tagRomanceLesbian Best Friend

Lesbian Best Friend


Author's note: This is the first story I've published. I've had the idea one Sunday morning and spent nearly all day writing it out. Over the following two weeks, I couldn't leave my hands off it and started moving parts around, adding things and removing others, until it eventually became what it is. I'd like to give my thanks to Selkiegone who helped me straightening out the plot and my characters, as well as my good friend Zafrumi who proofread the piece and encouraged me to publish it. I've made some further changes after my two editors have done their magic, so any mistakes you'll find are mine and mine alone ;) I hope you'll enjoy. Please leave comments, both good and bad.

"I ... beg your pardon?!" I stuttered, the shock evident in my tone. I replayed the sound of her voice in my mind, trying to find the part where my brain could have played a trick on me and made me mishear her. I couldn't find it.

"You heard exactly what I said," Sam said, trying to keep her voice firm.

I had overcome my initial surprise. "Well, I did hear something, but right now I'd rather call the office of paranormal affairs and have them search this place for a glitch in space or time that might alter sound waves than believe what I thought I heard." Oh, me and my speeches. You'll get your ear full of them throughout this story.

"Why do you make me say it again? Do you enjoy seeing me suffer?" she asked as she tried to keep her composure. She didn't fool her friend of seventeen years.

"Excuse me?" I blurted out. "I think repeating yourself will be the least of your problems considering what you've just asked for – if you've actually asked for what I think I heard you asking for."
'There is your easy way out, Sam. Please, take it!' I thought to myself.

I could read the emotions in her big, intense, chocolate-brown eyes like it was in plain writing as she prepared herself to repeat what she had said moments earlier. There was shyness and shame in them – something I hardly ever saw in Sam's eyes.

"Fine," she said and took two deep breaths before continuing, "I want you to ..."

"Lalalalala," I started chanting and plugged my index fingers into my ears, desperately trying not to hear what I was going to hear. Or rather what I thought I was going to hear.

"For fuck's sake, Leon," Sam said in a tone of resignation, "you're thirty-three years old – stop acting like we're still in high school." It wasn't the first time I heard that – she called me incorrigible on a weekly basis.

I tried to be mature. "Sam, you're ..." I stopped, looking for the right words.

"Repulsive?" she mockingly tried to complete my sentence, tilting her head slightly to the side and giving me her best smile.

Repulsive? Sam was the material of every man's wet dream. Five foot seven, flawless olive skin so soft that it begged to be touched, light-brown wavy hair with natural highlights, an angelic face, incredibly long lashes, those big, pretty, chocolate-brown eyes, full lips that always look slightly pouting, C-cup breasts on her slender frame, an hourglass figure that seemed unreal, a tummy and bum just as tight as if she was still sweet sixteen, impossibly long and slender legs, and delicate feet usually wrapped in slutty three inch heels.

Sam was the opposite of repulsive, and that went for both genders.

My resolution to act mature left as quickly as it had come. "I was going to say gay. There, I said it. I know this comes as a shock to you, and I held back for seventeen years, but now seems the right time to tell you the truth. You're gay, Sam. You're into women. The kind with boobs and pussies. The kind that bleeds once a month. In case you haven't guessed it until now, I have a cock dangling from between my legs, and if I bleed it comes from a physical..."

"Shut up, Leon. Just shut the fuck up for once," Sam interrupted, again with that tone of resignation in her voice, "Don't you realise how hard this is for me?" Her eyes turned slightly sad now, frustrated, and still ashamed.

"I'm sorry. I'm being an insensitive bastard, aren't I?" I asked in a low, apologetic voice.

Her lips twitched as she prevented a smile. "You're not a bastard, you know your parents. But I think tosser would be an accurate description."

"Come here, pal." I said, reaching out for her. She moved over the sofa willingly, sat onto my lap and leaned against my chest as I placed my chin on her shoulder and looped my arms around her.

"Now ... Do you mind explaining to me why you need me to fuck you?" I asked.

It was quiet for a long time after I spoke. The silence lasted so long, I started to toy with the thought that she changed her mind so we could drop this subject and continue as we used to be.

