Chapter 1

Young people today have an acronym for it: BFF or best friends forever. But, as is often the case in the real world, “forever” is a word that has no substantive meaning. For me, James Clausen, and my best friend Rodney Pollard, both currently and commonly 27 years old, the acronym had, however, been meaningful since the second grade.

Yes we were tight the two of us. And the nature of things being what they were, the gods seemed to making a point that the two of us would in fact be family to each the other. That in part because both his parents and mine had died and that together in an auto accident the night of our common graduation from high school. That particular tragedy had forced us to lean on each other for some time. His parents had left him money, a lot of money, and he didn’t blow it. He’d been raised right. Mine had left me little insurance too, but nothing like my bud’s fortune. But, I was able to get a job almost immediately which insured that I’d be able to take care of my eighteen year old self no problem.

To kind of reemphasize the point being made here: the two of us were—”were” now being the operative term—closer than two actual blood siblings. Rodney had been best man at my and the then Claire Woodrew’s wedding which is another salient fact per this story. That wedding occurred three years gone.

At any rate, all of that was then; and this is now, and things are very different, as indicated, in the current now; but let’s not get ahead of things; this story is complicated enough as it is. Boy is it ever.

Again, the name is James Clausen. I’m 27 years old as of last month. I am three years married to the most beautiful woman in the world, Claire Clausen nee Woodrew: age 26, five-ten, and one-twenty-five, 34B’s, and a backside that can make a grown man cry with longing.

I labor for Allied Shipping. We basically ship farm produce to supermarkets and some restaurant chains all over the southern part of the state. I’m one of the truck drivers: pay’s good, and the benefits the usual teamster package. So yeah, Claire and I are doing okay. Oh, and she doesn’t work: strictly the all American housewife. No kids at this point though we have been talking.

I’d met Claire at a company party, our company’s. She was on the arm of one of the managers, an office guy. She looked good, but she looked out of place on the guy’s arm. I decided to take a flyer at some point during the little soirée. There’d be dancing and nonsense, read drinking, after the three course dinner, the inevitable speeches, and the awards handed out to deserving bureaucrats. Us drivers and loading dock workers never got awards, well, we’re union. We do get invited to the parties though and most of us were more than willing to settle for that.

“Excuse me, ma’am, might I have the honor of this dance?” I said. I was displaying way more confidence than I felt. The woman glanced at her date. He shrugged, and we were off and flowing with the traffic.

As a dancer, I can claim that I can more than hold my own, but she was even better than I was. We stayed out on the floor for two more dances before I felt compelled to return her to mister wrong guy. But three dances were long enough.

Just before I did the honorable thing, I went for it. “Any chance you’d like to have dinner with a blue collar guy like me?” I said.

“A date? A date with you?” she said.

“None other,” I said. She smiled.

“Maybe,” she said, “how’s your memory?”

“Huh? Okay I guess,” I said.

“Good, it’s 997 555 1212,” she said. I didn’t have to ask her what it was that I was supposed to remember.

Delivering her back to her table and politely, if a bit insincerely, thanking the guy for his patience; I handed her off and headed back to my table where Henry Goodman, my fellow tablemate for the evening was signing for a couple of drinks for us. I literally yanked the pen from his hand and wrote her number down on my wrist.

“Scored?” he said.

“Maybe,” I said. “She did give me her number.”

“Looks like a winner to me,” he said.

And it was and she was.

My arm slid down the length of her naked and sweaty body cupping the now soaked and slippery cleft between her long and very shapely legs.

She shivered at my touch. “That tickles,” she said, but she was smiling.

I rolled on top of her, and kissed her. It was a long and sensuous kiss. “Suffer. That was the best ever,” I said.

“It was good,” she said. “You got me off the second time.”

“I could tell by the screams,” I said.

“Yeah, well don’t forget the formula,” she said.

“I’ll be writing it down in the morning,” I said.

The wedding was three months later. My best bud, Rodney Pollard, was best man. A girlfriend of Claire’s, Jenna Courtland, was maid of honor.

The next three years were wonderful; well, they were for me. We had ourselves a four bedroom ranch style—2000 square feet—in the north San Fernando Valley. Three baths, two car garage, and two cars to park in it, well, one car, mine was a pickup truck. Oh, and no kids, not yet, but as mentioned, we were thinking about it.

Our third anniversary night of fun and frolic had been a sexual marathon. She had rolled out of our bed and headed into the bathroom. It took her half an hour to clean the stink of sex off of her. When she came out I went in, same purpose. I only took ten minutes; I guess I was less smelly.

I plopped down on the probably damaged mattress and looked over at her; I was still horny.

“I need to sleep and so do you,” she said, sensing my intentions. “Tomorrow’s a work day for you.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me. I hate Mondays,” I said.

“Yes, well, they need good and alert drivers to get the produce of our American farms to the populace at large, and you are integral to that effort as the driver of one of those great big trucks,” she said, laughing. “Oh and you do need to continue supporting this woman, don’t forget that.”

“Yes, you are pretty high maintenance,” I said. “But it is an honor to be able to fulfill your many and varied needs and wants.”

“So, you’ll be home at the usual time,” she said, turning the conversation to another topic.

“Yes, but if something changes I’ll call,” I said.

“Good, that’ll give me a chance to kick my lover out before you arrive to discomfit us,” she said.

“Oh for sure,” I said. “And, it will keep me from having to kill the guy too. I mean there’s an upside to everything.”

“Yes, well that’s true isn’t it,” she said.

The coffee was hot, the breakfast good, and the kiss goodbye the best: she waved to me as I drove off to support her very important person. It had been a good night had the night before. Claire Clausen was one very good piece, and she was mine.

