Annie's Camera

"Do you still have copies of my pictures on your machine?" I would have been very disappointed if she didn't.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Is number 139 still flagged?" That was the most graphic of them all — all me without a face.

She didn't answer right away, she just slumped further into the corner of the couch, she had been found out — she couldn't have been more miserable, more defeated. Finally she said, "I'm sorry, Bets, I just couldn't help it."

"Great." She looked up at this, "It really excites me that I turned you on, Annie, like, that's really neat."

She couldn't conceal her surprise, "It does? Why?"

"I don't know, it just does," I sat back, put my arm around her and pulled her into me, consolingly, like a friend would do. It felt strange, really strange, neither of us has ever been the touchie-feelie type.

She hesitated for a moment but when she tried to pull away I held on tight. "Why are you doing this to me?" she said.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes, of course I want to know."

"Then if you'll relax, I'll tell you, OK? Will you just relax?"

She did, I could feel her against me, she was much softer now — I liked it. But she stiffened when I said, "It started because of those pictures you flagged.' I squeezed her, "Jeez, just let me get this out and then you can run, OK?" She relaxed a little but not much so rather than the long story I planned to give her I gave her a really shortened version. "I thought you must have liked those pictures, I thought all week about it, at first I thought it was really strange but the more I thought about it the more I liked it, then I started thinking, you know, how you'd look in those kind of pictures and when I started thinking that way, I started masturbating and when I did that, and I did a lot of it, I knew I wanted to be here on the couch with you and I wanted us to start ... sort of ... exploring our feelings ... like, together."

Annie peeked up at me, "You're not a lesbian."

"How do you know?"

"Are you?" Her eyes changed but you really couldn't call it hope.

"I don't know what I am, Annie, honestly, I really haven't a clue, but I do know that I want to be here on this couch with you, and I know I want to explore my feelings with you, OK? So we're both kind of coming out, right?" I gave her a quick kiss on the forehead then leaned back to look at her, "So Annie, I've thought a lot about this and this is the way I want to do it ... I'm going to put my lips on yours, I'm not going to kiss you, I'm just going to put my lips on yours, OK? We'll just see what it feels like." I could see she was going to object and it pissed me off, "Look, this isn't easy for me, either but we're going to do it, we're going to explore ... so get used to it." I had been bossing Annie around for as long as I had known her so we both knew I was going to get what I wanted. But, even so, when I turned and slowly leaned towards her I was kind of surprised when she didn't try to run, she just sat there, impassively and waited for my lips to close in on hers — she could have been a mannequin. And it didn't get any better on contact, because that's what I felt like I had contacted, the lips of a mannequin, only these ones were warm and slightly scaling.

I had thought a lot about this first kiss, of course, I had thought about it at home, at work, on the subway, while cooking, in bed, when I first awoke in the morning. What would it be like? What would it do to me? What message would I get? Well, it was ... nice, an awful word, I know, but that's what it felt like, nice: soft, warm, safe, feminine, intimate — I liked it and I knew I didn't want to break it off so I eased my head sideways to rest on the back of the couch and when I did her lips followed mine.

Nice — feeling her breathe, her heat, her closeness to me, we weren't kissing, we were just touching and then I reached for her hand and held it, resting my hand in her lap. I liked that, too, liked her intimate touch, the feel of her hot, wet skin in mine and I liked it that when I gently squeezed her hand, she squeezed me back, telling me, or this is the way I took it, that she liked it too.

It wasn't my plan, but it should have been. With my lips on hers, my hand in hers I just relaxed and enjoyed it, I wasn't waiting for anything, I was just enjoying the moment — but I had more patience than she did. I could first feel her lips move, almost imperceptibly, then she was pressing them a little harder into mine and then I could feel her breasts pressing into mine and that's when the escalation began, really it began with a moan, it escaped from her, I could feel it on my lips ... and then I felt that moan of hers in my pussy. When I knew for sure she wanted this, I was pretty sure I did, too.

As she kissed me more insistently, I put my arm around her, leaned into her and as I pushed her into the corner of the couch I opened my mouth and brought my hand to her breast — and she almost sucked the tongue right out of my mouth.

