say like the dude in the song.
“Hi, Max,” she says in her best Barbie voice.
“Wanna go for a ride?” I ask, still matching the song perfectly.
“Sure, Max,” she says grinning.
“Jump in,” I shout.
The minute Barbie Girl starts playing, she’s jumping around like a crazy person. She’s changed into a pair of sweat pants with the word star written on the butt, and a black tank top with no bra. It’s a marvelous sight. Her star butt is twerking across the living room. Her boobs are bouncing like crazy. I can’t divert my gaze to anywhere but her bouncing assets. God damn it, why does she have to be so fucking beautiful all the time? I have an insta-hard on, and talking him down is not going to be easy, especially when her twerking butt saddles up into my front. We’ve done this numerous times before: The make-shift dirty dancing in the middle of the living room to a campy pop song that by all rights should be burned and outlawed in my presence. I do what I have to, to make my best friend happy. If dancing like a fool to a stupid pop song is how my Saturday night is going to play out, then by god, I’m doing just that if it brings a smile to her face.
When the song ends, we’re both laughing. Obviously, she didn’t notice my erection, which is a good thing because I’ve got blue balls so bad they’re fucking purple.
“You don’t play fair,” she mumbles when I pause the CD. She looks over at the table, sees my display of goodies, and grins. “Cookie dough ice cream! Max, you must really love me.” She races over to the table and grabs the pint of ice cream and a spoon. “What are you waiting for? Are you going to pop the popcorn and mix in the M & M’s or not?”
I grin like an idiot and make my way over to the microwave. “One giant bowl of popcorn mixed with M & M’s coming up.”
When I’m all done, I settle onto the couch next to her. Eating her ice cream, she snuggles into my side. I barely register what’s going on in the movie, because having her near me like this is very distracting.
My fingers automatically begin combing through her hair. Her hand is resting on my stomach, and she’s gently tracing my abs with her fingers. If that Travis dude were to walk through that door right now, he’d definitely think something is going on between us. Although everything I’m doing is innocent, cuddling on the couch is the most intimate I get with Breezy.
It takes all my strength and willpower to resist pulling her on top of me. I want to feel her lips and use my own to map out every inch of her skin. If only she knew how important she is to me—that I love her more than a friend; that I wish she felt the same—maybe she wouldn’t have a broken heart right now.
“Max,” she whispers. I can see that she’s getting sleepy. Her eyes barely open as she tries to finish out the movie.
“Yea, Breezy?”
“Thank you for being my best friend.”
She yawns and I kiss the top of her head.
“No, Breezy, thank you for being mine.”
A few minutes later she’s asleep. I’m not sure if I should disturb her, so I get up from the couch, put away the ice cream, turn off the DVD player, and snuggle back into the corner of the couch. Carefully, I edge her body between my legs where she nestles into my chest. Her hand automatically goes straight for my abs again. She sighs contently against me, and as the big clock on wall starts ticking loudly because of the silence in the room, I fall asleep with the girl of my dreams in my arms.
A guy could get used to this.
When I wake up the next morning, I realize that Breezy is giggling against me. Blinking away the sleep in my eyes, I open them to find her smiling up at me with an almost maniacal look on her face.
“What?” I ask a little confused.
“Is that an anaconda in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?” She asks in a Groucho Marx type of voice.
I look down and sure as shit, my shorts have a very large bump sticking up right
“Hi, Max,” she says in her best Barbie voice.
“Wanna go for a ride?” I ask, still matching the song perfectly.
“Sure, Max,” she says grinning.
“Jump in,” I shout.
The minute Barbie Girl starts playing, she’s jumping around like a crazy person. She’s changed into a pair of sweat pants with the word star written on the butt, and a black tank top with no bra. It’s a marvelous sight. Her star butt is twerking across the living room. Her boobs are bouncing like crazy. I can’t divert my gaze to anywhere but her bouncing assets. God damn it, why does she have to be so fucking beautiful all the time? I have an insta-hard on, and talking him down is not going to be easy, especially when her twerking butt saddles up into my front. We’ve done this numerous times before: The make-shift dirty dancing in the middle of the living room to a campy pop song that by all rights should be burned and outlawed in my presence. I do what I have to, to make my best friend happy. If dancing like a fool to a stupid pop song is how my Saturday night is going to play out, then by god, I’m doing just that if it brings a smile to her face.
When the song ends, we’re both laughing. Obviously, she didn’t notice my erection, which is a good thing because I’ve got blue balls so bad they’re fucking purple.
“You don’t play fair,” she mumbles when I pause the CD. She looks over at the table, sees my display of goodies, and grins. “Cookie dough ice cream! Max, you must really love me.” She races over to the table and grabs the pint of ice cream and a spoon. “What are you waiting for? Are you going to pop the popcorn and mix in the M & M’s or not?”
I grin like an idiot and make my way over to the microwave. “One giant bowl of popcorn mixed with M & M’s coming up.”
When I’m all done, I settle onto the couch next to her. Eating her ice cream, she snuggles into my side. I barely register what’s going on in the movie, because having her near me like this is very distracting.
My fingers automatically begin combing through her hair. Her hand is resting on my stomach, and she’s gently tracing my abs with her fingers. If that Travis dude were to walk through that door right now, he’d definitely think something is going on between us. Although everything I’m doing is innocent, cuddling on the couch is the most intimate I get with Breezy.
It takes all my strength and willpower to resist pulling her on top of me. I want to feel her lips and use my own to map out every inch of her skin. If only she knew how important she is to me—that I love her more than a friend; that I wish she felt the same—maybe she wouldn’t have a broken heart right now.
“Max,” she whispers. I can see that she’s getting sleepy. Her eyes barely open as she tries to finish out the movie.
“Yea, Breezy?”
“Thank you for being my best friend.”
She yawns and I kiss the top of her head.
“No, Breezy, thank you for being mine.”
A few minutes later she’s asleep. I’m not sure if I should disturb her, so I get up from the couch, put away the ice cream, turn off the DVD player, and snuggle back into the corner of the couch. Carefully, I edge her body between my legs where she nestles into my chest. Her hand automatically goes straight for my abs again. She sighs contently against me, and as the big clock on wall starts ticking loudly because of the silence in the room, I fall asleep with the girl of my dreams in my arms.
A guy could get used to this.
When I wake up the next morning, I realize that Breezy is giggling against me. Blinking away the sleep in my eyes, I open them to find her smiling up at me with an almost maniacal look on her face.
“What?” I ask a little confused.
“Is that an anaconda in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?” She asks in a Groucho Marx type of voice.
I look down and sure as shit, my shorts have a very large bump sticking up right
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