Knowing Bola most part of my life has simply been an amazing experience.
We have been friends over a decade and we are still going strong.
Bola and I had met almost exactly a decade earlier,
when we started at the same university. A group of mutual friends had seen us
spend a lot of time over the next four years together, and we were pretty
close. It'd never come to anything more—not for any defined
reason, just that we were good friends, and that was
fine. I had a few girlfriends over the years, though I was never aware of Bola
being in any substantive relationship. I read between a few lines and thought
there might have been a couple of dates, but none of them seemed to lead
anywhere. In this regard, Bola had always been rather reserved, and had never
shared much about this side of her life, despite all the time we'd spent
together.
We had not lived in the same city for a half-dozen years, now, as I'd moved away to take a job—Bola had stayed put, working for the university's economics department, and doing well at it. She currently lived in a flat near the city, a perk of the post, in some ways. I came down to visit several times a year, and Bola would, once in a while, come my way. We would drink, discuss our work, occasionally visit somewhere, cook together, and stay up late with a bottle of wine. In many ways, not dissimilar to when we were students. But at its heart, the problem Bola wanted my help with stemmed from before I met her. A hereditary condition left Bola with minimal strength and manoeuvrability in her legs: although she could stand and walk, it was painful, and outside her flat she always used a powered chair. In ten years, I think I'd known her visibly struggle only a handful of times, her stoicism and measured approach to circumstances impressing me. Bola got along, day to day, quite well, with a handful of friends she occasionally call on to help with something specific. In its way, that's what this was, I suppose: something she needed a hand with.
After spending most of the day in the city, we retreated from the street to the warmth of Bola's flat, and were enjoying a mid-afternoon drink. We had vague plans for dinner, but hadn't really discussed what we were doing that evening, or before I set off home after lunch tomorrow.
"You know, Kunle, I often ask whether you're seeing anyone, but you've not asked after my love life for years. Don't you care anymore?" Bola joked.
I had to laugh at her mournful tone. "Just got bored of always getting the same reply, and getting the brush-off," I retorted.
"And, in truth, I've always been grateful you didn't pry," she admitted, "though it seemed as though you were curious."
"Well, I was: pretty, smart girl like you, I thought you'd probably get asked out—I assumed you weren't interested. Not entirely my business if you weren't..."
"Too kind," she smiled at the buried compliment, "but you know it's not really that straightforward."
"I know? Well, no, I've always found it nerve-wracking approaching a girl, but—not to blow my own trumpet," I caveated, wryly, "sometimes they approached me. So, why were you turning men away?"
"You've always taken me as I am, and I appreciate that. You've never been odd about my legs, or what they mean, but not everyone's as relaxed about that sort of thing. I'm not sure, really, I'm the dateable sort. Yes, sure, there's the occasional interest, but I don't know: I worry about how it would all work, you know?"
Carefully, not wanting to undermine the abnormal candour, I asked, "Kind of. You didn't want to just take it as it came, and see?"
"I'm not sure it's that simple. We've spent ages together, and you know what I can do, and what I find hard—you know how to help me with awkward furniture, and you've carried me about when it's been needed. I don't trust too many people to do that: you know that. With someone I don't know well, there's all the normal 'getting to know one another' nonsense that everyone faces, but...I just worry, I guess, that it would be too much, and I'd stress about everything too much to enjoy their company. And now, you see, it's even harder."
She took a ruminative sip of her drink. Waiting, I didn't interrupt, or prompt.
"I avoided romance when I was a teenager. Well, I guess there was the occasional, uh, moment with boys from school at a party, but nothing more than a teenage kiss. Then, when we were at uni, there was enough to deal with without the complications relationships would bring me. Well, that's what I thought then."
Bola swallowed, looked away, then looked back at me, slightly.
"Sorry to be blunt, but after this long I know you'll cope. The problem is, I feel a bit old now to get on the dating scene for the first time."
I smiled at her, trying to cover for her discomfort. "Bit old? Steady on, we're only 28. And I thought there were a few dates you played down in recent years?"
Managing to rustle up an answering smile, Bola clarified her embarrassment, "Yes, alright, there were a few—though I thought I'd kept them discreet!—but...well. Kunle, I've not slept with anyone. There you go, that's what worries me. How's that going to work? No-one I might start a relationship will be in the same position, like they might, just, have been when I was nineteen or twenty. And I won't know what I'm doing. Well, I'd know what I was doing, I'm not a complete ingĂ©nue," she stumbled on, gesturing at her legs, "and I understand the mechanics, but how would these work?"
She sighed.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, gently. "I've never wanted to poke my nose in, and you seemed—well—I suppose 'resigned', now I think about it, to being single. Have you thought of playing a long game, and trying to build on a longer-standing friendship."
I realised what I was saying, and laughed at myself.
"I'm not trying to sell myself here, you understand; if you were going to hit on me, I think you'd have done it long before now."
Alarmingly, Bola looked confused, rather than laughing.
"That's just it, Kunle. I'm not trying to hit on you: but I do want to ask your help. I'm not asking for a relationship, as it were, just...some practical help. I've worked myself up, now, to worrying that my inexperience is going to stand in the way of seeing someone. Instead of just worrying about, you know, the first physical intimacy with them, I'll be worrying about it being my first time. And I don't want that kind of pressure in a relationship where, actually, intimacy is kind of key. It's my own fault, in a way: I should have got all that out of the way sooner, when we were all messing around at university, and most relationships didn't last too long. It matters more, now, and I've not figured out how I can deal with sex already, and I really don't want to take the burden of my virginity to a relationship. So, you see, I need some help with it, and I trust you. Would you say something?" Bola asked, dropping the eye contact she'd managed to maintain, to look into her mug.
I paused, trying to gauge my move.
"Bola, what do you mean?" I asked quietly, "How do you want me to help? Advice on what to expect?"
Finally, she grinned at me. "Damn it, you've always been too nice. No, advice I can get, in this wondrous age of IT. I need someone I trust, and who knows me, and where I hope it won't jeopardise the relationship, to—well, to use my metaphor, relieve me of my burden. I know I'm not the prettiest girl you've dated, no, don't argue, I'm not: but...would you like to spend the night with me, please?"
"Not knowing how to reply is becoming a pattern in this conversation, Bola. I...don't know what to say. Don't you think it would get weird? Besides, what are we going to do? I agree, and we just strip off and screw on the sofa? I mean, I'm...flattered, I suppose is the word. It's a brave thing to ask, and a big...responsibility? You realise it'll probably be...well, awkward, like you said?"
"That sounds like you're agreeing, I'd say," she grinned, bashfully, then returned to her more customary repartee, "and I don't think you argued my deprecation of my looks enough, mister."
"That's beside the point," I objected, not wanting to laugh this off, "I don't want things to be odd afterwards, and it's not going to be—wouldn't be, I mean—entirely 'normal'. You've never shown any interest, before, in me like that. And any attraction I felt, I've put aside years ago, because you didn't seem interested. What I mean is, how do you think we go from just friends two hours ago, to sleeping together later?"
Seriously, now, Bola countered me. "Happens all the time, doesn't it? Think about it: long term couples aren't actually groping one another in public all the time. Are we any less close than many lovers? We've spent enough time together. We've drunk too much together, made fools of ourselves, argued over all sorts of nonsense, and still been friends afterwards. This is just one more thing we do together—and if it's not so great, then just think of all the awful movies we've watched: they might have been crap, but we laughed it off and carried on."
"This from the woman saying that she's worried about the first time in a relationship? What's different?"
"I don't know, entirely. I guess it's that we know we can be platonic friends, and so it doesn't matter if the sex is awful—or if I find out it's not something I can make work. If I start seeing someone, that feels like it would be a deal-breaker, for a lot of men. And, maybe, me. I don't know. What I do know is that I've been thinking about this for months. I weighed up whether you'd be offended by even the suggestion, as well as the consequences. But I'm tired of not knowing what I'm missing, for one thing, and I don't want to be alone, either. Solving the latter, for me, now, means knowing I can make this bit of a relationship work. And at this point, I need it to be someone who likes me, knows me, isn't going to be weird about my legs, or how I look, and can help me. Please, Kunle?"
