Almost right after my momentous experience at the Munch and Play, I left for a week’s holiday with my husband. Whilst there, my friend and I kept flirting and reminiscing via messages, and that’s also where I started writing the first entry of this “diary.” I was so horny throughout the trip that in addition to sex with my husband, I masturbated every night – which is totally out of character for me! Apparently, my friend also used the memory of our encounter to pleasure himself a couple of times, which only fanned my flames.
Near the end of the trip, he informed me that his partner had put a very sudden end to their relationship, leaving him quite devastated. In addition to the pain I felt for him, I also had to face the fact that our adventure had just become more dangerous, but we wanted to carry on regardless. When my husband and I returned home, I would’ve loved to visit my friend, but first I was too knackered, and then he fell ill. He also messaged me less and less, which led me to believe he was getting sick of me, too.
We finally met up again a few days after my return at a social event, where he confessed he’d already come across someone with whom he’d like to go further than just casual sex. While I was happy for him, the news left me with a slight pang. Besides, I thought he was trying to move on far too fast, but sometimes these stories work out well, so I simply lent him my ear in case he needed to talk.
He was once again bone-tired (and still coughing and almost voiceless), but we sat unnecessarily close to each other. He kept casually grazing my hand and stroking my leg, which I found pleasant if somewhat confusing after his disclosures. When the event was over, he had to leave immediately with his ex and her new partner, but at the last second, he doubled back to hug me fiercely before rushing off after the others.
Later, he sent me a simple “thank you.” I replied a little cheekily that I didn’t mind being an enjoyable distraction, to which he said “you know, I don’t consider you a distraction.” However, given our exchanges beyond that point started to feel like pulling teeth, I decided to stop messaging him altogether.
I managed almost two days before rather pathetically offering him my company for lunch. Unfortunately, he was still poorly, so we had to “postpone.” Despite his very legitimate reason, I went on to feel that every one of my messages bugged him, given how sparse his replies still were. Of course, there was the matter of his health, and he was also doubtless busy with the other, more suitable girl (as well as everything related to his break-up), but I feared I was losing this friend even before our bond had solidified.
Luckily, I had fun plans to distract me, but the gist of them revolved around a long Saturday night out with my friend’s ex and her gang, which meant my friend was probably going to come, too. I tried to steer clear of any thoughts of even touching and kissing him again, but it’s almost impossible not to think of something, especially when it’s tied to pleasant memories.
That Friday evening, my husband and I went to visit other friends. While I enjoyed our lively, highly intellectual talk, I also wound up messaging my “special” friend about my fears regarding him. He replied as if he didn’t even understand what I meant, and we went on to exchange a few messages, including a (solicited) topless picture of myself (very “high school”, I know). I deleted it later, not because I didn’t trust him, but because he’d expressed some discomfort over having such a photo in his messages, and I didn’t wish to trouble him any more than I already had.
Saturday evening finally came, and I headed to our rendezvous at an illegal open-air music event that took place in a park (I believe I did say the whole experience had a teenage vibe to it!). There, we sat and lay on a picnic blanket, ate and drank, danced a little, and just once again enjoyed each other’s company. My friend’s ex and I talked quite a lot, and she enlightened me about her reasons for their break-up. She also asked me if my friend’s involvement with the other girl saddened me, and I told her I only felt a form of “compersion” (which may have been an oversimplification, but close enough to the truth). My friend deserved to move on from his pain and spend time with someone who could give him her all.
As for him, we, too, shared a few laughs and deep talks. He told me, dead serious, that had it not been for his pursuit of the girl, as well as the presence of his ex, he’d have “taken me to the forest” already, so he must still have felt the pull, too. I answered I was already happy with what we’d done before, mentioning my “diary” and how it’d keep the memories alive. He then asked to see it, and I sat by his side while he read the whole text, pausing only to chuckle or to remark how accurately I’d depicted the events.
A little later, when the night was already underway, he messaged me, revealing how my text had aroused him. He gave me his location by the drinks stand, and I bolted up and left the others at the picnic blanket without even explaining what I was up to. In the darkness, I first scanned the crowd before giving up and calling him, and I did find him in the end.
