82 Nights with Christine Pt. 01

We were watching another one of her anime shows, and at one point the hero takes off her glasses while she preens and gets ready for a date. So Christy turns and asks me, "Do you think I'd look better without glasses? I have contacts, you know."

"Uh ..." What a loaded question. "What? No, don't be silly, you look great."

"No, seriously. Come on, I'm really asking. I, you know, I value your opinion." Sigh. She was looking at me with such sincerity and I felt I had to just be honest.

"Alright, alright. But girls tend ...or, people, whatever ... they usually don't react well to someone critiquing their looks. So, promise to be cool, alright?"

"I solemnly swear."

"Good enough. I think. Here goes: For whatever reason, I usually find girls wearing glasses kinda hot. Most of the girls I've dated wore them. Amanda does. Maybe it's just a sexy-librarian fetish. Whatever, I dig it. But ... I think I maybe don't dig it as much on you? I don't know, they're not very flattering. You could try a new pair of glasses, maybe. A different style. I guess that's it. So ... still friends?"

"Still friends." She seemed to mean it. "That's fair enough -- see how reasonable I am? Well, here; look." She took off the glasses, blinked a couple times, and looked right at me. "What about now? Better? Be honest."

I'd somehow never seen her without those glasses before, and the difference was striking. I meant what I'd told her about digging the whole nerd-girl vibe, but she looked so much better like this. Losing the glasses seemed to open up her face, and ... god, I don't know how to describe it. It's such a dumb movie cliché, but she looked like a whole different person. I was at a loss as to what to say.

"Um. Yeah, sure. Better, I think?"

"Stop it! Come on, I really want to know. Am I prettier like this?"

I started to blush. And stammer. "Sure, ok. You're, I mean, it does ... yes, I'd say you do look -- without the glasses, that is -- you are, you know ... fetching, or whatever, so--"

It was around this point that Christy doubled over and started cackling. Fetching. Jesus.

"HAHAHAHA -- you can't even talk, dude! I must look really fucking sexy." Huge smile, still laughing, pretty drunk -- she was having the time of her life. She dropped her voice into a comic baritone as if doing an impression of me. "'Um, uh, I'm Noah. Christine is so fetching! Oh, I just want to kiss her all over!'"

This was so incredibly childish that it never should have bothered me, but I was drinking, and flustered, and embarrassed that she'd read me that easily. My discomfort only seemed to encourage her.

"Oh, you sick fuck! You do want to kiss me, don't you?? Hahaha..." She started to jokingly caress my face and chest while she went on teasing me.

I said something like, "Alright, already. Har-Har, that's enough, come on," and I went to move her hands off my body. That did it.

When I tried to get her off me, her hands shot out, grabbed me by the wrists, and yanked my arms down to my sides. No joke, it was shocking. It's shocking to me even now, 12 hours later. She was still giggling and acting playful, like this was all just a silly joke ... but her grip was like iron, and she forced my arms down so easily. I knew that futas are supposed to be stronger than males on average. It's just that up until now she'd been the meekest person in this hemisphere, and her whole personality was about making herself as small and inconspicuous as possible. So in my head she was always kind of a weak little girl. Well, she cured me of that misconception.

When she yanked my arms down like that it left me totally stunned. Immobilized. She wasn't even being serious -- just playing around, a little roughhousing. But that one display seemed to drain all the fight from my body. It was a little scary.

Christine sure wasn't stunned. She was entering an almost manic state; the adrenaline coming off her was palpable. That, too, was a little scary. For the first time since I've known her she felt taller than me, though of course she always had been. She knelt on the lounge facing me and I stared up at her. She released my arms, but they stayed put. Increasingly frenzied, as she let go she kept up her giggly nonsense patter and told me, "Knock it off! Just let me get you that kiss you want, you perv."

Then she reached out, cupped the sides of my face in her hands, and planted a comical smooch on my lips, complete with an exaggerated "MWAH!" She backed off just a few inches, still almost eyeball-to-eyeball. She giggled and glanced off to the side like she was suddenly embarrassed.

