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From: Larry Twitmore <larrytwitmore@yahoo.com>
Reply-To: Larry Twitmore <larrytwitmore@yahoo.com>
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X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 17 Mar 2017 17:13:11 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} My Best Friend Bex (MF)
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Date: Sun, 19 Mar 2017 06:10:02 -0400
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MY BEST FRIEND BEX
by Larry Twitmore

You ever have one of those best friends from high school that you 
carried a torch for, but they didn't return the feeling? That was me
and Becky - Bex for short. Everyone thought we'd be perfect for each other,
including me, and her parents, and all our friends... everyone but Bex.

As we got into college and adulthood, that torch of my own
burned brighter. The fans were flamed as it were by some of our activities. For
a while I wanted to learn how to draw, and Bex modeled for me, completely
nekkid. We'd also watch porn together, with our clothes on, watching porn the
way you'd watch a normal movie, critiquing the performances and the camera
choices. But still, she didn't want anything other than my friendship.

I got sore about it, I got angry. I was convinced that she
was teasing me and leading me on. I was a dumb kid. Eventually I grew up and
realized was a sexist ass I was being and that you can't debate someone into
liking you. It's not a logical thing. She was a human being who wanted what she
wanted, and I wasn't entitled to anything, I didn't "deserve" to date
her. So, Bex and I were best friends for years, but it never went any further.

Well.

I shouldn't say "never". Because there was this
one time when we both just turned thirty, where fifteen years of lust was
sated, then never spoken of again.

So, Bex came over to my place to hang one day when she was
between husbands, and she was looking particularly gorgeous. Bex always wore
tight shirts that practically strangled her big ol' boobs and that failed to
cover her midriff. She had somehow managed to maintain just the right amount of
baby-fat over the years to qualify as "fleshy" without ever tipping
over into being overweight. (Though I think even if she had gone full-blown BBW
she'd still take my breath away.) That night was no different: tight white tee,
thin enough that I could see the contours of her bra underneath, even if I
couldn't make out the color or any other detail. Skirt that stopped just below the knee, long
high-heeled boots.

But her hair is what made that night different. About
half-way through college, Bex started dying her hair about once a month or so,
going through various shades both natural and adventurous. And that night, she
had gone blonde, platinum blonde, Jean Harlow blonde.

And so I said to her, somewhat innocently, that she looked really
good tonight. Really gorgeous.

"Yeah?" she said, placing her hands under her
jugs and giving them a sarcastic, perfunctory jiggle.

I rolled my eyes. "It's your hair, mostly."

"My hair?"

"You're a hot blonde," I shrugged. "I mean, you look good no matter what, but you've 
always been hottest as a blonde."

"What, you think it makes me look like a bimbo or something?

"Nah," I said. "It's the way it reflects who you are. Back in high school, 
when you were a brunette, everyone thought you were kind of mousy and shy. I even 
thought you were mousy and shy before I got to know you better. But when you're 
blonde, you have this sort of confidence, like a rock star. And that's really hot."

"Well, I'm not going to argue with that."

"In fact, I'm kinda getting turned on," I
admitted. "I might have to go to the bathroom and rub one out."

"You're going to go jerk off in the bathroom while I'm
sitting here?" Bex cocked an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Oh, please. You did worse when I was in the next
room." And that was true. She used to come over to my place with her
boyfriends since she couldn't take them home to her parents' house, and they'd
banish me outside of my own room while they fucked on my sheets.

She covered her face in embarrassment. "I was such a jerk."

"I mean, no more than I was," I said. I got up.

"You're really going to the bathroom?"

"So, you'll be thinking about me when you're doing it?"

"Not necessarily. I mean, if you see something that
turns you on, in a movie or when you're out or whatever, and you go home and
take care of it, either solo or with your S.O., you're not necessarily going to
be thinking about whatever you say. You move on from the appetizer to the main
course."

"It's alright if you do think about me," she
offered. "I know you've done it before."

"Well, maybe I will then."

"It's kind of thrilling," she said, "the
thought of someone thinking about me while they're wanking it. I wouldn't mind
seeing that."

I wasn't sure where this was going, but my cock was pretty
desperate to let it play out. "Then, I don't need to go to the
bathroom," I said, settling back into my chair. I undid my pants and slid
them down to my knees, then pulled my throbbing cock out of my underwear
through the flaps.

I began with light strokes, fingertips sliding up the
length of it from the base, causing it to harden and stiffen. Then I formed a
circle with my thumb and prime finger only, working just those two up and down
the head and the shaft. The whole time, I was looking at her.

Bex sat on the floor and looked right back at me. "Are
you thinking of me while you're doing it?"

"Yes."

"Tell me. Tell me what you're thinking about."

"I'm thinking about your mouth," I said.
"I'm thinking about what it tastes like. I'm thinking about how your
tongue feels in my mouth and against my lips. I'm thinking about how hot and
warm it is in your mouth. How your mouth feels against my mouth. How your mouth
feels on my cock.

"I'm thinking about your eyes," I continued.
"I'm thinking about you looking up at me with those big brown eyes while
you work your mouth up and down my dick.

"I'm thinking about your shirt. About it coming off.
I'm thinking about your bra. I'm wondering what color it is. If it's frilly. If
I can see your nipples straining against the fabric."

"It's blue, and yes, and yes," she said softly.

"Then I'm thinking about your tits. I haven't seen them in years, but I remember what they look like. About how they
feel in my mouth. About whether I'm going to suck on your nipples hard, or
tease them with my tongue."

"You're going to tease them," she commanded. She
spread her legs and slid her thong up her thighs. Then she started to play with
her pussy.

"I'm thinking about that pussy that you're playing with," I said.
"I'm thinking about you crawling over here and sliding on top of my cock.
I'm thinking about you bouncing on top of me. I'm thinking about your tits in
my face. I'm thinking about you screaming obscenities."

"Fuck me harder!" Bex said it loudly, perhaps too
loudly, and we both stopped and laughed. Then, more quietly: "Feed me that
fucking meat, baby. Get it in there deep. Deeper. Deeper."

"I'm thinking about all this come," I said.
"Where do you want it? In your cunt? On your tits? In your mouth? On your
face?"

"I want it in my cunt," she said hoarsely.
"I want it in there now. Don't waste a drop." Suddenly, and without
warning, she grabbed her thong and worked it down the rest of her legs,
struggling with her heels. After a moment, she tossed it on the floor. Then Bex
looked at me with those big brown eyes, serious as a heart attack, and said:
"I mean it. You better fuck me right now."

"You, you," I stammered.

"Now," she said.

I practically leapt on top of her. My dick slid right into
her red-hot snatch. It was wet like summer, wet like a fever dream. I kissed
her like I had wanted to kiss her for fifteen years. Her mouth tasted vaguely
like licorice. And of course my hands fumbled and groped her tits over her
frilly blue bra and her tight white tee. Six strokes and I was done.

She dug her heels into my ass cheeks and grabbed me by the
hair. "Don't waste a drop." I didn't.

"This will never happen again," she said. And it
didn't. Nothing really changed between us, and we're still friends to this day.

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