In my mind, we resisted each other for exactly thirty seconds, but it must’ve been a bit longer, because we again had time to talk about the risks of “doing anything” together. However, after a while, we fell silent and just stared at each other, and following a deep inhalation, we lurched forward at the same time and locked lips.
When we came up for air, he looked both guilty and utterly drugged. We began talking again, but his ex rang him to call him back to the picnic blanket, from where we were to leave for the nightclub. We walked back together, which must’ve looked suspicious, but I was too buzzed to care.
The four of us (my friend, his ex, her partner, and I) gathered our things and headed to the car, where my friend and I climbed in the back – and immediately reverted to a pair of high schoolers again. As he wanted to keep his sex life from his ex, we conveyed our desire for each other via frantic messages. He also said he felt like a “little shit” because of his quasi-inability to fight his lust, and because he was technically trying to build something serious with the other girl. I offered to back off despite my own yearning, but we quickly concluded that we both had the right to “live a little”, and that we wouldn’t let anything impact our respective lives.
We first touched each other lightly, his fingers electric on my skin, but he quickly moved them onto my nipples, then between my legs, where I was once again already soaked. Our front-seat friends, oblivious to our dealings, put on music to warm us up for the club, and he fingered me to the beat of “Bad Girls” by M.I.A. Through his messages, he told me how he wanted to take me right then and there, and cum all over me; in my mouth, in my pussy, over my breasts…
We had to pause when we arrived at the flat of his ex’s partner, where I was offered a bed for the night. I agreed and sent a message to my husband, promising him to return home, which he replied to with a simple heart. Meanwhile, the others changed into their club-wear, and after yet another drink, off we went again.
The club was sparsely populated when we arrived, and my friend “innocently” offered me a tour, as I obviously hadn’t been there before. Though neither of us was a smoker, we headed to the area dedicated to that activity, where we kept on talking and touching on a bench. The discussion oscillated between solemn and hilarious, horny and “sober.”
But, we were also there to dance, and as we got back to where the music was loudest, I was thrilled to abandon myself to the beat. The discreet touching, however, went on, and at some point my friend dragged me away from our companions and into a toilet cubicle.
Again, we kissed hungrily like a pair of teenagers, and I was quick to get down on my knees, dirty floor be damned. We fumbled a little with his belt and trousers, but as his cock finally slid into my mouth again, it felt just as amazing as before. After fucking my face for a while, my friend grunted he wanted to take me, and I offered him my wet cunt (as long as he wore a condom, given I have no birth control at all).
Back bent, hands on the toilet seat, I took his pounding – until a decisive knock on the door alerted us. A gruff voice called out “security,” and I don’t think I’ve ever felt as caught as in that moment. We made ourselves decent enough, opened the door, and offered our apologies to the guard while exiting the cubicle faster than we’d entered it. The man asked me if everything was all right, and I gave him a short nod with zero eye contact. I hadn’t thought the experience could get any more “high school,” but I’d been wrong!
Our shame carried us back to the dance floor, where my friend said he’d been afraid we were going to be kicked out of the club. Fortunately, we didn’t even receive a warning, but the event had been the wrong kind of exciting for me, so I had to work on myself a little before getting back into the game.
The general mood helped. Our companions decided to migrate to another room, where the music was more “aggressive” and where the DJ had amazing energy. We were so cramped together that I would’ve been afraid to move my arms… had I been sober. I couldn’t tell which affected me the most: the atmosphere, the alcohol, or my friend’s presence. He kept close to me, and on more than one occasion, his fingers slipped back into my cunt. We didn’t shy away from kisses either, and after a particularly passionate one, he leaned in closer and shouted “oops, we’ve been made,” nudging his head towards the other two. I replied it wasn’t exactly a surprise, as we’d thrown most caution to the wind anyway.
We switched rooms again, but although the songs kept us going for a while longer, my friend’s ex soon complained about her aching feet, so we decided to head out at around 3 a.m. The club had been air-conditioned, and the warm night air hit us immediately. We walked back to the car and soon reached the flat again.
Now, I’m in fact relatively “green” when it comes to sexual encounters. I’ve had my fair share, but all in all, I’ve only even kissed about twenty people in my entire life, and my committed relationships have always gone on for years. So when I say that our short after-party was one of the most hilariously erotic experiences I’ve ever had, I mean it wholeheartedly, even if not much happened (before bedtime).