She watched as his pickup truck faded into the traffic beyond. She sighed. He was a good man was her man, her husband, but boring. The afternoon would make up for it though: she definitely had the cure for “boring.”

She headed back inside to the kitchen. She made the call. She heard it ring. She heard him pick up.

“Yes, it’s me ... Yes he’s gone to work ... after lunch ... Yes, I have to clean up some ... Okay good.” She hung up. The man would be on time. One thing about Rodney Pollard, her husband’s best bud, he was never late for anything.

Dishes done, kitchen cleaned, shower taken, now to do a little housework and wait. She poured herself a second cup of Columbia’s best. She took hers strong, black, and unadulterated with sugar, cream, or any other filler. She had long maintained that she drank coffee, not candy.

She’ vacuumed and did a little care giving to her potted plants. She looked up at the clock on the dinette’s wall; it was 1:15.

She heard him pull into the driveway. She frowned. Their house was pretty much cloistered from those nearby, being at the end of the long cul-de-sac as it was, with tall hedges and trees blocking the view from mostly all but helicopter drivers: the operative term being “mostly.” Even so the man could have at least had the sense to park down the street, no use advertising his visits.

He came in through the unlocked side entrance. He strode toward her robe clad form and planted a scorcher on her lips. She pushed him playfully back.

“Park on the street next time, okay!” she said.

“What? Why? Nobody can see anything unless they come up to the driveway entrance,” he said.

“Just do it. It makes me nervous your car being here,” she said.

“Whatever. Okay, from now on it’s down the street,” he said.

Her robe took that moment to fall open exposing her to his view. “My God in heaven you are a beautiful woman,” he said. He was staring and blinking was a non-happening.

“I gathered you thought that,” she said, staring in her own right directly at the bulge at the front of his pants. He merely nodded his response.

Stepping back to her he took her in his arms, kissed her again, and led her unresisting person toward the living room.

He coaxed her to the couch. She’d let her robe fall to the floor where it pooled at her feet. She eased herself into a sitting position on the couch and spread herself wide for him to do his duty. They’d fallen into a pattern that worked for the both of them. He’d eat her pussy to her first orgasm and ream her butt before he even undressed. She’d maintained it, the routine, got her in a mindset to be able to cum more easily when he did disrobe and finally take her.

He massaged the insides of her thighs licking his lips in anticipation of going down on her.

“You smell wonderful,” he said. She just smiled as he leaned in and began licking and sucking first on her labia and finally her clit. She made little jerking movements as he brought her close to her first cum. God he was good, she thought. If only her unimaginative hubby could do it the way that his best friend could. She’d tried to teach him, her hubby. He just couldn’t seem to get the hang of it; he was always so impatient. Well, it was what it was.

She squirted announcing her fulfillment. She gently pushed him back turning her back to him and assuming a kneeling position on the couch. She pushed her butt back at him almost taunting him. He leaned into her once again and began lapping at her anus. Man she tasted good, he thought. She mewed her appreciation of his appreciation. He adored her for some minutes before literally pulling her down to the floor with him.

He stood dropping his pants and pushing his underpants kneeward. He insinuated a knee between hers coaxing her to spread for him; she did so; he towered over her. Leaning in he gained an easy lodgment of his penis inside of her driving it all of the way in in one slow gentle inexorable stroke. He paused, waiting for her to get settled in for her screwing.

“Now,” she said, “do me.” He didn’t have to be told twice. After some minutes, his moderate seesawing motions got her up close to fulfillment once again. Sensing that she was ready, he began pile driving into her without the slightest regard for her comfort. Nor did the woman ask any quarter: she wanted to be taken hard, and he was doing just that. She screamed her pleasure as she squirted once again.

They lay side by side semi-exhausted. No words were uttered during this time in their ritual. The ritual that they had come to practice once or twice weekly almost since the first days of her marriage to her other man some three years earlier.

“Do you ever think about things? I mean us and Jim and all of it?” he said.

“I try not to dwell on it. We, you and I, are part time; we both know that. I love Jimmy; I need you to kind of fill in the gaps as one might say. But, we’ve talked about all of this before, Rod. The status quo is good enough. I mean isn’t it?” she said.

“So long as we aren’t discovered it’s okay I guess. I could wish that we were free to take things to the next level, but like you say, the status quo is okay,” he said.

“Rodney, I actually do love the guy. In most ways he’s the champ. And no, he is not your equal at you know what,” she said. “It’s just not in him. If it were you might not be here.”

“Yeah, well a woman like you needs a man who is all that in every way not just most ways as you say,” he said.

“Your money is not the draw you think it is,” she said, smiling. “Yes, you’re doing well buying and selling those houses and buildings and such, but so what. Jim makes a living and it’s enough for us. Do I wish we were rich? I guess. It’d be nice, but he’s not and that’s the long and the short of it.”

“Yeah, well, I can dig it. I know where you’re coming from, and it’s good that you’re not some asshole gold digger; it adds to your attraction; it really does,” he said.

“Well, I’m glad you’re attracted,” she said. “You know I don’t feel guilty about what we’re doing. I guess I should, but I don’t. Do you think that’s bad of me?”

“I don’t know. I guess it is, a little bad that is. But I don’t either. I mean I don’t feel any guilt either. You should’ve been mine, but he got in first call, so it is what it is I suppose. Still, sometimes I do feel a bit apprehensive. You know, worried that he might discover us and maybe mess up our lifelong friendship, his and mine, not to mention what you and I have going,” he said.

“Yes, well, I guess you can say the same for me when you get right down to it. Yes, apprehension is the word. And yes, I should’ve been yours and you mine. But, he is one heckuva a husband and a really good guy, so we’ll just keep on sharing and not messin’ with the program. Him finding out would not be good for any of us. So from now on, Mister, park down the damn street! Okay?”

Chapter 2 »