It usually takes Bea a day or two to rely to my letters. Following my last note, she responded within hours.
God, I am almost embarrassed to say it but my pussy is pretty much throbbing from reading your note again. It's taking everything I have not to reach into my pants and rub my clit while sticking my finger in to feel how wet I am. Can't wait until the kids are asleep and I can pull Rick's cock out, suck him to where he's almost cumming but then make him wait while I force his head between my legs to get me until I'm just about there...and then I'll lower myself onto him and ride him until I cum. Hard. Of course I'll take care of my man too! But right now I'm just thinking about how good it's going to feel. This build-up is both exciting and frustrating...
Your emails are definitely an inspiration that gets my juices flowing. Keep 'em coming (so to speak), if you're so inclined.
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If I am so inclined? Only Bea can make saucy talk sound a bit prudish at the same time.
I guess this would be a good time to explain how I met Bea. How our friendship evolved over the years.
The Letter between Friends stories was a few decades in the making. Of course when I first met Bea, I didn't think one day I would be writing about our friendship.
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I was in my early twenties back in the 1989. It was an exciting time in my life.
I started work as a traffic coordinator with a small ad agency in the suburbs of New Jersey. I moved into a three bedroom apartment with two of my childhood friends and I had a boyfriend who was crazy about me. Yes, I said he was crazy about me - not we were crazy for each other.
Anyone who remembers the 80's early 90's, may recall there wasn't a jeans Friday and the two words business and casual had not yet found each other so the world would have to wait on that wardrobe changing epiphany.
Every day was a full throttle assault on the eyes - the loud colors and combination, the geometric shapes and patterns, patent leather, shoulder pads and gravity defying hair. Yes, we walked out the door in the morning feeling confident and put together, heading to work wearing makeup that would make a clown proud. On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being absolute commitment to that uber style, I would give myself a solid 7. I'm shaving points off for minimum makeup and accessorizing with jewelry that was size appropriate.
The agency I worked for was rather strict with dress code - women were expected to wear dresses or skirts and men wore ties. Needless to say it was garish tie day every day. Also unfortunate, too many fellas thought the mustachioed look was cool. No, it only worked for Tom Selleck and 70's porn stars. I think that still holds true today.
One beautiful spring day, my techno color world changed forever. I walked into the copy room, a room with very large copier machines (If you weren't sure) and laid my eyes on the loveliest face.
Bea turned from her pile of papers and smiled at me with her perfect plump pink lips turning up and her green hazel eyes giving me a shy, coy downward glance and back up to meet my brown eyes. She was gorgeous and I was smitten.
Bea didn't have any of the style on steroids appearance our peers were eagerly embracing. Her blond hair with natural curls framed her face softly. Her tan shirt and skirt were so subtle, it almost screamed to be noticed. In my patent leather heels I stood 5'9" to Bea's curvy 5'4" in flats.
It was lust and friendship at first sight.
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I had been wrestling with my sexuality for years. I met Jeanette less than a year before starting work at the agency, I knew I wanted more. I felt more for her than just friends. I resisted, just wanting it to go away - the feelings, not the friendship.
I needed to talk about all the jumbled thoughts flying through my head, but who could I confide in? Than one day, while at work, I decided to talk to Bea.
We had many personal conversations during our new friendship. We talked about our boyfriends, family and all the hopes and dreams chatter you do in your youth. The one thing I didn't know how to bring up was my sexual feelings for women.
There are an infinite number of ways one could 'come out' to a friend. I chose to pull her into a closet, some kind of storage room, to tell her I was gay. Yes, I went into the literal closet to come out of the metaphorical closet.
As I struggled with the words, I think I settled on saying "Jeanette and I are more than friends."