Friends Helping Friends

Eric was finally showing signs of snapping out of the blue funk he had fallen into after the split with his girlfriend Pam five weeks before. He had been coming over to hang out with us weekends, during which a lot of beer was consumed and much soul-searching discussed.

We had let Eric choose the play lists on the sound system and often it was mournful country stuff in the Hank Williams genre, but on this unusually warm Friday night in late-May he picked up the tempo to classic blues artists like Bobby Bland. When "Yolanda" came screaming out of the speakers, Eric rose and did some in-place stepping, swaying his hips and yelling the lyrics along with the singer.

Oh Yolanda

Why you forsake me?

Why you just lay, lay, lay my body down?

Oh Yolanda

Why did you leave me?

In this wilderness with no money down

The song was still a lament, but a loud one, raging against fate, and crying out is an improvement over crying in one's beer. Sara and I rose and joined him, turning up the sound. Eric began twisting and turning with Sara, not juking exactly, just stepping up close to her, then backing off, and she doing the same. They both liked fast dancing and were good at improvisational moves with hips and legs. I joined in a little from the side, but mostly watched them. Sara looked at me once, winking while she gestured subtly toward our friend, who was looking up at the ceiling, arms raised, screaming the lyrics, lost in his own reverie.

The floors and walls of our informal country disco literally bounced from the decibels and the pace of our dancing. At one point I went downstairs to get some more beers and saw the floor joists visible in the open ceiling jumping up and down just from the two of them. Activity also increased our body temperatures, and I threw open the windows to get some air movement. We live on a remote road, the closest neighbor a quarter-mile away, and he's an older guy with a hearing aid, so when we crank up the music we don't have to worry about the sound bothering anyone.

Another long and loud number followed, and when it ended we all collapsed on the long sofa along one wall of the parlor, breathing heavily and sweating profusely. I grabbed my T-shirt and pulled if off over my head. Sara adjusted her sports bra, holding the fabric out with one hand, fanning herself with the other, trying to cool off her chest and boobs. Eric chugged heavily from his fourth beer, his eyes focused on Sara's chest over the tilted bottle as he drank. Couldn't blame him, I thought with a flush of pride, since my wife was well-endowed, and so innocently ignorant of how sexy she appeared when she did things like that. Also Eric had been without feminine companionship for a long time.

"Why don't we try out the river," Eric said, as he deposited his empty bottle firmly on the end table. "That should cool us down for the next dance."

"It's dark, and the water's probably too cold," Sara answered.

"Probably not, it's been so warm lately," I noted. "Anyway, it sure would cool us down."

"Onward, brave explorers, in the footsteps of Franklin toward the Northwest Passage," Eric called out, as he rose, swaying a little. He had definitely had some beer. He quickly pulled his shirt over his head, Sara's view seeming to linger on his impressive torso, then paused as he remembered something, and mumbled aloud, "I don't have swim trunks."

"Franklin didn't either," Sara said, with a slight smile, "and he probably pushed the ice floes aside to bathe naked. Are you a lesser man?"

"We could go upstairs, and you could be the judge of that," Eric said, grinning with a leering expression.

"My, my, we have an explorer ready to push his boundaries," said Sara, laughing at the suggestive remark. She did not look away, and the two of them maintained eye contact briefly. Eric looked away first.

"Anyway, you're right," he added. "Trunks don't matter here in our own version of the wilderness, where there's only good friends like you around to admire my magnificent naked body, and it would be too dark for any strangers to be offended even if they were here."

"Onward to glory," I proclaimed, taking Sara by the hand as I rose.

"But you guys are the brave explorers, at home in the harsh elements," she mock whimpered. "I'm just a poor, fragile woman, sensitive to the cold."

Nevertheless, she followed as Eric and I made our way out the door with a few more beers and a flashlight to guide us the short distance over an uneven path to the relatively flat rocks at river's edge. I switched the light off when we were there, and we listened to the night sounds of flowing water, chirping insects and croaking frogs as our eyes adjusted. Which was soon, as a quarter moon had risen.

Eric and I sat down on the rocks to remove our sandals and pants. I rose, lowered and kicked away my briefs, then jumped off the ledge into the water that I knew was only chest deep below the dark surface. Eric followed. Sara was still standing on the rocks.

