Besties
- 4 years ago
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Besties free porn video
Besties
A man is struck by his girlfriend's best friend's appearance one day. He
becomes obsessed with that vision, and it takes him to unexpected places.
As I sat down, I caught a glimpse of her dress in the mirror. It was
lilac with a subtle flower pattern on it. The dress was sleeveless, but
with a boat neck so it did not show cleavage. It was soft and flowy,
landing just above the knee on her (a woman three inches shorter than
me). Between the hips and the knee, the color of the dress transitioned
gradually from lilac to soft white. I loved that the dress was fitted in
the upper body but loosened as it flared out in the skirt. It gave the
dress shape, rather than just being a big bag tied at her neck. She had
an attractive body, why not have a dress that showed it?
It was a perfect spring dress. Perfect for any of those events when the
weather is finally turning and the sunshine returns from its winter
hibernation. Seeing the dress in the mirror, I had visions of an outing
to a winery, where the patio and the view were almost as important as the
wine itself. We were at a winery the first time I saw Sandy in it.
Everything about her that day was memorable, the way the lilac popped,
the pastel colors that accentuated it, even her sandy blonde hair pulled
back in a ponytail with two large whispy curls on the sides. She was the
kind of person who had to have everything coordinated. Her lilac dress
blended with the 3 inch cork wedges with the strap that was just a shade
of purple darker than her dress. She was wearing a light purple nail
polish on both her fingers and her toes -- "Because," she once told me,
"it's the natural order of the universe." This purple so closely matched
her lilac dress that you would have thought she mixed the color herself
to go with the outfit. Her nails had small pastel pink polka dots on
them, making her hands and feet resemble Easter eggs almost. The pink,
in turn, matched the ribbon holding her ponytail and the shimmery
lipstick that she wore and reapplied after each glass of wine.
I could never forget that look, that dress, that everything. Even the
smell of her perfume is indelibly etched in my brain. No doubt, she made
an impression on me that day, probably more than for my own good. She
isn't my girlfriend, after all. And she isn't the one wearing the dress
today.
There are dozens, maybe hundreds, of songs written about fascinations
with the love interest of your friend, the whole "Best Friend's
Girlfriend" sort of thing. There aren't many about what I expect is a
more common scenario: the temptation of your girlfriend's best friend.
I had been dating Jena for nearly two years and Sandy came along with the
deal. I loved Jena but I truly was infatuated with her inseparable
sidekick, Sandy. To the point that sometimes I would wake up at night,
sleeping next to Jena but having just had the most erotic dream about
Sandy. Last spring, it was more than sometimes and it always involved
her wearing that lilac dress, the ponytail and the matching pastel
colors. By the time summer rolled around, I could picture every detail
in my head. If I had the gift of art, I'm sure I could have painted it
purely from memory.
But my problem was more than misplaced lust. I learned this fact when
Sandy dropped off a bag full of clothes just before the Fourth of July.
Like many women, Sandy and Jena regularly shared clothes. In retrospect,
that sharing probably led to some of my confused feelings toward the two
women. It wasn't uncommon for me to strip a top off of Jena during a
night of passionate sex only to see Sandy wear that exact same top a
month later. Other times I would see Sandy in a black skirt, baseball
jersey and pink baseball cap for opening day only to have sex with Jena
in that outfit by season's end.
Sandy showed up at our door that day, holding a large shopping bag full
of clothes. She stayed on my porch, "I don't have time to come in,
Jamie," she protested. When she handed me the bag, I saw the lilac dress
on top. I must have looked too long, or showed some excitement in my
face, because Sandy noticed immediately.
"I added that dress for you."
"What?" I managed.
"I saw how much you liked it that day at French Oak. I mean, the whole
place probably noticed. You sat next to Jena all afternoon, but you
barely took your eyes off me and my Bella."
"Your Bella?"
"Yes. Bella Donna. The designer of that dress. But how would you know
the name, I suppose. I mean, I talk about her all the time to Jena and
I'm sure we've discussed her in front of you. But guys don't pay
attention to that stuff.
"But you sure paid attention that day. I felt flattered and sexy, of
course. Every woman wants to be noticed in her pretty spring outfit.
