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From: thebear@io.com (The Bear)
Subject: Sarah: My Best Friend's Girl  (part 2 of 2)  mf
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Below is the result of your feedback form.  It was submitted by The Bear
(thebear@io.com on Wed Sep 24 02:17:41 CDT 1997
--------------------------------------------------------------
Message:  Here is Part 2 of my story, "Sarah: My Best
Friend's Girl" - I could not fit both parts 
1 and 2 into one message.

SRMBFG2.TXT 
***************************************** 
The following is a work of fiction involving sexual relationships and 
activities. If you feel that it is illegal, immoral, or otherwise improper
for you to read this, then DON’T READ IT.
*****************************************

Sarah: My Best Friend’s Girl (Part One of Two)

short fiction by The Bear

**************************************

It was only a few weeks later that I came home very drunk from a date 
that had turned out badly - so badly, in fact, that I’d ditched the date by 
9:00 PM and stayed out past midnight drinking with some other girls 
that I knew, then had to walk home from downtown because I was way 
too tanked to drive. I struggled unsteadily up the front staircase at our 
fraternity house and wobbled down the short length of hallway to my 
room. 

Tom was up watching TV and talking on the phone to Sarah. I told him 
to tell her ‘hello’ for me, as I staggered to our bunk-bed and leaned my 
head against the frame for support while I toed out of my sneakers and 
shucked off my jeans. I left the sneakers where they were and 
dropped the jeans on top of them, figuring that would make them that 
much easier to find in the morning, then worked on getting up into my 
rack.

My usual (sober) procedure of grabbing the frame, jumping up, and 
lifting and twisting myself the rest of the way over onto my mattress 
with upper body strength alone was simply not possible in my drunken 
state - if I had tried it I probably would have lost my grip on the bed 
and crashed my face into the steel framework, or misjudged the 
jump/twist and smashed my head through the ceiling (that one I’d 
actually done once before I learned better - it turned out that the 75-
year-old fraternity house and its plaster ceilings were much stronger 
than my head). Instead, I went down the length of the bed, holding 
onto the frame for support like a baby learning to walk, then carefully 
climbed up the ladder at the end and crawled down to rest my head on 
my pillow.

I had closed my eyes and was in the process of sinking down into 
blissful oblivion when Tom called my name. “Hey Brian, you awake? 
Wake up, ya boon - Sarah wants to talk to you.”

I opened my eyes and turned my head towards him to let him know 
that I was awake, then held out my hand for the cordless phone. I 
expected Tom to toss the phone up to me from his seat on the couch, 
but he properly judged the likelihood of me actually being able to catch 
it and brought it to me instead.

Sarah wanted to know how my date had gone. “Tom said you came in 
wasted - what happened to your date with the horse girl?”

The horse girl? The horse girl? I wracked my brain for a reference. Oh 
yes, the bitch I had started the evening by taking out to dinner. She 
was one of those equestrian types from Stephens, had been jabbering 
on about her bloody horse all through dinner - part of the reason I had 
dumped her by nine.

“Oh, uh, her, well, we didn’t really get along too great - I walked her 
back to Stephens campus and went back downtown to drink free wine 
at Walker’s with Kari and that kid partner of hers, uh, Sabrina.” Kari 
was a Little Sister at our house, and also the actual little sister of one 
of my fraternity brothers. Sabrina was a sixteen-year-old local girl that 
Kari had met somewhere and had adopted as a party-buddy. They 
always seemed to be out at the bars together, even though neither one 
of them was of legal drinking age.

“... Walker’s?” Sarah was asking.

“Huh? What?”

“Oh geez, you’re too drunk to even talk to. I said, ‘How did you get free 
wine at Walker’s?’.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. There was this band ... I think Kari knew some of them 
... anyway we were there listening to the band.”

Sarah’s voice got very low and even, the way you’d talk to a child. “OK, 
so there was a band. You listened to the band. How did you get free 
wine?”

“It was some kind of Ladies’ Night thing.”