"Can I think about it?" I asked, stalling.
"Of course: I'll get another drink," she smiled at me. While she put the drinks together in the adjacent kitchen, I tried to think it through. She came back, and we sat in slightly tense silence for a few minutes.
I broke it: "I'm not saying yes, yet. But how would you want to do this? Have you thought?"
"A bit," she admitted. "Do you mean the, um, transition, or literally 'it'?"
"Well, both, I guess. I will modestly admit to some experience with the latter," I smiled, "but none with the former, unless you want to go on a date, which sits rather at odds with what you've said."
"Could we just have dinner as planned, share a drink, and assume I'll be receptive to your advances? I know you wouldn't expect to make any, normally, but I'm sure you could!"
"Yeah, that could work, I suppose. Oh, alright. One condition, though, and one question: if it gets uncomfortable, or odd, we call it a night, and like you say, laugh it off as a bad idea. Yes?
"Agreed. The question?" Bola asked.
"A practical one: I didn't bring any condoms, as you might realise. Did your planning extend that far?"
"One better," she grinned, triumphantly, "I'm, shall we say, taking something. Though, to be frank, I'm probably infertile," she admitted, the smile fading slightly, "but that's another thing entirely."
"Oh...I'm sorry, Bola, I didn't know."
"That's ok, it's not really ever come up, has it? Anyway, it makes this slightly more straightforward, I suppose. Now, what are you cooking me as part of your seduction?" she grinned.
Returning to more familiar ground, we planned our meal, and, as evening fell, started to cook. Our regular, habitual interaction resumed, though there was a slight, but palpable tension, now, between us. I found myself, on more than one occasion, looking at Bola in a different way. A very stereotypical, male, appraising way: not something I'd done to her for a while. For all that, it was a pleasingly anticipatory appraisal; Bola might have belittled her looks, but she was attractive. Small and slender, with long black hair, she was always well dressed, and when she chose to deploy it properly, had a knock-out smile. Despite my reservations, long-buried desire started to manifest itself. With, admittedly, some nerves. What Bola wanted worried me, in truth, more than just anxiety about a new lover.
Our meal over, we returned to the scene of our earlier debate, and I refilled our glasses. Whereas, often, Bola would sit across from me, in her own chair, this time she came to sit by me. By unvoiced agreement, we ignored the topic that hung, heavily now, between us, covering instead a litany of subjects less...pressing. I noticed Bola was more often mentioning or reminiscing about our joint past—unconsciously, or not, reiterating our bonds of familiarity and friendship. I hope it helped her: I have to say it calmed and agonized me in about equal measure.
The wine helped, though, and after a couple of hours we were, I think, relaxed. Or as relaxed as we were going to be. Bola leant across to refill my glass: her face a foot away from mine, I saw a chance, and kissed her cheek.
"Careful, I'll spill the wine," she smiled, concentrating, "I'm not sure you've got your timing right."
She finished pouring, and turned to look at me.
"Took you long enough," she admonished, before leaning over, and kissing me back. My stomach jolted, as I found myself somewhere I hadn't ever expected, my old friend's lips locked on mine. Quickly finding my feet, and rested a hand on her upper arm, and enjoyed the contact. Inexperienced Bola might be, but she did know how to kiss.
Moments stretched.
Bola broke away, beaming, her hair slightly dishevelled where my hand had crept into it.
"That," she said, "was better than I expected. Oh; sorry, that's now how I meant that."
"No offence taken; I have to agree," I grinned. Gently, I pushed her back on the sofa, and, my face above hers, kissed her again. With a free hand, I stroked down her arm, and held her flank. I'd picked Bola up countless times, to help her negotiate steps, stairs, or transient difficulties. I'd never, though, touched her like this. Wondering whether it would feel strange, my hand slowly, cautiously, tentatively stroked further, onto her hip.
Bola kissed me back, unabated, one hand creeping into my hair, her other reaching instinctively to my waist. I wanted to balance two things: going slowly enough that Bola was comfortable, and felt in control, but not taking too long about it, in case we lost the moment.
Fearful that reality could interpose, my hand stole, softly, across Bola's stomach, and edged to her chest. The small, smooth mound of a breast was there for the taking. Lightly, my fingers danced across the surface, and a first small gasp broke from Bola. I froze.
"Sorry, you're ok," she reassured me, "It's good, I'm just...not used to it. Keep going," she grinned, pulling me towards her.
I did, stroking with more confidence across the fabric of her blouse. Beneath it, I could just make out the shape of a nipple hardening. Sinking my face into her neck, I freed the buttons of the shirt, and slipped a hand onto the warm, bare skin of her stomach. As I caressed, Bola arched her back gently, pressing back against me. My hand found the lower bound of her bra, and slid onto the swell of her breast, nudging the now-prominent tip before I ran a delicate finger along the scallop edge of the fabric. Boldly, I crooked a finger-tip under the bra, and ran it along, catching Bola's sensitive nipple as I passed.
Nat gave a little sigh, and gripped my waist. Eagerly, now, I abandoned her breast, and reached behind her, unsnapping the clasp of her bra. With a supporting hand on her spine, she came upright, and between us we discarded her top and bra. Her small, high breasts exposed to my view for the first time, I sank my face to them, enraptured. I cupped one, resting my thumb on the firm dark nipple, while I nuzzled the other, tugging it gently between my lips.
Bola's hands, free to wander, quested across me. One ran down my back, across my arse, and onto my thigh. Slowly, tentatively, it edged over my hip, and towards my crotch. Hand and mouth full of her tits, I was already hard, and her reaching fingers inevitably found my shaft. Her hand froze, momentarily, and then, curious, explored its length. Her hand discovered the head, then her fingers gauging shape and size, stroked down to its base, and the softer tissue of my balls.
"My lack of practice is going to show here, Kunle," Bola murmured in my ear, "I want to get into your trousers, but I'm not sure how."
I took my mouth from her beautiful tit, and grinned at her, "I really never thought I'd hear you say that, you know. Undo the belt, and the catch; I'll probably get the idea, and we'll wiggle them down. Try?"
"All right, I suppose I'm meant to be learning."
She followed my advice, and, with my willing aid, my loosened trousers fell to around my knees. Fearless, Bola hooked her fingers into the waistband of my shorts.
"Here goes," she whispered, teasingly, as she kissed me deeply on the lips.
I chuckled around the kiss, one hand behind her neck as I leant on my elbow, the other teasing her nipple once more. Her hand ran up my inner thigh, and came to rest, cupping my sack. Gently, she held one ball between her fingers, exploring the soft shape within the compliant skin, before cupping them both in a small hand. I tried to stay still and quiet as she investigated, but a small sigh escaped my lips as her hand came up my shaft, and grazed over the sensitive frenulum. Bola giggled, as she stroked back over the spot, enjoying my response. Wrapping her hand round me, she gave my shaft a squeeze, and tentatively moved her hand up and down.
Bola looked down and watched my cock. She seemed fascinated by the foreskin covering and uncovering the head.
"That's surprisingly mesmerizing," she commented, watching intently.
"You obviously have an idea of the mechanics; I didn't assume you would," I commented.
"Yes," she smiled, glancing up at me, "This might be my first contact in ages, but I get the anatomy, and the basic mechanics. I've played with one of these before, years ago, but not so...openly, I suppose. You know, more of a hand-down-pants thing. This is much more fun."
"Well, personally, I think you're overdressed," I declared. As she toyed with me, I unbuttoned her trousers. "Do you want to take them off, or do you want a hand?"
