DWB

'B, this is more than I've ever experienced before. I've never gone this far with any of the silly boys I've gone out with. But I'm 18, and decidedly behind the curve in this area of life. And as you know, I don't like being behind the curve in anything.'

'You're behind my curve.' I joked suddenly, mostly in delirium, and despite myself.

'Ha, true.' she whispered back.

'You know' she continued 'it's funny isn't it. I always imagined that my first...sexual experiences would be fairly run of the mill...fumblings in the dark leading to petting and finally an awkward, possibly painful and likely underwhelmingly quick deed. Almost certainly disappointing...some boy that didn't know what he was doing and would act all weird afterwards ruining it anyway. And I'd never know for sure if they were really interested in me, or you know, Her.'

Again, she meant HG, the object of fantasy of many if not all men, and likely women.

'And these days, with the things we have access to on the internet...you see things that are so much more out there than just run-of-the-mill real-life.'

M was a film-buff in the truest and nerdiest sense of the word. I'd always gotten the sense that she far preferred those imagined stories than real-life, hence her blossoming acting career and floundering social life. Little did I know how far that sentiment actually went.

'It just seems to me that life, real-life is all a bit too predictable. Like a substandard blockbuster film basically, and a lot less exciting. Everything's done in the proper order you know, and it's all a bit boring isn't it?'

'I guess.' I replied, though I really didn't get whatever she was getting at.

'Hey B. I have something to tell you.' She said.

I grunted in vague query, to which she continued;

'I know the password to your computer.'

And that, ladies and gentleman, like hands drifting over your arse, is another good way to focus the mind, which immediately began cataloguing all the things that was possible evidence of my nefarious cyberspace travels...and cursed myself for being too stupid and careless not to better cover my guileless, perverted little cyber-tracks.

Of course, none of us are actually alone in watching the things we watch online. We imagine that no one else we know could possibly stand to hit play on all the bizarre, filthy things that a dark room, locked door and internet connection somehow permits, despite your better self. Even with my limited age and experience, it doesn't take long until you are wading deeper and deeper into the swamp of online porn. Nothing illegal mind, just, wrong, possibly taboo, certainly nothing you would ever admit to, let alone suggest trying with whatever girl actually agreed to let you near her. As with any teenager, I would genuinely have been happy with anything in any way more risqué than a handshake.

'M...I don't know what you saw, but...' I started to try to explain before she cut me off.

'Don't worry B. I'm not judging you. Quite the opposite actually. In fact I'm grateful for the accelerated learning program it provided.' She exclaimed, always the academic.

'But, bare butt, but I guess what I'm saying is that it just seems silly to me that there's all this stuff out there, that we who are willing to look, will do so, and then pretend as though it's nothing that could possibly happen out here in the real world...'

Her thinking was perhaps the only sound in the room.

'Like last night, one of your so-called friends came up to me as we were leaving and, he was drunk of course, and he propositioned me for a handjob of all things...now I'd rather have gone skinny dipping in a vat of ghonorrea than hook up with one your idiot friends, dickhead called me H for Christ's sake. But if I'd said yes and then done anything past second base I would right now be being spoken about as easy wouldn't I? A slut even. Imagine then if my thumb had somehow, even accidentally, ended up where it is now....I would never have lived it down would I? Even if he'd actually asked for it...'

Neither I, nor my foreign thumb-pressed arsehole, could fault her logic.

'So anyway, it seems to me that firstly there's almost nothing that's not natural in this world, and that there's no good reason to feel guilty about any of it. And secondly, and more pressingly, it seems that I am in need of something, namely, hands on experience, and you, right now, are in need of something too, namely relief. And time is of the essence.'

While my hangover addled brain might have prevented me from making any useful point anyway, I still knew that I was better off letting this play itself out than contribute anything that might change the course of the conversation. Finally however, the silence got the better of me...

'What are you trying to say M?' I tentatively asked.

'A rather unusual birthday gift. To us both.' Came her reply as she suddenly grasped harder on my balls and pressed her thumb harder against my puckered arsehole. She grasped, I gasped. I threw my head back and, in all honesty, revelled in the pleasure, despite my complete shock at what was happening. And above me in my line of sight was the view that she had, on the screen in front.

