Good Clean Fun by Outofmind
- 3 years ago
- 20
- 0
What Friends Are For, Chapter 1 - An Outofmind Tal free porn video
I wanted my first story to be more on the emotional side, so this one starts off a bit slow. Please see my profile for some general information and my thoughts on love, sex, and relationships. It may be helpful in understanding why I write what I do in the way that I do. My stories are not meant to be empty fuckfests….
Maggie is a friend of ours. A former coworker of my wife, she eventually became a founding member of a group of close friends, of which I am the only male (I’ve always got along better with women than men). A short time ago, we shared something more than friendship. We’ve not spoken of it since, but we look at each other differently these days and I’m confident that it meant as much to her as it did to me.
My wife and I spent an evening with Maggie, drinking wine in our living room and letting her get it out. She was working her way through a divorce, and fretting about approaching forty with no k**s and another failed relationship in her rear view mirror. She’s a wonderful girl, and I’d always had a bit of a crush on her, so it always broke my heart to hear her talk about herself as if her best years were behind her, and as if she were saying farewell to her dreams of k**s and finding real love.
Maggie is a dancer and, though small in the breasts, her figure remains appealingly slim and athletic. I’m 5’8,” and she’s just shorter than I (which I love). Her ass is still simply incredible and her legs are slender and lovely. She’s also a beautiful woman, with slightly tilted hazel eyes (perhaps with a few extra crow’s feet these days) and a shy but genuinely gorgeous smile. She’s a natural brunette, but dyes her hair a realistic blonde. The contrast between her hair and eyebrows is among my favorite features of hers. We’d shared some jokes about the “carpet not matching the d****s,” and I would be lying if I said I hadn’t wanted to explore that premise more.
Tonight, she was dressed in snugly-fitting jeans that put her lower body on perfect display. A tight, lavender-colored shirt was covered by a soft gray sweater, open down the front but tied at the waist. It had the effect of accentuating her slimness and making her smallish breasts appear slightly larger. She looked perfect.
We sat on the couch and, though I wanted to give her a man’s perspective on how fantastic she really is, I didn’t want to gush about another woman in my wife’s presence. The conversation generally focused on the breakup clichés… what an idiot her ex was, how it was his loss, etc. When I couldn’t say exactly what I felt, I simply shook my head and stared into my wine glass.
The evening finally ended when Maggie decided that she’d like to return to her apartment instead of spending the night in our guest room, which had been the plan. We could tell that she was really hurting this time. Since my wine consumption had wound down throughout the evening and I was feeling pretty clear-headed at this point, I offered to drive her. My wife made some attempts to get her to stay and have breakfast with us the following morning, but Maggie and I ended up in my car headed toward her place.
She thanked me for the ride and we spent the first few minutes quietly with our own thoughts. Finally, I wanted to break the silence, so I apologized for the depressing tone of our conversations that evening, and for her sadness. “It’s just really hard for me right now, waiting for the next thing to happen,” was her response as she stared out the passenger-side window.
I continued to feel a compulsion to connect with her, to make her feel better about herself, but I didn’t know what was safe or appropriate. I decided to take a small chance, and I reached for her left hand with my right. To ensure that she was seeing this as a friendly gesture, I quietly said “You know we’re always here for you, Maggie.”
She accepted my touch, and I let our hands rest together on her left thigh. “I know, and I love you guys,” she said, giving my hand a little squeeze in return. I was very pleased, as this was honestly the most intimate moment we’d ever shared and guiltily, though I really was just trying to help her out as a friend, the realization that we were making a real connection (and in context of the very real attraction I felt for her) had me feeling a bit aroused. From the corner of my eye, I could see that she was now considering our joined hands and I began to wonder if she also felt something.
As we pulled into the parking lot and she took her hand back, I was trying to contrive a reason to walk her to her apartment. Believe it or not, I wasn’t hoping to seduce her. I really just wanted her to end the evening happily. I couldn’t escape the constant thought that this amazing girl deserved so much better than what life was giving her. Whatever it was she needed to make her feel optimistic and hopeful, I wanted to give it to her, and I wouldn’t be satisfied until I saw her smile. Fortune smiled on me, in the form of some burned-out sidewalk lights leading up to her building, and I offered to walk her up.
She hesitated a moment before answering: “I’ll be fine, but thanks.” I had the sense that she really wasn’t ready to be alone and, as she turned to unfasten her seat belt, I saw the tears in her eyes and knew I couldn’t let it be.
“Come on… It’s late and I’d feel much better seeing you to your door. My wife would never forgive me if anything happened to you on my watch,” I added with a smile. The mention of my wife seemed to relax her a bit and she accepted my offer, and this cemented my belief that she was emotionally torn about us being together and didn’t want to take the lead in a situation that involved betraying my wife. In that instant, I loved her for her pain, her need, and her desire to be a good friend.