"I'll do it," Bola said, releasing me to wriggle her legs out, and dump the trousers with her blouse. I quickly unbuttoned my shirt, and discarded my clothes, too. Drinking in the sight of her slender legs, my eyes ran up, over her small black briefs, across her flat stomach and breasts. Her face, though, looked a little uncertain, and I smiled encouragingly at her.
"Kunle...", she began, "I'm worried you'll think I look strange. Would you come back here and kiss me, and stroke me instead of watching me take these off, please?"
It sounded fine to me, and I lay back down alongside her, and kissed her, full and deep, while I stroked her head with one hand, and held her waist. Keeping my attention occupied, Bola quietly rid herself of her underwear, and lay naked and vulnerable next to me. Softly, slowly, sensuously, my hand smoothed a path down, and came to rest on a bare buttock. I paused, waiting, but Bola didn't tense or flinch, and I took this reassurance as an invitation.
We had not lived in the same city for a half-dozen years, now, as I'd moved away to take a job—Bola had stayed put, working for the university's economics department, and doing well at it. She currently lived in a flat near the city, a perk of the post, in some ways. I came down to visit several times a year, and Bola would, once in a while, come my way. We would drink, discuss our work, occasionally visit somewhere, cook together, and stay up late with a bottle of wine. In many ways, not dissimilar to when we were students. But at its heart, the problem Bola wanted my help with stemmed from before I met her. A hereditary condition left Bola with minimal strength and manoeuvrability in her legs: although she could stand and walk, it was painful, and outside her flat she always used a powered chair. In ten years, I think I'd known her visibly struggle only a handful of times, her stoicism and measured approach to circumstances impressing me. Bola got along, day to day, quite well, with a handful of friends she occasionally call on to help with something specific. In its way, that's what this was, I suppose: something she needed a hand with.
After spending most of the day in the city, we retreated from the street to the warmth of Bola's flat, and were enjoying a mid-afternoon drink. We had vague plans for dinner, but hadn't really discussed what we were doing that evening, or before I set off home after lunch tomorrow.
"You know, Kunle, I often ask whether you're seeing anyone, but you've not asked after my love life for years. Don't you care anymore?" Bola joked.
I had to laugh at her mournful tone. "Just got bored of always getting the same reply, and getting the brush-off," I retorted.
"And, in truth, I've always been grateful you didn't pry," she admitted, "though it seemed as though you were curious."
"Well, I was: pretty, smart girl like you, I thought you'd probably get asked out—I assumed you weren't interested. Not entirely my business if you weren't..."
"Too kind," she smiled at the buried compliment, "but you know it's not really that straightforward."
"I know? Well, no, I've always found it nerve-wracking approaching a girl, but—not to blow my own trumpet," I caveated, wryly, "sometimes they approached me. So, why were you turning men away?"
"You've always taken me as I am, and I appreciate that. You've never been odd about my legs, or what they mean, but not everyone's as relaxed about that sort of thing. I'm not sure, really, I'm the dateable sort. Yes, sure, there's the occasional interest, but I don't know: I worry about how it would all work, you know?"
Carefully, not wanting to undermine the abnormal candour, I asked, "Kind of. You didn't want to just take it as it came, and see?"
"I'm not sure it's that simple. We've spent ages together, and you know what I can do, and what I find hard—you know how to help me with awkward furniture, and you've carried me about when it's been needed. I don't trust too many people to do that: you know that. With someone I don't know well, there's all the normal 'getting to know one another' nonsense that everyone faces, but...I just worry, I guess, that it would be too much, and I'd stress about everything too much to enjoy their company. And now, you see, it's even harder."
She took a ruminative sip of her drink. Waiting, I didn't interrupt, or prompt.
"I avoided romance when I was a teenager. Well, I guess there was the occasional, uh, moment with boys from school at a party, but nothing more than a teenage kiss. Then, when we were at uni, there was enough to deal with without the complications relationships would bring me. Well, that's what I thought then."
Bola swallowed, looked away, then looked back at me, slightly.
"Sorry to be blunt, but after this long I know you'll cope. The problem is, I feel a bit old now to get on the dating scene for the first time."
I smiled at her, trying to cover for her discomfort. "Bit old? Steady on, we're only 28. And I thought there were a few dates you played down in recent years?"
Managing to rustle up an answering smile, Bola clarified her embarrassment, "Yes, alright, there were a few—though I thought I'd kept them discreet!—but...well. Kunle, I've not slept with anyone. There you go, that's what worries me. How's that going to work? No-one I might start a relationship will be in the same position, like they might, just, have been when I was nineteen or twenty. And I won't know what I'm doing. Well, I'd know what I was doing, I'm not a complete ingĂ©nue," she stumbled on, gesturing at her legs, "and I understand the mechanics, but how would these work?"
She sighed.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, gently. "I've never wanted to poke my nose in, and you seemed—well—I suppose 'resigned', now I think about it, to being single. Have you thought of playing a long game, and trying to build on a longer-standing friendship."
I realised what I was saying, and laughed at myself.
"I'm not trying to sell myself here, you understand; if you were going to hit on me, I think you'd have done it long before now."
Alarmingly, Bola looked confused, rather than laughing.
"That's just it, Kunle. I'm not trying to hit on you: but I do want to ask your help. I'm not asking for a relationship, as it were, just...some practical help. I've worked myself up, now, to worrying that my inexperience is going to stand in the way of seeing someone. Instead of just worrying about, you know, the first physical intimacy with them, I'll be worrying about it being my first time. And I don't want that kind of pressure in a relationship where, actually, intimacy is kind of key. It's my own fault, in a way: I should have got all that out of the way sooner, when we were all messing around at university, and most relationships didn't last too long. It matters more, now, and I've not figured out how I can deal with sex already, and I really don't want to take the burden of my virginity to a relationship. So, you see, I need some help with it, and I trust you. Would you say something?" Bola asked, dropping the eye contact she'd managed to maintain, to look into her mug.
I paused, trying to gauge my move.
"Bola, what do you mean?" I asked quietly, "How do you want me to help? Advice on what to expect?"
Finally, she grinned at me. "Damn it, you've always been too nice. No, advice I can get, in this wondrous age of IT. I need someone I trust, and who knows me, and where I hope it won't jeopardise the relationship, to—well, to use my metaphor, relieve me of my burden. I know I'm not the prettiest girl you've dated, no, don't argue, I'm not: but...would you like to spend the night with me, please?"
"Not knowing how to reply is becoming a pattern in this conversation, Bola. I...don't know what to say. Don't you think it would get weird? Besides, what are we going to do? I agree, and we just strip off and screw on the sofa? I mean, I'm...flattered, I suppose is the word. It's a brave thing to ask, and a big...responsibility? You realise it'll probably be...well, awkward, like you said?"
"That sounds like you're agreeing, I'd say," she grinned, bashfully, then returned to her more customary repartee, "and I don't think you argued my deprecation of my looks enough, mister."
"That's beside the point," I objected, not wanting to laugh this off, "I don't want things to be odd afterwards, and it's not going to be—wouldn't be, I mean—entirely 'normal'. You've never shown any interest, before, in me like that. And any attraction I felt, I've put aside years ago, because you didn't seem interested. What I mean is, how do you think we go from just friends two hours ago, to sleeping together later?"
Seriously, now, Bola countered me. "Happens all the time, doesn't it? Think about it: long term couples aren't actually groping one another in public all the time. Are we any less close than many lovers? We've spent enough time together. We've drunk too much together, made fools of ourselves, argued over all sorts of nonsense, and still been friends afterwards. This is just one more thing we do together—and if it's not so great, then just think of all the awful movies we've watched: they might have been crap, but we laughed it off and carried on."
"This from the woman saying that she's worried about the first time in a relationship? What's different?"