We were Sam and Leon. Leon and Sam. We teased each other, we toyed with each other, we flirted with each other, but it was always clear that that was it – and apart from a dare that got her twenty quid, which she split equally with me, we never even kissed. You might think that I felt like the luckiest bloke on the planet because I was the only man to ever have his lips on Sam Wilson's, but I didn't. Not back then, and not now.

Sam was my pal, the best I ever had. I was long past her physical attraction, and I enjoyed the human being inside the beautiful shell. I felt safe with Sam. I could tell her about the girl-trouble in my life, get the female perspective on things which very often is exactly what you need, without having that little nagging voice in the back of your head that maybe, just maybe, the girl in front of which you pour your heart out is also a potential sexual partner and therefore you should watch your tongue. Not Sam. Sam was just Sam to me.

The silence continued, and I reached over to take a sip of diet coke.

"Because I want to have a baby."

That diet coke tried to make its way out through my nose. At least I had managed to keep my mouth closed and hadn't sprayed the nasty black liquid all over Sam and the sofa. She giggled, but handed me a fresh tissue out of the pocket of her jeans.

"You want what?" I eventually managed to gasp, still cleaning myself with the tissue, only to remember her earlier words, "Oh, never mind, I heard you, no need to repeat yourself. Sam, I ... I don't think I want kids."

"I don't expect you to raise it. I can raise a kid myself, Leon. I have a good job, a good income, and there are many single moms out there, it wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary." she countered. It came out like a prepared speech.

"But it would still be my kid. It might get my ugly visage, might suffer my fate to gain three pounds by only looking at chocolate, my overflow of body hair I have to take care of way too frequently, my ..." I paused – why exactly were we having this discussion?

"Come on, Leon, you turned out pretty handsome and you know it. But more importantly you're intelligent, funny and you have a big heart. And I don't feel much of those additional pounds right now. You used to be a more comfy cushion." she said with some amusement in her voice.

Sam always overdid it when she described me. I hadn't fallen from the ugly tree, but I wasn't a hunk either. I was six foot tall, had dark hair, blue eyes, wide shoulders and a relatively athletic body that was the result of countless hours at the gym and just as many sacrifices when it came to food. I showered and brushed my teeth daily, had a standing appointment at the hair dresser every three months and a generally well-groomed appearance – something that comes with working in the City of London. According to Sam, women should practically eat me alive. Only, they didn't. I wasn't completely unsuccessful and usually spent three to six months every other year in a relationship. I figured I just hadn't found the right one yet.

"Then you'd have two people in your life who don't know when to shut the fuck up. You sure you want that?" I exhaled. "Sam, where is this coming from? You never wanted kids. We've talked about this so many times..."

"I just feel my biological clock. It's one thing to say no if you have the option, but when you feel the option slipping from you, it's much harder to stick with your decision." she mused.

"And you ..." I paused.

Sam finished my sentence, "... wonder if this is everything life has to offer. Chasing bitches for a bit of pussy, only to get my heart broken because they eventually discover 'Oh, I'm into dicks after all'. I'm a woman, Leon. There's a big part of my body that is made to conceive and give birth to a child."

"What about test-tube fertilisation?" I asked, not sounding very hopeful. Sam and her doctor phobia.

"To get a stranger's baby? The baby of a complete tosser? Besides, Leon, you know how it takes me a month to mentally prepare myself just to make the appointment at the gynaecologist's. That guy only takes a sample out of my vagina and I'm frightened to death. Guess how I feel if he actually puts something in there!" She sighed.

"So you rather have sex with me? I'd pick major surgery over sex with a bloke!" I countered.

"Well, I wouldn't." Simple enough response.

"Why me? There's a lot of other fit blokes out there."

"Because you're my best friend? Because I trust you? Because the other blokes can hardly keep their tongue in their mouth when they see me? Because they might have STDs?" she argued. Oh yeah, Sam's strongest argument against having sex with guys were STDs. I guess if you're afraid of doctors, it makes sense to be afraid of anything that could make you go to a doctor.

I sighed. "Speaking strictly hypothetically, we'd shag, you'd get pregnant and that's it?" I asked.

She turned her head to look at me with that shame in her eyes. "It might not be a one-time thing."

I was lucky not to have diet coke in my mouth this time. "What? You think you'd fall for me, we'd marry and be happy ever after?"

