I turned eighteen a month into my senior year of high school. Skinny, shy, good at math; I was last pick for the basketball team and last pick for the opposite sex. But by Christmas, I had gone from being terrified of girls to living the cliché as the official “sexually non-threatening platonic guy friend” of the five hottest chicks in school.
As nice as it was to have popular friends and beautiful women to look at all day long, I was also anguishing in a special circle of Hell, where my penis and I were at a constant state of war with each other. The argument went something like this:
MY PENIS: “Fuck her! She’s hot!”
THE REST OF ME: “No, we’re friends, it’d be weird…”
PENIS: “But… tits!”
Needless to say, it was a confusing time for me.
It all started with Corrine, a bodacious blonde who was clearly destined for the Playboy centerfold. For a late-blooming nerd like me, she was also the most intimidating person on the planet. Every detail about her seemed specifically designed to twist my tongue into knots. First off, she was the tallest girl in school. I was 5’11” and she had maybe half an inch on me (Corrine liked to joke that this was due to her “Viking ancestry”). She also had a dazzling smile that belied an impish, teasing spirit, and a natural hourglass figure. But what really made my head spin were her tits. Her absolutely gigantic tits. The day those things had grown in, every guy in school promptly forgot his name. Seriously, her tits could stop traffic.
She and I became friends when I sheepishly asked her to be in an amateur horror movie I was directing with some buddies. Asking had not been an easy task for a guy like me—Corrine had always been a merciless tease. But nonetheless, as soon as the class bell rang, I stumbled over to her desk, feeling mortified but knowing that all the other AV club guys were counting on me to succeed for the sake of our film. I tried to play it cool, but my cheeks went crimson and my voice sounded like it was coming from inside a box:
“Hey Corrine, I’m making this horror movie and we kind of need someone to play the, like, buxom bombshell in distress. I was just wondering if you might think that was fun… or something.”
She raised an eyebrow and grinned wickedly, leaning so far forward it took all my willpower to keep my eyes away from her pendulous breasts.
“Sure, Ian,” she said simply, “What do you want me to wear?”
It turned out my nervousness had been completely unfounded. While Corrine was definitely a tease, she was also really easy to get along with. She and I hit it off the first day of filming. We made each other laugh, hit an easy rhythm of conversation, and she even made fun of her own intoxicating hotness—happily donning the increasingly skimpy outfits I asked her to wear. She totally got the movie’s trashy sense of humor, too, and would throw an extra bounce into each step as she fled from a lifeguard-turned-werewolf (Yeah, the movie was crap).
Even after we finished the film, Corrine still called me every day after school, just to chat. We had almost nothing in common besides our sense of humor, but that made our talks all the more interesting. I would keep her on the phone as long as I could, inwardly glowing at the thought of such a gorgeous creature enjoying my company.
I wasn’t deluding myself that it was love—I certainly wasn’t in “love” with her—but a part of me hoped that against all odds she had started finding the scrawny nerd kid mysteriously attractive. That was all dashed to pieces four weeks into our friendship, when I finally got up the guts to ask her out.
It was at a party Corrine had invited me to. I threw down a couple beers and headed through the dim lights, finally finding my girl in a dark corner, speaking quietly with her equally hot friend, Talia. They didn’t see me in the dark, and I was just about to speak up when I overheard Talia say: “You and Ian seem to be getting pretty tight, would you ever think of going out with him?”
The timing was ridiculous, but what can I say? That’s how it happened. I froze, not wanting to eavesdrop but too close to avoid it. Corrine thought for a second and then answered, “You know, I don’t think so. It’s nice having a guy I can talk to who doesn’t treat me like I’m just a pair of boobs, but he’s not really that attractive. I bet he will be one day, maybe when he’s thirty or whatever. But he’s a GREAT guy.” Soon as she said it, Corrine realized I was standing there and she reflexively apologized. I assured her it was no big deal. We were just friends, anyway. I gave her a quick hug, inwardly groaning at the feel of her tits squashed against my chest, and headed outside to get some air.
Thirty?! I thought. Some consolation prize that is. I’ll be fuckable by the time I’m ready to settle down.
I needed another beer. It wasn’t that I was devastated to be rejected by Corrine–hell, I’d been expecting that. It was how her words had confirmed my worst fears: I was doomed to be “just friends” for the rest of my life.
