed. She didn't look or sound weirded out. The pity, the sorrow, the regret—all gone, replaced with the same sympathetic confidence she had maintained since the beginning. She seemed perfectly comfortable as we lay next to each other, our tits facing each other, my pussy out, one of my arms slung over her waist, the chewed-nail fingers on that hand gently 'scratching' her back, and the other five running through her hair, coating it with my juices; one of her hands cupping my face, thumb brushing my face cheek, the other hand squeezing my ass cheek—fingers feeling me, massaging me. Life had never been this good. I never would have imagined losing my job would bring me such pure and genuine joy. I never imagined losing her, nor the terror that would follow.

I kissed her for half a minute, then explained, "The shrink who told my bosses I was too disabled to work told me I needed friends and ordered me to befriend the next person I met... and that ended up being you."

She stared into my eyes with a pale smile. We rested our lips for a moment, with only the jet-engine whir of my gaming console's dust-clogged CPU fan to cut the silence. Then she hugged me tightly and sighed loudly. "I think that doctor was right. I think they were spot-on."

Her embrace brought me comfort, of which I had both a cornucopia and a famine. "Definitely."

She released me. "You need sleep. What time do you get up?"

I shrugged. "I don't have a job anymore. What's the point in having a schedule?"

"Schedules are good for your mental health. Do you take any medications?"

"Yes. Adderall."

"Medicines like that work best when you take them at the same time every day. Having a schedule is imperative for you in particular."

"Okay. I guess... 9 o'clock. I can get away with just a few hours of sleep, for a couple days at a time. One of the few things I had going for me in my quest to become a homicide detective."

"A homicide detective?" Is that a twinkle in your eye? It was. Excitement, curiosity, eureka—in her eye a puzzle piece slipped into place and completed a picture—a picture obscured from me. "Or any kind of detective? Might you solve... kidnappings?"

"Yes. I would prefer homicide specifically, just like Lieutenant Columbo, but he rescues his nephew's wife from her kidnapper in No Time to Die. Not my favorite episode, but it's fun to watch the lieutenant pull out all the stops and work at a breakneck pace and just be a hero in a way he can't be if the victim is already dead. And... I really like seeing him in a tuxedo. Very handsome."

"You really like Peter Falk. You got a crush on him or something?"

"He's the only man I've ever had a crush on," I told her, lying more to myself than to her.

She might have interpreted this as a joke, because she chuckled. "You think he's sexy?"

"He was at his sexiest as Grandpa in The Princess Bride."

At this fact she laughed with extra gusto, mirthful surprise pinching her cheeks. "Yeah, he was pretty sexy with grey hair! And in his trench coat I consider him a rare exception to ACAB. If you had become a detective... maybe I would have considered you an exception, too. Though I can't say that any antifascist who takes themself seriously would agree with such an unorthodox attitude."

"Well—I'm not a cop anymore, so it doesn't matter what they would think about me hypothetically being a detective."

"Well..." She curled a lock of my hair around her finger. "... you may find that a lot of people won't agree with me that you're not a bastard anymore, either. A significant minority might be of the attitude that 'once you're a cop, you're always a cop'. But, in my humble opinion, that's unfair. Nobody's born perfect. People change."

"I guess."

She checked her phone. "That was a blast, but... it's midnight-oh-six, and I set my alarm for bright-and-early-thirty."

"Are you sure you can't stay a little longer? We could maybe go for a quickie."

She shook her head. "I'm still not ready. I don't fuck until I know someone's favorite song, movie, and book."

"My ass you don't! You just fingered me a few minutes ago."

"I had a moment of weakness. The face you made was so... pathetically needy, I felt compelled to finish you off. I'm not letting that happen again—no more sex until you dish."

"Favorite song: 'Just What I Needed' by The Cars; favorite movies: The Cheap Detective, The Princess Bride, and A Friend in Deed from Columbo (if you count feature-length television episodes as movies); and my dearest, most favorite book: Just One More Thing by Peter Falk."

"'Movie-s'? I said 'mov-ie', singular."

"I like all three."

"Singular."

"Well, I like all three."

A cruel smile danced across her mouth. "I guess we'll just have to spend a little more time getting to know each other—and ourselves—before we take things to the next level. I'm going to bed." She got off the bed and grabbed her shirt.

"Wait!"

"Gotta sleep." She started putting her shirt on as she took a few steps towards the door.

"Give me a minute to think about it!"

"This is something you should know off the top of your head." She took the last few strides to my front door.

"No, it isn't! Movie lovers never have just one favorite!" She opened it and crossed the threshold, and I felt my compass begin to spin.

She asked over her shoulder, "But are you a movie lover?"

"I like a few movies, yes."

"If you just like 'a few' movies, you're just a casual viewer. And if you're a casual viewer, you don't have an excuse for not knowing your favorite. Bye!" She shut the door behind her.

I sprinted from the bed and flung open the door. She turned around and her eyes spread wide.

"Coffee!"

"Uh-huh. You do realize that we're on the balcony—and that you're only wearing socks, don't you?"

"Shit!" I ran back inside, wrapped a once-upon-a-time-white polyester-cotton blend Hallmart bed sheet I bought on clearance around myself like a cloak, and ran back out. "Well?"

"You're getting up at 9, so... how about Holden's Café at 10?"

"Works for me. Goodnight, Judith." I waved with simultaneous unease and eagerness.

She shook her head and stepped most of the way into her apartment—but popped her head out and returned my "Goodnight!" before disappearing entirely.

I had been lost, but now was found—a firstborn wretch redeemed by a Providence that had been indwelling so close to me. For the first time in my life, I could see the way before me.