by Cyan
Copyright 2011 by Cyan
All Rights Reserved; No Redistribution.
I stared. To say I was surprised, amazed, shocked, wouldn't do justice to my state. It was obvious they hadn't heard me come in through the back. "Jenny!" I said, somehow not loud, but they would certainly hear me and realize my shock.
They looked at me, both of them. Denise, Jenny's friend sat on the couch, she'd been looking down at Jenny. Jenny was lying on the couch, her head on Denise's lap. Jenny wore no top, her breasts were bare and Denise's hand had been idly caressing her chest as she looked down at Jenny's face.
But when they heard me, they both looked up at me. It was like deers in headlights at that instant, obvious that they were totally unprepared for the moment. Then Jenny sat up suddenly, crossing her arms in front of her chest, looking around wildly as if to find her clothes, then quickly zipping out of the room. My daughter!
Denise didn't move, sitting, watching me. I saw she was now more relaxed, but Denise is one to recover quickly. I found myself thinking fast, considering what to say, how to approach this. It was certainly nothing I'd prepared myself for. Finally, I approached her. She didn't stand, simply looked up at me as I came closer. Thinking of Jenny, who would obviously be a wreck upstairs at that moment, I considered my strategy, then sat on the edge of the couch, next to Denise, facing her.
"Denise," I said. I realized my mind was still stalling for time, trying to come up with the right words. Denise. We'd known her for so long, she was so much like family. She simply faced me, waiting for me to speak. She obviously knew a speech was coming. She was so calm, sitting there patiently, on the end of the couch, her hands in her lap, and I wondered at her ability, to take things in stride, certainly not a trait of Jenny's or mine. "Denise, we both know Jenny..."
She made no response when I paused, simply watching me attentively. I took a deep breath. "You know Jenny very well." I wondered how to say this. "You know she isn't as--outgoing--as you, not nearly as sure of herself. Especially with boys. So even though she's a year older than you, in a way she looks up to you." I paused and took a breath. Denise's calm was unnerving. "The problem is," I said, swallowing, then hating myself for feeling so nervous in front of a college girl, "is that Jenny is probably feeling lonely given how much trouble she has dating, vulnerable, in fact, and--she's perhaps a bit too quick to follow your lead even if she really isn't--into..."
"Don't worry, I understand," said Denise. I felt a load off my mind, but then wondered whether I was indeed making my point.
"She really needs to get up the nerve to date," I said. "So I know you feel affection for her being her friend and all, but perhaps it would be better if you didn't lead her..."
"I know," she said, shifting her position to one more casual. "It's just that when you've been afraid to take the dating plunge for so long, there's--something missing from your life." She paused, looking at me. "A level of affection, you know, something other than family. Do you know what I mean?"
Actually I knew all too well. "Yes," I said. And I felt comfortable, knowing I was being liberal enough to discuss this intelligently. Denise really was a very fine girl and had been a friend to both of us for so long.
"If you aren't dating, haven't in ages, and nothing's on the horizon, then you're missing out on the little affectionate things like simply holding hands, or a gentle kiss. Do you know what I mean?"
I could see where she was going and wondered how to counter. "Yes, but..."
"A person needs a gentle touch. Oh you can suppress the desire, but it's there all the same, and when you feel it, you know immediately what you've been missing. You can pretend it doesn't bother you, but deep down you know it does."
Something about what she was saying suddenly was making me decidedly uncomfortable and I found myself thinking about my own life. The empty years--no they weren't empty, not with Jenny--but...
Denise reached and took my hand. "I just saw what Jenny needs, what she craves. It isn't a big deal, but she needs just a little bit of soft touching so much..."
She should date! The words rang in my mind but I felt immediately guilty, knowing exactly what it is to keep yourself out of the dating path, never putting yourself in a position to be considered, then go to bed each night wondering why your life is so flat, why all those women out there have loyal, loving husbands and you don't. I found myself looking down at Denise's hand holding mine and felt like a perfect fool. Why was a forty- year-old woman listening to a girl half her age and reacting this way? Would I ever grow up? Why did Denise come off as wiser than me? "You know what I'm saying," she said. "When is the last time you dated?"
I thought back--it had been so long ago. It wasn't a date, exactly, the guy at work, he gave me some rides, but I remember how careful I was not to embarrass myself by showing him I was interested. And before that, so long ago. So many years with just Jenny. "Too long," said Denise. "And I'm positive you miss the gentle touch of a lover. Right?"
"Well sure," I said, then realized my voice was too weak, too much like a mumble.
