Getting Yana Laid

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Getting Yana Laid

September, November, December, the second year

Early September

“We should get Yana laid,” I said. The three of us had just finished dinner, and our guest was in the dining room. I handed Tom the dish I had just washed.

“I think Yana can probably get laid if she wants to,” he answered, taking the dish and wiping it dry. “She’s gorgeous.”

I snorted. Not my best trait, but effective at times. “You know she has a hard time socially. She’s so blunt and honest. Between that and being so smart and so stunningly attractive, guys don’t know what to do with her. She needs a nice guy who can deal with her.”

Tom began unbuttoning his jeans. “Alright.”

I laughed and swatted him with a damp dish cloth. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he said, turning to look into the dining room where Yana was doing her homework.

I nudged up against him, sliding my arm around his waist as we looked at my best friend. Her brown hair fell down over her left shoulder as she leaned into her textbook. She looked so cute. Fanned around her on the table were papers and various calculators.

Pushing Tom back to the sink, I handed him another plate to get him back on track.

“She never meets any nice guys,” I went on. “She goes on dates and just scares them. We should try to think of someone for her.”

“Doesn’t she meet guys in class?”

I rolled my eyes and called, “Yana, honey, are the math majors any threat?”

“No,” she answered, not even looking up from her work. “The theoretical physicists are the threat.”

I laughed and bumped Tom lovingly at the old joke we girls shared. He didn’t get it, I didn’t think. Yana and I had talked a lot about potentially suitable men for her in laughing, giddy conversations that didn’t include him. She envied our relationship and was lonely and far from home. Dishes finished, Tom dried his hands and draped the towel on the rack. I came up on my toes to kiss him and he hugged me tight for a moment. Oooo la la. Pushing my shirt open, he fondled my breasts lovingly as we kissed. I murmured.

As he moved into the other room, I wiped down the counter. I had fantasized about Tom making love with Yana any number of times. I am sure that a good therapist would explain that as projection because I actually wanted to make love with her myself. It wasn’t going to happen, of course. Yana wasn’t into girls. Still, I had fantasies of the two of them together because in those same fantasies I was with them, eventually.

I could see he was going to be no help finding her a man. I finished up in the kitchen before joining them. I really did want to find her a boyfriend, but I wondered what such an entity would mean to my friendship with her. I wanted her to be happy. To be honest, I thought that a little sex would not hurt the girl. Moving to the doorway, I leaned against the frame and looked at her. She was rising from her work, stretching, the full curves of her breasts pulling the material of her shirt taut as she arched her back. Barefoot, she moved to the couch and sat down next to Tom and laid her head on his shoulder.

I couldn’t hear what they were saying from the kitchen, but I didn’t need to. I just watched them, seeing how easy they were together. I always thought of her as my friend, but it was clear in that intimate little moment that Yana and Tom had a relationship too. He liked her, it was clear, and she was comfortable with him, with none of the awkwardness she experienced around so many others.

Moving into the room with them, I sat in the chair opposite the couch and looked at them.

They really were friends, weren’t they? Yana was written a paper that was going to be published in a prestigious math journal and Tom was editing it with her. I asked him what the topic, but the best he could do was say it was a formula for determining concert ticket prices, so I knew he was lying and probably didn’t understand it either. As she is only a first-semester sophomore, her being published is all the more impressive. I am not kidding when I say she is a genius.

I wondered how much they liked each other. If I weren’t around would they date? Tom was right, even if he had only been kidding. He would be good for her.

“You two should be lovers,” I said quietly. If I could not make love with her, Tom should. I knew he would be tender and caring with her. We’d shared other girls, he and I, why not share him with Yana, even if I wasn’t included? We were hardly monogamous.

Yana laughed, a light airy lilt of pure delight. “Gelly, I cannot sleep with Tom. He is far too old for me.” Her eyes caught that my shirt was partly open though it hadn’t been during dinner. I wondered if she guessed Tom had just been touching me. I wanted her to think he had.

I scowled. If he was too old for her, he was too old for me and that was just not true. “You’re just saying that so you won’t hurt my feelings.”

Her blue eyes widened. “He is nearly 30! I am a teenager.”

“Thanks, Yana,” gaziantep bayan escort Tom said in a tired voice. He is 28.

