Best Friends.
A year ago, Kate marked a date on her
calendar. She sat on her couch, drunk and alone with a red marker
in her hand as it rained outside. She wore nothing but a white bra
and red panties that didn‘t match, a faux-pas that she was normally
conscious of, but it didn’t matter this time, no-one was there to
see her. She circled the date several times as though it was the
end of the world and hung the calendar back on the wall and waited
with an anxiety that could only be cured by prescription pills.
That day didn’t mean much to the rest of the world, but to her it
marked the slow descent into old age. That date was October
19 th , the day Kate would turn
forty. She finished the bottle of red wine and went up to her
lonely bedroom and examined the long, blue dildo a friend bought
her as a gag gift. Then she wondered how much of the gift was
supposed to be a joke and how much of it was supposed to be
serious.
That was a year ago, and now that the day was
here, she felt a little better about it, or at least she no longer
felt doomed. She couldn’t say she felt any different than she did
when she turned thirty-nine or thirty even, but she couldn’t help
but notice all of the things she didn’t have. Kids, a husband, not
even an ex-husband. And a boyfriend? Of course not. The only men
that approached her were younger men under the illusion that she
would actually be grateful to give them a blow job, or men that
were married and tired of their wives. None of them wanted to live
with her and learn about her career in accounting, or her college
education, or her love of travel. So she often ended up going home
by herself, starved of physical intimacy.
Once she reached her thirties, the number of
single men that wanted to build a relationship had reduced
significantly. She had come to the realization that she spent much
of her life by herself and the idea weighed on her. Now that she
was forty she thought of her singularity differently. It wasn’t the
conversation or emotional attachment she missed, after all she had
her friend Ashley for that, but she missed being touched. She
missed being kissed and even at times, missed feeling like a whore.
Her emotional urges had begun to wane but the physical urges
remained and even intensified some nights. Secretly she wished a
well hung man would break through her front door, bend her over the
couch, pound her pussy then leave without even saying thank
you.
At six, her doorbell rang and it was her best
friend Ashley, on time as always. She wore a short cocktail dress
that showed off her long slender legs and had a neckline that
plunged low and left little to the imagination. Kate was always
jealous of Ashley’s breasts. They were the kind that were admired
by men and women alike. She had always wanted see Ashley topless
and feel them for herself, but it was too awkward for her to ask,
despite being friends ever since college. Ashley was thirty-eight
but was frequently thought of as being much younger. When the two
of them went out to bars, the bartender always asked Ashley for her
ID. The only time Kate ever felt insecure about her own appearance
was when she and Ashley got dressed up to go out. Kate knew men
found her attractive, but compared to Ashley…
“ Happy birthday!” Ashley said and
hugged Kate. She felt Ashley’s massive breasts press against hers
and she enjoyed their softness. “You look nice,” Ashley said, “I
love how red looks on you.”
Kate looked down at her red dress and
straightened out some of the wrinkles. “Thank you,” she said, “I
wasn’t sure what else to wear.”
“ Well it looks great, you have a nice
ass, I wish mine was more like yours.”
Ashley’s vain admission boosted Kate’s
confidence. She always knew she had a nice ass.
“ I made reservations for us at seven,
so we still have a while before we have to leave. I brought wine
while we wait,” Ashley said.
Kate set a couple of wine glasses on the
table and the two
A year ago, Kate marked a date on her
calendar. She sat on her couch, drunk and alone with a red marker
in her hand as it rained outside. She wore nothing but a white bra
and red panties that didn‘t match, a faux-pas that she was normally
conscious of, but it didn’t matter this time, no-one was there to
see her. She circled the date several times as though it was the
end of the world and hung the calendar back on the wall and waited
with an anxiety that could only be cured by prescription pills.
That day didn’t mean much to the rest of the world, but to her it
marked the slow descent into old age. That date was October
19 th , the day Kate would turn
forty. She finished the bottle of red wine and went up to her
lonely bedroom and examined the long, blue dildo a friend bought
her as a gag gift. Then she wondered how much of the gift was
supposed to be a joke and how much of it was supposed to be
serious.
That was a year ago, and now that the day was
here, she felt a little better about it, or at least she no longer
felt doomed. She couldn’t say she felt any different than she did
when she turned thirty-nine or thirty even, but she couldn’t help
but notice all of the things she didn’t have. Kids, a husband, not
even an ex-husband. And a boyfriend? Of course not. The only men
that approached her were younger men under the illusion that she
would actually be grateful to give them a blow job, or men that
were married and tired of their wives. None of them wanted to live
with her and learn about her career in accounting, or her college
education, or her love of travel. So she often ended up going home
by herself, starved of physical intimacy.
Once she reached her thirties, the number of
single men that wanted to build a relationship had reduced
significantly. She had come to the realization that she spent much
of her life by herself and the idea weighed on her. Now that she
was forty she thought of her singularity differently. It wasn’t the
conversation or emotional attachment she missed, after all she had
her friend Ashley for that, but she missed being touched. She
missed being kissed and even at times, missed feeling like a whore.
Her emotional urges had begun to wane but the physical urges
remained and even intensified some nights. Secretly she wished a
well hung man would break through her front door, bend her over the
couch, pound her pussy then leave without even saying thank
you.
At six, her doorbell rang and it was her best
friend Ashley, on time as always. She wore a short cocktail dress
that showed off her long slender legs and had a neckline that
plunged low and left little to the imagination. Kate was always
jealous of Ashley’s breasts. They were the kind that were admired
by men and women alike. She had always wanted see Ashley topless
and feel them for herself, but it was too awkward for her to ask,
despite being friends ever since college. Ashley was thirty-eight
but was frequently thought of as being much younger. When the two
of them went out to bars, the bartender always asked Ashley for her
ID. The only time Kate ever felt insecure about her own appearance
was when she and Ashley got dressed up to go out. Kate knew men
found her attractive, but compared to Ashley…
“ Happy birthday!” Ashley said and
hugged Kate. She felt Ashley’s massive breasts press against hers
and she enjoyed their softness. “You look nice,” Ashley said, “I
love how red looks on you.”
Kate looked down at her red dress and
straightened out some of the wrinkles. “Thank you,” she said, “I
wasn’t sure what else to wear.”
“ Well it looks great, you have a nice
ass, I wish mine was more like yours.”
Ashley’s vain admission boosted Kate’s
confidence. She always knew she had a nice ass.
“ I made reservations for us at seven,
so we still have a while before we have to leave. I brought wine
while we wait,” Ashley said.
Kate set a couple of wine glasses on the
table and the two
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