I met Tara while out clubbing. We became regulars at this one spot and sort of hit it off. You might say our favorite game became looking for a "hard" man. It was fun joking about it, and taking turns dancing with any guy willing to ask. Then, during an intermission between sets one Friday night, I noticed my friend Tara squirming in her seat. When questioned, just said she can't wait. I didn't know what she meant by that, not until I watched her arrange herself in her chair, slips a hand between her thighs and allow her orgasm burst.
I never said anything, not then at least. Tara, having relieved herself, seemed to have lost all interest in pursuing men. We stayed until closing, but I did not succeed in finding a male companion worthy of taking home with me.
Normally we parted in the cab when it reached my apartment building. That night I invited my companion up for another drink. Without any discussion of how the rest of the night might go, Tara agreed. We went up to the apartment, kicked off our shoes and opened a bottle of wine.
"Well, here's to another busted evening."
"Seems to becoming a pattern."
"Yeah," she shrugged. "Perhaps for the best. Men do tend to complicate things."
"Can't argue with that. I mean by now we would be trying to find a way to get rid of them."
"And then it's the whole 'will he call?' bit. Then, 'how do we let them down easy?' hassle."
"Or, we liked it and how do we get another shot?"
"Thank-god for dildos!"
After a pause in the conversation, I just had to ask; "So, about that thing earlier? Does that happen often?"
"You know. That spontaneous climax thing."
"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that."
"You're supposed to take care of that before you go out."
"Yeah, well I usually do. And usually I end up alone. I started wondering if that made me less hungry, if you know what I mean. Today I abstained. I, um, abstained all week, in fact. Dancing got me going pretty much the way I planned it, but when I felt that one guy's erection nudging me ... I guess that's all it took."
"Jeez, Tara, I'm sorry," I said.
"It wasn't your fault."
"I know, but, I mean it must have been embarrassing to, you know, orgasm in public like that."
My friend declined to comment at that, and I used the silent moment to refill our glasses. I began wishing I hadn't invited Tara in. I was in the mood to masturbate, and not for the first time that night. I thought it a bit strange the way she glanced at me while I poured. It was as if she were trying to sent me a telepathic message.
Then I realized that was exactly what she was not trying to do. The tingle and perspiration that comes with such pregnant pauses hit me. I sat heavily on the sofa, sipping my wine, hoping the sensation would pass, or that Tara would change the subject.
She did, finally, by apologizing for putting me in the position of being there as it happened. All I could do was shrug my shoulders. Suddenly I realized I no more wanted to change the topic of conversation anymore than I wanted Tara to go home. I had to be truthful with myself; Tara's public orgasm turned me on, and I did not want to be turned off.
"It didn't bother me." I said, looking into my glass. "I wasn't the one on display."
"Do you think anyone else knew what has happening?"
"No." I could not help looking at Tara from foot to face, like a guy might, and back down, contemplating the swell of her bosom, the flair of her hips, legs tucked up under her bottom, lifting the hem of her skirt enough to show the black panties she wore.
Tara was older than I, but not by much. Slender and thin faced, she was neither tall nor petite. Her face was pretty, but not in a soft way; not my round baby face. The silk blouses she normally wore neither hid nor accentuated her breasts. They were evident without being flaunted. Never showing cleavage, the way I try to. Its hard to display what you don't have, if you know what I mean. And whether she wore skirts or pants, she never showed too much leg. That night she wore thigh-high stockings, black, so that only a few inches of her milky thighs were visible. In that moment I thought she never looked sexier.
"Just me," I whispered into my glass, as if it were a secret. Then I shot my mouth off. "It was quite the show."
Tara snickered under her breath. "Well, I'm okay now. I think I can control myself, for a few minutes anyway."
"Oh, sure," I said, hoping it went over as friend joshing friend, "You've had your fun., but what about me?"
Tara drained her glass. "I suppose it would serve me right to have to endure the sight of your enjoyment."