"I don't know, entirely. I guess it's that we know we can be platonic friends, and so it doesn't matter if the sex is awful—or if I find out it's not something I can make work. If I start seeing someone, that feels like it would be a deal-breaker, for a lot of men. And, maybe, me. I don't know. What I do know is that I've been thinking about this for months. I weighed up whether you'd be offended by even the suggestion, as well as the consequences. But I'm tired of not knowing what I'm missing, for one thing, and I don't want to be alone, either. Solving the latter, for me, now, means knowing I can make this bit of a relationship work. And at this point, I need it to be someone who likes me, knows me, isn't going to be weird about my legs, or how I look, and can help me. Please, Kunle?"
"Can I think about it?" I asked, stalling.
"Of course: I'll get another drink," she smiled at me. While she put the drinks together in the adjacent kitchen, I tried to think it through. She came back, and we sat in slightly tense silence for a few minutes.
I broke it: "I'm not saying yes, yet. But how would you want to do this? Have you thought?"
"A bit," she admitted. "Do you mean the, um, transition, or literally 'it'?"
"Well, both, I guess. I will modestly admit to some experience with the latter," I smiled, "but none with the former, unless you want to go on a date, which sits rather at odds with what you've said."
"Could we just have dinner as planned, share a drink, and assume I'll be receptive to your advances? I know you wouldn't expect to make any, normally, but I'm sure you could!"
"Yeah, that could work, I suppose. Oh, alright. One condition, though, and one question: if it gets uncomfortable, or odd, we call it a night, and like you say, laugh it off as a bad idea. Yes?
"Agreed. The question?" Bola asked.
"A practical one: I didn't bring any condoms, as you might realise. Did your planning extend that far?"
"One better," she grinned, triumphantly, "I'm, shall we say, taking something. Though, to be frank, I'm probably infertile," she admitted, the smile fading slightly, "but that's another thing entirely."
"Oh...I'm sorry, Bola, I didn't know."
"That's ok, it's not really ever come up, has it? Anyway, it makes this slightly more straightforward, I suppose. Now, what are you cooking me as part of your seduction?" she grinned.
Returning to more familiar ground, we planned our meal, and, as evening fell, started to cook. Our regular, habitual interaction resumed, though there was a slight, but palpable tension, now, between us. I found myself, on more than one occasion, looking at Bola in a different way. A very stereotypical, male, appraising way: not something I'd done to her for a while. For all that, it was a pleasingly anticipatory appraisal; Bola might have belittled her looks, but she was attractive. Small and slender, with long black hair, she was always well dressed, and when she chose to deploy it properly, had a knock-out smile. Despite my reservations, long-buried desire started to manifest itself. With, admittedly, some nerves. What Bola wanted worried me, in truth, more than just anxiety about a new lover.
Our meal over, we returned to the scene of our earlier debate, and I refilled our glasses. Whereas, often, Bola would sit across from me, in her own chair, this time she came to sit by me. By unvoiced agreement, we ignored the topic that hung, heavily now, between us, covering instead a litany of subjects less...pressing. I noticed Bola was more often mentioning or reminiscing about our joint past—unconsciously, or not, reiterating our bonds of familiarity and friendship. I hope it helped her: I have to say it calmed and agonized me in about equal measure.
The wine helped, though, and after a couple of hours we were, I think, relaxed. Or as relaxed as we were going to be. Bola leant across to refill my glass: her face a foot away from mine, I saw a chance, and kissed her cheek.
"Careful, I'll spill the wine," she smiled, concentrating, "I'm not sure you've got your timing right."
She finished pouring, and turned to look at me.
"Took you long enough," she admonished, before leaning over, and kissing me back. My stomach jolted, as I found myself somewhere I hadn't ever expected, my old friend's lips locked on mine. Quickly finding my feet, and rested a hand on her upper arm, and enjoyed the contact. Inexperienced Bola might be, but she did know how to kiss.
Moments stretched.
Bola broke away, beaming, her hair slightly dishevelled where my hand had crept into it.
"That," she said, "was better than I expected. Oh; sorry, that's now how I meant that."
"No offence taken; I have to agree," I grinned. Gently, I pushed her back on the sofa, and, my face above hers, kissed her again. With a free hand, I stroked down her arm, and held her flank. I'd picked Bola up countless times, to help her negotiate steps, stairs, or transient difficulties. I'd never, though, touched her like this. Wondering whether it would feel strange, my hand slowly, cautiously, tentatively stroked further, onto her hip.
Bola kissed me back, unabated, one hand creeping into my hair, her other reaching instinctively to my waist. I wanted to balance two things: going slowly enough that Bola was comfortable, and felt in control, but not taking too long about it, in case we lost the moment.
Fearful that reality could interpose, my hand stole, softly, across Bola's stomach, and edged to her chest. The small, smooth mound of a breast was there for the taking. Lightly, my fingers danced across the surface, and a first small gasp broke from Bola. I froze.
"Sorry, you're ok," she reassured me, "It's good, I'm just...not used to it. Keep going," she grinned, pulling me towards her.
I did, stroking with more confidence across the fabric of her blouse. Beneath it, I could just make out the shape of a nipple hardening. Sinking my face into her neck, I freed the buttons of the shirt, and slipped a hand onto the warm, bare skin of her stomach. As I caressed, Bola arched her back gently, pressing back against me. My hand found the lower bound of her bra, and slid onto the swell of her breast, nudging the now-prominent tip before I ran a delicate finger along the scallop edge of the fabric. Boldly, I crooked a finger-tip under the bra, and ran it along, catching Bola's sensitive nipple as I passed.
Nat gave a little sigh, and gripped my waist. Eagerly, now, I abandoned her breast, and reached behind her, unsnapping the clasp of her bra. With a supporting hand on her spine, she came upright, and between us we discarded her top and bra. Her small, high breasts exposed to my view for the first time, I sank my face to them, enraptured. I cupped one, resting my thumb on the firm dark nipple, while I nuzzled the other, tugging it gently between my lips.
Bola's hands, free to wander, quested across me. One ran down my back, across my arse, and onto my thigh. Slowly, tentatively, it edged over my hip, and towards my crotch. Hand and mouth full of her tits, I was already hard, and her reaching fingers inevitably found my shaft. Her hand froze, momentarily, and then, curious, explored its length. Her hand discovered the head, then her fingers gauging shape and size, stroked down to its base, and the softer tissue of my balls.
"My lack of practice is going to show here, Kunle," Bola murmured in my ear, "I want to get into your trousers, but I'm not sure how."
I took my mouth from her beautiful tit, and grinned at her, "I really never thought I'd hear you say that, you know. Undo the belt, and the catch; I'll probably get the idea, and we'll wiggle them down. Try?"
"All right, I suppose I'm meant to be learning."
She followed my advice, and, with my willing aid, my loosened trousers fell to around my knees. Fearless, Bola hooked her fingers into the waistband of my shorts.
"Here goes," she whispered, teasingly, as she kissed me deeply on the lips.
I chuckled around the kiss, one hand behind her neck as I leant on my elbow, the other teasing her nipple once more. Her hand ran up my inner thigh, and came to rest, cupping my sack. Gently, she held one ball between her fingers, exploring the soft shape within the compliant skin, before cupping them both in a small hand. I tried to stay still and quiet as she investigated, but a small sigh escaped my lips as her hand came up my shaft, and grazed over the sensitive frenulum. Bola giggled, as she stroked back over the spot, enjoying my response. Wrapping her hand round me, she gave my shaft a squeeze, and tentatively moved her hand up and down.
Bola looked down and watched my cock. She seemed fascinated by the foreskin covering and uncovering the head.
"That's surprisingly mesmerizing," she commented, watching intently.
"You obviously have an idea of the mechanics; I didn't assume you would," I commented.
"Yes," she smiled, glancing up at me, "This might be my first contact in ages, but I get the anatomy, and the basic mechanics. I've played with one of these before, years ago, but not so...openly, I suppose. You know, more of a hand-down-pants thing. This is much more fun."