“Brian. I’m trying to be patient with you. I don’t know why I even care, 
but now you’ve got me curious. One more time - you are not a lady, or 
even a gentleman - so how does Ladies’ Night at Walker’s equal free 
wine for you?”

I think I crossed my eyes, I was trying so hard to concentrate on what 
she was asking. Why didn’t she understand? Then I got it. “Oh, yeah. 
The free wine was for Kari and the kid, but they kept pouring theirs 
into my glass and then going back for more. It was great.”

“Well, I’m glad you had fun. Too bad about the horse girl ...”

“That bitch!” I was awake and on a roll now. “All she wanted to talk 
about was her damned horse, and her damned horse farm back home, 
and her damned horse classes, and her damned horse-girl friends, 
probably all a bunch of dykes, aren’t they - it’s probably the damned 
horse girls give Stephens a bad name, bunch of damned dykes ...”

I could have kept on going at length, but Sarah was saying my name 
over and over, and louder and louder, “Brian! Brian! Brian! Are you 
listening to me?”

That was her mistake, pausing to wait for a response, because it gave 
me a chance to build up momentum again. “There you go, just like that 
damned horse bitch, or mare, or whatever the hell she is - always 
asking if I’m listening, while she goes on and on about some shit like 
grooming or posting or some kind of horsey shit. Yeah, that’s it, horse 
shit. And yet she keeps on asking me if I’m listening to all of this horse 
shit, which of course I’m not really, but I’m trying to be polite and see if 
I can get anywhere with her ...”

“Brian! Brian! You need to go to sleep now - why don’t you give the 
phone back to Tom?”

“But goddamnit Sarah, it just isn’t fair! I keep going out with these 
damn bitches, buy ‘em a nice dinner, try to get ‘em to go out dancing, 
and they’re all just a bunch of damn worthless skid bitches - no, if they 
were skids at least I’d get laid - don’t you have any decent friends for 
me to go out with?”

She was silent for a moment, then said quietly, “Don’t worry about it 
Brian. Tom will be out of town this weekend and you and I will have 
lots of fun together.”

I was in shock. I was speechless. I literally could not talk. I held out the 
phone to Tom, and he came and got it, and soon after that I must have 
passed out.

*********************************

I suffered the next day, of course. I had always bragged to my buddies 
about how I could drink anything, get completely tanked, wasted, 
latered, tatered, toasted, and I’d never be sick or hungover. That was 
before I met up with cheap wine. The first time I ever had a bottle of 
Mad Dog 2020 I drank it down like grape juice, then drank half of a 
friend’s bottle, too. The next morning I thought I was dead, or at least 
wished I was. This cheap wine that they had been giving away free at 
Walker’s was a similar vintage, and had the same effects on me. I 
spent the morning in bed with ice bags on my head, vowing never 
again to drink anything but beer, whiskey, vodka, schnapps ... well, 
never again to drink any of that vile purple stuff, anyway.

Sometime after lunch, when I was starting to feel better, I remembered 
Sarah’s last words on the phone. Had she really said that? Tom was 
out of the room, and I almost called Sarah to ask - but then I couldn’t. 
What if she hadn’t said it, what if I’d just imagined it?

No, I was sure she had said it - but I wasn’t about to ask her what she 
meant. I would just have to wait for the upcoming weekend, when Tom 
would be out of town at a job interview and we would be having the 
Little Sisters over for a Friday night party - I think it was supposed to 
be a “Last Bash Before Thanksgiving Break” or something like that. 
You know, any excuse for a party.

I would just have to wait.

********************************

I sat in my room, listening to the party getting started downstairs. I 
should be down there, having a beer, talking to the Little Sisters that I 
knew and any friends they had brought with them, trying to meet Ms. 
Right, or at least Ms. OK-for-Awhile. I hadn’t had a steady girlfriend 
that whole semester, or the preceding summer, or ... for awhile. I’d 
managed to get laid a few times anyway, one night stand kinds of 
things, but never anything that lasted more than a few dates. I envied 
Tom having Sarah - not only was she a nice girl, a good friend of mine, 
someone I could talk to, dance with, or drink with ... but she was also a 
sex maniac, always dragging Tom off to motels for the night, or 
staying over at our room and screwing him after they thought I was 
asleep. Tom even bragged about how great she was at giving head.