"Sorry." She tittered again and looked at me. "You're a good sport." She gave me one more little peck on the lips, but it felt like another apology: just an affectionate gesture to reassure a friend. She was calming down. It felt like she was done.

I don't know what she saw in my face at that moment, but she didn't pull back. Maybe she'd already made a decision, I don't know. Whatever it was, she held my stare from 4 inches away, still cradling my face. She just stayed like that for a few seconds. She slowly leaned in and kissed me again, another peck, except this time she hardly pulled back at all after. Then another, and another. Then she paused for a moment and took in this deep breath, inhaled, exhaled, and then just ... melted into me. Her whole body came down this time, and when she kissed me instead of backing off she fell forward. I had no leverage and no strength, and the weight of her carried us down until I was almost horizontal, my back against the cushion, and Christine was lying on top, still kissing me. This time passionately. That's the only word for it.

I don't know why I didn't push her off me. Actually, that's bullshit. I didn't push her off because it was easier to just go along with it; because I was anxious about what would happen if she didn't want to let me up; because I quickly started to enjoy it. But my reaction confused me. I had just a moment of surprise -- maybe panic -- followed by acquiescence, and then acceptance. Then, quickly, it was unlike any other kiss I can remember. I must have been more starved for affection than I realized, because the kiss was simply delicious -- tingly, even. Spellbinding. She'd melted into me, and within 30 seconds I had melted right back.

I'm not sure how long we kept on like that, maybe five or 10 minutes. That's when it became unlike any previous kiss in another way, and I began to notice a rigid lump pressing into me from above. It was, I don't know ... one part exciting, three parts anxiety-inducing? It's a pretty girl who's turned on and crawling all over me, which is inherently a thrill, but then it sparked this quiet alarm going off in the back of my head: Not a girl, Noah, that's not a girl on top of you, etc. Christy noticed when I tensed up and I think it made her self-conscious again, because she let up for a second, looking abashed.

"Maybe, um, maybe it's bedtime," she finally said.

"Yeah, heh, that's probably a good idea." I gave her a reassuring smile. Neither of us were ready to say anything more, and she slinked off to her room.

By this morning the spell had worn off. I managed to catch Christy before she left for work, and I think we had a good conversation. I told her I don't regret what we did last night -- a half-truth, at least -- but laid out the reasons why it should probably be a one-time occurrence: the age difference, our being technically related, we're living together, the fact that other people would think it's weird as hell, etc. Even though she clearly felt anxious and wanted out of the conversation, she took it well and seemed to agree; she even apologized for getting out of control and precipitating the whole thing. Then she fled to work.

She's a good kid. I think we'll be ok now.

June 24

I need to get out of my own head. Reading some of my recent entries is just embarrassing. All this neurotic hand-wringing and self-recrimination over ... what, exactly? An attractive person wants to kiss you in private? Strip away the chaff and this is not some hopeless dilemma.

I was still anxious a few nights ago following our little talk. Christy must have been feeling the same, because for once she didn't take the first opportunity to plop down next to me on the lounge, and when she eventually did make her way over she brought herself up short.

"Um, so is it alright if I, like, join you?"

I felt so guilty all of a sudden. I had treated her to a mini-lecture when I know her social anxiety is on a hair trigger. How was I ever intimidated by this person? By Christine, of all people! I'm older. I'm not the one who's a million miles from home for the first time. She's a world-class wallflower. And besides all that, she's a friend and I trust her. So I gave her the all-clear to join me. She was completely chill all night, back to her regular self. Being sober probably helped. She just curled up with me, resting her head on my shoulder, etc. It was a very pleasant evening.

The next night we were doing the same, just kind of snuggled up together. Christy was wearing her contacts instead of her glasses for the first time. There was an old "Colombo" on cable -- which she had somehow never seen -- and during a commercial we were facing each other and joking around, and ... just sort of started making out again. I couldn't say why exactly, but it felt like the most normal thing in the world this time. It wasn't heavy or intense, just kind of casual, for a few minutes. Or, a few minutes at a time I should say, because it happened more than once over the course of the night. And then last night, pretty much the same deal: cuddling, watching TV, and once in a while swapping spit for a minute.

