Among the Friends: A Journey of Erotic Adventures
Shiraz Saini
Copyright@2011 Shiraz Saini
Smashwords Edition
Chapter One: A Happy Beginning
I was naturally ecstatic since it was my cousin’s wedding. I was imagining things, I mean, I was thinking about the women I was going to meet there. You have a different kind of feeling of meeting a woman, a completely stranger, who wants to go to bed after the party. The fortune was in my favour but it was differently different from what I had imagined.
My duty was at the table where I found the bride’s distant cousin. Her name was Michelle, a few years older than me. She was not tall; she had blonde hair which swayed around her shoulders when she turned her head; her eyes, those beautiful eyes, stared out from heavy mascara; she was definitely overweight but she was beautiful. Yes, one more thing, she was divorced. Her dress was a size too small and it showed every curve of her waist and bottom and her terrific cleavage.
I liked mature women, thirty plus, in fact they were my only vice. Such women had come to be like the detriment to my marriage. I found her very attractive and it was not difficult to get really acquainted. We clicked immediately as we ate our way through the wedding breakfast. The champagne might have had something to do with it, but who was I to complain?
Juliana was her daughter, exactly a smaller replica of her mother but a bit taller. She had raven hair and firm figure. She was slim and exotic, on the way to developing her mother's breasts. There is no doubt that she was an inherent beauty, a girl ahead of her years, destined to spend life in the forefront. The only troubling point was that she knew that she had acquired more intelligence than her age and she wore her precocity like a badge.
It was Juliana who did not want Michelle and me to come closer. I imagined she was protecting her mother from making silly mistakes and admired her for it, even if her interruptions became tiresome.
Since I was not in a hurry, I resolved to linger on and let it happen slowly and I wanted to adopt the subtle approach and hoped Michelle got the message. When the dancing started and, fortified by the wine, I was in full mood and I wanted to enjoy every moment, so I asked everyone up on the floor: cousins, cousins of cousins, aunts who were almost dead to me for years, the bride, women I'd never met before, and Juliana. I got through at least a dozen before getting round to Michelle.
The dance was not any Western style dance; it was a dance which needed a lot of movements of the arms in the air and everybody seemed to be enjoying it. All that time, my eyes were fixed on Michelle and I was enjoying the way she was reacting. She was fully aware that I was watching her. Michelle did all the movements of the dance very well, her breasts cavorting in front of my eyes with every gesture and Chanel Number 5 wafting all around me. I can guarantee that Michelle was well aware of the fact that I was interested in her and what she was doing and she seemed to like to tease me. How I kept my erection under control I will never know -- probably something else to thank the wine for.
Michelle’s daughter Juliana was sitting at a crowded table across the dance floor. I could evidently feel her eyes drilling into me, wide, accusing, and warning me off. I could tell from her looks that she did not like my movements towards her mother at all. I am sure that she thought I was the most evil thing that had been sent directly from the Hell to disturb her life. It was now clear that I could not reach anywhere with her mother while Juliana was around.
Having been insulted by her eyes, I decided to make my next move and rallying all my courage, I slipped Michelle my business card with my phone number and told her to follow it up. I was careful enough to avoid Juliana’s eyes from having a glimpse of my business card, but her eyes followed me like lasers and I couldn't be sure, especially as Michelle looked at it deliberately before putting it into her handbag, which she tapped as a sign of affirmation.
It was the time to dance with Juliana. I wanted to find out whether she had noticed that card which I had given to her mother.
"Though you are older, you are an expert, a good mover," she told me at the end, with the directness of youth.
I took the compliment with a smile and did not want to continue the conversation.
"The other men are quite different, so mingling.”
The way she was encouraging me made me feel that she expected a second dance by holding onto my arm. I thought it was to keep me away from her mother, who raised her eyebrows at me as I looked over Juliana's shoulder.
"You should do some work out," Juliana said, her directness unabated. "You have very strong and shapely biceps."
“I was an athlete in my college days but I do a little work out every day.”