He is 10 years older than she at that. And she told me early on she didn’t like older men. It seemed false for Tom. They liked each other, and he wasn’t that much older. Older was like, 40. She was making up objections, I felt. I know now that I was being selfish. By offering my best friend my lover, I still was anticipating getting her into my own bed. I was in love with her.

I shuddered at that knowledge and my nipples crinkled and poked right through my shirt at her. I was in love with Yana. I lusted for her. I was desperate for her to be my partner, with Tom. Desperate enough to suggest this.

She rose from the couch and returned to her homework, obviously not wanting to go on with the discussion. I moved over next to Tom, filling her place. He hugged me and slipped a hand into my shirt again. My nipple stiffened even more. Yana was only feet away, but the idea of her and Tom together made me bold. I let him fondle me, opening more of the buttons of my shirt. I was bare beneath it; my breasts free to his touch. The back of the couch hid us from her view, and I writhed and pressed my nipples to him. My fingers massaged Tom’s cock through his jeans and the already half-hard shaft grew and swelled. I opened his pants so that the length of him was unbound, and the soft skin of his hard cock came into view. I sighed and ran my lips over that spongy head, massaging firmly. My tongue slipped out to run over and around him and I just had to take him in my mouth.

My mind filled with the image of that cock, my lover’s cock, going into Yana’s cunt. I’d seen her cunt. She was beautiful. We’d met naked, modeling nude together. She still modeled for my camera. I knew her body so well. I sucked my boyfriend’s cock with my best friend just on the other side of the couch, unknowing. I wanted her to know.

I wanted her to see. To see her cock-sucking, pussy-licking best friend adoring her boyfriend with her mouth. I wanted her to get up, come around the couch, slip off her clothes and make love with us.

She just kept doing math. One plus one plus one equals…

Late November

Rain crashed down in a sudden downpour that caught us walking along Main Street with no place to go into for shelter. Yana and I scurried to the cover of the doorway of a closed business. We cowered in the slight overhang to wait out the storm.

She was pressed up tightly to me. There was little room to move, and her every undulation only brought her closer to me. I slipped my arms around her waist and hugged her tightly, and she laid her head back on my shoulder.

My lips found her throat. Yana cooed and wriggled against me, stretching her neck to get me even more of her skin to kiss. Her hair smelled fresh and felt so soft on my cheek as I began to use my lips to tug at her, running my tongue lightly up from her shoulder to her ear, ever so lightly.

I couldn’t be doing this with Yana. She was my best friend and not…

Not. Not. Not…

Not like me.

Holding her, kissing her, I felt that familiar heaviness settling in between my legs. It didn’t help that Yana was pushing her wonderfully round bottom to me there. She wasn’t like me. Still, there in that doorway in the rain, she was responding like a lover.

Yes, we had flirted. Yes, she liked to feel me up in theatres when we went out to see movies. But that was the end of it. She had a boyfriend now. Some mysterious guy I was never allowed to meet who had encouraged her to shave off her pubic hair and introduced her to anal sex. I saw her naked, because she was my favorite model and posed for me for free because she was my best friend. I noticed her lack of hair right away. But the anal sex part I had learned because she asked me about it:

Did I like it?

Would she like it?

Why did guys like it?

I told her that, with her new hairless look and the interest in anal sex, she could be sleeping with my boyfriend, Tom. I have kept my pubic area bare, with Tom’s encouragement, since taking up with him again almost a year ago. Our former girlfriend, Lindsay, had liked it too, and they delighted in paying for my salon visits to keep me hairless. And I just like anal. Tom first did that with me. Yana only laughed at the very idea when I mentioned the similarity between her boyfriend and Tom.

A year earlier, I had embraced my attraction to other women. I’d then fallen in love with Tom and with Lindsay in the winter. We became three. Our love was hot and nasty and kinky and forbidden, and we did things together that left me fulfilled and drained and so blissfully in love that I was oblivious to anything else. We only lasted four months. I still was not over her.

I learned too, after she left, that Lindsay had other lovers while we were together. I guess that was cheating. And I discovered in October that good old Tom cheats on me too. I suppose it was cheating. I’m not even talking about the women we’ve made love to together, some ten of them. Some other girl, without me. We’re not monogamous. Still, it seemed like cheating.