An hour later, I was reclining on the hammock in the front yard, wallowing in self-pity over my bad luck with women, when a body dropped on me and snapped me out of it, a stray elbow clocking me in the face. “Oh, I’m sorry!” Talia laughed, clearly blazed out of her mind, “I totally didn’t see you there!”
I assured her it was no big deal, and she mumbled something incoherent about me being such a “great, great guy” or whatever. We were both too wasted to bother getting out of that hammock, so we just lay there together.
Talia and I barely knew each other. We’d shared a few classes over the years and I had seen her at one or two of Corrine’s parties, but at that moment there were only three things I could recall about her:
1. She was insane. I don’t mean the Ted Bundy/Ed Gein/Glenn Beck BAD kind of insane, I mean the GOOD kind of insane. Like a female Jack Sparrow, I guess? The kind of insane that livens up any party and provides you with a lifetime of anecdotes.
2. She was gorgeous. A raven-haired, smoky-eyed, exotic beauty (half Korean, half Colombian; a winning combination, if you ask me) with full, perky breasts and a fabulous ass she liked to show off with the skimpiest clothing she could find. And —
3. Talia was dating a twenty five-year-old drug dealer named Steve, who weighed about a hundred pounds more than me.
Regardless, I was horny, frustrated, mortified, and confused. And drunk. So I wasn’t exactly thinking straight when Talia started making out with me in the hammock a few minutes later. She was completely faded and her breath stunk of weed. Her kisses were awkward and sloppy, barely making contact with my mouth. It was about the least romantic scenario I could have hoped for, but I gave it my all, desperate to prove Corrine wrong about my ability to attract a mate. My hands roamed her amazing body, daringly squeezing her firm, athletic ass–yes!
Then she passed out. With a disappointed sigh, I rolled away, leaving her to sleep off what was sure to be one hell of a hangover. Talia’s affections had been nothing more than the result of drunken pity, that much I knew. And knowing it made the shame of the evening all the worse. Corrine’s words replayed over and over again in my mind: “Maybe when he’s thirty.” It felt like some gypsy had put a curse on me.
Gloom hung over me the next day at school. Talia bumped into me towards the end of lunch and took me aside, clearly mortified for what had happened between us. She was on the verge of tears as she whispered, “I’m so sorry about last night.”
I put a comforting hand on her shoulder and assured her that I understood completely. “It was just a party thing,” I muttered, “Don’t worry about it.” She nodded and hugged me close, her words spilling out with machine gun speed:
“I’m so sorry I fell asleep—it wasn’t you—I swear—I was just so wasted–I swear I am never ever going to smoke weed again in my life! Can we just—Oh, and thanks for being cool about it and, you know, leaving me alone after I was out.”
She was so earnest, I couldn’t help but smile. “Look, Tal, you know you’re gorgeous, so don’t take offense when I say that the whole non-consent thing just doesn’t do it for me.”
She laughed through her tears, and awkwardly added, “And could you please not tell Steve, if you see him?”
“Right, like I’m gonna tell your huge scary boyfriend I made out with you.” That got me another laugh from her, as well as a playful punch to the shoulder. Then for some reason I just blurted out, “Do you think Corrine was right last night? That I really won’t be attractive until I’m like thirty?”
Talia had enough of a heart to let me down gently: “She was exaggerating, Ian. What she meant was you’ve got the potential to be really cute, but right now you aren’t living up to it. You’ve got a cute face and, like, really amazing eyes, but girls want a guy who takes care of himself. Get a better hair-cut, stop just wearing those baggy comic book t-shirts, and maybe start taking PE a little more seriously. Just a suggestion.”
Unexpectedly, our brief conversation over lunch soon led to me becoming even better friends with Talia than I had been with Corrine. She was always a ton of fun, despite her ADHD, and nowhere near as intimidating. Unlike with Corrine, I never even considered making a move on Talia. Sure, I admired the way she looked in the microscopic clothes she always wore, but we got so comfortable with each other so quickly that thoughts of dating never even came up. Even when she finally broke things off with that loser Steve, we just stayed the course as buddies.