He didn’t deserve her. He treated her like shit. He lied to her 
constantly, even about little things like saying that he had to study for a 
test when he was really just watching TV and feeling too lazy to get up 
and go out with her somewhere.

She would be much better off with me.

And yet - Tom was my buddy, my best friend, my roommate, and more 
like a brother to me than any of our other fraternity “brothers.” It would 
be “un-brotherly” to make moves on his girlfriend - that was one of the 
worst offenses in our fraternal code, un-brotherly conduct. Worse than 
that, for me, it would be wrong. It would be a betrayal of Tom, of our 
friendship. It didn’t matter how he treated her - that was between them. 
Tom would never forgive me for doing anything with Sarah.

Doing anything with her. Like holding her, or kissing her, or touching 
her. Like making love with her. Anything like that. It would be wrong. 
And I knew that if she made even the slightest move on me, I’d be 
hers in a heartbeat.

I got up and went downstairs to the party.

*******************************

The first people that I saw as I headed down into the basement were 
Mark, a young freshman brother who looked as drunk as the proverbial 
skunk already, and Sabrina, Kari’s little pal. They had their arms 
around each other and I probably could have won good money betting 
that they were headed for his room. I stopped them and took Mark 
aside to explain to him that Sabrina was only sixteen years old, 
whereas he was probably eighteen or nineteen himself, and that even 
such a seemingly minor age difference could get him 20 years in the 
Missouri Department of Corrections. He wisely decided to take her 
back downstairs to dance some more, and probably to dump her at the 
first chance and try to find a piece that wasn’t jailbait. Sabrina was 
really pissed off at me, but who told her she could come to our parties 
and get our innocent young boys in trouble? Certainly not me.

I went on after them, to the big party room. Then I saw Sarah.

She was standing with a group of her friends, several of the Little 
Sisters who came from Stephens College. I got my beer from a 
brother behind the bar and walked toward Sarah’s group. She turned 
and saw me coming, and smiled, just as she normally would. I guess 
my smile back at her was a little bit off or something, because her 
smile froze in place and she started to look nervous.

When I reached her she immediately reached out to grab my beer and 
put it on the wall shelf with hers, then took my hands in hers and 
pulled me out to the middle of the basement, where people were 
dancing. There was nothing strange about that - we both liked to 
dance, and frequently danced together when Tom wasn’t in the mood.

Neither of us spoke, as the song ended and a new one began. It was 
The Romantics singing “What I Like About You,” a good high-energy 
song, normally one of our favorite dance tunes, but I just couldn’t get 
into it. I had to force myself into our usual routine, playfully pointing at 
each other every time the words “what I like about you” came up. I 
didn’t even work up a sweat by the time the song was done. I was just 
going through the motions.

The next song was a slow one, Prince doing “Purple Rain,” and our 
usual routine would be for me to escort her back to Tom so that she 
could try to get him to dance with her, while I went off in search of 
somebody else to dance with. But Tom wasn’t here this time, and 
Sarah made no move to leave the dance floor. Instead she moved up 
close to me and put her arms around my neck, and I put my arms 
around her waist, and we started to dance.

She leaned her head against my chest, very briefly, then drew back to 
look me in the eye. “You remember what I said on the phone, don’t 
you.” It was a statement, not a question. “I didn’t know if you would 
remember or not, as drunk as you were.”

I smiled at her, my first genuine smile of the evening. “Well, you know, 
the subject matter just kind of stuck in my brain - not something easy 
for me to forget.” She put her head back down against my chest as I 
continued, “I wondered if I should call you this past week. I actually 
picked up the phone several times, but I couldn’t think of what I could 
possibly say, so I decided to just wait for tonight. It’s been a long 
week.”

