Amy Marie Rogers’ name crossing my social media message board was a blast from the past. I knew Amy, peripherally, as someone who lived in the same apartment complex where I and many others of our age group used to live. We’d “party” by the pool, get drunk, sometimes, we’d hit the clubs and just cause general trouble in the community for the pure fun of things. For instance, it was Amy, not I, that decided to put a box of dishwashing detergent in the hot tub, causing a massive foam display that did not bemuse the office staff at the apartment complex. It was Amy, that stripped a friend of mine of his swim suit as he lay passed out by the pool, tossing the swimsuit on to the roof of the club house. It was me, however, that bailed her drunk ass out jail when she got pulled over for a DWI one night. She promised to repay me, but never did. I tried to make her make good on her promise, but every time we got down to doing anything, either she or I would get drunk and pass out. I think we both just gave up on things.
I moved because of a job change and Amy moved on to secure a boyfriend and over time we lost contact with each other. I hated that, because Amy was fun to be around, and she was also too-freaking cute, with her bodacious curvy body and perfectly round ass that everyone loved to tease her about. Amy knew she was cute and she loved to flirt and tease.
So, when I saw a message asking if I remembered her, ten years later, I sat and stared at the computer screen for a good ten minutes. I always had a crush on Amy, but never really had the guts to tell her since she always seemed to have a bevy of guys around.
I answered her “How are you?” question with a little bit of intrepidness. She asked if I remembered her.
“Of course,” I replied, reminding her that she still owed me without saying what it was for. She quickly replied, asking if I was single.
“Divorced,” I replied.
“I wish I was,” Amy shot back.
“Maybe we should talk about it,” I answered, testing the waters. Amy and I always had a relationship where we openly talked about things. Mostly, it was her talking and me listening. I knew more about the guys at the apartment complex than anyone, secrets I never disclosed. Why Amy found me to be such a good soul to trust in, I never knew. I often wondered what she might be telling others about me.
We agreed to meet up at a local bar.
“What about your husband?” I inquired after we set up our date.
“He’s an asshole,” Amy replied. “He’s on a business trip to Bermuda.”
Amy went on to tell me that their marriage was on the rocks and that she had done everything to save it, humanly possible. She was pretty sure her husband wanted to end things as well, since she had recently discovered he was having an affair. I felt sorry for Amy. Guys always walked on her. She certainly didn’t deserve it, not the Amy Marie Rogers I knew.
So, I sat down at the bar, a bit nervous, but happy to be reconnecting with an old friend. My whole world changed the moment I saw her walk into the bar, sporting a sexy black sequined, plunging neckline, very short cocktail dress and black stiletto heels. There was no mistaking it was Amy. I could tell by her walk and her smile.
She walked straight towards me. I stood up, arms extended, palms up and smiled. We hugged like old friends do, only I didn’t want to let go.
“Forget the chat,” I said, “You’re going home with me!”
Amy chuckled.
“I’m serious,” I quickly shot back.
“Let’s at least get it started with a drink,” Amy replied, slipping on to the bat stool beside me. She brushed her long brown hair back over her soft shoulders and ordered up a Tequila Sunrise.
“Make it two,” I told the bar tender.
“You look good,” Amy remarked looking in my direction.
“You too,” I replied.
Our conversation quickly centered around her marriage and mine. She wanted to know why I was divorced. I jokingly told her that I discovered my wife was really a guy.
“You’re shitting me!” she exclaimed. I couldn’t keep a straight face.
“I’m slow,” I replied, “but not THAT slow.”
“You know,’ Amy replied, “I never saw you as slow, just respectful.”
I confided in Amy that I had always had a crush on her.
“Well hell,” she replied, “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“I couldn’t,” I replied. “You were always spoken for.”
Amy took a gulp from her drink glass and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. That was pure Amy. “No-napkin-Amy,” I had once nicknamed her.
“Well,” Amy replied, “I had a crush on you as well, and just used the guys to try and deal with my insecurities.”