The tighter I got with Talia, the tighter I got with her friends. And what friends they were:
Amy was a naturally beautiful tomboy with fiery red hair and a lithe, lean body. She was far more frank about her sexuality than anyone else I knew, even guys (a bit of what my grandmother would call a “floozy”). The first time Talia introduced me to Amy outside of school, she was wearing a t-shirt with “YES THESE ARE MY TITS” printed across the bust. Amy was the biggest jock I knew, but her real passion was ballet. She poured every bit of herself into her dancing, and all that effort had sculpted her body into a thing of beauty. I saw a few of her recitals and she was incredible. There was a graceful, feline sensuality to her movements.
But one thing kept her dreams of dancing professionally in check. Well, two things I guess. Apparently most professional dancers don’t have Amy’s tits. She liked to joke that nobody in the world would hire a C-cup dancer, “Unless it’s on a pole.” I promised her that, if I were to ever own a ballet company, I would ONLY hire dancers with C-cups or bigger.
Then there was Stephanie, who embodied classical Hollywood glamor. Perfect golden ringlets framed a soft, round face and big, piercing blue eyes. She had the kind of zaftig, pinup-type figure that fighter pilots liked to paint on their planes during World War II. Va-va-voom, as the chairman would say. She was feisty and flirty, and a bit neurotic about her hair and makeup. Whenever we all went somewhere she would, without fail, be the last one ready. Our school’s resident “drama club diva,” Steph had played the lead role in every school play since she was a freshman, pissing off the older girls in drama club to no end.
Ever since pre-school, Stephanie had been BFF’s with Elizabeth. Like all great pairs, the two of them were different in almost every way. While Stephanie was only a few inches shorter than I was, Elizabeth barely reached 5’2”. Steph was blonde as they come, but Elizabeth had luxurious dark hair and very fair skin. Steph loved the spotlight, Elizabeth was shy as a mouse.
About the only thing they did have in common was their bra size—34DD—a running joke that tended to make Elizabeth blush whenever it came up. While the taller Stephanie rocked her curves in groovy proportion to the rest of her frame, on short little Elizabeth those boobs looked positively humongous. As a life-long “breast man,” Elizabeth’s tits made me practically drool, but she was really self-conscious about them, choosing to dress much more conservatively than her friends.
Despite being beautiful enough to merit a statue in the Parthenon, Elizabeth’s quiet, good-girl nature caused her to often be overlooked by guys more interested in outgoing easy types like Talia or Amy. This lack of attention gave Elizabeth the ridiculous notion that she was “the ugly one” in the group, something that drove me insane. Aside from being a regular feature in my sexual fantasies, she was the kindest, sweetest, most thoughtful person I knew and she had no business being insecure.
Before that year, all of us had been in separate cliques, but when we started hanging out together things just worked. We found that rare, perfect group dynamic. If you ignored the gender ratio, we fit every high school cliché: the nerd, the tease, the basket case, the jock, the diva, and the shy kid. Me, Corrine, Talia, Amy, Stephanie, and Elizabeth. But you know what? Our differences made every conversation more interesting. I always say that the longer a person spends with people exactly the same as they are, the dumber they become. It’s like inbreeding your personality.
To my great surprise, I learned that, of my beautiful new friends, only Amy and Talia had any serious sexual experience. Even professional cock-tease Corrine had never gone further than letting a guy feel her up, and Elizabeth had never even done that. My adolescent assumptions about these gorgeous women with their wild, wanton sex lives evaporated when I got to know them all as a group of regular, cool people with the same frustrations and anxieties about sex as every teenager.
Pretty early into our friendship, Amy took it upon herself to get me into shape, and I must say she made the typically miserable task of exercising a lot of fun. Running laps around the park actually became a treat when I was running behind her, watching that impossibly fine ass stretching her tight little shorts. Over time, my body filled out with some nice, lean muscle definition.
I asked all five girls to take me shopping so I could replace my wardrobe. Instead of dropping the money from my summer job on video games, I saved up for some decent clothes. After some female advice and a few trips to the mall, I started to look like a grown man.
As the only male in our group, the babes teased me incessantly. But it was always good-natured and no sane man would complain. Occasionally, however, the line between platonic friendship and sexual curiosity would blur ever so slightly. Somehow, the stars had aligned to make all five girls single during those early months of our friendship, so when I’d be hanging out alone with one of them there seemed no harm in us snuggling up on the sofa to watch a movie, our hands gently roaming each other’s bodies, always careful to avoid direct contact with the naughty bits. It was pleasantly arousing, but never overt enough that things felt weird between me and the girls afterwards.