"Is it cold?" she asked tentatively.

It did feel a little chilly, but we assured her it was as warm as toast. Eric insisted loudly that she "follow your menfolk wherever they lead."

Our eyes had adjusted well enough in the dim moonlight to be fully rewarded by the vision that followed: Sara unclasped her sports bra and let it slide off her arms, her boobs jiggling slightly. Not huge, but well-proportioned, they fit her tall, lithe athlete's body. She then dropped her skirt and slid her panties down her legs, stepping out of them to reveal the dark contrast of her sculpted bush against skin made ivory by the moon. It seemed to me that she did all this provocatively slow but with exceeding grace that would challenge love goddess Venus herself. She stepped to the edge, placing her hands on my shoulders for balance, and leaped nimbly off the rock ledge.

There followed the obligatory scream as she hit the cool water. "It's freezing. You guys are such liars," she said, throwing her arms on top of my shoulders, her legs wrapping around my waist, using me for leverage as she tried to rise above the water as high as she could, her boobs caressing my forehead. However, she soon adjusted, and we all sank down into the cooling water.

Before Long, Eric climbed out onto the rock ledge and opened a beer. Holding it in one hand, he began chanting an old seafaring song, swaying rhythmically as he looked up at the moon. His dick, which appeared a little beyond flaccid, swung back and forth in time with his movements. I did not linger on that view, but noticed Sara observing for a longer period. She sprung up to the rock ledge, letting her feet dangle into the water and craned her upper body to face Eric a couple feet away, or rather to face Eric's cock which was in her line of vision. She then joined him in the song, her high clear voice adding to the melody. I pitched in on the refrain, wondering if our neighbors downriver could hear our production and thought mad sailors had moved in.

"Come dance with the captain, wench," Eric said, bending and extending his hand to Sara. She took it and stood up, and they resumed the dance they had in our parlor, moving back and forth toward one another. That they did so nude made the dance much more interesting, almost provocative. At one point, Sara stumbled a little and had a brief encounter with Eric's slightly swollen manhood. The moonlight revealed that Sara appeared unapologetic and Eric unoffended. In fact, there were broad smiles on both their faces. After that, their steps seemed to bring them closer together, although I did not see any further contact. Eric's swaying dick seemed fuller yet, perhaps a trick of the low light?

Eventually the dance ended, and we all sat down cross-legged on the rocks, much like naked savages probably did in that same spot thousands of years before us. Eric's mood changed.

"I wonder if you guys know how much I appreciate you," he said quietly. "I was so depressed, and you've been like beacons in the darkness."

"We haven't done anything special," Sara said. "You're our friend, and we enjoy your company, just as we always have."

"You've been great -- putting up with my moodiness, letting me vent, even feeding me and providing a room to crash in as an alternative to going home to an empty house -- you've made me feel I'm not alone. I really appreciate it." And then, breaking the solemn mood, added lightly, "Which is why I decided to reward you tonight with an exhibition of my skills in voice and dance, as well as a moonlit view of my magnificent body."

"A wonderful reward," Sara laughed, running her hand down Eric's arm, then leaned forward and put both arms around his shoulders, giving him a brief hug, her bare boobs brushing against his chest.

"I still need reinforcemet. Can we do that again, maybe hold the pose a little longer?" Eric asked innocently as she sat back.

Sara and I both laughed.

We did not let him drive home that night, what with the number of beers consumed. He again occupied the foldout bed in my office.

As Sara and I crawled under the sheets upstairs, I remarked how our friend was coming out of his funk, as evidenced by his dancing and joking with her. She agreed.

"He also seemed a little turned on, judging by what I could see of his anatomy in the moonlight," I said.

"It appeared that way to me too, but you would know better. You guys have known each other a long time, and you've had more opportunity for such observation. Oh, that didn't come out right." We laughed.

Indeed, Eric and I had been friends since childhood, exploring the woods and fields around our homes, and were well-versed in skinny-dipping. We shared an apartment when we went away to college, some ten years ago. Sara became a frequent visitor to the apartment, along with other girls Eric and I dated. It often got a little wild, people encountering each other in various states of undress, and I remembered something.