She didn’t respond for a long time, just rested her head on me as we 
slowly circled and swayed to the music. Her soft, full breasts were 
warm against my stomach. I pulled her closer, just a little bit, just for 
the feeling of those tits against me. I kept my hands up high on her 
waist, although I was yearning to slide them down over her ass. Finally 
she looked up again and said that we needed to talk.

“OK,” I agreed, “but not down here. I think we’ve already caught a few 
people’s notice by dancing this slow song.”

“Where, then? Your room? That’ll really knock ‘em dead.”

I thought it over. “I’ll go up first, while you hang with your friends over 
there for awhile - but not too long, please! Then you tell ‘em you gotta 
pee, and go up to the powder room. When you get out of the powder 
room, just come on upstairs to the room.”

She agreed, and we separated as the song ended. I walked over to the 
sound booth to tell Zero that he was doing a great job spinning tunes, 
and he told me that he was just hanging out, it was a party tape that he 
had put together earlier in the week and now he didn’t have anything to 
do unless somebody came up with a special request. I chugged the 
last of my beer and tossed the cup into the trash barrel. I told Zero I 
was going to go up and mix myself a drink, then sauntered casually 
down the hallway to the stairs and up.

It seemed to take a long time for Sarah to get up to the room - maybe 
she really did have to stop in the powder room to pee first. At last I 
heard her tap at the door, and whisked it open for her to enter. 
Turning, she carefully shut the door behind her, and just as carefully 
turned the dead-bolt latch. Then she closed the skidlock, a sliding-bolt 
lock that could only be opened from the inside, that one roommate 
could use to keep the other from walking in during sexual activities.

We sat down on the couch, at opposite ends, twisting our bodies to 
face each other.

She spoke first. “I can’t leave Tom, you know.”

This was way too serious. “Yeah, I know, I can’t leave him either. 
We’re roommates for the rest of the year.”

She giggled. “That’s not what I meant. I mean I can’t dump Tom for 
you. I want you to be my friend - to be more than a friend, always - 
geez, I don’t know what I want. I guess I should have just kept my big 
mouth shut.”

It was my turn for serious - I had to give her a chance to back out. “Do 
you want to go back downstairs? We can dance some more - I think 
Zero has a pretty good party tape put together, lots of good dance 
music.”

“No, I don’t want to go back downstairs - do you think I would have 
played secret agent to get up here if I wanted to stay downstairs? We 
need to talk.”

I couldn’t think of anything useful or intelligent to say, so I waited to let 
her have a go at it.

I guess she was waiting for me to start, because we sat there for 
almost a minute in silence, then both spoke at once. “I just want -” “I 
think we should -” We both stopped again.

More silence, then she spoke. “OK, we need to talk. I know, I already 
said that. But I don’t think just ignoring things and going back 
downstairs is the answer.”

I didn’t think that was the answer either - and what did she mean by 
“things”?

She went on. “I’ve been going out with Tom for almost three months, 
going steady with him for two, and maybe getting his pin sometime 
soon. I love Tom, I’m not going to dump him, end of that subject.”

OK, so what was the next subject?

She got to the next subject right away. “You’re my friend, Brian. I can 
talk to you when I’m fighting with Tom, or even just about things that 
he isn’t interested in. I know you want me, I can’t help but see the way 
you look at me - am I right?”

“Uh, well - yeah, right.”

“Don’t strain yourself doing all the talking here. OK, you want me ... 
and I want you, too. You turn me on. I think about you sometimes 
when I’m making love with Tom. I can’t help wondering how things 
would be if I’d met you first, before I met Tom. But that isn’t the way it 
happened.”

I wasn’t sure where she was going, but I wanted to cut to the chase. 
“And last weekend on the phone you told me that we’d have lots of fun 
together when Tom was away. Is this your idea of fun?” So I’m no 
good at the soap-opera thing. So sue me.

Sarah apparently wasn’t ready to get to that part of the talk yet, so she 
fell back on the Standard Female Back-Up Plan #1 - she turned away 
from me and burst into tears.

And I moved in with the Standard Male Response to the Standard 
Female Back-Up Plan #1 - I slid down toward her end of the couch 
and put my arm over her shoulders. Come on, she was my friend, she 
was crying, she needed comforting - plus I just wanted to put my arm 
around her.

