I spent a lot of time with Ali after we decided to call a truce and be friends, despite the fact that she was determined to keep her distance from me physically and emotionally. Ali never let me touch her. It used to be that when we watched movies, we would get comfortable, and her legs would inevitably end up in my lap while I massaged her feet, trying not to jump at the scary parts in the movie. Each time I did, she teased me, something that made me want to kiss her over and over again. I loved the teasing, joking smile on her face, her easy laugh and her joy when doing something she loved.
It was hardest when she would leave, after spending an evening riled up just being close to her. Every single moment we were together, I craved being able to kiss her, to touch her, to taste that sweet little pussy again and again and make her come on my face. At times, I found myself in bed thinking about it, found my hand traveling down my body to stroke my cock while I imagined burying my face between her legs again, sucking on her needy clit. I never allowed myself to come thinking about her, feeling guilty for thinking about it at all when she so clearly just wanted to be friends. Despite her protestations, though, Ali couldn’t deny that she wanted me, something that drove me even crazier every time I was in her presence.
I was sitting on my couch one night when there was a knock at my door. I opened it to see Ali standing there, wearing a giant t-shirt and sweats, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose. Somehow, the sight of that was even sexier than when she had worn that green dress at the Christmas party, and I couldn’t help but to allow my eyes to scan her body as she stood there in the doorway.
“What’s up?” I asked her nonchalantly, though I was surprised at how late it was. It was almost midnight—long past her recent bedtime, but she looked wide awake as she stood there looking up at me in the doorway.
“I’m bored,” she said.
“You’re bored,” I repeated. She nodded, brushing past me into my apartment, sinking down on the couch and crossing her legs. I sat down next to her and she looked over at me.
“Entertain me,” she said with a small, sly smile on her face.
“How should I do that?” I asked her.
She shrugged. “Up to you.”
“I have some ideas—”
She gave me a dry look. “Something appropriate, please.”
I smirked at her. “Damn.”
“We can watch something,” she said, and I was surprised when she stretched her legs out, putting her feet in my lap while she picked up the remote and turned on the TV. I leaned back into the couch and she crossed her ankles on my lap, staring at the TV while I kept my eyes on her face. She flipped through the channels, excitement passing over her face when she landed on exactly what I had guessed she would want to watch—old re-runs of The X-Files that always ran late at night on the Sci-Fi channel, her favorite station to watch. She turned it up, sinking into the couch with her eyes on the TV.
“Have you seen this episode?” I asked her, trying to ignore the stirring in my lap that was occurring just from being so close to her. I wasn’t a foot guy, but having her feet in my lap, her legs so close to me, was making my cock hard as a rock. I found myself placing my hand gently on her ankle, not daring to touch her but to lightly brush her with the backs of my fingers. The soft skin of her legs was so tempting, so smooth-looking that I had a hard time not rubbing them up and down.
“Yes,” she said, and I noticed then that she was squirming slightly, her hips shifting on the couch. I brushed her ankle then, tracing it deliberately with my finger, watching her face as she watched TV. She didn’t pull away from me but settled into the couch, her eyes focused as I took her foot in both of my hands and started to massage it gently. She closed her eyes, giving a soft groan as I rubbed the pads of her feet, touching her ankles as I did so. My hand traveled up her leg only slightly, up to her calve, barely brushing against the sensitive skin at the back of her knee.
“How long have you been like this?” I asked her as I massaged her calf, my hand brushing upward, just above her knee. When she looked at me, it was with a powerful heat on her face that she was trying to suppress. Her thighs were rubbing together under her dress, the movement subtle but there. I knew that it was only teasing her needy clit to relieve herself that way, and wondered how wet she was, if her panties were soaked through.
“Like what?” she asked.
I nodded at the TV. “Creepy,” I said.
She laughed, the sound breathless as I switched to her other foot, rubbing it with my thumbs. “Creepy?”
“You like creepy things,” I said.
“Always,” she breathed as I moved my hands upward again, only this time I didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. My hand brushed her thigh, the backs of my fingers lifting her dress a couple of inches as I held her eye. The movements of her legs were no longer subtle—she was growing desperate as I started to rub her thigh, looking into her eyes. Still, she didn’t acknowledge what was happening, though as she spoke, it sounded like it was hard for her to get the words out.
“I used to read ghost stories as a kid. Those Goosebumps books,” she said. I shook my head, chortling.
“Why am I not surprised that you’ve always been morbid?” I asked her, pulling her closer to me so that her legs were totally on my lap. In doing so, her dress had ridden up so that I could see her pretty panties, pale blue with a tiny bow at the top. For some reason, that drove me crazy. I wanted immediately to slip my hands in her panties and touch her eager pussy—I could tell she was wet, a dark spot covering her swollen lower lips. Instead, I moved my hand up to her thigh, stroking it with the backs of my fingers.
“I—I uh—” she said, stumbling over the words, her eyes closing once I got within a couple inches of her pussy.
“What is it, Ali?” I asked her in a soft voice. “Can’t speak?”
She said nothing, but her thighs spread slightly, begging for attention between her legs. Instead, I rubbed her other thigh. I was as affected as she was, completely hard, my breathing feeling slightly shallow. I wanted to touch her desperately but I waited for her to tell me what she wanted, to confirm that I could do so without breaking our friendship.
“I’d better go,” she said, just when I was about to stroke her pussy, to give into what I wanted. She pulled her dress down, blushing deeply as she got up. “I’ll see you,” she mumbled before she left, hurrying out of the apartment.
I took a deep breath, found myself standing up and hurrying into my bedroom. I pulled my cock out of my jeans, felt it wet at the tip. I wrapped my hand around myself and started to rub my cock with my palm, closing my eyes, imagining Ali with her legs spread, wrapped around my waist. I remembered how tight her pussy was, knew that she would fit me like a glove, and nearly groaned as the image entered my head of her riding me on my lap, her large breasts bouncing as she took me deep into her little pussy.
My hand sped up on my cock, focusing on the head of it, stroking it desperately while I thought of fucking her over and over. I couldn’t help it—every part of my body was frantic to have her, to touch her, to ride her as good and hard as she wanted.
I didn’t hear the front door, but jumped up in bed when my bedroom door opened, my cock still throbbing in my hand. It was Ali, and I stopped rubbing myself, staring at her as she stood in the doorway.