"Well, personally, I think you're overdressed," I declared. As she toyed with me, I unbuttoned her trousers. "Do you want to take them off, or do you want a hand?"
"I'll do it," Bola said, releasing me to wriggle her legs out, and dump the trousers with her blouse. I quickly unbuttoned my shirt, and discarded my clothes, too. Drinking in the sight of her slender legs, my eyes ran up, over her small black briefs, across her flat stomach and breasts. Her face, though, looked a little uncertain, and I smiled encouragingly at her.
"Kunle...", she began, "I'm worried you'll think I look strange. Would you come back here and kiss me, and stroke me instead of watching me take these off, please?"
It sounded fine to me, and I lay back down alongside her, and kissed her, full and deep, while I stroked her head with one hand, and held her waist. Keeping my attention occupied, Bola quietly rid herself of her underwear, and lay naked and vulnerable next to me. Softly, slowly, sensuously, my hand smoothed a path down, and came to rest on a bare buttock. I paused, waiting, but Bola didn't tense or flinch, and I took this reassurance as an invitation.
Taking my time, my hand inched around her hip, stroking
over the bone, and across to a spot directly below her navel. Gently, my
fingers explored downwards, coming first to soft, dense hair. I carefully
teased my fingers through it, curious to establish its extent. Less than I
expected: it was trimmed to a narrow strip.
Onwards, my fingertips delved, finding the sensitive cleft. Delicately, I nudged the hood of her buried clit, and a gasp broke from Bola, her eyes screwed shut as I kissed her mouth and face, concentrating on the sensations from her pussy. Downwards, I ran a finger gently along her nether lip, and her legs spread apart, granting me access. I rested my hand on her, palm over her mound, and the tips of my middle fingers carefully nudging apart her lips to find her wet centre.
"Seems perfect, and totally normal, to me, Bola," I commented.
"Really?" she asked, opening her eyes to regard me warily.
"Definitely," I affirmed. "Haven't found anything I don't expect. Well, that's not true, I didn't expect you to have trimmed hair, actually."
Bola chuckled. "Nice to surprise you a little. It's because of the physiotherapy. Hair poking out isn't a look I want. Anyway, what do we do now?"
I thought, gauging, while my fingers tenderly explored her.
"You seem more...relaxed than you could be. Let's play here, for a bit, then perhaps go through to your bed?"
"Sounds good," said Bola, taking my shaft in her hand once more, and pulling me in for another embrace. As she familiarized herself with my cock, I slickened a finger on her wetness, and circled her clit. Bola's back arched as she pressed against me, and she moaned slightly. I began to get her measure, and continued rubbing her nub slowly but surely. Bola's arousal continued to build, and her hand on my shaft lost some of its coordination, her attention focussing now on the new sensations in her loins. I edged a second hand between her thighs, searching for the entrance to her pussy. I found it, resting one finger at the introitus. Carefully, I sank the tip into her passage. Bola gasped, her hand clutching at me, and her breathing roughened. Barely two inches in her, I could feel the tightness of her pussy on that single digit, as I worked her clit.
Bola shuddered as an orgasm ran through her, her hips bucking against my invading fingers, and her head going back slightly with a long, drawn out moan. I immediately slowed my finger, maintaining only minimal pressure on the now-sensitive nub, and carefully edged out of her pussy.
Bola's breathing gradually settled, and she blinked at me as she focused her sight.
"Heck," came a rare profanity, "That alone was something."
"I'm surprised you came so easily, actually; I'm not...you know, we've not practiced, as it were."
Bola blushed. "I never said I had no experience, Kunle: I can get myself off, and you clearly know what you're doing."
"Thanks," I grinned. "Now, are you ready to try properly, do you think?"
"I...yes, I think so."
I grinned, encouragingly, as I stood, then leant over to pick her up. This, at least, was something we were both accustomed to, though normally with more clothes. I slid an arm under her knees, and one behind her back, as Bola wrapped her arms round me. She grinned as I lifted her, and my erect cock bumped into her arse.
"That's not usually a problem!"
"Well, you can hardly blame me, with a naked pretty girl in my arms. Actually, you'd probably be offended if I wasn't hard, wouldn't you?"
Bola smiled at the compliment, and didn't contradict me, as I made our way to her bedroom. She'd left the covers folded back, and I laid her down on one side, and lay beside her. Bola traced a random shape over my chest, her hand working lower, and eventually reacquainting her with my erection.
"I guess you don't just stuff it in, do you?" she asked.
"That would be rude, I think. No, not quite, though that was one reason for before. There's a few ways we can do this, though, and I don't know what you'd prefer. I think me going on top would make you feel squashed, and it might be painful for your legs to have me lying between them, pushing them apart. If you go on top, you'll be able to control the entry; but it'll be hard work on your legs. The alternative is to lie on your side, with me spooning you from behind. I can help prop your leg up, so it should be fairly comfortable. What do you think?"
Bola ran a fingertip over the flared rim of my cock's head, thinking. "That sounds sensible. Are you ready? Do we have to do anything first?"
"Yeah, I'm ready: sorry, I don't get longer or harder," I smiled, "and you've already got contraception covered. The only thing is whether you have any lube: that'd help, I expect."
"No time like the present, then," Bola grinned back, rolling onto her side, "Try the second drawer, I thought it might be handy." I fished around, marvelling at her preparation, and found it. I applied a good squirt to my shaft, leaving some on my fingers. Lying back behind Bola, I reached between her thighs, which parted for me, and up to her warm pussy. With my slippery fingers, I slicked between her lips, and grabbed my cock. Shuffling up on the bed, I positioned the head at the entrance to her pussy.
"Ready?"
"Mm-hmm."
As slowly as I could force myself, I pressed the bulging head of my cock against her virgin orifice. With infinitesimal speed, I pushed forward, and my glans slipped into the tight, warm grip of her passage. A small grunt came from Bola.
"Keep going," she murmured.
I did so, slowly pressing on, until half my length was buried in her snug embrace. Almost as slowing, I pulled back out, wondering at the exquisite friction on my cock. I started forward again, and got almost entirely into Bola, before sliding myself nearly free. As she relaxed, Bola's pussy stretched to accommodate my length and girth, and after a few careful strokes, I was sunk balls-deep into her. I paused, and kissed the back of her head.
"You ok?"
"Yes. Don't take this the wrong way—it feels bigger than it is."
"I'll try not to take offence," I said, lightly, "This position comfortable, then?"
"Yes," she reassured me, "I'm fine. Could you...touch me from there? I think I could come again."
It was my pleasure to reach round and probe between her lips to locate her clitoris. I started to unhurriedly plunge my cock into her, as I rubbed her clit with a circling motion. Conscious that, this first time, a marathon fuck was unlikely to be something Bola enjoyed, I my own climax start to build. The slow, leisurely pace was off-set by her warm, compact cunt clasping my cock, and the increasing tempo of Bola's breathing. She twisted at the waist, enabling us to kiss once more. Though moving carefully and relatively slowly, I was, nonetheless, sinking my full length into her freshly deflowered pussy with every stroke.
Combined with the finger on her clit, and the tender embrace, Bola hurtled towards a fresh climax. Recognizing the unmistakable signs that she was about to come, I let my own orgasm approach in sympathy, and as her hips shuddered I thrust resolutely into her core, over and again, until the explosion in my own pelvis echoed hers. With a gasp, my seed flooded out of me, driven into the depth of her cunt.
With the intensity of the sensation, neither of us spoke for long moments, my hips rocking as I moved my shaft but an inch within her.
"Oh, Kunle," purred Bola, "That was...much better than I thought. Thank you."
I returned the deep, affectionate kiss, and stroked her slim body. She rolled, slightly clumsy, to lie on her side facing me. She smiled, and stretched.
"You'll be stiff and sore in the morning," I warned her.
"I know, but it was worth it. I know you were expecting to sleep in the guest room, but would you like to stay here tonight? I don't think I snore."
