Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. Author: Thinking Horndog Title: Second Best Part: 001 Universe: Second Best Summary: A full-length novel that follows several young couples and their families through the period immediately preceding their Senior Prom. Keywords: F-solo, Ff-inc Keywords for full story: F-solo, Ff-inc, M+F Ffm MF mf oral anal bd D/s Mg-inc Fm-inc mm mmf rom MF-reluc Chapter 1 Girls and Boys Mandi Giannelli sighed and put the latest in her collection of sex toys - a "butterfly" vibrator - into her underwear drawer. She had decided to bypass her usual after school "stimulation" session on the grounds that, while the itch between her legs was intense after a run-in (mostly imagined - it was just an accidental bump in the hallway) with the cute new substitute science teacher, her mother was likely to require her assistance in quenching her own fires later in the evening, and it wouldn't do to go into that session previously satiated. Mandi remembered her first encounter with her mother, Helen, soon after her 13th birthday. She had heard loud sobs coming from the master bedroom while coming down the upstairs hallway. Upon opening the door, she found her mother sobbing in frustration, holding a large dildo between her legs. "I can't manage to finish!" she wailed. "Every time I get close, I stiffen up, and then I can't move it any more!" Helen's husband, Marc Giannelli, had recently divorced her, having taken up with his young secretary at the auto dealership where he worked, leaving the highly sexed, but somewhat largely built Helen without sexual outlets. Mandi's assistance on that occasion had led to a pattern of support that, when Mandi had become sexually aware, had been reciprocated - but neither of them was in any danger of becoming a lesbian. Quite the opposite, in fact - each considered their current activity to be an unsatisfactory substitute for the company of males - but it was better than going totally insane from frustration. The fact was that Mandi had inherited her mother's sexual response - including a tendency to go rigid and quivery and lose muscular control just before the onset of orgasm, making satisfactory masturbation a difficult proposition. Thus, a helping hand or a device that could be trusted not to dislodge itself at the critical moment (the "butterfly" came with an elastic harness designed to hold it in place over the clitoris) was a serious requirement for even momentary sexual fulfillment. And while Mandi had thus far avoided penetration deep enough to rupture her hymen, the sensations generated by an inch or two were enough to tell her that, for her, serious fulfillment required a penis. Mandi checked her nude body in the mirror, having just completed a quick shower. She was a big girl - over 5'10" - with fair skin and hair just a touch lighter than mouse brown, with some startlingly auburn highlights. As a youngster, Mandi had been short and - well, fat, actually - and had been teased unmercifully for it. Her elementary school nickname, "Butterball", had stuck, at least in her mind, turning her into a shy, quiet wallflower - even after her growth spurt at 12 - 13 had altered her proportions dramatically. Thus, despite the Nordic 38DD - 28 - 34 Amazon that stared back at her from the mirror, she only noticed the slight rounding of her lower belly, critically judging a body that now barely qualified as Rubinesque as "ungodly huge". Her sister Denise, who inherited her father's dark Italian good looks, ragged her constantly, calling her a "fat cow" and "Helga the Horrible". Mandi resembled her mother rather than her father, but Helen had always battled unsuccessfully with her weight, and her large frame operated on the other side of Rubinesque - Helen was a BBW, almost archetypically. Mandi's truly overweight days were behind her, however - but, unfortunately for her self-image, she didn't realize the fact. Mandi stepped into her flowered cotton panties, fastened a "no-nonsense" padded bra over her barely sagging conical breasts, threw on a loose blouse and a calf-length pleated skirt, then ran downstairs. Entering the kitchen, where her mother was sitting at the bar in the breakfast nook winding down from a long early shift at the restaurant where she supplemented Marc's meager (and often missing) child support as a waitress, Mandi hit the refrigerator for a diet soda. "Hi, Mom." "Hello, Dear, how was school?" asked Helen, glancing up from the taped soap she was zoning out on. "Fine. I'm going to meet the girls at Starbucks. We're trying to decide whether to go to the dance at school tonight." "It's a waste of time - that group of losers you hang out with couldn't catch a date with a beer truck!" Denise stuck her head in through the kitchen door, and delivered this unwanted witticism, laughed, and announced "So long, Sucker, I've got a date with Jimmy Saxon!" as she sauntered out the front door. "I'll never understand how a sophomore can land dates with the captain of the basketball team!" Helen wondered aloud. "Mother, you know as well as I do what Denise's 'secret weapon' is - it's a good thing she's on the Pill!" Mandi replied, grinning. "She gets enough for the three of us. Unfortunately, it doesn't do you and I any good!" "Mandi! That's uncalled for! I'm sure Denise gets enough mud slung at her without you delivering it at home!" Helen managed to counterfeit a fine case of righteous indignation before blowing it by mumbling "Even if it IS true..." under her breath. Mother and daughter shared a grin. Denise had inherited her father's wayward ways, as well as his looks, and at age 15 had already left a long trail of shattered male hearts. "Well, run along. Call me before the dance, if you decide to go. Got your cell?" "Yes, it's in my purse - although Denise took the fresh battery out of the charger again" grumbled Mandi. "See you later." "If you go, catch me one, too. I'm getting awfully tired of dating rubber!" Helen laughed. Mandi giggled, "I'll see what I can do, but