She began to pull on my nutsack and push gently against my arsehole. I did nothing but marvel at the sensation. My hips however thrust involuntarily back into her hand.

'I'll take that as a yes'. M said with an audible smirk. I couldn't bring myself to argue.

'Now please bear, bare butt, in mind that I'm mainly doing this so that we can start MY day...and we, sorry you, need to be quick, firstly because I've got a lot planned for today and you're not getting out of any of it, and secondly because either one of the 'rents could come up here again any second, and I don't think either of us want that do we....?'

That was something I definitely agreed with.

'So go ahead and grab hold of that willy of yours Will' she ordered. 'I would help but I can't film, rub your bum, cup your balls AND toss you off. Come on B, pull your weight!'

M giggled at her word play. I moaned in defeat and reached back and finally grabbed my neglected cock. It felt great to say the least. My hangover concurred. I slowly began to wank my cock.

Moments like this are a hard thing to describe. A scene so weird that no one's imagination could have come up with. And when you're in it, you can't help but wonder if it's even real.

The room was silent, save for my heavy breathing and faint sound of my hand rubbing my cock. M was kind of gently kneading my balls and alternately rubbing and pressing my arsehole. Gently, not escalating in intensity. Like a massage, where I guess the Happy Ending was up to me.

We continued apace, her in in apparent academic detachment, me in pure pleasure. Except I needed some lubrication for my dick. So as with before, I quickly let go and gave my palm a few good licks, before returning to the task of hand.

M seemed to notice what I'd done, and my accompanying heightened pleasure. She was nothing if not observant. What I heard next was the unmistakable sound of M gathering up and then pushing out a wad of spit from her mouth, and straight onto my arsehole! Sweet Jesus!

'Wetter is better.' She narrated, somehow coquettishly.

Her finger new wetted (whetted), pressed just a little harder at my rear entrance. I wondered briefly how clean I was down there...Had I showered since my last shit? I couldn't remember. Either way it felt amazing and I groaned louder than ever before.

'Shhh!' M said sharply. 'The rents!'

I hushed myself as she let go of my balls and began to focus more on her thumb and my bum. Without warning, the pressure increased. More than that though, the angle changed, and suddenly it was moving more and more inwards. The feeling was something I'd never felt before. It was pushing me to the edge, and yet I was torn between wanting to prolong the sensation and hangover relieving pleasure and having the climax wash over me. What to do...

M apparently was in more of a hurry than I was, I heard her put the phone down on the bed. It was between my legs directly below my crotch, facing up to film what was going on just inches above.

'B, open your eyes, look over at the telly.' she said, I think to encourage me along.

I did so and took in the bizarre sight. My hand and cock, her hand and my bum.

I froze at the sight of it. It was the weirdest picture I could imagine -- my hard cock on a big telly, in real time, at an angle I'd never seen before. I'd never thought to chromecast myself wanking before and I wondered to myself why not; it was weird, but most definitely arousing.

M must have been less impressed I suppose, and was apparently equally unimpressed with my having stopped mid-procedure.

'Geez B, it's not a photo.' She said impatiently before adding;

'It's a film. And films need action. Plots progress...inevitably, to a climax.' She said, as if this were her drama class.

And then, fellow audience members, I watched on as another hand entered the frame...curling over mine. And it began to help my hand along.

I. Could. Not. Believe. It.

'Oh my god M that's gonna make me...' I warned her.

'Yes B?' She interjected as she helped me wank myself.

'Gonna make you what?' She encouraged me as I watched in wonder and unbelievable arousal. Her thumb suddenly pressed with considerably more force at my rear entrance, and I simultaneously watched and felt it as it pushed past my sphincter and into me.

'Cum.' I replied with a grunt, and I did exactly that. Erupted would be a more accurate description.

My cock began to spurt rope after rope of cum, and I watched on from the unique angle of the phone. Some of it hit the bed, but, most, amazingly, hit the phone.