I know it's not 100% platonic, but I really don't think of it as romantic. People do this, right? We're friends, we're close -- so what does it matter that we're friends who make out once in a while if that's what we both want to do? We talked about it some and I think she feels the same way. She had a very pragmatic outlook, actually: we've both been pretty lonesome aside from each other, and she feels she needs a little bit of practice with that kind of affection to get her confidence up. It goes to show she's more mature than I sometimes give her credit for. Anyway, I wasn't hard to convince. It's just companionship. It's cozy. I'm glad I'm able to enjoy a nice thing without obsessing over it for once.

June 26

God damn, Christine. I popped into my (former) bedroom today to grab something after Christy left for work. I noticed that the wastebasket was damn near brimming with wadded-up balls of musty kleenex. Since she never spends any time in there except when she goes to bed at night, and since I know the room was cleaned less than a week ago, a little deductive reasoning tells us that, every night lately, Christy spends a few hours alone with me, kissing and cuddling some, after which she runs off to her room and jerks off -- several times -- before passing out.

Like I said: god damn. I know futa supposedly have some kind of crazy-high sex drive (especially at that age), so whatever, it's no big deal. Except it does make me suspect that Christy gets a more visceral charge out of our nights together than she let on the other day.

Alright, fine. I guess that's ok. Let's call it flattering.

June 27

It looks like all my oh-so-clever deductions about the kleenex have been rendered moot. I could've just waited another day.

Late last night, sometime after 2:30 in the morning with Christy and I still huddled together, probably near the end of our evening, we were engaged in a bit of low-intensity necking while also sort of watching another of her anime shows. This one was more of a high school soap opera than a killer robot/sci-fi thing, and so it tended to be a bit smuttier than the others. Most episodes included a little sex, and it's often pretty porn-y. So the episode is playing, Christine and I are canoodling in the leisurely way we do, and the episode ends with a climactic "love" scene. I gather this scene was the payoff on a whole storyline, but even for this show I would call it outré: longer, more explicit, and with lots of raunchy dirty talk that fed off the plot and the characters (like, our intrepid futa heroine taunting the hell out her once-cocky lover, reveling in the new power dynamics, that sort of thing). In all fairness, they did a nice job with it: it was smut, but it was good smut. If you're into that sort of thing.

I wasn't paying that much attention to the TV, but Christine seemed to be, and I guess she agreed it was good smut because she was getting noticeably more keyed-up as it went along. Her skin flushed, her breathing got heavier, and her hands started to go from "relaxed caressing" towards "flustered groping." But the biggest change (... pun intended?) was the swelling in her shorts. Since that first time we kissed I hadn't been distracted by any really obvious hard-ons, but now her shorts were becoming obscenely tented. This wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know, so I just rolled with it. She's allowed to be turned on in front of me.

Christy was getting more and more animated. She was letting out these involuntary little moans, and her hands were all over me. They even made their way down and rubbed a spot just below my beltline once, which sent a thrill through me. This session was becoming more carnal than it was "cozy," and I could feel my dick begin to swell. Before long Christy had removed one of her hands from my body and moved it to her own. She rubbed all up and down the front of her torso, grabbed and squeezed one of her tits for a while, then, slowly, dropped the hand down to her crotch and started stroking her erection through her shorts. Those cute little moans of hers became more urgent.

We went on like this for just a minute or two, Christy getting more and more agitated, before her movements came to a head and she suddenly stopped and pulled back from me a bit. She got this look in her eye: lust, trepidation, need, and something else I can't describe. She bit her bottom lip, looked at me, glanced away and then right back, sitting still except for her left hand which was rhythmically squeezing the monster that looked about ready to rip through her shorts.

"Um," she looked back towards her bedroom for a second like she was considering a retreat, but then turned back to me and said, "I have to ... sorry, I have to--" and cut herself off. She wasn't able to make herself finish the sentence, but her hand crept up to her waistband and started to pull it down. She held my gaze the whole time with this dazed, surprised look on her face, like she couldn't believe this was happening. Jesus, my heart was pounding. It was intense.