the fish haven't been biting thus far!" as she ambled through the door. "Makes a great joke - too bad I was serious..." Helen sighed as she resumed her interrupted viewing of the soap. Mandy popped through the door at Starbucks and looked around, discovering her girlfriends grouped in a booth at the back. Making her way over, she announced herself "Hey." "Hey, Mandi," Dolores Brown WAS brown, a rich cinnamon color that came from her mother's East Indian and father's black genetic mix. Where her fiery temper came from was anybody's guess. She had made a name for herself for her verbal and often physical abuse of her black suitors, which is how she entered Mandi's circle of friends despite her exotic beauty. Dolores was 5'7", and her mother's genes allowed her to avoid both the narrow, flat-chested and the large pillowy black female stereotypes. Indeed, she was classically beautiful, with long, slender legs, 36C breasts, and a narrow waist - but the local male audience had learned to steer clear after she had kneed a couple of them in the testicles for making unwelcome advances. The fact was that Dolores found the posturing and machismo of the local black males to be an affront. She had no interest in being "treated like a fuckrag" as she put it once in conversation with Mandi and her other girlfriends, and made no bones about it. So potential suitors looked elsewhere, rather than endanger their reputations as "baad bruthus". The third member of the trio looked up from her soda and smiled, "Hi Mandi." Jackie Hardesty couldn't have been more different. The thin, narrow, freckled redhead was always somewhat sheepish around boys, largely due to an unfortunate incident when she was a sophomore, and the nickname it generated. "Jackoff Jackie" was the result of an overconfident jaunt to an upper class party where 5 members of the football team drugged her and attempted to gang-rape her. Barely conscious, she managed to stay in her jeans, but ended up vaguely cooperating in the throat-fuck blowjobs and masturbation session that resulted from her befuddled attempts to make her assailants happily settle for less than a gang bang. While she ended up little the worse for the wear, either physically or emotionally (indeed, she had developed a taste for cock, she sheepishly admitted during one sleepover at Mandi's), her reputation was shot, and later adventures in dating ended poorly as what dates she managed to attract expected immediate sexual gratification. As time went on, this unlikely trio gravitated to one another (basically through repulsion from other groups) and became inseparable, each drawing comfort from the others bemoaning their own miserable fates. At this point, however, desperation was beginning to set in. Each was a senior, and each had seen their seventeenth birthday come and go without a successful dating experience. The Prom loomed in just over two weeks, and none of them had been able to attract an escort. Thus, it was in a gloomy frame of mind that the trio began their council of war over strategies for remedying the situation at the school dance that evening. "Look, we gotta go - there's no other way we're going to get a decent look at what's available!" Dolores insisted. "What's left over, you mean..." interjected Jackie gloomily. "Yeah, well, leftovers are leftovers, and seen from their direction, guess what WE are?" Mandy pointed out. "If we go tonight, we can at least discover who can dance and who can't - that should keep things from being too embarrassing. If I'm going to have to seriously consider making myself available to anybody brave enough to ask, I might as well avoid saying yes to someone with three left feet." "Isn't that 'two left feet'?" Jackie asked. "I meant what I said. With my luck, he'd have three." "We ARE going then?" Dolores wanted it made plain. "Yeah, I guess so. What are you going to wear?" replied Mandi. "I'm thinking that it would be smarter if I showed up in a dress. We should all probably dress to show off our best features." Dolores batted her eyes, and fluffed her soft curly hair playfully. "Like you have any BAD features!" chided Jackie. "What am I supposed to put on display?" "A lot of those freckles, I think," Dolores responded. "Got anything in a tube top? The narrower the better. Make it obvious that what you DO have on top is real. Plan to show off those legs of yours, too." "Yeah, they're YOUR best feature." Mandy agreed. "What do I do?" Dolores gave Mandi a slow once-over. "You really don't have a problem. You've got pretty much everything a boy could want - just more of it than most of them can handle. Why don't you settle for showing some cleavage and a skirt like that blue one you showed me last week? Something above the knee... Oh, and flats. The LAST thing YOU need is more height. You legs can handle it." "Well... I don't know about the cleavage. I've got a white open back blouse with a built-in inner support, but I'm afraid it might not be enough to handle things while I'm dancing..." "That's assuming you GET to dance!" Jackie put in, merrily. "What's the worst that could happen?" Dolores replied. If one of those gets away from you and a boy sees it, you're BOUND to get a nibble. They can't resist. Besides, you got to get out of THAT 'Mother Hubbard'! What's it made of, whalebone?" "Hey, take it easy!" Mandi colored. "No need to be nasty!" "I'm sorry Hon," Dolores apologized, "but your worst problem is that you hide your light under a basket. You've got everything you need to make a boy sit up and take notice, but you hide it under stuff made for old folks and nuns. Loosen up! It'll do you a world of good!" "She's right Mandi. 'Let it all hang out!' We're fishing here - be sure you bait the hook!" Jackie laughed. "OK, I'll meet you guys out front at 8:00, and I'll try to look sexy. You be sure you do, too. If one of you shows up in jeans, I'm going home!" Mandi admonished. "No sweat." Dolores replied, "See you there!" "Later, Mandi" Jackie called, as they parted in the parking lot.