"You do look like an athlete," she said in a decisive way.
By her manners and speech I was a bit perturbed whether this nineteen year old girl was coming in my direction, for in any other circumstances I would not have made any further advances. It didn't fit in with the looks she gave me when I danced with her mother. In a way, it was flattering and I assumed the champagne went to her head too.
I was beginning to be worried when Michelle saved me, whisking her away, from me and the party. She pecked my cheek as she left and whispered that she'd give me a ring. So it was a result and I left happy.
It was beyond my understanding why Michelle didn't ring, so I put it down to being another opportunity that escaped me.
More than a month passed and I was still waiting for the call. Then one day, the voice on the phone surprised me. "Hello, we met at the wedding ... remember?"
The voice was quite clear but not quite the voice of Michelle that I remembered, but I was rather well oiled with wine that day, so couldn't be certain. Perhaps the phone's electronics distorted the sound, or my ears.
"Of course, I do remember, in fact, I remember everything. You sound the same," I replied, the image of Michelle's body swaying to the music building in my mind, but not quite morphing with the voice. I hesitated before continuing, aware that I could spoil my chances if I took the wrong line. "You sound different on the phone."
"That’s nice, do you really remember me? Well it's the same Juliana that you met before."
It felt as if I had been thrown out in the naked reality of the world which was not mine. The image of Michelle evaporated from my mind, to be replaced by the taller, slimmer, and darker version. Some sort of palpitation rattled in my chest as a rush of adrenaline spread through my body. "Where did you get my number from?"
"Your car was in my mother’s bag. She does not know I am calling you."
Now I realized why her mother had not phoned me. She must have looked for my card but without my phone number she could not call me. Her daughter had cheated her.
"What can I do for you?" I asked, trying to sound casual and not to leap to conclusions.
"Well ... I thought you and me got on well," she stuttered, sounding less confident than at first. "And ... so ... well ... I wondered ... like ... if you'd ... like ... we could meet up some time."
"How old are you?"
"Nineteen."
"Juliana, I would love to but ... you must understand ... I think you're a bit young for me ... so ... not really."
"I think you're too young for my mother ... but that didn't stop you fawning all over her," she said in raised tones, annoyed at my put-down.
I admit to being tempted as her image rattled around my head: a model's figure; dark hair falling around her face and shoulders; wide hazel eyes, wearing too much makeup; a stub of a nose. It worried me to remember so much detail. Somehow, I found a way to finish the call.
A couple of weeks later, the voice on the phone said, "Hello, it's me ... Juliana."
"Are you pestering me?"
"It's been ages since we last spoke," she said, ignoring my question, "anyway ... I'm older now."
"This has to stop, Juliana."
"I'm not doing any harm ... I only want to talk ... and stuff."
"That wouldn't be wise."
"You don't know what it's about."
"I'm twice your age."
"That's why I'm calling. I need to talk to an older man ... a man with experience."
"You want advice?"
"Yeh, sure ... that's exactly it."
"Ask your dad."
"You are joking ... right?"
"Find someone else."
"There is nobody," she said, a hint of pleading entering her tone, a tone any man would find hard to resist, a tone used to getting its own way.
"So you want to meet up ... is that it?"
"I could come round to your place."
"You don't know where I live."
"Of course I do ... I looked it up."
Faced with such persistence and intrigued and, I have to admit, aroused at the thought of seeing Juliana again, I agreed she could come round. I wondered if I'd made a mistake as soon as I put the phone down.
I knew I'd made a mistake when I opened the door of my apartment the following Saturday afternoon. It was a warm day and Juliana turned up in a denim micro-skirt, with a white T-shirt barely covering the lace edge of a pink bra. Her breasts seemed larger than I remembered, though her legs were just as straight and long and thin. Her mother's Chanel Number 5 drifted past me as I held the door open for her.
She accepted a coke and a chair. I sat on the settee opposite. She stretched out her bare legs in a gesture that was at once intimidating and inviting, especially as her skirt rode up even further, not that it bothered her. Her legs were faux tanned and blemish-free, not even a hair in sight, which made me think she'd had them waxed and sprayed, the rest of her body looked sprayed too.