With that I sprang from the couch, pulled her up and I hauled her into her bedroom, pushed her onto her bed and before she had settled, I was on her, my knee between her legs and my lips pressed into hers and we kissed, or, rather, we artlessly beat each other with our lips until I pulled away, kissed her in both eyes and put my lips gently back on hers and licked her. "Have you ever imagined me here, Annie? Have you ever imagined doing things to me?"

Looking back on it, this was wholly consistent with what I would have said at that moment, I mean, right from the get-go this had always been about me: me getting her to take lewd photos of me; me posting those photos on-line so I could lure men into my fantasies; me probing Annie about her lesbianism; me teasing her about keeping the photos for herself; me imagining her on a bed; me imagining myself in bed with her. It was never about her; I never once gave a moment's thought to my best friend who had supressed her sexuality all her life but was now willing to express it. So I will never, ever forget the pain in her voice when she said, "Have you ever wanted to be here with me?"

Those words and the obvious anguish in her voice just froze me. I was in this for my curiosity; for a little harmless slap and tickle; a little daring lesbian experimentation. She was in it to express her love. I'm not a heartless bitch ... well, I am, but not this diabolical. I couldn't just use her ... but I didn't want to bolt, either, I liked my lips on hers and I liked my hand on her breast but I really didn't want to fuck her up either, I didn't want to play with her just to see what it was about. "I don't know, Annie, I don't know if I want to be here with you, I don't know what it means, to me or to you. But, I don't want to leave, either. Can we just go really slow; I don't want this to screw us up. OK?" Then I added, because ever fibre of my being demanded it, "But, fuck me, am I ever horny."

I was half on her when I said this and my knees was between her legs. She pulled out from under me, pushed a pillow under my head and plumped up a pillow under hers. "I don't want to scare you, Bets."

I turned into her and kissed her gently on the lips, "You don't scare me but I am scared of what might happen so let's talk about it ... but after."

"After?"

"I've got to get off, Annie, Jesus, I've never been so fucking horny in my life. I can do it here or in the bathroom. Which?"

She smiled and pecked at my lips, "You're not the only one."

We pulled off our pants. I don't know why I left my panties on, modesty I guess and she did too and as we lay there shoulder to shoulder I noticed that her fingers were on top of her panties, rather exquisite-looking panties, while mine dove under mine. It would have only taken me a nanosecond so I backed off — I wanted the moment to last. "Annie?"

"Yes."

"How long have you known you're a lesbian?"

"Forever." Her fingers seemed to be barely moving.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"I don't know, I was probably scared to at first and then it hurt too much."

"Hurt to much? Why?"

"Because you aren't — how were we going to relate?"

"So you've thought about me — you know, like a lesbian would?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Bets."

I took my fingers from my pussy and reached over and tapped the fingers that were caressing her panties, "Is there a better time?" She laughed when I did but before I brought my hand back I dragged my fingers across her panties to confirm that they were expensive, "Jeez, what's with these, we're not talking four for five bucks here." She didn't say anything so I added, "I sure never figured you for the lingerie set." Still nothing so I said, "Come on, Annie, I'm doing all the work her."

"They're my fetish, all my underwear is like this."

"God, go figure," this kind of shocked me, I mean, she just didn't seem the type. "I haven't got anything like that."

There was a long, awkward hesitation before she said, "I know," and I was to learn this was no slip of the tongue.

"You know?"

She waited almost a full minute before she said, "I shouldn't tell you this ..." she hesitated again and I was just about to insist that she should when she said, "Every time I go to your place I go through your hamper," she waited a moment for my shock to register, then she reached under her pillow and pulled out a pair of white cotton panties, "I've been hoping you would develop a little more imagination."

"They're mine?" She had a pair of my panties?

She dropped them on the corner of the bed, "You caught me once ... in the bathroom. I said I found them on the floor and dropped them into the hamper, the only time in the past few years when I wasn't able to recycle my stock — it was a bad week. I have a couple of your bras, too."

This just totally floored me, I mean, that this girl, my best friend, would do something like that ... and that she wanted to, hell, it almost seemed she needed to do it — she must have been unbelievable desperate, "God, Annie, you should have told me."