"You had an observation too," I told her. "When you first met him. You must have been impressed 'cause I remember you running into the bedroom and jumping my bones right afterward."

"Yes, I remember," Sara said, laughing. "He had someone in his room and judging by the state of his physiology he was getting to know her better when he was overcome by a need to pee. He didn't put any clothes on, just ran down the hall to the bathroom while I was coming out of it, and we almost collided. I was almost impaled by his erection. He said something funny to relieve any embarrassment, something like, 'No charge, donations optional,' and I lost it. I laughed so hard. And yes, the condition of his body was an inspiration for what followed with you." She stroked my chest.

"I liked what Eric said before we came up from the river. It shows he appreciates our friendship. And he's starting to come around. It won't be too long before he finds someone."

"I may be able to help with that," Sara said, with a slight smile, still stroking my chest.

I remembered a conversation we once had during foreplay where we excited ourselves by mentioning other people we knew who we found sexually attractive and might enjoy getting it on with. I had mentioned a vivacious, shapely, late-20s blond who was one of Sara's fellow teachers at the middle school. Sara had responded that "Eric turns me on a little."

Was her current statement that she could "help" with his love life meant to be funny or was it her way of telling me something?

"If you want me to clear out for a while and give you some privacy, just let me know," I said, trying to affect a droll expression.

She looked confused for a moment, then rolled her eyes and hit me lightly on the arm.

"Truthfully, me helping Eric that way isn't an unpleasant thought, but it isn't what I meant," she said. "Earlier today I called Joy and set up a tennis date for tomorrow. You guys usually play on the weekend, and if you're not too hung over you could come along. Maybe Eric would like to meet her."

Joy was the lady I had selected during our "who turns you on" fantasy. Because Eric and I often have similar tastes in women, I thought maybe Sara was on to something.

"That lady should be able to fill a void in a broken heart," I agreed, "or at least present another sort of void for my brokenhearted friend to fill."

Sara laughed. "Speaking of filling voids, how about you take care of mine? I got a little horny myself tonight watching you dancing studs wave your flags so provocatively."

Actually, I had only engaged in nude singing, not dancing, so any provocative flag waving had to be attributed to Eric, but I was happy to comply, giving her a deep kiss with plenty of tongue interplay before shuffling down on the bed to employ my tongue elsewhere. She was already wet as well as eager. I positioned myself and gently slid in. She wrapped her long legs around me, and squeezed as I rose and fell, slow and steady. We had been together long enough that our sex could be considered "making love" rather than passionate fucking. To spice it up required using what has been described as that more powerful sex organ -- the brain -- and I started to do so.

"So, sexy siren, tell me more about your plan with Joy. Is she on board with the idea of becoming a surrogate mate for our good friend?"

Sara chortled. "Joy is always on for new adventures. Going by what she shares with me, that includes many of the male faculty plus extracurricular adventures in the community at large."

"I didn't know Joy was such a Paris Hilton. Does she ever test the waters with married men? Just asking out of curiosity, of course."

"Actually, she has shown interest in you. You're not the only curious one."

It would have been impossible for my dick to harden any more than it already was inside of her, but I thought I felt an extra tingle, whether from newly-minted testosterone or a slight contraction of Sara's vaginal muscles.

"And did you scratch her eyes out?" I asked.

"No, I told her you were fair game, as long as she returned you after satisfying her curiosity, and she shared with me any good finds of her own."

Great answer, I thought, while making a mental note of Joy's interest in me.

"As long as we're on the subject, should we discuss a Plan B in case Plan A doesn't work out?" Sara ventured.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well, you sort of brought it up a few moments ago. Eric and I do have a certain chemistry. I admit to having gotten a few tingles from him tonight -- the dancing, the suggestive humor, his boner brushing innocently against my 'lower lips' -- and going by our frequent roleplay talk, you get a little excited at the thought of me getting it on with other guys." She let it hang there, just enough to tantalize my dick a little more, even as I felt a slight churning in the gut.