I recognized that the joke covered her uncertainty in asking, and knew it mattered to her. Besides, I never object to sleeping alongside a pretty girl, so my answer was immediate and sincere.
"I'd love to. Elbow me if I squash you, though, yeah?"
"That's fair," she allowed, snuggling up to me and resting her head on my chest. "Sleep well, then. And thank you, again."
I chuckled. "No problem: I really enjoyed doing you that favour. Thank you for asking me: I know I was uncertain."
The post-coital drowsiness meant I fell asleep quickly. I woke, briefly, at about four, finding myself spooning Bola's naked body once again. From her breathing, she seemed to sleep, so I tucked my arm softly round her, and went back to sleep.
When I woke, I found myself alone: in an unusual bed, I was, momentarily, disoriented. As I reflected and remembered, a concern grew. I knew Bola often woke early, needing little sleep, but what if unhappiness underpinned her absconding. I'd greatly enjoyed the previous night, and the new flowering of our relationship, born of the trust she'd had in me. But what if that wasn't how she felt?
I lie, silently, and wondered, listening carefully for any signs of life elsewhere in the flat. I made out the sound of Bola singing, and relaxed. While musical, Bola can't sing, going flat within bars, and so she'll only sing in private, rarely, and—I was sure—not if she was having second thoughts about last night.
Sure enough, after a few more minutes, Bola came through, carrying two mugs, and wearing a t-shirt and a smile. I smiled back, relieved.
"Sorry I got up without you; you know I wake up early," Bola apologised. "Drink by way of apology?" she asked, offering me one.
"Thanks," I said, gratefully taking it. "I worried you'd done a runner, then realised you'd never sleep this late."
Bola sat on the edge of the bed, next to me.
"Now, why would you think that," she asked with a grin, her eyes twinkling over her mug, "after you so kindly helped me out?"
"It can't claim it was utterly selfless," I pointed out, "I had fun, too."
"Good," said Bola. She took another sip of her drink, then put it down on the bed-side table. "Because I don't think I'm done with you."
Before I could respond (or, even, process her meaning), she'd pulled her t-shirt over her head. Naked underneath, my eyes ran over her slight frame, hunger suddenly flooding through me, as my cock twitched to life. Bola reached over, and pulled back the cover. Her eyes fixed on mine as she deliberately took hold of my swelling shaft, and deliciously exposed the sensitive head. Her fingertip ran along the length of the underside as she spoke.
"Having got the...awkwardness of my first time out of the way, I want to try a couple of other things. Partly, I admit, because I actually enjoyed things, and I'd like to. Partly I want to find out what other positions work for me."
She looked at my now-rigid shaft.
"It appears you wouldn't mind?" she grinned.
I laughed. "No, I couldn't claim to, and I don't. If that's what you'd like, I'd love to."
In response, Bola leant over to kiss me, deeply, with a smile.
"Can you help me get on top, then?"
With hands steadying her at hip and shoulder, I helped Bola straddle me, so that she sat on my stomach. She reached forward to take some of her weight on her arms, as I reached into the gap between us to help position myself. Looking down to see what I was doing, Bola shifted herself carefully so that the head of my cock nestled between the cleft of her lips. Rock-still, I waited as she slowly edged the flared head into her cunt. It took an effort not to respond to the heat of that tight grip with an answering thrust, but I let Bola control the rate of the transfixion. Her pussy was tight, so tight, but wet, and I knew she'd been planning this before she came through. A hiss came from the slender girl as she sank my shaft deep into her pussy, then a small smile as she crammed the last of me in.
"I rather like being here, you know," she said, thoughtfully, "But I'm not sure how practical it is."
Experimentally, Bola lifted herself, coming half off me, before sinking back down.
"No, I couldn't do that many times," she admitted, "It's too much effort."
"Hang on," I said, "and we'll see if I can help, if you like it there." I levered myself up, one arm behind me, and the other holding Bola's waist. "Can you wrap your legs and arms round me?"
I helped her do so, her legs stiff, and put my hands under her arse. Bola weighs very little, a combination, I think, of genetics, a small appetite, and her condition. It was easy to lift her as I repositioned my own legs to give me some leverage. Then, by combining a drop of my pelvis with a lift of hers, I created a slow rhythm of thrusts. As my penis filled her passage, Bola gave a little moan, enjoying the ride.
"That's good," she murmured. "Isn't it a lot of work for you, though?"
"A bit," I agreed, "but there's not a lot of you. However, I don't have a hand free to touch you with."
Bola blushed. "I could spare one myself...that's something I do know how to do!"
Burying her face in my neck, Bola reached to the junction between us, and I could feel her hand finding, and delving into the fold of her pudenda. Unsurprisingly, she had immediate effect on herself, and I could feel her hips rock slightly to help me. I maintained a gentle pace of thrusts, slowly impaling Bola, and then withdrawing from her tight grasp.
Bola lifted her face, her eyes bright.
"That'll do: it's still not great for my legs. Can I try lying on my back, instead?"
"Of course. I don't want to squash you, though. Can you try lying back from where you are?"
Agreeing, I helped Bola lower herself onto the bed, taking the opportunity to admire her body as it stretched before me. One hand still reached for her clitoris, a circling fingertip dancing over the nub, and the other rested on my knee, poking out aside her waist. Bola could now straighten her legs somewhat, as I still supported her pelvis. However, I could bring more speed now, and watched, spellbound, as my shaft began to thrust deep into her with every stroke, disappearing between Bola's lips to fill her. Transfixed, Bola's head tilted back, and little gasps began to come. I concentrated on the sensation of her sheathing me, and the sight of lithe body beneath me; her narrow waist, small pert tits with erect nipples, and a tell-tale flush across her sternum, and the sea of dark hair beneath her head. She grinned back at me.
"This is much better, Kunle," she confirmed, "I think slightly flexed legs is good. And much as I'd happily stay here, and let you, er, screw me silly, can we move? I don't know how long I can kneel for, but could we try with you behind me?"
Reluctant, in some ways, to lose my bewitching view, I nonetheless complied. I pulled my slickened cock from Bola's pussy, and she rolled herself over, lifting her arse into the air. From one gorgeous view to another, I took a second to admire her pussy, her neat darkly haired lips framing the slightly splayed lips and pink orifice, and the other still-virgin pucker above. Lining up my cock, I momentarily enjoyed the kiss of her netherlips on my bulbous head, before smoothly lancing her pussy. As my balls came to rest against the top of her cleft, I sighed myself, deep inside my beautiful friend.
"I don't know why, but that angle," said Bola, looking back at me, "is doing something good."
"Sorry to sound technical: it's the anterior wall of the vagina, which has the G-spot in it: I'm probably stimulating it more this way round."
"If you say so," smiled Bola.
Encouraged, I settled into an even rhythm. My hands on her hips, I was helping Bola keep her balance, and supporting some of her weight. Once we were a bit more settled, though, I ran my right hand up her smooth flank, up to cup her tit. No more than a perfect handful, I gently held her nipple between thumb and forefinger. Bola, moaning softly, pushed herself back onto me, driving me that little bit deeper into her. Returning my hand to support her once more, Bola collapsed forwards onto her front, both hands buried under her. While one was in her own crotch, she surprised me with fingers questing back to nudge at my balls as they swung below my plunging shaft. The extra stimulation, and Bola's obvious arousal, started me firmly on the track towards climax.
"Before I get carried away, Bola," I began, "is there anything else you want to try?"
"No," came the breathless reply, "This is fine; and as you predicted, I'm a bit stiff and sore."
Honour served, and with Bola's close-fitting cunt clenching around my cock, I needed no further encouragement. Bola took charge of her own orgasm, and I could feel it building in the arch of her back; the tremors in her hips; and the muffled moans. Fighting to hold on, I tried not to plough the slender girl too roughly, conscious of her delicate, newly deflowered state. As Bola came, though, her pussy gripped onto me. Pulling back with spasmodic muscles, I sank as far as I could into her twitching passage, her fingers finding and holding my balls beneath her.