I’ll never know if this was part of her plan, or just the way it happened 
on the spur of the moment - but there she was crying, then I put my 
arm around her, and the next instant she turned her face to mine and 
we were kissing.

I mean we were KISSING. Brief touch of lips, then open lips, then 
mouths smashed together and tongues going for throat.

We kept up that kissing for a good long time, while our hands were 
busy clutching and holding and caressing. One of my hands somehow 
managed to land on her collarbone, then to slide down from there over 
the curve of her breast, and when that brought no protest I slid that 
hand right on over to the top button of her blouse and popped it open. 
Still no protest, just more kissing. I got a couple more buttons open, 
enough to expose some cleavage, and broke the kiss to let my lips 
start nibbling down her neck.

“Ooh, yeah,” she practically purred. “That’s nice.”

I nibbled her neck for awhile, letting my hand rest contentedly on her 
breast without undoing any more buttons, then moved down to kiss 
along her collarbone. I’m not sure who I was really teasing with the 
slow progression, her or myself, but I think we both enjoyed it. She 
kept on making encouraging noises, while I growled and nipped 
playfully at her skin with my teeth. Finally I worked my way down to 
kiss the upper curve of her breast, and decided that it was time for the 
bra to go. I moved my hand around and up the back of her blouse to 
work my one-handed magic on the bra-hooks - and there was nothing 
there.

Sarah giggled again - I liked that giggle. “It hooks in front, silly.” She 
took her arms from around my neck and reached to her bosom with 
both hands, popped a little hook right in the middle where the cups 
came together - and then drew back the bra cups to let me feast my 
eyes on her lovely tits. Her skin was as white as milk, her tits round 
and firm and tipped with pink nipples surrounded by pink aureolae.

I’ve always been a boob-man, and the temptation was strong just to sit 
and gaze at those beauties - but I didn’t think that was what she 
wanted when she opened her bra. I sighed in admiration of her body, 
then bowed my head to touch the tip of my tongue to a nipple. She 
wriggled and complained of tickling, but put both hands around the 
back of my head to make sure that I didn’t stop. After that first touch I 
touched again, then licked, licked some more, and then switched 
sides. More tongue-teasing, more licking, and then I took her nipple 
into my mouth to suckle. The whole tip of her breast firmed up as I 
sucked and licked, not just the nipple but the aureola, too, so that the 
whole thing looked like a pink cone rising out of the creamy white 
curve of her breast. I continued kissing, sucking, and licking her tits 
while she oohed and aahed with pleasure, switching sides from time to 
time, my hands touching and caressing whichever side my mouth was 
away from.

Sarah’s hands were busy, too, touching me all over my chest, my ribs, 
my back. She unbuttoned my shirt to get her hands inside, on my skin. 
And then one hand moved downward, to the front of my pants, to 
firmly but gently take hold of the rock-solid hard-on that had been 
throbbing there since long before we ever started kissing. She gave it 
a gentle squeeze.

I raised my head from her bosom, to look her in the eyes. “Are you 
sure you don’t want to stop now and go back downstairs?” I hoped I 
knew her answer - if I was wrong I was going to run out into the street 
and let a truck hit me.

Her eyes looking back at mine were hot with lust. She squeezed my 
pecker again, a little less gently than before. “If you stop now, I’m 
going to tear this off and keep it and just use it on myself.”

Oh. OK. I interpreted that to mean that she didn’t want to stop.

I went back to suckling her breasts, but both our hands were busy 
opening snaps and unzipping zippers, as we both acknowledged 
where this was going and got in a hurry to get there. She pushed my 
jeans and boxers down to my thighs and held my cock with both 
hands, then arched her hips up off the couch to let me pull down her 
skirt and panties. We let go of each other very briefly to toss the 
clothes aside, and then I was back on the couch with her, holding her 
in my arms, my cock pressed against her belly, her legs folded around 
me, her ankles crossed behind my knees.