There was no mirth in her laugh, "That I love your underwear?" She laughed her empty laugh again. "A few years ago, before I'd go over to your place, I used to dress and re-dress a dozen times ... trying to find the right ... statement — seductive tank tops, pants that showed the top of my underwear, braless, that sort of thing. Nothing. I never found the right look so I always went in jeans and top until maybe two years ago, that's when I started this underwear thing — I thought, if I was going through your hamper, maybe you'd be going through mine and if you did you'd see ... well, you'd see there was something sexy underneath the jeans — that I had a pulse. But you never did, I know you didn't because when you left I always checked, that's the first thing I'd do and I was always disappointed."

"Jeez, Annie, I'm sorry." I was listening to her so closely, I was just so unbelievably fascinated that when she stopped talking that's all I could think of to say and when I did, I laughed when she did. But it wasn't funny, not to her and not to me, either.

She continued in the same voice — she could have been at a confessional, "When you would leave my place or after I got home from yours, I'd always go straight to bed and I'd imagine we'd be there together, that you were in my bed with me and we'd hold each other for a long, long time — it got so I would leave your place early — I knew nothing was ever going to happen there, just so I could get home because as soon as I got there I'd get in bed and you'd take me in your arms, tell me you love me and then you'd do whatever you wanted to do to me," she laughed, again without humour, "anything I wanted you to want to do to me."

"And what was that?" As she was talking I was trying to sort out her words so my head was reeling: from disgust, shock, pity, compassion ... but I was definitely feeling her confession, too; my hand was under my panties but my fingers didn't dare even touch my pubic hair, the slightest movement down there would have set me off.

"Everything I could imagine." Her voice was dead, without a hint of emotion.

"Could you imagine us doing this?"

"I imagine this all the time."

"And when you did, what happens?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Ah ... ya," I laughed.

"You get really turned on."

"Me? Just me?"

"Every time we'd lie like this ... sort of masturbating, it's always the same — you get unbelievable turned-on, I didn't need to be, I was always jumping out of my skin when I lay down beside you."

Ya, well, I was about jumping out of my skin now, too, so I turned on my side, propped my head up with the hand that a moment before had been hiding harmless in my panties and when I looked down on her I could see that she was a bit scared. "How vulnerable are you, Annie?"

"What do you mean?" She didn't look at me.

"I mean, are you going to get really fucked-up about this," she wasn't absolutely sure what I mean so I filled in the blanks, "that we are lying in your bed masturbating together."

The fright stayed on her face and she didn't say anything.

"Well?"

She took a peek at me then turned away again, "It will make my dreaming seem more real."

"And do you think I'm really turned on?"

"If you are it's not because of me."

"What do you mean?"

"If you're turned on now it's because we're doing something you've never done before, not because you're doing it with me."

She looked just miserable, more miserable than I had ever seen her. "You don't think it's a turn-on that your best friend ...," I laughed, "wants a piece of you?"

She didn't say anything.

I made a snap decision to go for it, and not just because she so desperately wanted it. I wanted it, too. "Look, I'd really like to experiment with you but I have no idea how that will turn out and it scares me that you'll take it the wrong way. Will you?"

"Will you?" She looked at me for the first time, but with the same painful misery.

"Will I what?"

"Experiment with me." She turned away, as if she was afraid of my verdict.

I knew I was a jumble of emotions and I knew it might be the tipping point in my decision but I did it anyway, I looked more closely at her, studied her: the tantalizing outline of her breasts underneath her sweater; the sexy bulge of her belly and her strangely erotic green panties and I felt a lust rush through me that stripped me of all doubt and inhibitions. I slipped my fingers under her panties and slide along her slick hair to her wet and waiting hole, and when I did she rolled over on her side, slipped her fingers under mine and we stuck our tongues in each other's mouth and we thrashed at each others fingers for a few seconds before we shuddered with long, noisy orgasms — an instant release that we both desperately needed. But it didn't sober me up; when the last spasm passed, I probed deeper into her pussy and licked the spit on her lips — surprised that my sex battery had already fully recharge. "What's next?" I tried to laugh but I knew I sounded more insistent than amused.

