Fucked by a Friend

"So, how was your date?"

The voice on the other end of the phone line was my friend Miranda's. She had been one of my closest confidants for at least a decade. She witnessed my last relationship's rise, fall, and adversarial conclusion (of particular offense, my ex kept my dog and entire spice rack). And, as Miranda reminds me with regularity, my protracted dry spell.

"Oh, you know," I demurred. "She was beautiful. She was kind of childish. Not really a connection."

Miranda tut-tutted through the receiver. "You're too picky," she admonished me. "I'm sure she was lovely. The perfect woman doesn't exist."

"Well," I said reflectively, "Maybe she doesn't exist *for me.*"

Miranda balked, "Not with that kind of attitude. You have a lot to offer. Teacher of the year in an abysmal, fucked up, school district must be practically a real teacher in a normal district, right?"

"Ouch," I said, laughing aloud. I knew she didn't mean any harm. We often traded barbs like this. "Probably better being practically a real teacher than practically a student. How many times did your students ask you to prom this year, Mademoiselle Roberts? Thirteen?"

Miranda belly laughed. "It's only bad if I say "yes," and I'm taken."

"Speaking of whom," I asked, "When will Mark grace you with his presence?"

Mark was Miranda's husband. He worked second shift at a factory that assembled office furniture, welding chairs. He was nice enough, but kind of dull. He had his little fixations, they just happened to be things that Miranda obviously didn't care about- distance running, baseball, and home improvement. They had had some rough patches- Miranda was really patient. Mark used to have a drinking problem, but got sober a couple years ago. He didn't treat her very well during that time. It was hard to hear Miranda talk about. Even now, she had a lot of anger and resentment about it.

"Oh, he just left. I packed him a turkey sandwich and chocolate chip cookies for dinner. And to keep me company, I have a stack of, oh, let's see, sixty-five book reports here to grade. And when I say 'a stack,' I mean a soulless internet queue."

Miranda taught three segments of French and two segments of AP English. She also helped the drama teacher run the extracurricular theater program after school. It was a junk drawer of a schedule, but she got two prep hours out of it.

"Oh, were these the 1984 ones?" I asked.

"Oh yes," said Miranda. "I prompted them to write about whether the political observations of the novel were relevant when written and if they are relevant today."

"So," I said, chuckling, "sixty of these are going to be a joy to read, and five of these kids missed the point entirely?"

"You'd be horrified, honestly. It'll probably be more like forty and twenty-five," she said. "I don't know what's wrong with these kids. The worst ones are the kids who actually read the book, reflected thoughtfully, and decided Orwell was just... wrong? I don't like the ones where the kid obviously didn't read the book, but I'd rather dumb or lazy than actively, for political reasons, declining to acknowledge the points being made."

"Anyway," she said, sighing. "How are you inspiring the young people this week?"

"It's my favorite time of year, actually," I said. "Family oral histories!"

"Oh, that's cute. At least someone's getting oral," Miranda said, laughing.

"That was such a reach," I said, laughing. "I do need to get laid, though."

"It's definitely going to happen by going on dates and just being like 'nah, she's beautiful and nice but I was hoping she would also be an international pop star or at the very least Miss America or a Fortune 500 CEO. Is that so much to ask?'" Miranda said, sarcastically. "Have you considered just fucking someone to get the cobwebs out?"

"That's not really my style," I said, carefully.

"Then you need to start going on a bunch of dates," said Miranda, matter-of-factly. "Make it a numbers game."

"Yeah, yeah. I have a lot of stuff to do around the house, too. And I need to plan my dad's birthday party," I said, shrugging her off.

Miranda sighed exasperatedly. "This is how panda bears go extinct, you know."

"Anyway," I said, changing the subject, "Are we still on for lesson planning, trash TV, and greasy food Wednesday?"

"Without a doubt," said Miranda. "I'm gonna get grease with grease on the side."

"Alright. I'll catch you then," I said, and ended the call.

*********

Wednesday, Miranda rang my doorbell at around 6:30. I answered the door.

Her brown hair was in a messy bun. She wore light makeup. She was wearing a knee-length denim dress that buttoned down the middle and suited her frame, and sneakers- probably what she wore for school that day. She was wearing a backpack with her lesson stuff, and held a large plastic bag that was tied shut. She lifted the bag, proclaiming "Grease is here!"

"What's tonight's grease?" I asked, ushering her inside.

"Chinese food from Panda Palace. I got orange chicken, egg foo yong, rice, egg drop soup, shrimp toast, and I think some stir fried vegetables might have gotten in here somehow."

"That sounds awful. They should know by now that vegetables are forbidden on grease night," I quipped.

"They said something about being concerned for our lives?" Miranda jibed back, unpacking the containers. "They included four sets of chopsticks, which also feels personal."

We chatted about our lesson plans while we ate. Miranda took notes for us both, which (she reminded me several times) just made sense since she was adept enough with chopsticks to maneuver her shrimp toast with them, instead of having greasy fingers, like me.

"So," said Miranda, wiping her mouth with a napkin, and tilting her head slightly, "what's your dating itinerary this weekend?"

"Oh, nothing, really," I said, meekly.

"So, you *don't* actually want to get laid?" said Miranda, obtusely.

"I do, very much so, I just swiped through everyone and need more people to move here," I said.

Miranda sat down her napkin and laced her fingers under her chin, peering at me. "Your plan is," she paused dramatically, "waiting for someone to fuck to MOVE here?" She arched an eyebrow, sternly.

"Well when you say it like that, it's a terrible plan."

"Go to your bedroom and strip nude," said Miranda. "I'm sick of hearing that you need to get laid, and you're too hot to be this horny."

I felt my forehead wrinkle in surprise. I couldn't have heard her correctly. "What?"