One time, this innocent snuggling led to me giving Corrine a prolonged massage. I worked my hands up her back until she asked, “Could you undo my bra? It would feel better.”
I swallowed, throat tight. My hands were actually shaking a little bit as I blindly reached beneath her shirt and fumbled with the hooks. My awkward fumbling must have been pretty obvious, because Corrine sat up wearing a Cheshire grin.
“Have you never taken a girl’s bra off before?” she asked. I shrugged, wishing it could be anyone else in the world having this conversation with me. Corrine turned away, helpfully lifting up the back of her tank top to reveal the heavy-duty strap beneath her shoulder blades.
“Here, let me show you.” She demonstrated the clasp for me a few times, then said, “Now you try.”
My mouth turned to cotton while I imitated what she had done, unclasping the garment from her back. Suddenly unsupported, her substantial breasts dropped to their natural slope, and my eyes dropped with them. Corrine cast aside the enormous bra and turned to me, her tits swaying braless, hidden beneath her tank top. I wanted her so bad it hurt.
“There, now you’re an expert.”
My eyes were glued to the fabric tugging across her curves. Corrine glanced down at her chest, cocking her head to the side. “Ian?” she asked coyly, “Why do you like my boobs so much?”
“I don’t know,” I sighed, raising my gaze to her eyes, “Why do you like teasing me so much?”
Corrine opened her mouth to say something smartass, but the seriousness in my tone of voice must have changed her mind. Instead, she lowered her voice to a whisper and answered, “I don’t know. I guess because I’m not really good at anything else. I’m not good at art, I’m not good at sports, and my GPA’s such a joke I might not even graduate.”
Corrine was usually the most confident person I knew. Even that small show of vulnerability couldn’t have been easy for her. I brushed a hair from her eye and pulled her close for a hug, saying, “You’re good at tons of stuff, Corry. You’re funny, you’re friendly, and you’re really easy to get along with. And yeah, you’re excruciatingly hot. Look, don’t worry about graduating! School is the one thing that I’m really good at, and I’m not gonna let you flunk out.”
Corrine hugged me back as tight as she could, letting out a deep sigh. “Sorry I got all serious like that.”
“Anytime, Corry, you’re my friend.”
“Is it cool if I keep teasing you?”
“Yes, Corry, it’s very cool.”
She grinned, wicked as ever. “Good, then you can finish my back rub!”
With that, she laid down on her stomach and hiked her shirt all the way up to her neck, revealing a slender back and a pair of magnificent breasts splashed out to the sides of her body.
I believe I actually groaned at the sight.
As the school year progressed, I made a real effort to prove myself wrong about my presumed zero percent chance with the opposite sex. I asked other girls in my class out on dates, and a few of them even said yes. That’s when I started experiencing some of the downsides of hanging out with the hottest babes in school.
My handful of relationships never lasted more than a couple weeks. It was always the same story: no matter how much I liked a girl, she just couldn’t get over feeling intimidated by my bevy of gorgeous friends. Girls always got weird about my social circle before I could even get past second base with them. One truly awful girl broke things off with me on New Year’s Eve, leaving me dateless when midnight rolled around. It may sound silly, but I had never had a chance to ring in the New Year with a kiss and I had been really looking forward to that milestone. My five beautiful friends all tried to cheer me up by kissing me after they had kissed their own dates, but it wasn’t the same. I wanted to be somebody’s first choice, not a charity case.
The situation pissed me off, but deep down I could understand. On some level, that girl was right to be jealous. Even though I wasn’t romantically interested in any of my five friends, I hardly ever fantasized about anyone else. It didn’t matter if I was dating another pretty girl, or if I had just bought pornography—whenever I was in the mood, I would inevitably picture myself with one or more of my friends, pounding away while they wrapped their supple legs around me—or better yet—squeezed their massive tits around my cock and tit-fucked me into oblivion.
I felt schizophrenic. One second we’d be happily bitching about homework or whatever, and the next second I was trying to hide the erection that sprang up whenever one of my girls stretched out and yawned. It was humiliating.
The fact that I mainly hung out with girls also got a rumor started that I was gay, which made it even more difficult to convince other chicks I wanted to date them.