We walked up to her apartment, and she unlocked her door. I didn’t know what the next step was for me, and I started to feel like the moment was slipping away. She pulled her door open and looked over her shoulder at me to say good-bye. There was a small, sad smile on her face, but her eyes said that she was barely holding it together. I started to speak… “Maggie-“
“It’s fine. I’ll be fine,” she sighed and started to walk inside, her right hand still on the knob of the open door. I couldn’t let that door close. I reached out with my left hand, took her right hand off the knob and turned her back toward me, the two of us now standing in the open doorway. I took her left hand in my right and looked into her eyes, now filling with tears. I just let it go. I told her how amazing I thought she was, how it broke my heart to see her so down, how much I wanted to help to make her happy. That sad smile returned to her face, but there was also something bright in her eyes: Gratitude, longing?
When I finished, there were tears on her cheeks and she was breathing roughly, as if about to sob. Since she hadn’t responded negatively to anything I’d said or done thus far, I seized the moment and kissed her gently on the mouth. She closed her eyes and exhaled softly, which I took as a positive sign, but I wanted to press the moment before she had time for doubt. I lifted my right hand to her neck, thumb along the back of her jaw, and gently pulled her into me. My left hand went to her waist and pulled her there. Her ex, I knew, had not shown her any tenderness for a long time and, more than anything, I wanted her to feel wanted again, treasured… loved. I hoped her desire for these things would outweigh all of the reasons this might be wrong. I opened my mouth slightly, she reciprocated and accepted my tongue, and then we were kissing at the door of her apartment, our kisses slowly progressing from gentle to hungry. In the midst of this, I stepped through the door, moving her ahead of me, and reached back to close the door behind us.
As eager as her mouth was, her hands remained where I’d left them and her body was still indicating hesitation. Now, as the door clicked shut behind us, she broke the kiss and spoke my name in a breathless, pleading whisper. Her face told me that it was a question. I could hear desperation in her voice, and I once again knew how incredibly conflicted she was about what was happening. I knew that this was the deciding moment, that she’d left the decision to me. I also knew that the fact that I was still holding her, our mouths an inch apart while having this conversation, meant that she wanted this.
“It’s just us here, Maggie. Don’t think about the rest of it” I didn’t give her a chance to respond, and kissed her again. She moaned softly and, this time, lifted her hands to the back of my neck to hold me to her. My hands went to her waist, pulling her toward me, and she pressed herself against me, with another moan as she felt my cock standing hard against her. Feeling that she had finally submitted, I lowered my hands to her ass and pulled her even more tightly to me, moaning now myself. I could only think that, so far, she felt every bit as good as I’d imagined….
Maggie is a friend of ours. A former coworker of my wife, she eventually became a founding member of a group of close friends, of which I am the only male (I’ve always got along better with women than men). A short time ago, we shared something more than friendship. We’ve not spoken of it since, but we look at each other differently these days and I’m confident that it meant as much to her as it did to me.
My wife and I spent an evening with Maggie, drinking wine in our living room and letting her get it out. She was working her way through a divorce, and fretting about approaching forty with no k**s and another failed relationship in her rear view mirror. She’s a wonderful girl, and I’d always had a bit of a crush on her, so it always broke my heart to hear her talk about herself as if her best years were behind her, and as if she were saying farewell to her dreams of k**s and finding real love.
Maggie is a dancer and, though small in the breasts, her figure remains appealingly slim and athletic. I’m 5’8,” and she’s just shorter than I (which I love). Her ass is still simply incredible and her legs are slender and lovely. She’s also a beautiful woman, with slightly tilted hazel eyes (perhaps with a few extra crow’s feet these days) and a shy but genuinely gorgeous smile. She’s a natural brunette, but dyes her hair a realistic blonde. The contrast between her hair and eyebrows is among my favorite features of hers. We’d shared some jokes about the “carpet not matching the d****s,” and I would be lying if I said I hadn’t wanted to explore that premise more.
Tonight, she was dressed in snugly-fitting jeans that put her lower body on perfect display. A tight, lavender-colored shirt was covered by a soft gray sweater, open down the front but tied at the waist. It had the effect of accentuating her slimness and making her smallish breasts appear slightly larger. She looked perfect.
We sat on the couch and, though I wanted to give her a man’s perspective on how fantastic she really is, I didn’t want to gush about another woman in my wife’s presence. The conversation generally focused on the breakup clichés… what an idiot her ex was, how it was his loss, etc. When I couldn’t say exactly what I felt, I simply shook my head and stared into my wine glass.
The evening finally ended when Maggie decided that she’d like to return to her apartment instead of spending the night in our guest room, which had been the plan. We could tell that she was really hurting this time. Since my wine consumption had wound down throughout the evening and I was feeling pretty clear-headed at this point, I offered to drive her. My wife made some attempts to get her to stay and have breakfast with us the following morning, but Maggie and I ended up in my car headed toward her place.