Tom likes having a girlfriend who brings other girls home to fuck. He just doesn’t know about all of the others I see alone or the boys I have one-nighters with, preferably two or three at a time. I’m a cheater too, now.

It is a very strange relationship. So much sex and so little communication. I know I should talk to him about how I feel. I talk to Yana. I talk to my mother. I just couldn’t bring myself to talk to Tom because I was afraid. Maybe part of me was afraid because I liked being free to be so hedonistic, and being with Tom was my license. I love him. He is a great boyfriend in so many ways if you didn’t count fidelity as anything too important. I liked being the girlfriend who brought other girls home to fuck. What if talking screwed it all up?

And there I was kissing Yana passionately, loving her with my mouth. I already loved her, deeply, emotionally. She is my best friend. I didn’t have to put my tongue in her pussy to love her. It didn’t ever have to be physical if she didn’t want it to be. The prospect of being lesbian scared her so, she couldn’t even open to being bi.

Yet, we were making out in a doorway in the rain. Her chest rose as she pressed her big boob into my hand. She wanted my touch. I toyed with her nipple through her bra, felt it rising with excitement and desire. Turning, her arms went around me and we faced one another, kissing hard. My hands were on her back, drawing her to me, hugging her, feeling her body laying on mine.

“Gelly,” she gasped finally. “I can not let you lick me today.”

I kissed her again. “It’s okay, Yana. You don’t have to lick me back. I’ll just lick you, make love to you. It’s okay. We both want to.” I was hot and excited and in need. I could convince her, now, couldn’t I?

She broke the kiss again. “No, Gelly, I will lick with you. I do not care any longer that I am loving another woman. I love you. I want to do it.” We were kissing, and I was confused. It wasn’t just her accent. Her accent is so cute.

She took my face in both of her hands. Her dark blue eyes looked tragic with sadness.

“Gelly,” she began, “you can not lick me this moment because I am having sex this morning while you are in class.”

I started opening the buttons of her shirt, eager to touch her skin, even outside in the cold like this. The mystery man. Fucking my darling while I was in class. What would our becoming lovers mean to that relationship? And what about Tom? Would the four of us get together?

Thunder cracked, uncharacteristically for the season, as I opened her jeans and slipped my hand inside. The crotch of her panties was wet. Very wet. Suddenly, I understood. She didn’t want me to lick her because he had come in her. She hadn’t been home yet, hadn’t bathed. He’d cum inside her. No condom.

She wrapped her fingers around my wrist and lifted my fingers from her sex.

I leaned against the frame of the door and swept a hand across my forehead to clear my face. I was breathing heavily too.

She closed her shirt and tugged up her jeans. I straightened, knowing finally that she was entirely serious, that this whole thing was entirely serious. All the months of flirting and false starts and come-ons and dreams were serious. She said she loved me and I knew I was in love with her. A myriad of thoughts stormed through my mind as she wiped her eyes and turned away.

“I love you, Gelly.” But she ran away into the rain. Thanksgiving Break started the next day. I would not see here again for well over a week.

Early December

My body arched, every nerve firing. The sting was fiery and fierce, then the softened, as the wax ran. Finally, there was the tightening feeling as it cooled, tugging at the skin under it. I let out my breath in a shuddering sigh of delight. Oh, yes. This was fun.

Blindfolded, I had no idea where the next drop would fall. Still, Tom is not cruel, just kinky. He loves me. My right nipple was coated in a little wax mountain, the flesh surrounding it dribbled with splotches of… red or blue, I was sure. We had learned, painfully on my part, which candles were the most fun. And that meant we were using the cinnamon apple or the blueberry jar. I inhaled, trying to catch the scent. Blueberry was much more subtle. Mmmm.

I should have been paying more attention. The next drip startled me, and my body caved in on itself instead of rising. The soft yarn ropes around my wrists and ankles kept me at the center of our bed. The hot wax spattered on the bare skin just above my pussy. I had expected it on my left breast. The muscles of my pelvis contracted and I felt it lower down, where I was wet.

Another drip landed on me, lower, the wax running down the outer lip of my pussy into the crease of my thigh. I moaned with the pleasure of the pain again. I was moaning so loudly that neither of us heard the knock at first. The ringing of the bell startled us. I raised my blind head, listening, and heard Tom set the candle on the nightstand.

