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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o  	This part of my collection offers a very wide variety of  o
o  stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the  o
o  world.  Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no    o
o  particular order other than offering them to you in  alpha-    o
o  betical directories.                                           o
o  	I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to  o
o  be typed therefore I don’t type things myself." I think it’s   o
o  a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises    o
o  that you might not have even thought of looking for.           o
o   	Lest we forget!!!  This story was produced as adult en-   o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors.  Kristen Becker   o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Best Friends (MF)
Bryan (ubahorton@cc.memphis.edu)

Oddly sweet, even for such a simple and direct voice "Maybe you 
will find a love that you discover accidentally Who falls against 
you gently As a pickpocket brushes your thigh."

-- Paul Simon

We were walking down the street together enrapt in some consuming
discussion, but playful as always. I would make some relevant point and
then hit him in the arm as if to emphasize my competence in the matter; he
then would make some counter-point and then pop me in the back of the head.
Our discussions were often like this, escalating until we were only
rough-housing and had forgotten the argument completely. And while I was
busy rambling on about something he gave me a quick slap under the jaw
while I wasn't looking. Well, I had no choice but to jump on his back and
ruffle his hair (because I know how much he hates that) regardless of the
strange looks we got from passers-by. We were both unconscious of anything
unfitting in our behavior and we really didn't care anyway.

And as if just to spoil our fun, it began to rain -- not just rain, but
pour down out of nowhere without warning. It would have been nice to play
in the rain, but the summer days are wet and sticky enough as it is. He
shot a glance my way with that devious grin of his as I stood in disgusted
disbelief -- and he was gone. He was running down the sidewalk with all his
speed already twenty paces ahead of me. I shot off after him with no idea
where we were headed, just wanting to get out of the rain. He stopped
abruptly, catching himself on a light post and swung himself around to me,
and I almost ran into him. He dashed up some stairs into the railcar cafe
in front of which we had stopped and shook his hair out all over me once we
were inside. I rolled my eyes at him, but he seemed not to notice. He
jerked my arm and we slid into a booth together on the same side. I
purposefully slid a little too hard to make up for his wet dog impression.
The waitress came and gave us some napkins, and we dried ourselves off as
we ordered lunch.

I started talking again, resuming our old conversation, and he paid more
attention this time since we couldn't play too much in the cramped booth.
Actually, he was quite engrossed in what I was saying -- I had his complete
attention. In fact, he was watching so intently I wondered if his mind was
even on what we were talking about. I can't even remember talking after
that. I was just watching his face, his eyes sparkling with interest was he
listened to me, running his hands through his wet hair, pushing it back as
he nodded at the appropriate pauses, blinking in understanding with those
inviting sensual eyelashes, sweet lips parted in anticipation of my every
word that I could not even hear myself. Drops of water rolled down his
angelic face, skin so smooth and wet. Choir boys and angels stole your lips
and your halo, I almost said, shaking myself back into the conversation. He
nodded thoughtfully and I left it at that, not sure with what he was
agreeing.

Later we tramped through the wet park, feeding the ducks at the pond on our
way, climbing trees, fighting still, throwing each other down on the damp
earth and rolling around. But the rest of the day my mind was elsewhere,
remembering other times that I had seen that look from him, though I don't
think I realized it at those times: a moment of uneasy silence as we sat in
the car before getting out, something hanging in the air; catching him
stare at me from across a crowded street, lost in thought, yet focused; a
night of fever as I burned in bed, my mind swimming, hearing an opera in my
head while he sat there on my bedside with me.

After he had showered and cleaned off from our mischief in the park, I
stood in the doorway of the bathroom as he dried his hair. He stood there
now only in jogging pants. I think his jeans were ruined by the mud. My
mind was still elsewhere, though as he spoke to me and he had to pop his
towel at me to bring me back again. I messed with his hair and ran out of
the bathroom laughing. He chased me and caught me around the waist and
slung me around and onto the bed. He pounced in after me and started
tickling, but I soon was on top then under again: the two of us rolling
around just like before. I saw the amused curl of his lips as I growled at
him. I felt the laughter through his body. And the we stopped. But only for
a moment. We were kissing as intimately and intensely as we had ever
played. Rolling again, but slower, his hands running down my sides, but not
to tickle this time, my hands in his hair, but not to irritate, his
eyelashes brushing against my eyelids.

And he stopped suddenly, realizing what he was doing, what we were doing --
the shock in his eyes. But only for a moment, because I started to tickle
him again, making him forget his reasons, rolling again, speeding up then
slowing down, fighting then kissing, back and forth, until there was more
of one that the other.