She thanked me for the ride and we spent the first few minutes quietly with our own thoughts. Finally, I wanted to break the silence, so I apologized for the depressing tone of our conversations that evening, and for her sadness. “It’s just really hard for me right now, waiting for the next thing to happen,” was her response as she stared out the passenger-side window.
I continued to feel a compulsion to connect with her, to make her feel better about herself, but I didn’t know what was safe or appropriate. I decided to take a small chance, and I reached for her left hand with my right. To ensure that she was seeing this as a friendly gesture, I quietly said “You know we’re always here for you, Maggie.”
She accepted my touch, and I let our hands rest together on her left thigh. “I know, and I love you guys,” she said, giving my hand a little squeeze in return. I was very pleased, as this was honestly the most intimate moment we’d ever shared and guiltily, though I really was just trying to help her out as a friend, the realization that we were making a real connection (and in context of the very real attraction I felt for her) had me feeling a bit aroused. From the corner of my eye, I could see that she was now considering our joined hands and I began to wonder if she also felt something.
As we pulled into the parking lot and she took her hand back, I was trying to contrive a reason to walk her to her apartment. Believe it or not, I wasn’t hoping to seduce her. I really just wanted her to end the evening happily. I couldn’t escape the constant thought that this amazing girl deserved so much better than what life was giving her. Whatever it was she needed to make her feel optimistic and hopeful, I wanted to give it to her, and I wouldn’t be satisfied until I saw her smile. Fortune smiled on me, in the form of some burned-out sidewalk lights leading up to her building, and I offered to walk her up.
She hesitated a moment before answering: “I’ll be fine, but thanks.” I had the sense that she really wasn’t ready to be alone and, as she turned to unfasten her seat belt, I saw the tears in her eyes and knew I couldn’t let it be.
“Come on… It’s late and I’d feel much better seeing you to your door. My wife would never forgive me if anything happened to you on my watch,” I added with a smile. The mention of my wife seemed to relax her a bit and she accepted my offer, and this cemented my belief that she was emotionally torn about us being together and didn’t want to take the lead in a situation that involved betraying my wife. In that instant, I loved her for her pain, her need, and her desire to be a good friend.
We walked up to her apartment, and she unlocked her door. I didn’t know what the next step was for me, and I started to feel like the moment was slipping away. She pulled her door open and looked over her shoulder at me to say good-bye. There was a small, sad smile on her face, but her eyes said that she was barely holding it together. I started to speak… “Maggie-“
“It’s fine. I’ll be fine,” she sighed and started to walk inside, her right hand still on the knob of the open door. I couldn’t let that door close. I reached out with my left hand, took her right hand off the knob and turned her back toward me, the two of us now standing in the open doorway. I took her left hand in my right and looked into her eyes, now filling with tears. I just let it go. I told her how amazing I thought she was, how it broke my heart to see her so down, how much I wanted to help to make her happy. That sad smile returned to her face, but there was also something bright in her eyes: Gratitude, longing?
When I finished, there were tears on her cheeks and she was breathing roughly, as if about to sob. Since she hadn’t responded negatively to anything I’d said or done thus far, I seized the moment and kissed her gently on the mouth. She closed her eyes and exhaled softly, which I took as a positive sign, but I wanted to press the moment before she had time for doubt. I lifted my right hand to her neck, thumb along the back of her jaw, and gently pulled her into me. My left hand went to her waist and pulled her there. Her ex, I knew, had not shown her any tenderness for a long time and, more than anything, I wanted her to feel wanted again, treasured… loved. I hoped her desire for these things would outweigh all of the reasons this might be wrong. I opened my mouth slightly, she reciprocated and accepted my tongue, and then we were kissing at the door of her apartment, our kisses slowly progressing from gentle to hungry. In the midst of this, I stepped through the door, moving her ahead of me, and reached back to close the door behind us.
As eager as her mouth was, her hands remained where I’d left them and her body was still indicating hesitation. Now, as the door clicked shut behind us, she broke the kiss and spoke my name in a breathless, pleading whisper. Her face told me that it was a question. I could hear desperation in her voice, and I once again knew how incredibly conflicted she was about what was happening. I knew that this was the deciding moment, that she’d left the decision to me. I also knew that the fact that I was still holding her, our mouths an inch apart while having this conversation, meant that she wanted this.
“It’s just us here, Maggie. Don’t think about the rest of it” I didn’t give her a chance to respond, and kissed her again. She moaned softly and, this time, lifted her hands to the back of my neck to hold me to her. My hands went to her waist, pulling her toward me, and she pressed herself against me, with another moan as she felt my cock standing hard against her. Feeling that she had finally submitted, I lowered my hands to her ass and pulled her even more tightly to me, moaning now myself. I could only think that, so far, she felt every bit as good as I’d imagined….
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