It was like an POV facial from the perspective of the girl, the cum flying from the hole in my cock out and into the notional face inches below. A video that I'd never even imagined let alone seen.

On the telly it looked like it had been attacked with PVA glue.

In the aftermath I remained frozen in position panting. I didn't really know what to do. How does one resume normalcy after the weirdest, most erotic experience of one's life so far? And so I just stayed there, lower half naked, on all fours, staring up at the lewdly obscured screen.

And then a whisper from above.

'End scene.'

And the hands and thumb retreated from their positions and the scene above.

I slumped forward onto the bed, exhausted and already feeling my hangover returning. Fucking endorphins. They never last.

As I came down from my high I rolled over, reached down and finally grabbed the covers and pulled them over my lower half. It was now for the first time that I had no choice but to look at M.

She was kneeling on the bed, staring intently at the phone still in situ beside me. Likely processing what had just come, cum, to pass.

What she probably didn't realise that with her being on her knees that I could see her up her skirt to her knickers, a rare sight it must be said. They were light pink, if anyone cares to know.

Finally she looked down at herself, likely not ready to meet my gaze just yet, and realised what I could likely see.

No longer oblivious, I saw her consider the implications of this - a short lifetime of having to be extra careful of just such a thing in the face of gaudy paparazzi.

To my surprise she then looked at me and smiled, as if to say, 'well after everything that's just happened...'

'A rare upskirt.' She commented, acknowledging the moment and fact.

And then, almost imperceptibly, she widened her legs, just a little.

'People would pay a lot to see what you're seeing now.' She added, giving us a mutual reprieve of the events just passed. I was grateful for the opening. Put intended.

'I'm broke. Where's that camera?' I replied with a laugh which she joined in with.

At this, her focus however turned to said camera.

'I think it's out of commission for the moment.' She replied and then added mischievously.

'Shame.'

She then reached out and picked it up, careful to avoid the (my) cum that was almost dripping from it.

This time it was my turn to giggle at the sight of M, long time family friend and famous starlet, handling a cum covered phone, her phone at that!

I was, at least temporarily, feeling a bit better, the endorphins having washed through my body with its climax. The hangover was returning, but at least I could talk somewhat now.

'That was...something M, sorry about your phone.' I said, lacking anything better. 'Not the ending you were hoping for I guess.'

To my surprise she apparently disagreed.

'Are you kidding? What a shot! Both you, and the camera!'

'Might have ruined your phone though.' I commented.

'It'll survive, I'll just go clean it up.' She said and skipped off the bed and into the bathroom.

As my brain was returned to its normal thought processes, suddenly panic began to set in.

'Jesus M we shouldn't have done that.' I groaned towards the bathroom.

'Probably not.' She agreed, as she walked back in the room, smiling to herself.

She regarded me curiously.

'But it's too late for that now isn't it.' She continued, surprisingly less bothered than me at the myriad implications of the weirdness at what had just passed between us. Practical girl that M.

'The immediate question is did it work? Are you feeling any better? Can you get up?' She enquired.

I just nodded, not sure what I could really say to what had just happened.

If anything I was just now worried at the implications of all of this. She seemed to recognise this in my facial expression and said the following:

'Things happen B. We can worry about their meaning and consequences later. We didn't intend for it to happen, and technically I didn't actually touch your...cock, not directly anyway. Technically I just helped test whether endorphins alleviate a hangover. Like any good student of science would.'

I laughed at the absurdity of the argument. But M was just doing that thing she does. Accepting the surreal as normal. We once discussed this very thing, though obviously without the sexual subtext. She'd said at the time that with her life, the fame, the money, the people she'd meet and the places she'd find herself in, being so surreal, that reality becomes what you choose it to be. When faced with an absurd situation, like fame, you just have to decide that this is what's normal for you. And get on with it. That was her mantra. And here it was, in vivid living colour.

'I like technicalities.' She continued. 'They allow for all sorts of things that would otherwise be ruled out. The main thing is that this remains just between you and me, and I assume we can both trust each other on that point, right?'

'Right.' I confirmed.