At the flat, my friend’s ex vanished into the shower, and I took the next turn to wash off my make-up, as well as the day’s sweat. She stayed in the bathroom with me and asked if my friend and I were “at it again,” and I simply replied we’d never properly stopped. I should’ve found a cleverer answer, but I was tired and drunk, and she’d seen us anyway.
I washed my drenched thong, laid it out to dry, pulled on my clothes again, and headed to the couch where the boys were already sipping their last drinks. I no longer remember how, but another guy (a room-mate whom I knew) offered to demonstrate how to properly… suck cock. After a little warm-up, he set out to perform on my friend’s ex’s partner, which made the rest of us laugh in tears. Inspired, my friend quickly whipped out his cock, telling me that since we’d reached that point, we might as well advance a show of our own. However, I only worked on him for a little while, as the presence of the others bothered me, and my exhaustion made me collapse onto the couch like a weary Greek goddess.
My friend cuddled me on my right, and his ex came to nestle against me on my left. He took the liberty to free one of my breasts and take my nipple into his mouth, and she soon did the same on the other side, asking me – retroactively – if it was all right with me. I didn’t mind in the least, and after a while, she ordered her partner (who’s also her submissive) to take her place. I honestly believe that had we not been as tired, the whole thing would’ve turned into an orgy. But even just like that, I loved having both my breasts taken care of at the same time, as well as finding the famous “seven differences” between the two men. My friend’s lips and tongue were slightly more forceful and extremely pleasurable, while his ex’s partner suckled me with infinite delicacy, happy to obey his mistress.
Eventually, bedtime came about, and my friend “discreetly” joined me in the guest-room even though he was technically supposed to sleep on the couch. Despite my exhaustion and the heat, I welcomed the opportunity to have a sweaty extension of the after party.
This probably surprises no one, but I loved being used. We alternated between positions, with him mostly on top or behind me, pounding me as if his life depended on it. I offered him a few moments of respite by mounting him and feeling again like a Greek goddess on her throne. We continued to kiss, but the act wasn’t tender, and while we regularly burst out laughing, it didn’t suppress our mutual hunger.
At some point, he chivalrously asked me if I was managing to “rise” towards an orgasm at all, but I unfortunately need very specific pressure points and rhythm for that to happen, and this wasn’t the occasion for that anyway. I just went on to happily endure his pounding, until he announced he was going to cum. He released himself into my cunt (well, technically into his last condom), then collapsed by my side in a hot, sweaty heap. We exchanged a few more words and caresses, but sleep finally caught up with us.
I slowly came to before 10 a.m., the morning breeze barely cool on my still-damp skin. All in all, I’d slept only four hours and was craving more, but after a quick trip to the loo, I found my friend awake, as well. To my relief, there seemed to be no awkwardness or shame between us, and I crawled back onto the narrow bed.
Whoever claimed that morning wood was “God’s” gift to women was right. I don’t believe either of us had intended to have another round, but my friend’s cock was already half-erect when I playfully covered it, first with my hand, then with my mouth. I didn’t have to work on him long before he voiced his desire to take me again, especially when he discovered my pussy hadn’t even dried up during the night. I reminded him he was out of condoms, but after some frenzied rummaging in his satchel, he exclaimed in victory and came back to me with my “gift” all wrapped up.
I’d rarely been with a man who could “go again” so soon, but my friend’s thirst seemed truly unquenchable. We went through the same dance as during the night: him on top, him behind me, me on top. When he finally approached his orgasm, he again asked me to choose where he could cum, and I begged him to douse my breasts. He made a counter-offer, shooting his load into my pussy, then emptying the condom onto my chest.
Never had I ever slept with a man who ejaculates as much, especially in round two. I stretched my back like a contented cat, spreading the liquid with my hand from my collarbones to my belly button. I still hadn’t cum myself but was fulfilled nonetheless. I offered to show my friend how I touched myself, but even as I started, I felt too ridiculous to go on. I would also probably have needed half an hour to get there, given how his pounding had left me almost numb.
I simply slipped out of the room and went for a shower, sorry to wash off his cum and his scent, both of which had all but permeated me. One day, I might sneak into his bathroom to find out which perfume he uses so that I can better visit the memories when this is all over...
Now, can you guess: did we get another chance?