By the time Valentine’s Day rolled around, I didn’t even bother finding a date. Talia and I were lazily watching TV in her room, killing time for a few hours before the Valentine’s party she was throwing. Then, without warning, she suddenly got very anxious, nervously fidgeting with the random stuff on her nightstand. I asked her what was going on and she hurriedly blurted out, “I’ve gotta go downstairs for a second. Just stay here, okay?”
I crossed my heart and sat alone in that room for ten long minutes, wondering what the hell was going on. Unable to keep still, I got up and paced (a nervous habit of mine), only to glance out the window, where I noticed that Talia’s car wasn’t alone in her driveway. Four others were squeezed in behind it. Which meant that all five girls were downstairs…
Suddenly, some hilariously cheesy porno-style synth song started blasting from outside the room. The door swung open to reveal my Valentine’s Day present: a parade of goddesses.
Red-haired Amy entered first in an orange t-shirt about ten sizes too small for her. It clung to her skin like paint, those sizeable breasts tugging up the majority of the fabric to expose her sexy toned midriff. Below, she wore nothing but a white thong, which she showed off by sensuously twirling around, slowly rocking the globes of her firm, practically bare ass from side to side in front of my shocked face. Damn. She really was a talented dancer.
Behind her was Talia, dressed in a black lace corset and thigh-high fishnet stockings clipped to frilly black underwear. Her tits jutted out proudly from within semi-transparent lace cups, hinting at the darkness of her erect nipples. She raised her knee and placed one black stiletto heel on my thigh, holding my gaze with those incredible, hypnotic eyes. Then she scratched her nails across her fishnet stockings, the frippp sound dropping my mouth open with desire. Talia smirked at my reaction, unable to stay in character for even a second longer.
Stephanie strode inside the room, dressed in pink bikini bottoms and a matching pink tube top. The stretchy fabric clung enticingly to her huge, braless boobs, which were only half covered by the fabric. There couldn’t have been more than a millimeter between her exposed cleavage and the two perky nipples denting the fabric of her top. She shook her chest deliberately in time with the music, so I felt no shame in openly staring at those epic, jiggling tits.
Then, with a bit of timidity, Elizabeth followed her friends, utterly sidelining me with the amount of skin she had chosen to reveal for me. She was dressed as a Victoria’s Secret Angel—white wings flaring out behind her. The only clothes on her body were some frilly white panties and a matching white bra holding her enormous bosom on proud display.
Stunning as she was, the fact that shy Elizabeth trusted me enough to do this was almost more gratifying than the titillation of the whole fashion show. I held her eyes with mine, letting my smile tell her that I thought she was incredible.
I knew what was coming next, and I wasn’t disappointed: Corrine sashayed into the room, the big finale, dressed in a faux fur cave-girl bikini. The outfit was a joke, to be sure, but it nonetheless revealed more of Corrine’s unbelievable body than my eyes had ever seen before.
She stalked slowly towards me with her long, smooth legs. Her breasts were almost bare: mountains of soft flesh swelled outwards in all directions, and an impossible line of cleavage stared at me where the skimpy top squeezed those tits together.
She leaned over me, her boobs swinging back and forth from the movement. Corrine traced a finger down my chest, scratching a bit with her fingernail. She must’ve been able to feel my heart, beating away like a sparrow’s.
An evil smile crossed her face, and she kissed me—full on the lips. I was on fire, brain swimming with arousal. She backed away, holding my gaze like a snake charmer. Before I knew it, she was replaced with Amy, who also kissed me, her lips tasting of sweet fruit. Then came Talia, who slipped me a bit of tongue and left me with a wink. Stephanie actually straddled my lap and sat there with a smile, waiting for me to take the initiative. I did, enjoying the cotton candy lip gloss she had worn for the occasion. Emboldened, I reached down and gave her ass a playful squeeze—and she did the same to me.
Then, at last, came Elizabeth, looking flushed and nervous about her kiss. The other girls encouraged her, and she moved in close—but stopped at the last second, staring at me with those beautiful green eyes. Reassuring, I gently wrapped my arms around her and whispered in her ear, “It’s okay if you don’t want to kiss me, you’ve already given me a wonderful Valentine’s Day.”
Somehow that made up her mind, and Elizabeth grabbed hold of my face and furiously started Frenching me. She was wild, her kisses impatient and inexperienced, but also incredibly passionate. Her enormous, bra-clad breasts squashed against my chest and she moaned into my mouth.