But it was a bit awkward for the attention to come from you, especially
right there in front of my best friend, Jena. I loved the dress; still
do. But after all the attention I got from you, I felt weird every time
I wore it. I felt like you were having wet dreams in front of me and I
couldn't handle that. So, instead, I put the dress in the bag for you.
I even put everything I coordinated with the Bella: there's the wedges,
the ponytail holder and the two shades of nail polish that coordinated
with it. I can't wear any of them without thinking of you. Maybe Jena
will like the dress this time and you can live out that fantasy of
yours."
I did hope that Jena would like the dress and I might see her in it soon.
But I guess she didn't like it very much. Maybe it didn't fit right.
She is bigger than Sandy up top. Sandy is almost flat chested, an A cup
bra, a B at best. Or maybe Jena also associated the Bella with my
reaction and feared it would be like I was making love to Sandy instead.
I don't know becuase we never talked about it. I wanted so badly to
bring up the dress and the matching accessories, but I didn't know how
without pressuring her, or exposing my true level of obsession with the
dress.
So the bag sat in the corner of our closet. It sat there all summer, all
fall and through the winter. Finally, in January, while Jena was away at
her parents for the weekend, I found myself sneaking into the closet to
have a peek at the dress. Soon I was doing so every chance I could: her
work trips, the girls Oscar night party, even shopping trips, any time I
was assured of at least an hour alone. I got to know the feel of the
dress -- of the Bella -- so well. It was super soft, way softer than
anything I wore. And, one time when I pressed the Bella up to my face, I
swear I smelled Sandy's perfume from that day.
After a few times, I would pull the dress out and lay in on our bed,
letting the skirt hang over the side. I set out all the accessories too.
The ponytail ribbon above it, tied in as best of a bow as I could manage,
the cork wedges on the floor and the bottles of nail polish laying on the
dress itself. Eventually, I even found some of Sandy's intiates, a bra
and panties, in one of their clothes trading bags. I don't know why they
were there, given that I had a better shot of fitting into them than my
busty Jena. But I slipped them under the Bella on the bed, to get as
much of an effect as I could.
I usually would masterbate myself while looking at the dress. I won't
say who or what I was thinking about during those moments.
"HURRY UP!"
Jena's stern warning jarred me from my dream-like sequence. I was no
longer reminiscing about Sandy that day, no longer thinking of the dress
on our bed. I was back in the moment.
"You need to hurry up. Sandy will be here in less than 45 minutes and
you're not nearly ready."
"I am too," I shot back. "I was just sitting down to do the last thing I
need to do."
I could feel Jena's eyes scan me, to verify my statement. As I had
promised a week ago when Jena caught me, I was wearing Sandy's dress. I
wore everything, the bra and panties, the dress, the wedges. I had on
makeup, which I had painstakingly learned through multiple practice
sessions this week. I was wearing Sandy's pastel ribbon in a bow atop my
head. My toes were lilac with pastel pink polka dots. You could see
them distinctly through the cork heels.
I remember the feeling of shame when Jena caught me in much the same
outfit a week ago. Spring was here again, and I took the opportunity of
her visit to her sister's 30 miles away to don the outfit in full. I was
distracted pleasing myself when she came home early and caught me.
"I know I'm wearing my Bella," I told her, "it doesn't mean anything."
"YOUR Bella?" she sneered that night. "Since when do you refer to
clothing by the designer, much less declare that a dress is yours?"
For the next 15 minutes, I tried to explain. "I'm not a cross-dresser,"
I argued. "I don't want to be a woman." "I'm not gay." "I don't want a
sex change." "I can't say why I tried it on; I just did." "I'll never
do it again."
Jena was having none of it. "You're wearing women's clothing. That, by
definition, makes you a cross-dresser." But what really ticked her off
was that I was wearing THAT dress, that I was wearing something of
Sandy's. "You can't lie. Your huge erection belies any claim you might
make to the contrary. You're wearing my best friend's clothing and
you're very excited to be doing so. Either that's because you like the
clothing, or you're having some sick fantasy involving sex with someone
other than me. Which is it?"