"I might need another glass of wine if you expect me to perform." The very fact I entertained the idea was enough to tell me the spirits were already working their magic. Having to open another bottle should have been a warning sign, but I was curious about the track the evening was taking. I could always blame any next-day regrets on the wine.
That rationale gave me power, I guess. I filled our glasses too full, and asked Tara if she minded my changing into more comfortable attire. Jeans may be cool and all, but they are a bit too heavy for pleasing one's own libido. She said no, and without thinking about it I made a show of pealing my pants off.
Even as I did it, I had no idea where I was going with it. Yes, I was horny. Yes, I was drunk. And, yes, Tara shifting positions egged me on. She turned more directly facing me, opening her bent legs so that now I could see the crotch of her panties, and the stray pubic hair escaping the confines of their crotch. She leaned back against her end of the sofa's arm to be more comfortable. I copied her pose on my end of the couch, at least long enough to stroke my thighs in what I hoped was an alluring manner.
To my surprise, the excitement I felt in my chest spread to my loins. Suddenly my pussy tingled with that familiar desire usually reserved for intimate moments alone. Apparently I had become comfortable enough with Tara's friendship to allow this to happen.
And, yes, I was drunk. But so was Tara. Perhaps neither of us would remember this moment the next day.
I was sure that if I so much as touched a finger to my clit the show would be over. I'd be satisfied and would have made the night an even-steven event, but I did not want it to be over so quickly. I was not in a hurry for Tara to drink up and leave. Something had made time with her precious.
Besides, I wanted her to feel the arousal I felt when she climaxed in that bar.
So I worked my bare legs; scissoring, stretching, grinding my hips. Arousal grew in the core of me, driving the need for more direct labial contact. I held off. Or tried to. My breathing deepened. Twinges signaled the onset of orgasm, yet I delayed. I looked to Tara for some sign of encouragement. Her intent gaze, focused on my crotch, was all it took to flip my switch.
That's when I splayed my legs, holding them apart with my hands. My belly tightened in a painful knot, and my hips twitched spastically. I threw my head back, unwilling to look Tara in the eye at that moment of weakness and vulnerability. It was enough to have to admit to myself that I had succumbed to the unthinkable; allowing another female to witness my orgasm.
I could feel the discharge leaking from my vulva, running down the crack of my ass, and that brought reality back to my world. Sitting up I gathered my legs and my senses, giggled pitifully and gave Tara a shrug. Her teeth held her lower lip for a moment before she mouthed "wow" and toasted me with her wine glass.
"Yeah," I said, raising my glass in response. "I've never done that before."
Tara proved speechless. Her eyes looked me over as if seeing me anew. We drank in silence. I didn't bother dressing again. It was my place, after all. Tara leaned forward enough to slide a hand over my bare knee before emptying the bottle in our glasses. I don't know what that meant, but when she finished her wine she stood to leave.
After calling a cab, she said; "Well, tonight was fun. We should do it again sometime. Soon."
I wasn't sure what that meant, either. Without acknowledging it to my self, I guess I hoped she meant what she said, and I did not delve into deciphering which part of the night she referred to. I was left to wonder. Would Tara prove special, or did our friendship arrive at the beginning of the end?
I suspected sleep to elude me that night, but the wine saved me from hours of circumspection, and daily routine kept me from dwelling on the details and emotions of that night. As the week wore on the matter evaporated from my mind. Friday came as it always did, I automatically drifted to the club Tara and I frequented. Still, I was puzzled to see her there. She was chatting up the bartender, as usual, and gave me her usual wave. We ordered a first round and found a table, waiting for the band to start.
Our normal topic of conversation revolved around adventures at our separate work places, and so it was this night. Until the subject was exhausted. Then an awkward silence replaced the witty observations of other patrons that seem to be our forte. We have seen some strange things at that bar, but at that moment I guess we were the odd-balls; at least in our own minds.
.... There is more of this story ...