This story is dedicated to one of my best friends, Jim. Thank you for some wonderful lunch hours, both now and to come.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We've been friends for ages. Well, it's seemed like ages, when in reality, it hasn't been but about two-and-a-half years. Weekly lunches, chats, emails, phone calls... Celebrating good times. Mourning over bad. Venting about work. Enjoying off times. All of it has gone in to making a rich friendship that, like good soap, just gets better, more mellow and longer-lasting with the passage of time. It's hard to remember there was a time when he wasn't in my life.
James had found me online and revealed he was local. A couple of weeks later, he found me in person, successfully seeking me out at a craft market. (That evening I took that information off my website. I mean, I'd gotten lucky with James, but there are some crazies out there.) The first meeting was pleasant, ending with a hug. I was nervous; he was sweet. I remember thinking, He looks darker in his pictures.
Beautiful blue eyes sparkled behind burgundy-framed glasses. A shock of sandy blond hair β now bearing subtle hints of grey a few years later β capped his head. He was tall and, well, geeky. But sexy geeky. After all, how many geeks ride a red and black Harley? This sexy geek also came with long denim-clad legs and an ass that frankly made me envy his bike. As I said, I'd gotten lucky. It didn't hurt that I'm a bit geeky myself, as well as having a thing for motorcycles.
Standing together, we look rather like Mutt and Jeff. Standing at 6'2", James dwarfs my 5'3" frame. He's light to my darker coloring. He's a complete math and computer whiz whereas I can rip apart and analyze the written or spoken word in a matter of moments, but have to have his help to create formulas. He's ultra laid-back; I'm rather obsessive. Our most obvious point of similarity is our shared enjoyment of eroticism. Yet, we can talk for hours about anything and everything, not just sex and erotic literature.
Our friendship had been moving along very well for years. After my most recent breakup, James had suggested helpfully that I needed some new cock to get over the old. Even through digital print as his words scrolled across the screen in the instant messaging window, I could hear the hope in his words: "I want to be that new cock." I disappointed and flattered him when I agreed it was a good idea, but stated, without him ever having asked, that he couldn't be the new cock. The frowning emoticon told me I'd guessed what was on his mind. I didn't want him as my new cock, because new cocks eventually become old cocks, and no way did I ever
not
want him to be a part of my life; he's just too good a friend.
A series of shocks ripped through James's life soon after that. He found out his ex-wife was moving out-of-state and taking their children with her. His girlfriend of three years dumped him. Then, a few weeks ago, he got the word that his ex-girlfriend had tried to kill herself. He needed a place where he could just
be
, could just talk and emote however would be most helpful. Our usual lunch spot was out; I sensed he wouldn't be comfortable expressing himself most freely there. So I invited him over for lunch.
He arrived early, catching me in the middle of putting my makeup on. In all the years we'd been friends, he'd never seen me that natural before. As I opened the door to him, something shifted, changing a dynamic that had been stable for months into something new and potent. He closed and locked the door, his very presence filling the tiny entry way. He reached out to hug me, but the dark storm lurking behind his enchanting blue eyes warned me that this would be different. Trustingly I went into his arms, not knowing what would happen, what portent the storm bore, but certain that James would never hurt me. As we hugged, I looked up at him, and that was all the invitation he needed. As his lips met mine, the storm surged around us, pummeling us with heat and fury. Tongues, mouths, hands... Every touch brought a sigh of surrender, a growl of conquest. Fingers tunneled through hair, grasping and pulling, claiming kiss after kiss. Standing on tip-toes, my body was pressed fully against his, and the evidence of his arousal behind the fly of his jeans ground into the softness hidden behind my linen pants.
We broke apart, stunned by what we'd just shared. Years we'd been together and neither of us had ever imagined that passion that hot ran between us. He went over to my computer and began working on debugging a problem while I fixed lunch. My hands trembled as I plated our food. Yet, I couldn't help but be struck at the domesticity of the scene.