It was by far the hottest moment of the day. After all the visual stimulation of the last few minutes, the surprise of Elizabeth’s passionate kissing practically pushed me over the edge. Then, as suddenly as she had started, she stopped. Pleased with herself, she backed away from me, sighing, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Ian.”
I gave them a standing ovation. Then, realizing they were all giggling at my outrageous erection, I changed it to a sitting ovation. Mission complete, the girls went downstairs and changed back into their party clothes. My poor penis was more confused than ever.
Later that night, I got Elizabeth alone for a minute and told her how surprised I was that she had gone along with everyone’s plan. After all, she usually shied away from flaunting her body like the others. Her good mood suddenly soured. Without a word, she turned on her heel and made a beeline for the exit.
“Wait!” I chased after her, “What did I say?” She got in her car, but I made a point of blocking the driveway. My words had clearly hurt her for some reason and I was determined to make it better. Frustrated, Elizabeth got out of her car and started walking home in a huff.
“Don’t leave!” I shouted. She stopped, took a deep breath, and turned angrily back towards me.
“I’m not some sickly sweet goody-good girl prude,” she pouted. “I want to act fun and sexy and stuff just as much as everyone else! I do have hormones, you know! I’m sick of all the girls always treating me like their super-innocent kid sister. It’s bullshit! Steph and Corrine have barely gone further with a boy than I have and they still talk to me like a child because I don’t dress like I’m in a rap video.”
I took a step towards her, smirking, “Liz, I don’t think you’re a child. The angel who walked into that room earlier today with those beautiful big boobs of yours was ALL woman.”
She blushed at my response, suddenly self-conscious about her little outburst. “It’s nothing you said, it’s just starting to really get on my nerves the way the other girls tease me. I’m sorry I took it out on you.”
I held out my hand to lead her back to the party. “And I’m sorry I just assumed the other girls had to put you up to that fashion show. I should have known better when you started kissing me like that.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks turned an even deeper shade of pink. “I’d never French kissed a boy before, so I figured, what the hell? You’ve gotten pretty cute, and I knew it wasn’t gonna go anywhere.”
There was something about the way she said those final few words that crushed my spirits. She sounded so damned certain! She “knew” it wasn’t gonna go anywhere? Why couldn’t it go anywhere? What had started off as one of the hottest nights of my young life suddenly felt very cold.
A few weeks later, I encountered what was, by far, the worst side-effect of my new social circle. I had spent the last several months fending off constant requests from every asshole in the school who wanted me to hook him up with one of my friends. Football players who had been tossing me in trash cans less than a year ago were suddenly buddying up to me, sometimes even trying to bribe me if I would help them nail a girl. I couldn’t blame these guys for trying, but I refused to take part in their idiotic attempts at conquest with five people I legitimately cared about. Give a mouse a cookie, I figured. When one of the girls actually liked a guy, I’d always get out of their way, but my unilateral refusal to aid and abet utter douche bags didn’t make me any friends.
Quite the opposite, unfortunately.
On my walk home from school, I was ambushed by no less than five guys on the football team whom I had refused to help out with the girls. The worst of the bunch was the team captain, Charles. Everyone in school knew he had raped a freshman girl over the summer, but she was too ashamed to ever admit it to the police. As far as I knew, his buddies had never gone quite that far, but they were backing him up which made them just as bad in my book.
I had hated all of them since elementary school. I’d even fantasize about somehow miraculously attaining Tony Jaa level ninja powers and beating the shit out of the whole group while my classmates cheered me on. But no matter how many times you see it in movies, one guy just can’t hold his own against half a dozen.
At least I didn’t make it easy on them. Charles went home with a black eye, and when one of his friends tried to grab me I stomped on the guy’s hand and broke a finger. But nobody would say I won the fight. I spent the better part of a week in the hospital.
Still, karma got the better of my attackers in the end. One of Charles’s genius friends had filmed the whole thing on his parent’s camcorder, everyone’s face on clear display. He then dubbed some copies of it for them all at the school’s AV lab, not realizing that all my nerd friends ate lunch there. By the end of the next day, the police had a copy of that tape and my five assailants were going to jail for assault. I didn’t have to do a thing.
My week in the hospital was made a bit less miserable by merit of having five hot girls as my best friends. There was an endless stream of cards and care packages, plenty of good company, and that one time Stephanie showed up after visiting hours…
I was due to leave the following morning, and feeling pretty decent aside from a few lingering aches and pains that were keeping me up at night. I had my own room thanks to a bit of lucky musical chairs with other patients being escorted around, which meant plenty of peace and quiet but also a fair amount of boredom.