I erupted.
Buried full in her, hot seed coursed out of me and into Bola's full-stretched pussy with a long, low moan. My hips rocked slightly, as my instinctive thrusts weakened. As they subsided, and careful not to flatten her, I toppled us gently to the side, my shaft still within her, and cradled Bola.
"Even better a second time," she whispered, twisting to kiss me. "Thank you for this weekend: it's been fun, and I'm glad I asked, now."
Onwards, my fingertips delved, finding the sensitive cleft. Delicately, I nudged the hood of her buried clit, and a gasp broke from Bola, her eyes screwed shut as I kissed her mouth and face, concentrating on the sensations from her pussy. Downwards, I ran a finger gently along her nether lip, and her legs spread apart, granting me access. I rested my hand on her, palm over her mound, and the tips of my middle fingers carefully nudging apart her lips to find her wet centre.
"Seems perfect, and totally normal, to me, Bola," I commented.
"Really?" she asked, opening her eyes to regard me warily.
"Definitely," I affirmed. "Haven't found anything I don't expect. Well, that's not true, I didn't expect you to have trimmed hair, actually."
Bola chuckled. "Nice to surprise you a little. It's because of the physiotherapy. Hair poking out isn't a look I want. Anyway, what do we do now?"
I thought, gauging, while my fingers tenderly explored her.
"You seem more...relaxed than you could be. Let's play here, for a bit, then perhaps go through to your bed?"
"Sounds good," said Bola, taking my shaft in her hand once more, and pulling me in for another embrace. As she familiarized herself with my cock, I slickened a finger on her wetness, and circled her clit. Bola's back arched as she pressed against me, and she moaned slightly. I began to get her measure, and continued rubbing her nub slowly but surely. Bola's arousal continued to build, and her hand on my shaft lost some of its coordination, her attention focussing now on the new sensations in her loins. I edged a second hand between her thighs, searching for the entrance to her pussy. I found it, resting one finger at the introitus. Carefully, I sank the tip into her passage. Bola gasped, her hand clutching at me, and her breathing roughened. Barely two inches in her, I could feel the tightness of her pussy on that single digit, as I worked her clit.
Bola shuddered as an orgasm ran through her, her hips bucking against my invading fingers, and her head going back slightly with a long, drawn out moan. I immediately slowed my finger, maintaining only minimal pressure on the now-sensitive nub, and carefully edged out of her pussy.
Bola's breathing gradually settled, and she blinked at me as she focused her sight.
"Heck," came a rare profanity, "That alone was something."
"I'm surprised you came so easily, actually; I'm not...you know, we've not practiced, as it were."
Bola blushed. "I never said I had no experience, Kunle: I can get myself off, and you clearly know what you're doing."
"Thanks," I grinned. "Now, are you ready to try properly, do you think?"
"I...yes, I think so."
I grinned, encouragingly, as I stood, then leant over to pick her up. This, at least, was something we were both accustomed to, though normally with more clothes. I slid an arm under her knees, and one behind her back, as Bola wrapped her arms round me. She grinned as I lifted her, and my erect cock bumped into her arse.
"That's not usually a problem!"
"Well, you can hardly blame me, with a naked pretty girl in my arms. Actually, you'd probably be offended if I wasn't hard, wouldn't you?"
Bola smiled at the compliment, and didn't contradict me, as I made our way to her bedroom. She'd left the covers folded back, and I laid her down on one side, and lay beside her. Bola traced a random shape over my chest, her hand working lower, and eventually reacquainting her with my erection.
"I guess you don't just stuff it in, do you?" she asked.
"That would be rude, I think. No, not quite, though that was one reason for before. There's a few ways we can do this, though, and I don't know what you'd prefer. I think me going on top would make you feel squashed, and it might be painful for your legs to have me lying between them, pushing them apart. If you go on top, you'll be able to control the entry; but it'll be hard work on your legs. The alternative is to lie on your side, with me spooning you from behind. I can help prop your leg up, so it should be fairly comfortable. What do you think?"
Bola ran a fingertip over the flared rim of my cock's head, thinking. "That sounds sensible. Are you ready? Do we have to do anything first?"
"Yeah, I'm ready: sorry, I don't get longer or harder," I smiled, "and you've already got contraception covered. The only thing is whether you have any lube: that'd help, I expect."
"No time like the present, then," Bola grinned back, rolling onto her side, "Try the second drawer, I thought it might be handy." I fished around, marvelling at her preparation, and found it. I applied a good squirt to my shaft, leaving some on my fingers. Lying back behind Bola, I reached between her thighs, which parted for me, and up to her warm pussy. With my slippery fingers, I slicked between her lips, and grabbed my cock. Shuffling up on the bed, I positioned the head at the entrance to her pussy.
"Ready?"
"Mm-hmm."
As slowly as I could force myself, I pressed the bulging head of my cock against her virgin orifice. With infinitesimal speed, I pushed forward, and my glans slipped into the tight, warm grip of her passage. A small grunt came from Bola.
"Keep going," she murmured.
I did so, slowly pressing on, until half my length was buried in her snug embrace. Almost as slowing, I pulled back out, wondering at the exquisite friction on my cock. I started forward again, and got almost entirely into Bola, before sliding myself nearly free. As she relaxed, Bola's pussy stretched to accommodate my length and girth, and after a few careful strokes, I was sunk balls-deep into her. I paused, and kissed the back of her head.
"You ok?"
"Yes. Don't take this the wrong way—it feels bigger than it is."
"I'll try not to take offence," I said, lightly, "This position comfortable, then?"
"Yes," she reassured me, "I'm fine. Could you...touch me from there? I think I could come again."
It was my pleasure to reach round and probe between her lips to locate her clitoris. I started to unhurriedly plunge my cock into her, as I rubbed her clit with a circling motion. Conscious that, this first time, a marathon fuck was unlikely to be something Bola enjoyed, I my own climax start to build. The slow, leisurely pace was off-set by her warm, compact cunt clasping my cock, and the increasing tempo of Bola's breathing. She twisted at the waist, enabling us to kiss once more. Though moving carefully and relatively slowly, I was, nonetheless, sinking my full length into her freshly deflowered pussy with every stroke.
Combined with the finger on her clit, and the tender embrace, Bola hurtled towards a fresh climax. Recognizing the unmistakable signs that she was about to come, I let my own orgasm approach in sympathy, and as her hips shuddered I thrust resolutely into her core, over and again, until the explosion in my own pelvis echoed hers. With a gasp, my seed flooded out of me, driven into the depth of her cunt.
With the intensity of the sensation, neither of us spoke for long moments, my hips rocking as I moved my shaft but an inch within her.
"Oh, Kunle," purred Bola, "That was...much better than I thought. Thank you."
I returned the deep, affectionate kiss, and stroked her slim body. She rolled, slightly clumsy, to lie on her side facing me. She smiled, and stretched.
"You'll be stiff and sore in the morning," I warned her.
"I know, but it was worth it. I know you were expecting to sleep in the guest room, but would you like to stay here tonight? I don't think I snore."
I recognized that the joke covered her uncertainty in asking, and knew it mattered to her. Besides, I never object to sleeping alongside a pretty girl, so my answer was immediate and sincere.
"I'd love to. Elbow me if I squash you, though, yeah?"
"That's fair," she allowed, snuggling up to me and resting her head on my chest. "Sleep well, then. And thank you, again."
I chuckled. "No problem: I really enjoyed doing you that favour. Thank you for asking me: I know I was uncertain."
The post-coital drowsiness meant I fell asleep quickly. I woke, briefly, at about four, finding myself spooning Bola's naked body once again. From her breathing, she seemed to sleep, so I tucked my arm softly round her, and went back to sleep.