"Your breasts."

I have nice breasts, not big, but full, round and bouncy with really nice aeriolas and nipples that I just love to pull: my breasts are nice, like my face is nice, sort of girl-next door nice — proper. Her's on the other hand, which I've never actually seen, are huge so if there are breasts to be exposed they are going to be hers. "You first," I said, and I pulled at her shirt. But she just lay there and looked away, making it impossible for me to remove her sweater. "Are you fucking kidding me!" For some reason this really pissed me off. "You want to fuck me and I can't even see your tits? Sit up!" She quickly looked at me, I guess to gauge how annoyed I was and I guess she knew I was because she quickly sat up and pulled her shirt over her head exposing a really big but really pretty black bra with necessarily wide straps to carry her tonnage. She looked at me again and put her hands behind her back but I stopped her by leaning into her and giving her an approving kiss, "I'll do that," and I sat up on the bed with my knees crossed and I motioned for her to do the same.

Her face looked to me like a blend of fear and shame so I reached out and put my hand on her face, "Relax, jeez, we're experimenting, remember? This is supposed to be fun." Then I put both my hands on her and for the first time in my life felt another woman's breasts, albeit through her bra. "God, why have you kept these a secret? I mean, why? I don't get it — if I had these beauties I'd at least wear a tank top once in awhile. I mean, jeez, look at them — talk about a couple of assets."

"I've never like them, they're too big, they make me look ridiculous."

"Bullshit, they make you look like you — you should be proud of them; women all over the world are getting fluids and jells pumped into theirs to try to get what you were born with." My fingers had been lightly traveling the full surface of her silky bra when I directed my thumbs to her nipples to see if I was having any affect on her. None. "You should be proud of these, Annie, they're wonderful."

"Not to me."

I was back travelling their contours when I thought I'd give it a try. "So, what if I like them, Annie, I mean, what if I really, really like these magnificent tits of yours, would that make a difference to you?" I could see she was really thinking about this. "Would it?"

"Yes." She didn't look a me.

"And if I asked you to wear that tank top you'd never wear or go braless for me, like around the apartment, because that would excite me, would you?"

She didn't need to think about this, I could feel it on my thumbs, her nipples were hard now and remarkably prominent. "Yes."

"And if I was lying on your couch watching TV and I called for you to bring them over, would you do that for me?"

"Yes."

"So if I really like them, I mean really like them, and I do, and I want you to show them off, and I will, does that make a difference to you? I mean, if I think they're really, really great, do you think you will think about them differently?"

Her eyes had glazed over a little now, I attributed this to what my thumbs were doing to her nipples, "Yes," she whispered

"Good," I leaned forward and kissed her lightly while my hands encircled her and I unclasped her bra, then I sat back taking her bra with me. "Woa," I laughed, they were as big as I had imagined but I hadn't imagined the unbelievable huge, unbelievable dark aerolas — they seemed to cover the entire front surface of her enormously pendulous breasts.

She took my reaction entirely the wrong way, "See!" She tried to turn away, but I grabbed her by the shoulders, straightened her out, then forced her down on the bed and I followed her in an urgent need to feed.

I ravenously sucked on her for a few moments then I looked up at her, "Goddamn, Annie, am I ever into this, so get comfortable, we're going to be here awhile," then I nestled one cheek into her soft, hot stomach and I held her breast with both hands and fed her nipple to my lips and I sucked on her like I was starving, I mean, I sucked and sucked and I squeezed and I rode her knee and even when I came, which didn't take long, I still didn't let up, I just pushed my face between those two unbelievable mammaries and squeezed them against me and shut out the entire fucking world and when I finally let them go and sat up I knew something in me, way deep inside of me, had changed.

She didn't move as I sat up and pulled my sweater over my head and when I threw it on the floor and turned back to her I notice my white cotton panties on the corner of the bed. I reached over her and picked them up, dangled them from a finger, "Do you want to recycle?"

It was the wrong thing to say. She must have been a bundle of nerves right then because she turned away, curled her body around her clasped hands and whispered, "God, I'm sorry for that."