"You heard me. Go get naked and lay on the bed. I'll be in in a moment."

It was quiet in my house, but it suddenly seemed terribly loud. I stood and walked to my bedroom. I tried to tidy it, quickly. I picked up a few pieces of trash, hurriedly piled stray laundry into the hamper, and pulled my duvet across the bed. I patted the lumpy sheets underneath- fruitlessly.

Still bewildered, I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it aside. I unfastened my belt, dropped my pants, and sat on the edge of the bed, in my underwear. I still felt like, surely, I had misunderstood something. I had a massive erection, and would happily fuck Miranda- but this seemed to come out of nowhere.

Miranda appeared in the doorway. "You aren't naked, and you aren't laying in the bed," she said, exasperatedly.

"Well, I-" I started to say, before Miranda unbuttoned her dress and shrugged it to the floor. Underneath, she wore black briefs with lace trim at the top and a black front-clasp bra. She walked to me, straddled me, and kissed my neck. I had goosebumps all over.

"I'm tired of hearing about you being horny. Let me help," Miranda said softly, massaging my shoulders and grazing her face against my neck.

I gently pushed her back, and asked, "Are you sure?"

Miranda pressed my back to the bed, interlaced her fingers in mine, and kissed my lips. "I've wanted to fuck you for years," she said. "It's just plain stupid for us to both sit around being horny and miserable." Miranda gently moved a strand of my hair. "You're too cute, it's a waste." She kissed me again and nibbled on my lower lip. "I've fantasized about this."

My hands grazed her chest and squeezed her breasts through her bra. Her breasts looked fantastic, they were probably D cups. They were soft, round, and warm. Miranda moaned longingly as I squeezed and touched. I slid my finger between them, where they pressed together, and felt their fullness around my finger.

Miranda's hands grazed my waist and flirted with the waistband of my underwear.

I gripped Miranda by her upper arms and maneuvered her onto her back. I kneeled, straddling her knees, pinning her arms down under my grip. She looked surprised and turned on. "Well, aren't you assertive!" she said, and chuckled.

I kissed her, hungrily, and drew back momentarily to unclasp her bra. Her breasts sprang free as the cups of her bra fell to the sides. I couldn't help myself- I shoved my face between them and squeezed her breasts around my face with my hands. Miranda held my head from behind and moved my face between them. "This is so hot," she moaned. I kissed and bit her breasts, bringing out more moans. I sucked and gently nibbled her nipples. Miranda threw her head back and pushed my head in towards them.

I came up for air and kissed her lips. She was a great kisser- gentle, passionate, feminine, and with plenty of touch at the same time. We made out for a few minutes, her cupping my face and shoulders, me exploring and squeezing her waist and butt. I don't think I realized what an appealing figure she had- especially when she was grinding it against me.

Miranda met my eyes, arched an eyebrow, and said in her no-nonsense manner, "You're still wearing underwear."

I quickly slipped my underwear off, then hers, saying "To be fair, so were you."

I got back onto the bed and laid on my side, facing Miranda. She did the same and I pressed my body against hers. Her body was so soft and warm against my cock. Miranda slid a hand between us and gently stroked it. I groaned aloud; it felt so good. She lingered on a spot on the underside of the shaft, near the head, and studied my facial expressions, smirking. She really knew what she was doing.

I peeled her hand off my cock and touched her pussy. Miranda shuddered and groaned. She was super wet. I licked my fingers. She tasted salty and tangy. I returned my fingers to her clit and teased her a while more. She adjusted my fingers a little and ground against them, moaning loudly. Her face was flushed, her eyes gently closed.

Miranda moaned, "Why are you still not fucking me with that hard cock of yours? I want to finish with your dick in me."

I didn't need to be told twice. I pushed Miranda to her back, and thrust hard inside of her, eliciting a small yell. I started thrusting in and out of her, rapidly. Miranda seemed to be enjoying herself, from the sounds of it. So was I; it was all I could do to not cum immediately. Her pussy was snug, wet, and warm. I could hear such juicy sounds with each thrust. When I hit an angle that she particularly enjoyed, her pussy clenched just as she squeezed my arms or chest with her hand.

"Damn, you've been doing your kegels," I remarked. This, too, caused her pussy to clench, pleasurably.

"I masturbate a lot- and truth be told, it's often daydreaming about you fucking me," Miranda said, breathlessly.

"Get on top," I said. Miranda complied, and the view was incredible. As she worked up and down, it was mind-blowing. She had a nice rhythm and incorporated a light circular motion in her hips. I watched her tits bouncing and swaying as she moved. It was hypnotic. I reached up with both hands to fondle them. Her pussy squeezed with pleasure, and she moaned.

Miranda, still working up and down on my cock, folded her torso forward, pressing her tits onto my face. She correctly assessed that I would enjoy this. After a few moments, she changed her angle again and began grinding her clit against me in earnest. I took up the work of thrusting and she fingered herself, moaning and clenching as she got closer to orgasm.

She put her fingers in my mouth. I tasted her tanginess. She withdrew them and returned to working her clit. She was clearly very close to orgasm. She asked, "Will you finish with me?" I nodded fervently.

Miranda tilted her head back, still touching herself, moaning loudly, and instantaneously began orgasming. I felt her pussy grip my cock, hard, and she admonished me, "Keep going." I did as I was told, continuing thrusting in and out, as I started to cum. The friction and wetness of her orgasm felt incredible, as Miranda moaned her way through her orgasm, gripping my chest with a hand. The sensation of unloading into her was indescribable. It was among the more powerful orgasms I've ever had.

When we had both finished, Miranda plopped down beside me on the bed and draped my arm around her.

"That was everything I thought it would be," Miranda said, contentedly.

"Honestly, more," I chuckled, and kissed her head.