"And I'm sure you've tried to put it to rest for the time being, but we are affectionate creatures, we women, you know that. Just a little bit of touch does us so much good." And she squeezed my hand. And it was funny, what she was saying brought my attention to that little gesture of hers and I did realize that that tiny little thing was something I almost never received, so seldom from friends or family, and not for so many years from anyone interesting...
She smiled and I found our eyes were locked. "Poor Sharon," she said. "You need it too, don't you?" Then slowly, she lifted her hand. And touched my cheek.
Our eyes were still locked. I needed to move her hand away. It lay on my cheek, caressing softly. Jenny was in the house, in her bedroom. I lifted my hand to take Denise's. I held her hand, but for the moment I couldn't make myself take it away.
My hand lay on top of hers. She held my gaze. "Just the smallest touch helps so much," she said. "We all need just a little bit." And she slipped her hand off my cheek, briefly leaving me with my own hand on my cheek, touching where hers had touched. Not moving, I recalled the sensation of her hand there. Her hand went down to my shoulder, gently touching me once again. Then it slid to the front of my neck as she raised her other hand. She unbuttoned the top button of my blouse.
Then another. Still, I couldn't look away from her. "Just a little bit of touching," she said, her voice still soft. "It's been far too long and you know that so well. Too long." She unbuttoned and soon my blouse was open. Her hands went to my sides, to my skin, then lifted, under my breasts.
"No," I whispered.
"Just a little bit," she whispered back. She lifted the cups off my breasts, pushing the bra up. Then her hands cupped them, so softly, slowly caressing. "A body needs it," she said. "or it misses it terribly."
No! No! No! I knew I had to stop this, immediately. How could I let this happen? How had it happened? Our eyes were still locked. She slid her hands off my breasts, oh it felt so sensual, so right, so wrong. She pushed my blouse open and off me. And slid closer, reaching behind me to unhook my bra. "You are so pretty," she said. "It's such a shame, a waste." I was half-naked. She slid closer and sat next to me and I found us sitting close. She looked down at my breasts as she touched them. "They're nice, so pretty, so beautiful. You need this."
I sat there. She touched them. "We can't do this," I said.
"Just a little bit. Come here." She slid back across the couch and I found myself lying on my back, her thighs as a pillow. "So pretty," she said, her eyes on my breasts. She touched the nipples lightly. It was too much, I was aroused and I knew it. "Let yourself go," she said. "You need it." I like my nipples touched and I always do it myself when I'm alone whenever the need overcomes me. I knew as light as her touch was, that I was in danger, that it could go too far. That it would go too far if I didn't stop it. She smiled down at me. "Say 'yes'," she whispered.
Yes! rang the word in my mind. And no! "Say it," she repeated.
"Yes," I whispered.
Her hand, not quite so lightly, slid down my body to the waist of my pants, her fingers sliding inside them. And at that moment my true state revealed itself and there was no denying that I was close to the moment. My breathing was far too loud. "My pretty Sharon," she said. "Keep it as quiet as you can," she added.
* * *
I lay there, spent. She touched my cheek, my breast a little bit but not my nipple so much, her hand caressing up and down my body. "I need to see you," she said and started undoing my pants.
I felt panic coming back. "Relax," she said. "I've given you what you need, now I just need a little look."
What have I done? She undid my pants. I actually helped her slip them down to my thighs, my underpants as well. And I was uncovered, in this girl's hands. She looked, and touched, her fingers around my sex, briefly trailing over it as if to test it. "Such a waste," she said idly, then looked back into my eyes. "We won't do this when Jenny is around," she said. "Not any more."
OK, the word went unspoken through my mind. Then the lump in my throat: what was happening? I needed to stop this, immediately. She was implying...
"OK, get dressed," she said, kissing her fingers, then softly touching my lips with them.
* * *
I couldn't send her away, not right after that. We sat at the dinner that I made, the three of us. Jenny looked as embarrassed as I felt. Denise was so poised.
* * *
It's only when Jenny's not around. The next couple of times were on the couch like that first time, though Denise had me undress completely. Then she taught me how she'd like me to return the favors and now we're always in my bed.
And I'm careful to stay out some nights, to not return unexpectedly. When the three of us are around, Denise is always just our friend and we often have her over for supper before Jenny or I go out.
But I wonder about Jenny's thoughts. We never say a word about it, nothing after that one moment I caught the two of them. But I can tell she always goes out and stays away when it's my turn.
Cyan Stories
Erotic fiction, sex stories, for erotica lovers.