“They’ll go away if we don’t answer,” Tom whispered and kissed me. I kissed back, at his mercy as to how and where our lips met, even with my head raised. He kissed me so sweetly, not rushing or hurrying, just kissing me like it was the only thing in the world he had to do. And it was.

The knocking came again, louder. Tom took the tip of my left nipple between his lips, touching the tip of his tongue to it before opening his mouth and sucking me in. I am not so big on top, so he could cover a lot of my breast. His taut lips relaxed and slipped wetly over my skin until they caught my nipple again, pressing in tightly. I sighed happily again, loudly, and then cut it off short sharply.

“Gelly? Tom? Are you home?” Yana’s voice carried through the house from the now open front door.

“Shit,” I whimpered. Or something like that. I am not entirely sure.

“Gelly,” Yana called again.

Yana. I had not seen her since that day in the rain. My messages were unreturned. Thanksgiving Break came and went. I worried she was avoiding me. I’d told Tom about it, how close we had come to making love, how she had a boyfriend now, that she had just fucked him that morning.

“Get out there,” I hissed at him. “Don’t let her come in the bedroom.”

I heard Tom struggling into his pants. The bedroom door was open, if I remembered correctly. We never closed it. I just wished right then that we locked the front door when we were home.

“Oh, hello, Tom,” Yana’s rich alto lilted through the house. Her accent is so much less incomprehensible than when we had first met, but I love that I am still “Gelly” to her. I like to think her improved diction is my influence, but it is probably more Tom’s. They read together sometimes, and study, spending a lot of time together, actually. Tom is getting his masters in literature, and he plans to teach.

“Hi, Yana.” He sounded stiff. I wondered if he actually still was. Would his cock be tenting his pants for Yana to see? I hoped not.

“Is Gelly here,” she asked.

“She’s tied up at the moment.”

I slammed my head down on the pillow. That asshole.

“So, she is not available.” It still kind of sounded like she said, “Zoe, chee his snot havailable?” Sexy.

“Not right now. You could come back in a couple of hours…”

“What about you, Tom,” Yana purred. “Are you available?”

My head came up again. What?

“Really, Yana, if you come back…”

“You don’t want me to suck your cock, my darling?”

It is just so true that your other senses are heightened when you can’t see. I strained to hear. There was rustling, like a big-boobed Slovakian international student sliding to her knees or something. And then some hushed whispering. The gasp was audible enough.

“She is? Right now?” Her voice was too loud.

More hushed murmuring.

“Don’t let her come in here, don’t let her come in here, don’t let her come in here,” I chanted silently, not sure if I was addressing Tom, the Goddess, or whoever.

I felt her presence in the doorway. She was taking me in. Nude. Bound. Wax covered. Wet. My legs wide open. Blindfolded. I must have been flushed red.

The bed moved as it accepted her weight and she sat beside me. Her nails caught the wax and peeled it off of my right nipple. “Gelly,” she said, “I think…”

What? What did she think? That her best friend in the world was a nasty kinky slut? And just what the hell was that bit about sucking Tom’s cock. It was a joke, right? Because he did have an erection when he went to stop her from coming into the bedroom? What did she think?

“Yana, not now, please,” I pleaded. I wanted her to go. “Please?”

She touched the blindfold on my forehead. “I think you heard?”

I was bound, blindfolded, naked, and she wanted to know if I had heard her stupid little joke about blowing my boyfriend?

I was about to just beg her to go away when she stopped me by say, “I would not have… I didn’t know you were here.”

Her fingers played so lightly on my nipple. It was standing up for her, looking so pretty I was sure. Straight as she is, Yana has this thing about playing with my breasts. Except, she wasn’t quite straight, was she? She wanted me. What did my being there have to do with anything? Unless it wasn’t a joke.

Memories flashed at me. So many questions. Her asking me about anal sex and did I actually like it. The time she shaved her pubic hair because she was sleeping with the mystery man who liked bare pussies. Why was he a mystery? (I suspected a married man.) My jokes about how she could well be fucking Tom. And then the sudden, horrid crashing realization that I had told them they should be lovers. And she had not even liked anal sex when she tried it and she had let her hair grow back. I knew way too much and not nearly enough.

I had told them they should be lovers. I had told them. I had. I just hadn’t expected them to keep it a secret.

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