I had never minded when guys came on to Sara, perhaps because it validated my own good taste in women, and it did not bother me when she flirted a little with some of them. What she said was true -- sometimes I did fantasize about her screwing other guys, and got a little excited by those mental pictures. Weird perhaps, by conventional morality, but I had long since come to the conclusion people overemphasize monogamy. Whether we admit it or not, we all feel attracted to other people from time to time. I get titillated both by thuoghts of screwing someone new and of someone else diddling my woman. Of course, you have to be open-minded and psychologically ready for such adventures or they can unhinge your relationship.

I found Sara's admission that Eric attracted her not only titillating but also non-threatening since if they did get it on he was a close friend who would not try to take her away from me, and I was also sure she loved me enough to stay. It would just be a fling. Sara and I had discussed the subject of screwing around more than once as part of our erotic fantasizing. We got turned on just by talking about it, and neither of us had felt tempted enough to put our philosophy into practice. But was she now seriously suggesting taking the next step?

"I'm not saying we should, and I certainly wouldn't if it upsets you," Sara added. "If all our talk on this has been just been fantasy roleplay, then forget about it and just continue fucking me."

I realized I had stopped thrusting, and resumed. But she also deserved an answer.

"It has been foreplay, and also brain sex, but that doesn't mean the real thing shouldn't happen," I said. "We've never restricted each other. The only rule has been openness. Do you want to have sex with Eric?"

She bit her lip. "Not if it means hurting you. Not if it's going to damage our relationship."

I ran my palm along her brow, brushing a sweaty strand of hair back into place. "Well, it could help Eric," I said. "And as long as you don't like him so much that you decide to leave me, it wouldn't damage us. And yeah, I'll go even farther -- as you have already observed, it would probably excite me if two people I love fuck each other's brains out. Call me a pervert."

"I love you pervert," she said with a big smile while digging her fingers into my back. "And as long as we're being honest, I might find it stimulating if you and Joy got together some time too. Tell you what, let's just keep it in mind. Eric may be delighted with Plan A with Joy, and we can keep Plan B in our heads just to tantalize ourselves."

I lowered my head so we were ear to ear on the pillow, and concentrated on fucking. By this point, I'm sure Sara was fantasizing it was Eric's dick impaling her, just as I was vicariously exploring Joy's moist, warm cave. The excitement spurred me on to a greater pace, and Sara responded by drumming her feet on my butt, which she always did when her excitement picked up. The bed started making a lot of noise, and I hoped vaguely it would not interrupt the sleep of our friend on the floor directly below us. Before long, we both vocalized as we came together.

* * *

Eric and I had a good match, which I managed to win with a hard cross-court strike during our third set tie-breaker. Eric generally has the physical advantage in our sports contests. He is a couple of inches taller with a wider reach and moves more nimbly, which provides an advantage in basketball and racquetball as well as tennis, but he has a slight depth perception problem, which limits his ability to make angled shots and gives me a minor advantage in strategy.

As always, we both went all out, playing in shorts without shirts on this warm spring day. Not having his own gear on hand, Eric wore a pair of my tennis shorts, which were a little tight on him. I noticed Joy looking over a few times, perhaps making subtle appraisals of Eric's physique in between points of a less frenzied match she and Sara played on the adjacent court. Joy might enjoy a game, set, match of another kind with Eric, I thought.

However, while Sara's match-making idea was a good try, it was a no go. We all sat around a courtside table following our games. Joy was her usual vivacious self, hands moving and bust jouncing (no sports bra beneath that thin tennis blouse), long blond hair flowing around her shoulders as her head swiveled. But while he was polite, Eric showed no real initiative in chatting her up. A shameful waste, I thought. Eventually, Joy went home alone.

When we got back to the house, we hit the river again, Eric and I keeping our shorts on this time, and Sara her swim suit so as not to scandalize any fishermen or daytime floaters in tubes and watercraft.

"I think you guys were trying to set me up," Eric volunteered. "I appreciate the effort, but I'm just not up for Joy's enthusiasm. She reminds me too much of Pam."

"Well then, you could have just got laid morosely," I said. Sara almost choked on a swallow of beer.

Eric smiled. "It has been a while, and I don't deny feeling the pressure, but...," he shrugged, "let's just say Joy isn't the one for me, at least not yet. If we did wind up in the sack, all the time we were doing it I'd be thinking of someone else who appeals more. And I don't mean Pam."