I had an alarming thought. “Do I need to find a rubber?” I had a box in 
the closet, but I did not want to put one on if it wasn’t needed.

She smiled and pulled my head down for a kiss on the lips. “No, I’m on 
the Pill. But I’m glad you asked.”

She reached down between our bodies and grasped my cock, and I 
moved lower so that the head was even with the opening to her pussy. 
She held it by the shaft, rubbing the head up and down her gash, 
wetting it with her flowing juices. Then she poked it inside and let go, 
and I began slowly thrusting, withdrawing, thrusting again, until my 
prick was solidly lodged in her cunt to its full length.

She sighed, and I could feel her cunt muscles squeezing my shaft. I 
started a slight thrusting motion, not really withdrawing at all but just 
rocking back and forth, and she got into it and picked up the pace, 
rocking her hips faster and faster. Her pussy was so slippery that it 
was hard to stay in her, so I started driving in and out, in and out, 
letting her feel the full length of it, as she continued rocking her hips. 
Then, suddenly, before I expected it, I got that feeling that meant my 
orgasm was on its way - I could slow it down or hold it off a bit, but it 
was coming soon.

“Ungh,” I grunted. “I hope you’re close, ‘cause I am.”

“Oh yes, yes, darling,” she cried. “Come in me, come in me, oh, do it 
now, I’m coming, come in me.”

And I did. I came a gusher inside her. I had jerked off only the night 
before, wondering and fantasizing about this evening, but my balls 
were full again and it seemed like my come would never stop spurting 
and spurting into her wet cunt. I kept right on driving in and out, in and 
out, while she moaned and groaned about how nice it was, and then 
she squeezed her thighs around my hips, so I stopped moving and 
just lay there with her, on her. I could feel the come running down my 
balls, and it occurred to me that I’d better clean the couch before Tom 
got back home.

Then we rolled over so that I was sitting upright on the couch and she 
was sitting on my lap, straddling me, my softening cock still inside her. 
We kissed for a long time.

Later we climbed up into my bunk to make love a second time. Tom’s 
lower bunk would have been more convenient, but neither of us even 
mentioned it - we just climbed up to mine. Our second time was 
slower, more relaxed. She reached down between our moving bodies 
to rub her mound while my cock was sliding in and out of her, and 
came twice before I finally spurted inside her again.

While we were getting dressed, preparing to sneak out so that I could 
drive her back to her dorm at Stephens, she looked me in the eye and 
said, “I’m still not leaving Tom.”

I looked right back at her, deadpan. “Neither am I.”

We cracked up laughing, started kissing again, but she shook her 
head when I tried to unfasten the buttons she had just fastened.

I felt a twinge of worry. “You’re not going to tell me now that this was 
only a one time thing, that we must never do it again, all that crap?”

She smiled. “I could say that, I guess, but it would be kind of stupid, 
wouldn’t it?”

We kissed again and she slipped out the door, to wait outside by my 
car until I came down the back fire-escape to join her. Ha. More secret 
agent stuff. But worth it.

*********************************** 
 
Copyright 1997 by The Bear. 
 
You may copy and distribute this file for personal use but not for 
financial gain. This file may be archived only if access to the archive is 
truly free and does not require any special membership or passwords. 
If I’m not making any money from this work, neither should you. 
 
All other rights reserved. 
 
************************************


____________________________________________

realname:  The Bear
____________________________________________

username:  thebear@io.com
____________________________________________

note:  ANONYMOUS MAIL FORM - The purpose of this form is to allow a means of 
semi-anonymous mailing until I get all of the Nymserver/remailer stuff figured
out.   This form lets me bounce the message through the form-handling gizmo at
my secondary ISP and (I hope) strip out all of the origination info. I hope
this form-message isn't too much of an annoyance for you to read - I'll try to
get the remailer stuff figured out ASAP so I can send real mail anonymously.
____________________________________________

subject:  Sarah: My Best Friend's Girl  (part 2 of 2)  mf
____________________________________________

recipient:  celeste801@aol.com, story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us,
thebear@io.com
____________________________________________

Submit:  Submit
____________________________________________

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