"No, silly," Sam said in a tone as if I had just claimed the world was flat. "I might not get pregnant from a single shag, it could take a few tries. Plus, studies show that chances of conception are increased if the woman has an orgasm, and as much as I love you, I don't find you very arousing. No offence."

"None taken." I answered. Believe it or not, but the feeling was mutual.

"So, you might end up shagging me several times, stud." Sam tried to tease, but I could tell it wasn't her usual tease. She was way out of her waters.

I did what I always do best – I shoved the emotions out of my head and clung to the numbers. "The chance of getting pregnant is around thirty percent per cycle for a healthy female aged twenty-eight. That's the highest it ever gets. At thirty-three, you're probably in the twenty-five percent area. You're looking at an expected value of two to three tries."

Sam rolled her eyes first – she always did that when my minor in statistics got the better of me – but then gave me a confused stare. "How come you know so much about getting women pregnant?"

I tried to look nonchalant – I remembered very well why I knew that. "I looked it up once."

"And why would you do that? You, of all people, who doesn't want to have kids?" she pressed. Of course she would. Sam knew me just as well as I knew her.

I sighed. "Well, again speaking strictly hypothetically, what if I ever ended up in a situation with a drunk girl who was actually willing to do me, and I realise the only condom in useful distance is in my wallet, has been in there for about three months and shows obvious signs that it's no longer to be trusted. Let's further assume that said girl is not on the pill, her period was roughly two weeks ago, but she urges me to do a coitus interruptus, which I fail to do because I'm drunk and horny beyond believe. So, just in case I ended up in this situation, I'd find it interesting to have an estimate of the probability of having just conceived a baby or gotten an STD."

Sam raised an eyebrow at me. "You're not as smart as you seem to be, are you?"

"I was young, horny, daft, and incredibly lucky." I admitted.

"Who was the lucky girl?" she asked.

Oh lord. See, already things had changed. Fifteen minutes ago I would have enjoyed sharing that story. Right now, Sam was on my list of potential lovers, even though I hadn't accepted her proposal. Wasn't going to accept her proposal. But that impossibility was out of the way. And you just don't share stories of past lovers with potential future lovers.

"Carla Higgins." I eventually admitted.

"You did Carla? The big breasted I-shall-wait-until-I-marry Carla? When was that?"

"About three months after we graduated high school. You have no idea what kind of joy a man can get from the simple words 'I just had my period'." I relived a small amount of the relief I felt all those years ago.

"And that HIV test did come back negative, right?" she checked.

"I'm clean and healthy as a horse. Not that it should matter to you, because we're only speaking hypothetically." Sam gave me a frustrated, yet longing look. I backpedalled a bit. "Are we?"

"I've been thinking about this for over a year, Leon. You cannot even begin to imagine how much courage it took me to ask you this question." Those chocolate brown eyes, the very eyes I couldn't deny anything, started to tear up while staring into mine. "I'm not in a relationship, you haven't been seeing anyone in six months, and I don't even mind if you do other women beside me. I'd just be a friend with benefits until we succeed." Sam paused again and took a deep breath. "Would you do it?"

I sighed and tightened my hold around Sam, turning her around so her back was against my chest. It wasn't fair if she looked at me like that, and I needed to think straight.

"When was your last period?" I asked eventually.

"Monday," Sam replied, "Saturday next week would be a good time to start." Indeed – it would be high season for her fertility. Sam had done her research, just like I had after doing Carla Higgins.

It was quiet for a long minute and I tried to think. I couldn't imagine Sam laying a hand on me in a sexual way. Cuddling? Yes. Anything beyond that? No.

"I'll pick you up 5pm on Saturday, and you'll be home again by Sunday night. I'm not saying anything is going to happen, okay? But it'll give us both some time to think about it, and enough opportunity if we decide that it's a good idea after all." I turned her around to look at me. "No promises Sam, except that we will share a hotel room and I won't bring condoms." Those promises were innocent enough – after all, we had done exactly that a number of times before. Right?

Sam rolled her eyes, before the smile broke wide on her face.

Oh God, what a mess have I gotten myself into this time?