I was just about to try for some sleep when the door opened and a nurse walked in to check on me. A nurse with golden ringlets and 34DD tits bulging under her scrubs.
Stephanie gave me a quick wave, stifling a giggle at my shocked expression. “I know you’re kind of an insomniac, so I figured you must be bored out of your mind after we all go home. Figured I’d sneak in and pay you a visit.”
She had bought a pair of scrubs from a local provider, and kept a straight face walking into the hospital–which was apparently all it took to make it past security.
“Wow,” I stammered, “You really are a good actor.”
She just smirked at the compliment (Steph always did have a bit of an ego) and quietly slipped under the covers with me, snuggling up nice and close. It wasn’t the first time she and I had laid down together, but the fact that she was going so far out of her way to be close to me this time made our snuggling a bit more intimate.
Sure, she was wearing scrubs—not exactly the sexy nurse costumes of yesteryear—but I still enjoyed the feel of her warm body stretched out against mine. And I was just wearing that damn hospital gown under the covers, allowing Stephanie to tenderly trail her fingers up my bare leg.
A week in the hospital also meant a week without jacking off or any kind of sexual relief, and her tender touch on my thigh was all it took to get my young penis throbbing hard. Her lips brushed my ear: “You know I feel really bad about what happened. We all do. If we’d been there, we would have backed you up. Helped even the odds, six on five.”
I slid my hand up from her hip, beneath her scrubs, caressing her bare back. Looking her in the eyes, my words just slipped out:
“I love you guys.”
Stephanie stiffened a bit at that, so I quickly clarified, “I don’t mean, like, romantically. Honest truth is I don’t exactly have, like, ‘a crush’ on any of you.”
She let out a little sigh, somewhere between relieved and disappointed. “You know,” she said, “We sometimes wonder about that amongst ourselves. Like, ‘Is Ian head-over-heels for one of us and he’s just too scared to admit it?’ We feel bad about teasing you sometimes, worrying it might hurt your feelings if you really were in love with one of us. We don’t mean to lead you on or anything, it’s just fun seeing your reactions.”
“No, I’ve never felt like that,” I assured her. “You’re all just my friends, and I like that you’re all just my friends. I don’t know if I’ve ever gotten along so well with anybody. But I am a guy and you are all so unbelievably gorgeous, it can get confusing. At least for certain parts of me.”
Stephanie laughed out loud, quickly cupping a hand over her mouth to block the sound, not wanting to give away her presence to any passing hospital staff.
“Does that make sense?” I asked.
“That actually makes a lot of sense,” she answered, “You’ve really cleaned yourself up in the past year and I sometimes I look at you and I can’t help but have, you know, certain… thoughts.”
She snuggled up even tighter against me, head nuzzled to my shoulder and her hand continuing to drift absent mindedly up and down my bare thigh. From this position, my mouth was less than an inch from her neck and my breath made her shiver. “What kind of thoughts?” I asked.
“Just, you know, like rolling around with you on a big bed without any clothes on. Stuff like that. It’s like you said, I don’t like you as a boyfriend or anything. I’ve had ‘crushes’ on plenty of guys—that’s not what I mean, and I don’t want you to freak out or anything. It’s just confusing sometimes, like you said.”
I gave her neck a gentle little kiss and she closed her eyes, clearly a bit nervous to be discussing this with me. Her hand slid up a daring few inches, grazing the bottom edge of my bare ass. I’m sure she could feel my erection in her hip. “Do you have those thoughts about me?” she asked.
I slid my hand down and full-on squeezed her ass, prompting a smile. She still didn’t open her eyes. “Of course, Steph. All the time. It drives me crazy.” I playfully nibbled the skin of her neck, which forced her to gasp.
“What about the other girls? You have those thoughts about them too?”
“What do you think?” I nibbled her ear.
“Mmmm… I think you fantasize about having a big porno orgy with all of us at the same time.”
“Sometimes,” I answered, “But the truth is, more often than not, I fantasize about being with you girls one-on-one. I admit I get totally turned on by everyone—Talia, Amy, Corrine, Elizabeth, YOU—”
I groped her ass again, pulling her against my erection for emphasis. Stephanie sighed in pleasure.