'Good.' She said in finality, before adding;

'Now. Brekky will be just about ready. We're having waffles! And you'll be dressed and down in just a minute won't you?'

I nodded in dumbfounded assent, and so, frankly, did my dick, which began to tent the sheets somewhat. She looked at it for a moment, with what looked like a curious detachment, but if you knew her this was just a mask to hide whatever she was really thinking, which was anyone's guess.

'You know, you still haven't wished me Happy Birthday B.' She said sweetly, but not taking her eyes off my renewed form.

'Happy Birthday M.' I replied.

'Thanks! Now hurry up and get ready! I can't do everything around here can I?' She said with that devious smirk of hers, her eyes still lingering on my tented sheet. And with that she turned, and simply walked out the door, leaving me lying there in a state of wonder and wondering what the fuck had just happened?!

Now, instead of me basking in the reverie of having just had my first ever, though weird, truly sexual experience with a girl, and that particular girl at that, and in spite of what she had said, my mind was still reeling. What would this change between me and M? Would I have to move out? How was I supposed to act around her now?

These thoughts and many more flashed through my panicked mind, but my hungover mind simply could not process them, and instead my body, now deprived of its precious life-saving endorphins, re-reared its ugly head and sent me tumbling into the bathroom, most likely to erupt the contents of my stomach.

My day's descent, had only just begun.

*****

Chapter 2. Waffles.

Some things in life are just little too much to process. This is true sober. If you're hungover enough then the only thing you can truly concentrate on is minimizing the awful sensation.

And so when I reared myself out bed and lurched onto my feet, the sudden change in pressure went straight to my head, and then my stomach. What followed was a desperate lunge into the bathroom and towards the toilet. The contents of my stomach came up and out of my digestive tract just in time to, thankfully, mostly land in the toilet bowl.

One, two, three, four heaves came out. Eyes closed and watering, nose dripping and the acid taste of vomit in my throat. And then, after the initial purge, the bile came next, awful yellow green slime, and then the dry heaves began. I will never drink again I chanted to myself as I finally curled up in a ball, naked, next to the toilet, taking desperate cold comfort in the cold tiles. Throughout the ordeal however, came flashes of M's voice, her hand, that thumb and phone, until I finally drifted off to sleep.

I came to sometime later, to the sound of the toilet I had curled myself around flushing.

The smell in the bathroom immediately improved and I guessed that someone had finally found me in my pathetic state. I sniffed again and noticed that it smelt instead of food.

I creaked open my eyes and saw directly in front of me a tray of breakfast foods, namely a stack of waffles, covered in maple syrup, and a big glass of orange juice.

It held both the promise of progression out of this hangover, but also the real threat of further vomiting.

'Jesus B.' Came a voice from above. Thankfully it was M and not one of her parents, who would have been entirely unimpressed. Not that she was impressed of course.

'You've really done a number on yourself haven't you. I figured you might be stuck in the shower still, but this is, just sad.' M said looking down on me in a somewhat concerned, somewhat stern manner.

I just grunted in pathetic response.

'Looking good B.' She complimented me sarcastically looking down on me and my naked prostrate form with a curious air.

'You know it's funny'. She mused then. 'How nudity can be both erotic and also the complete opposite, depending on the context.'

I thought that was not very helpful given my current situation, but said nothing.

'Can you eat something? It might help.' She suggested, to which I responded by pushing the plate a few inches away from my nauseous nose.

'Guess not.' she commented.

'Well? What do you need then?'

She sniffed and then suggested; 'How bout a drink? To wash the taste out of your mouth.'

She picked up and offered me the orange juice. I, still lacking the ability of modesty, simply took the glass and took a gulp. Big mistake. No sooner had I done so than it decided to come straight back up again. I reared up onto all fours and let the orange liquid loose into the bowl.

'Oh B, you really overdid it didn't you?' M said, finally showing some sympathy. She patted my back as my head hung pathetically over the bowl.

'Those endorphins didn't last long did they?' she observed astutely. 'You're in for a rough day I'd say.'

Her comforting hand then drifted down my back and grazed over my arse. It felt more in concern than in any type to attempt to arouse me. Like patting my back, but lower.