When I woke, I found myself alone: in an unusual bed, I was, momentarily, disoriented. As I reflected and remembered, a concern grew. I knew Bola often woke early, needing little sleep, but what if unhappiness underpinned her absconding. I'd greatly enjoyed the previous night, and the new flowering of our relationship, born of the trust she'd had in me. But what if that wasn't how she felt?
I lie, silently, and wondered, listening carefully for any signs of life elsewhere in the flat. I made out the sound of Bola singing, and relaxed. While musical, Bola can't sing, going flat within bars, and so she'll only sing in private, rarely, and—I was sure—not if she was having second thoughts about last night.
Sure enough, after a few more minutes, Bola came through, carrying two mugs, and wearing a t-shirt and a smile. I smiled back, relieved.
"Sorry I got up without you; you know I wake up early," Bola apologised. "Drink by way of apology?" she asked, offering me one.
"Thanks," I said, gratefully taking it. "I worried you'd done a runner, then realised you'd never sleep this late."
Bola sat on the edge of the bed, next to me.
"Now, why would you think that," she asked with a grin, her eyes twinkling over her mug, "after you so kindly helped me out?"
"It can't claim it was utterly selfless," I pointed out, "I had fun, too."
"Good," said Bola. She took another sip of her drink, then put it down on the bed-side table. "Because I don't think I'm done with you."
Before I could respond (or, even, process her meaning), she'd pulled her t-shirt over her head. Naked underneath, my eyes ran over her slight frame, hunger suddenly flooding through me, as my cock twitched to life. Bola reached over, and pulled back the cover. Her eyes fixed on mine as she deliberately took hold of my swelling shaft, and deliciously exposed the sensitive head. Her fingertip ran along the length of the underside as she spoke.
"Having got the...awkwardness of my first time out of the way, I want to try a couple of other things. Partly, I admit, because I actually enjoyed things, and I'd like to. Partly I want to find out what other positions work for me."
She looked at my now-rigid shaft.
"It appears you wouldn't mind?" she grinned.
I laughed. "No, I couldn't claim to, and I don't. If that's what you'd like, I'd love to."
In response, Bola leant over to kiss me, deeply, with a smile.
"Can you help me get on top, then?"
With hands steadying her at hip and shoulder, I helped Bola straddle me, so that she sat on my stomach. She reached forward to take some of her weight on her arms, as I reached into the gap between us to help position myself. Looking down to see what I was doing, Bola shifted herself carefully so that the head of my cock nestled between the cleft of her lips. Rock-still, I waited as she slowly edged the flared head into her cunt. It took an effort not to respond to the heat of that tight grip with an answering thrust, but I let Bola control the rate of the transfixion. Her pussy was tight, so tight, but wet, and I knew she'd been planning this before she came through. A hiss came from the slender girl as she sank my shaft deep into her pussy, then a small smile as she crammed the last of me in.
"I rather like being here, you know," she said, thoughtfully, "But I'm not sure how practical it is."
Experimentally, Bola lifted herself, coming half off me, before sinking back down.
"No, I couldn't do that many times," she admitted, "It's too much effort."
"Hang on," I said, "and we'll see if I can help, if you like it there." I levered myself up, one arm behind me, and the other holding Bola's waist. "Can you wrap your legs and arms round me?"
I helped her do so, her legs stiff, and put my hands under her arse. Bola weighs very little, a combination, I think, of genetics, a small appetite, and her condition. It was easy to lift her as I repositioned my own legs to give me some leverage. Then, by combining a drop of my pelvis with a lift of hers, I created a slow rhythm of thrusts. As my penis filled her passage, Bola gave a little moan, enjoying the ride.
"That's good," she murmured. "Isn't it a lot of work for you, though?"
"A bit," I agreed, "but there's not a lot of you. However, I don't have a hand free to touch you with."
Bola blushed. "I could spare one myself...that's something I do know how to do!"
Burying her face in my neck, Bola reached to the junction between us, and I could feel her hand finding, and delving into the fold of her pudenda. Unsurprisingly, she had immediate effect on herself, and I could feel her hips rock slightly to help me. I maintained a gentle pace of thrusts, slowly impaling Bola, and then withdrawing from her tight grasp.
Bola lifted her face, her eyes bright.
"That'll do: it's still not great for my legs. Can I try lying on my back, instead?"
"Of course. I don't want to squash you, though. Can you try lying back from where you are?"
Agreeing, I helped Bola lower herself onto the bed, taking the opportunity to admire her body as it stretched before me. One hand still reached for her clitoris, a circling fingertip dancing over the nub, and the other rested on my knee, poking out aside her waist. Bola could now straighten her legs somewhat, as I still supported her pelvis. However, I could bring more speed now, and watched, spellbound, as my shaft began to thrust deep into her with every stroke, disappearing between Bola's lips to fill her. Transfixed, Bola's head tilted back, and little gasps began to come. I concentrated on the sensation of her sheathing me, and the sight of lithe body beneath me; her narrow waist, small pert tits with erect nipples, and a tell-tale flush across her sternum, and the sea of dark hair beneath her head. She grinned back at me.
"This is much better, Kunle," she confirmed, "I think slightly flexed legs is good. And much as I'd happily stay here, and let you, er, screw me silly, can we move? I don't know how long I can kneel for, but could we try with you behind me?"
Reluctant, in some ways, to lose my bewitching view, I nonetheless complied. I pulled my slickened cock from Bola's pussy, and she rolled herself over, lifting her arse into the air. From one gorgeous view to another, I took a second to admire her pussy, her neat darkly haired lips framing the slightly splayed lips and pink orifice, and the other still-virgin pucker above. Lining up my cock, I momentarily enjoyed the kiss of her netherlips on my bulbous head, before smoothly lancing her pussy. As my balls came to rest against the top of her cleft, I sighed myself, deep inside my beautiful friend.
"I don't know why, but that angle," said Bola, looking back at me, "is doing something good."
"Sorry to sound technical: it's the anterior wall of the vagina, which has the G-spot in it: I'm probably stimulating it more this way round."
"If you say so," smiled Bola.
Encouraged, I settled into an even rhythm. My hands on her hips, I was helping Bola keep her balance, and supporting some of her weight. Once we were a bit more settled, though, I ran my right hand up her smooth flank, up to cup her tit. No more than a perfect handful, I gently held her nipple between thumb and forefinger. Bola, moaning softly, pushed herself back onto me, driving me that little bit deeper into her. Returning my hand to support her once more, Bola collapsed forwards onto her front, both hands buried under her. While one was in her own crotch, she surprised me with fingers questing back to nudge at my balls as they swung below my plunging shaft. The extra stimulation, and Bola's obvious arousal, started me firmly on the track towards climax.
"Before I get carried away, Bola," I began, "is there anything else you want to try?"
"No," came the breathless reply, "This is fine; and as you predicted, I'm a bit stiff and sore."
Honour served, and with Bola's close-fitting cunt clenching around my cock, I needed no further encouragement. Bola took charge of her own orgasm, and I could feel it building in the arch of her back; the tremors in her hips; and the muffled moans. Fighting to hold on, I tried not to plough the slender girl too roughly, conscious of her delicate, newly deflowered state. As Bola came, though, her pussy gripped onto me. Pulling back with spasmodic muscles, I sank as far as I could into her twitching passage, her fingers finding and holding my balls beneath her.
I erupted.
Buried full in her, hot seed coursed out of me and into Bola's full-stretched pussy with a long, low moan. My hips rocked slightly, as my instinctive thrusts weakened. As they subsided, and careful not to flatten her, I toppled us gently to the side, my shaft still within her, and cradled Bola.
"Even better a second time," she whispered, twisting to kiss me. "Thank you for this weekend: it's been fun, and I'm glad I asked, now."
“I would gladly do that again and again, that’s what
best friends do.” I said gladly
The End
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