I finally had to look down and watch. She moved so, so slowly, and it felt like she would never actually get there. But then the base came into view, then the shaft, then the waistband crested the tip and she sprang free right in front of me. She hooked the waistband under her scrotum and held on to the dick at its base. Everything was still for a moment. The episode had ended and the TV was silent for once, and all I could hear was Christine's breathing. I'd just been staring at her cock, too stunned to react. Finally I looked up at her, and she must have thought she saw something sour in my expression. A hurt & worried look flashed across her face and she struggled to make eye contact. I doubted then that she'd ever been naked in front of someone else before.

Finally, Christy found her voice, barely. "It's ... is it ... ugly?" My heart broke a little hearing the question. Ugly?

It wasn't. What she'd shown me wasn't the monster futa cock of popular imagination, or of porn, but it was ... impressive. I've never considered myself anything besides straight, but this was objectively a great cock: at least 8 inches long and girthy; circumcised; mostly smooth but with a couple prominent veins bulging slightly; almost ramrod-straight with just the slightest hint of an upward curve. And, I could tell just by looking, hard as a diamond. I noticed she'd trimmed her pubic hair short. For me? In case her arousal wasn't already obvious, there was a smear of precum seeping from the tip. I'm not sure I've ever been as turned on as she looked right then.

I rushed to answer her question. "Oh, god no. Christy, it's the farthest thing from ugly. It's -- you're ... beautiful."

Her face transformed as a powerful wave of relief washed over it. "Oh, Noah, you mean it?" She had a hopeful smile on her lips. I nodded solemnly and she perked up even more. Here was a teenager lustily presenting her giant, leaking cock to her cousin, but it was an oddly wholesome and touching moment -- I'm happy I was able to give that to her.

She embraced me and kissed me and rubbed my cheek. Soon we were back to making out, but now she was slowly stroking herself at the same time. Before long that insecure, vulnerable kid from just a minute ago was gone. Maybe I should've been freaked out by this scene, but somehow I really wasn't. It was a little scary, but also thrilling. Christine's surging excitement was contagious, which is probably why I went along with what she did next.

Without warning or seeking permission, Christy paused the stroking of her left hand, grabbed my right hand, then guided them both back down to her cock, hers over mine, wrapping around. The move wasn't violent or abrupt, but it was decisive. This was somehow the same person who couldn't ask for a glass of water without stammering out an apology when I met her. She went on kissing me and started our hands on a methodical up & down along her shaft.

If I had any thought about slowing things down, the long, loud feminine moan that came from deep within Christy just then killed it dead. I needed to hear that again. After guiding me through a dozen unhurried pumps from her leaky tip down almost to her base, she removed her hand from mine. I knew what she wanted me to do to -- and I was pretty sure I was going to do it -- but it took a second for my brain to catch up, and my right hand was momentarily still.

Christy wanted our momentum to keep going. Clutching the nape of my neck and pressing her forehead against mine, she let out this needy, urgent whisper: "Come on." That's all she said, but the way she said it -- desperate and vulnerable and commanding all at once, just raw as hell -- that was somehow the hottest fucking thing I've ever heard. She was staring right at me from point-blank range and there was no part of me that would challenge her. I started pumping my hand up & down her shaft, slowly at first, then more quickly as I found a rhythm. The precum oozing from her cockhead was now almost a stream (so much of it, unlike anything my own dick has ever produced) and the lubrication caused an obscene schlicking sound that filled the room. Christy released my neck and laid back against the cushion, content just to focus on her pleasure. Her head was turned in my direction, her eyes half-focused with a cocky, determined look on her face. Her hips began a subtle thrusting motion as I worked on her; and then, shortly, a not-so-subtle one.

I'd never given a handjob before, but I know how I want my own dick to be touched, and Christy was so responsive that it was easy to pick up on what felt good for her. To say nothing of the fact that she was, clearly, already wild with arousal. It wasn't more than a couple minutes of this before she started to lose it completely. Eyes shut tight, head thrown back, legs straining, breathing ragged -- her hand shot out to the side and grabbed wildly at me before finding a hold on my thigh. She clenched it so tightly I woke up today with a dark purple bruise. Yes, it hurt when she did it, and no, I didn't care. Still don't. Finally she started rambling, as loudly as she dared.