I continued, “But most of my dreams are of hot, intimate sex between two people. I’ve never had even that, so I wouldn’t even know where to start with a six-some.”
“Me too,” she whispered. “I don’t want to lose my virginity to just some guy I don’t even care about, but I get so horny I can’t stand it sometimes. I don’t know if I can wait for mister perfect. I mean, I’ve never even touched a real penis before.”
Unconsciously, she was dry humping me beneath the covers. It was starting to get difficult for my brain to censor the inner monologue. “God, I wanna fuck you so bad right now, Steph. Is that weird?”
Her eyes shot open at my boldness. But she didn’t pull away. Her skin was flushed with desire. “I want that too, but… I don’t know.”
I nodded, trying to get myself under control—then she dropped a bombshell on me: “Maybe just not SEX. Let’s do other stuff.”
Sounded good to me.
Stephanie and I kissed ferociously, filled with hot desire. I dove my hands beneath the waistband of her underwear, madly groping her bubbly bare ass. She immediately reached straight for my hard-on, easily accessible through the hospital gown—
I cried out in surprise. The sudden shock of pleasure sent electric shivers zapping across every inch of my body.
She gripped me a bit roughly at first, but then relaxed her hand into soft, explorative strokes, studying the unfamiliar shape of me with her fingers. I was in heaven.
Impatient, I released one of Steph’s fine buttcheeks and unclasped her bra (it was easy, thanks to Corrine’s tutoring). I reached up under her dangling bra cups and squeezed, instinctively thumbing her nipples. I had gotten this far with other girls before, but none of them had tits anywhere near as spectacular as Stephanie’s. Those things felt incredible in my hands: warm, heavy, and unbelievably soft. Her pert nipples burned into my palms.
Stephanie moaned in pure ecstasy, wrenching her mouth away from mine just long enough to desperately whisper, “Put your fingers in me.”
Not needing another invitation, I released her right breast and stabbed my hand down into her underwear, playfully slipping my fingers across the outside of her warm wetness.
“Mmm–mm! Inside!” she demanded, letting go of my cock long enough to aggressively yank off her shirt and cast aside her bra. No longer concerned with being caught, Stephanie rolled on top of me, her glorious, naked tits fully revealed above the covers.
Her right breast swung loose and unfettered, an inch above my lips. I craned my neck and Stephanie crushed her chest down to my face, smothering me with her huge tit as I scraped my tongue across her nipple.
She let out a gasp, and started rubbing my cock with wild abandon. I took that as my cue to finally insert a pair of fingers inside her tight warmth, my thumb instinctively playing with her clit. We went at it like we were trying to win a race or something, our hands a blur between each other’s legs—
That was all it took. We were young, and excited, and it was our first time having another person touch us like that. Stephanie went off like a firecracker, the sound of her orgasmic moans bringing me over the edge as I blasted spurt after spurt into her hand, never prying my lips from her tit.
Finally, we calmed down, and she gingerly removed her breast from my overactive mouth, explaining that it was starting to get a little raw.
Outside, we heard the sound of hospital staff approaching, no doubt in response to Stephanie’s screams. In a panic, she hurriedly slipped her top back on and gave me a quick kiss goodbye.
She was gone by the time the real nurses arrived. I made a show of how they had “woken me up” and they quickly left me in peace.
In the darkness of my hospital room, I suddenly felt very alone. I desperately wanted Stephanie to come back so we could talk about what had happened, but she never did. In fact, I didn’t see her again until I was back at school. Was she ashamed? Was she okay? As I tried to calm down and go to sleep, my mind reeled at the ramifications of what Stephanie and I had done:
Would Stephanie and I have to start dating now? No, she had made it clear that she felt the same way I did–sexually frustrated but not romantically interested. Would the other girls get mad when they found out what we’d done? Or worse, jealous? I knew none of the other girls were interested in me, but chicks can be weird when one of them does something the others haven’t. And if they are jealous, what does that mean for us all as friends? Predictably, I briefly entertained the idea that all the other girls would be jealous, and that they would all take turns screwing my brains out in increasingly absurd ways to even the score.
Then a final thought entered my head: What if Stephanie doesn’t tell anyone? Do I have to keep this a secret?
Half worried, half psyched at what the future might hold, I found it impossible to sleep that night.