“Don’t bull shit the bull-shitter-in-chief,” I argued back.
“No, really,” Amy replied. “I was a bitch to you on so many fronts.”
“Well,” I replied, “You can make up for it tonight.”
Amy laughed.
“Don’t tempt me,” she replied, slipping her hand on to my leg.
“That’s exactly what I am doing,” I replied, taking her hand into mine and squeezing it.
Amy nervously spun a finger in her free hand in her hair.
“I’m an old used up party girl,” Amy remarked.
I smiled. “I won’t tell anyone, if you don’t,” I replied.
Amy chuckled. “Are you serious about spending some time together?” she asked.
I placed my hand on her bare thigh and squeezed it, slipping my hand towards the hemmed edge of her cocktail dress. She took in a deep breath and exhaled.
“If you keep going,” Amy noted, “I may be forced to do something I probably shouldn’t but can’t avoid.”
I pushed my fingers gingerly under the hem of her dress as I looked around to make sure no one else at the bar could see what was transpiring. The old man at the end of the bar glanced our way, but he didn’t give any hint that he could see what was transpiring. Amy grabbed my hand and held it in place, just as my fingers touched the edge of her thong.
“Okay,” Amy acknowledged, “You’ve convinced me to spend some time with you.”
I smiled. “Do you want to go in my car or yours?” I asked.
We settled on my car. I was ecstatic. As soon as we settled into the car, Amy slipped out of her heels and placed her feet up on my dash. She arched her back and slipped her black thong down her sexy legs and past her ankles. She silently slipped the tong on to the rear-view mirror. She hiked her dress up to reveal her shaved kitty. I damn near drove off the road. Amy laughed.
“Don’t kill us,” she said.
“I’ll try not to,” I replied.
Amy inserted a finger into her vagina and worked the finger back and forth.
“Stop that,” I teased.
“I’m getting it ready,” Amy replied.
“That’s my job,” I shot back.
“I’m just helping out a little,” Amy said.
By the time we pulled into my apartment complex, Amy had brought herself to at least one if not two cataclysmic orgasms, one of which resulted in her grabbing my stiff cock as I tried to safety maneuver into a parking spot.
Somehow, we made it to my apartment and between the front door and my bedroom, we left a trail of clothes. Amy was practically uncontrollable. She had a model-like physique that begged to be touched and pampered. She invited to me to taste her womanly pleasures, which just drove me crazy. I thought for sure I was going to die when she clamped her thighs together, trapping my head between her legs.
I asked if she wanted to me to slip on some protection.
“No way,” she replied. “I’m on the pill and I want to feel the real thing in me.”
I was more than happy to oblige. I thought for sure she would be extremely loose but was pleasantly surprised to find her a very tight fit as I pushed into her. Her eyes widened as my pubic bone crashed into hers. I had to fight off cuming to quickly. She raked her finger nails across my shoulders and pressed her lips to mine. Fire flew out of her soul, as our tongues drew out the inner passions of each other. She shuddered. I exploded inside of her. She dug her finger nails into me, even deeper, as her entire body tensed up and shook. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Suddenly, she went limp, then her brown eyes fluttered open.
“Oh God!” she exclaimed. “I love you.”
The “I love you” was a bit of a shock. It came, I am sure, straight from her soul. We lie interlocked like this for the longest time, kissing and until nature took it course. We continued to kiss afterwards, neither of us saying a word. Finally, she looked at me in the eyes and said,
“That just slipped out.”
I told her I understood.
“Passion has a way of pulling at our heart strings,” I replied.
“I’m sorry,” Amy said.
“Don’t be sorry,” I replied. “I’m here for you. That’s what friends are for.”
Amy closed her eyes and laid her head on my shoulder. She hummed very softly.
“Do you have a hot tub here?” she asked.
“Yes,” I told her, noting it was down by the office.
“Do you have any dish washing soap? she asked. I laughed.
“As a matter of fact,” I replied, “I do.”