When she put it that way, I saw that I was stuck. I couldn't admit to an
infatuation with Sandy. That surely would be the end of us (and my
relationship with Sandy too). Besides, by this point, Sandy had largely
faded away in my thoughts. I had become fixated on the dress and by the
time I started putting it on, I had largely stopped fantasizing about
her. The day Jena caught me, I was reliving that day at the winery,
feeling the sun and the slight breeze. But it was me that was wearing
the outfit, not Sandy, and it was me that was feeling the warm wind on my
bare legs.
That's when I gave in and that's what took me on the path to where I was
now. I admitted that I was wearing the dress because it excited me. I
offered to take it off and never wear it again. Jena refused.
Jena snapped a photo of me in the Bella and texted it to Sandy. They
didn't mind the cross-dressing. However, they both were upset at the
betrayal of trust. They didn't think it was right that I should sneak
around like that, or that I should wear Sandy's clothes without her
permission. They also said that, if I was enjoying that dress so much, I
probably couldn't stop wearing it (they're probably right, if I'm
honest).
"Besides, it's an arbitrary social convention that keeps you from wearing
dresses. So, if we're OK with it, who cares anyway?" With that, I
agreed to wear the Bella the next Saturday. I would dress as closely as
possible to Sandy's outfit that day and I would show it to Sandy.
So, here I sit. I'm wearing the lilac Bella with the 3 inch cork wedges.
I'm wearing Sandy's old bra and panties and her perfume. Jena styled my
own over-the-ears hair in a beach wave, pulled back the hair on top and
tied the pink ribbon in a big bow on it. I have earrings and jewelery
courtesy of Jena. I did my own makeup and was nearly finished with my
fingernails.
"The purple is dry now. I can add the pink polka dots and then I'll be
ready to go."
When I'm finished, I check my look in the full length mirror. I feel a
strange sense of pride in what I see. I truly look like a woman, I tell
myself. I'm not as pretty as Sandy or Jena, but I look good in this
dress. I feel good in this dress. I can wear this. I want to wear
this.
Jena called down the hall to tell me that Sandy had arrived and, just
like that, my confidence evaporated. My palms got sweaty. I had issues
balancing on the wedges walking toward Sandy and Jena.
Upon seeing me, Sandy could hardly contain her excitement. "Oh my! I
just LOOOOVE that dress!" she exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her
feet. "I loved that dress when I wore it, and Jena, you looked beautiful
that day you tried it on. But I think Jamie here takes the cake. He
looks amazing!"
Jena then started showing me off like I was one of her dolls. "Yes, she
does fit it well. She's a bit flat chested, but we stuffed your bra with
some gel inserts that I bought for her. I think a B cup is perfect for
Jamie, don't you?"
"J -- show her your fingers." I held them out flat, nails forward, the
way a woman would. "She did them herself. I scheduled a mani-pedi for
Jamie, but she didn't want to go to a salon, especially on a busy
Saturday morning. So, instead, she practiced all week doing mine and
hers in order to be able to do them today. Doesn't she look amazing?"
"Truth be told, I mostly enjoyed that part," I confided in them.
Sandy smiled her approval. "I particularly appreciate that your fingers
and toes match, and that they match the outfit. It's the natural order
of the universe, right Jamie?"
"There's just one thing. I brought the exact lipstick I was wearing last
spring. You know, the shiny pink gloss? You need it to complete the
outfit." But instead of handing it to me, Sandy looked at Jena, who
nodded her consent. "Here, let me put it on you," she said. With that,
she took my chin in one hand, carefully wiped off the lipstick I was
wearing and then applied the pink.
I don't know why, but I responded, "Thanks!"
We decided that Jamie's debut would be confined to our backyard patio
area. We spent the afternoon in the sun, drinking wine and cocktails and
gossiping like three girlfriends would.
"To our newest bestie, Jamie!" Jena declared. "Now I have two besties to
share stories, good times and clothes with!"
"But not boyfriends," she quickly cautioned Sandy. "Get your own!"
"Maybe I will," she responded, "and then the four of us can go for a
girls weekend to wine country. In coordinated outfits, of course!"
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