"How fucking stupid am I?" I said out loud for maybe the two-thousand three-hundred-and-forty-seventh time since Sam had left that night. I hadn't been myself the entire week, and I had another five days of this anticipation ahead of me. That mixture of fear, fright, that feeling of being uncomfortable – and what confused me most, lust. I lusted over Sam Wilson, my best pal of seventeen years. All it took her was a couple of words, a couple of looks into my eyes, and she had opened that Pandora's Box I had managed to shut tightly and shove away deep down in my brain.

My male friends had made fun of me countless times on how gay I was that I didn't want to fuck Samantha Wilson's brains out. I usually answered that I wasn't completely cock-driven like they were, and it was true back then. I had never felt lust when I saw Sam.

'Course, that was all out the window now. My cock literally hurt from all the wanks I had with Sam staring in my fantasy. Her lips sucking me senseless, her nipples in my mouth, my tongue up her pussy – and her swaying hips impaled on my shaft with her gorgeous body for my hands to explore in the dim light of a romantic hotel room.

That was earlier this week. Today, my mind engaged in anal sex with Sam. Tomorrow, it might be tit-fucking and I guessed a nice deep throat session was on the agenda for Tuesday. The rest of the week was reserved for threesomes with a couple of her ex-girlfriends. And then, Saturday... oh ... Saturday.

But there was also another picture of Sam in my brain. It was a happy Sam, a Sam with a smile so wide even I had never seen her so happy before. Her hands were on her tummy – make that belly – which she caressed absent-mindedly. She was huge. She still looked gorgeous, almost glowing. Sometimes I appeared behind her and put my hands onto her belly, too. Sometimes she was alone.

The worst part was that I still hadn't made up my mind about what I should do this weekend. Could I trust myself around her? Should I really go? Could we ever go back to the way we were before, or had something already changed permanently? And: Who did she think she was that she put me in this awful position to begin with? Was it her right to risk, make that sacrifice, our friendship, the best thing we had in our lives, only because she wanted something for herself? Because she wanted a child?

I couldn't come to a conclusion because my body and my mind had different goals. My mind desperately clung to the easy-going, trusting friend that Sam was to me. My cock, however, had gotten the memo loud and clear that suddenly this gorgeous creature was available, and the two fought an atomic war inside me which left me rendered useless between wanking and being depressed. The only slightly meaningful thing I had done this week apart from work was refreshing the statistics of conceiving a child. What can I say? I'm a numbers guy.


To say that the week dragged on was an understatement. It would be similar to say that a journey to Pluto was dragging. If I had had the alternative to participate in a five day Sex and the City marathon, I would have gladly taken it.

Pat called me Thursday night. "So, what are your plans for the weekend? We'll go to the pub Saturday night."

"Yeah, I won't be around." I'm going away for a night of mad sex.

"Is there some secret party you're going to?" Pat asked surprised. I hardly ever turned down a night at the pub.

"Nope, I need to catch up with work this weekend. Sorry." I need to plant a baby inside Sam Wilson. You know, the usual.

"You can even bring Sam along, especially if she brings a few of her bi friends!" Pat pressed. Why would he even mention Sam? Was he a bloody mind-reader?

"No idea what Sam is up to, I haven't spoken to her all week." At least the second part was true.

"Alright, mate. If you change your mind, you know where to find us."

Actually, I've change my mind. "Sure thing. I gotta get back to work. Enjoy the weekend."

I checked the weather report, and although it was only May it was supposed to be quite warm. I decided to book a nice hotel down south at the beach. It wouldn't be crowded yet as the main season was still over a month away, and we could work a bit on our tan. Because nothing was going to happen. We would get there, be uncomfortable around each other, watch a pay-per-view movie, enjoy the restaurants, hang out at the beach and check out women's racks, get drunk and chat about how fucked up the world is. Um. Cross that. I wasn't getting drunk around Sam. Not this weekend, anyway.


The entire Friday and Saturday, I waited for Sam to cancel. She had done it plenty of times to go on a last minute date with some hot chick, or she had a bad hair day – on those days I'd just go over to her place rather than going out. Surely, she must have come to her senses by now. Surely, this must all be a practical joke. Maybe she had forgotten about it, since we hadn't spoken since she left my apartment last week. Like I'd get that lucky.

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