I tried not to stare and forced myself to look straight into her face and slightly over her shoulder -- I didn't want her to get the wrong idea -- the sort of idea that was buzzing through my mind, despite the difference in our ages.
"What can I do for you, Juliana?"
The question made her pause and look around, as if taking the time to appreciate the plainness of the furnishings in my bachelor apartment.
"A girl like me ... well ... like ... gets a lot of attention, you know."
"It's hardly surprising if you dress like that."
"Don't you like it?"
"Who wouldn't? I replied, trying to keep my inner feelings under control.
My flattery bolstered her and she looked me straight in the eyes. "The fact is ... I've had experience with boys ... and stuff."
"Where were girls like you when I was your age?"
"That's the problem ... when you were my age, you would have been just like them ... a boy ... not a man ... no experience ... you know what I mean?"
"What can I do about it?" I asked, beginning to understand her persistence in pursuing me.
She looked down as if considering her reply. "A boy has never given me an orgasm," she said, quietly but unashamed, as if it was a normal topic of conversation between people who hardly knew each other.
It was my turn to look away, but my eyes kept straying back to look at her long, bare legs and her tits before I forced myself to look away again. While this was going on, I searched for a way of answering her. What could I say? How could such a beautiful creature talk so matter-of-factly about such an intimate subject? No answers came to mind as I sought words to match hers and tried not to look her over, although I couldn't stop, and fought the flush of panic surging through me.
After what seemed hours, I managed to compose myself and said, "Well, you're only young and these things take time." It sounded trite, even to me -- the sort of comment you get on a soap on TV.
She continued the conversation from exactly where she left off. "They just want me to suck them off ... or they come really fast, and don't care about me," she said still staring at the solid oak floor.
My mind was ahead of her, but I was determined to hear it from her mouth -- a generous mouth, with lips coated in dark pink lipstick, that protruded into a pout -- a mouth born to give oral sex -- a mouth I was fighting not to get too infatuated about. I shook my head to dispel the fantasy and let her talk on, fighting my erection.
"So I thought ... if I found a nice man ... with experience ... he could teach me ... sort of everything ... and I would know what to do ... and stuff."
The effort of being so explicit exhausted her. She crossed her arms, holding them to her chest, and then her legs, drawing them in towards her as if wrapping herself in as much security as she could find. Then, she picked up her drink and sipped at it and glanced at me from beneath mascara'd eyelashes, awaiting my response.
By this time, I'd got up and was walking around the room, putting distance between us, searching for a response. It was crazy. I put some music on the CD player -- the first thing that came to hand -- Miles Davis. The gentle lilt of his trumpet filled the room and helped me to steady my nerves.
Common sense told me not to get involved, to send her away, immediately -- but none of those sorts of words would form in my head. The size of my erection, and the opportunity to use it to the full with a beauty in the springtime of her life, urged me to think the opposite.
"You are Nineteen ... aren't you?" I asked, playing for time.
"I can show you my driving licence to prove it," she said, reaching for her bag.
I ignored her and looked out over the street below -- people busying themselves with the mundane things in life, while I stood on the precipice of a big decision.
"Well ... what do you think?"
"I never had an offer like this before ... it takes some getting used to."
"Nobody else will know," she said, uncurling her legs.
"I don't believe this is happening," I said, sitting down opposite her again, "things like this only happen in books and films and things." She relaxed further the more I spoke. "I thought you didn't like me at the wedding."
"Of course I did," she snapped back, "I just wanted you for myself ... and not mucking about with my mother ... she gets enough as it is."
Somehow the thought of being pulled and pushed between two desirable women, but for totally different reasons, brought me to my senses and showed me the way forward. Who was I to stand in the way of this girl's education? And it was all her idea, not mine -- how lucky was that?
I looked her straight in the eyes. "OK ... you win ... how can I say no?"