Give & Take Among Friends

“I’m going to be away next week. I need you to do me a favor — shag Rachel.”

I blinked. When he called earlier to confirm our Sunday afternoon tennis game, Eli said he would ask a special favor after the match, but it’s not every day that your best friend asks for such an unusual favor.

“So you want me to service your wife,” I responded with a grin, taking it as a somewhat lame joke, as I packed away my racket.

Eli shrugged. “The operative word is not ‘want.’ I’m just being realistic. I’m going to be away the entire week. She’d never last — has to get it every three or four days at most, if not from me, then from someone else. I prefer it be from someone I like who is bug-free, which I’m pretty sure you are,” he added, with a smirk.

“You’re not serious about this?” I asked, incredulous. Well, maybe not incredulous, since neither Eli nor Rachel were Puritans, but even so this was a stretch.

“And you must be getting pretty desperate yourself around now.” Eli wrapped his hand around the shaft of his tennis racket and pumped it up and down.

He was right about that. It had been a week since Lila had flown to California to visit her sister. With my girlfriend gone so long I was indeed feeling the pressure.

“Yeah, I can appreciate what Rachel will soon be going through,” I admitted. “but this is still an unusual request.”

Eli was usually available to provide the services Rachel demanded on a regular basis. In his faculty position at a university a hundred miles away, he was able to schedule classes and other duties into long three-day work weeks, bunking at the apartment of another instructor. The rest of his week was usually passed with Rachel at their home, which was near Lila’s and mine in a rural area. Occasionally, however, his presence was required on additional days of the week.

While Rachel faced sexual deprivation during his absences, Eli need not. Relief was waiting in the form of one or more attractive co-eds who needed extra help to pass his courses and to show gratitude were willing to provide a few “favors” of their own on a foldout couch in his office. Rachel knew about Eli’s extra-curricular activities. Eli often joked about his “students so eager to learn,” and Rachel laughed along with Lila and I. He said his stories served to “juice” Rachel, spicing up their love life rather than putting it on ice. They both preached modern attitudes and “open” relationships. But while Rachel seemed tolerant of Eli’s sexual wanderings, he was less comfortable when she did the same.

“It’s not so much that I object to her fucking someone,” Eli said. “I just don’t want her picking some dork who doesn’t know a condom from a water balloon and would invite the rest of the biker gang to the party. She doesn’t realize how good looking she is, and she’s a bad judge of character. She might get in over her head.” After a pause, he added, “Or she might call up some old boyfriend stiff who would be almost as bad as the Hell’s Angels.”

He was probably referring to Mike, who lived in a small town close to us. Rachel had spent a night or two hundred with him in days gone by. I did not consider Mike to be a particularly bad guy, but Eli could not stand him, probably because they had been arch rivals before Eli and Rachel married, and he suspected Mike was still an occasional factor in her life. Romantic triangles have some sharp points that produce lasting pain.

“I’m going to wear her out tonight before I leave, and don’t need you to be there every night,” Eli said, “but just drop over Wednesday or Thursday, when she’s likely to be pretty horny again, and if she needs anything, take care of it.”

I was still dubious, asking, “Who knows if Rachel even wants me to provide stud service?”

He smiled. “Oh, I don’t think we have to wonder about that. You two often scope each other out, and with Lila away so long she knows you have to be pretty horny by now. She’ll think it perfectly natural if you come on to her.”

Admittedly, more than once there had been suggestive body language from Rachel. Her shapely boobs and butt sometimes brushed against me, often followed by a smile and full length eyeball appraisal, which stoked my ego and occasionally caused some stiffening between my legs, as was happening now just talking and thinking about this situation. Beautiful Rachel exuded sensuality, and I had fantasized about coupling with her several times.

The fantasy almost played out once at their house. Eli had gone to sleep early, while Rachel and I stayed up talking, and wound up in a brief clinch featuring passionate tongue interplay and wandering hands. But I broke away, my conscience getting the better of my libido. Eli was my best friend, I told her. She countered that because of that he would cut us some slack. But I still said goodnight and went home to Lila, who remarked afterward I was “extra hot” that night.

After I left, Rachel jumped Eli’s bones to work out her own frustration. I know that because I felt bad enough at having made out with Rachel to make a confession to Eli a few days later, taking full blame while emphasizing it was a minor offense. He already knew. Rachel had told him about it. He said she was disappointed I had not provided full service, but thanked me for priming her, saying it led to great sex. He was not at all annoyed. I was relieved, and realized Rachel had been right. I did have some slack, and they really did have an open marriage.

“You certainly can’t consider this favor too odious,” Eli said, bringing me back to the present unusual situation.

“It won’t affect our friendship if you know I hooked up with your woman?”

“I told you, I’d rather it be you than some stranger, or some asshole I don’t like,” Eli responded. “In fact, it might even be a turn-on. She loves to talk about her past liaisons — in detail — often while I’m inside her pounding away. It spices up our love life.”

By this time, I was fully hard. “Okay, you sick prick. I’ll drop over there, and see how it plays. If she’s in heat and willing, then…” I shrugged.

“She’ll be glad to see you.” He smiled.

“I’ll get a pack of condoms,” I volunteered.

“You don’t need to. You’re clean, and she’s on the pill and been well behaved since her last STD tests.” After a moment, he added, “It could even be a rush knowing some of your stuff might still be in there next time I’m injecting her.”

“You’re even kinkier than I thought,” I told him.

 

* * *

 

There was no way I would have lasted until mid-week. In fact, after that conversation, and handicapped as I was by my absent girlfriend, I felt the need to relieve myself in the shower upon getting home. Thinking about the potential rendezvous, I relieved myself again Tuesday night. It was almost a prerequisite considering how excited I was at the prospect of banging Rachel. I try to be adequately prepared the first time with a new woman. There is no greater disappointment than premature ejaculation, unless it is a limp banana.

I have a great deal of flextime in my job, and Wednesday was a light day. Driving over to their house with a semi-stiffy, I resolved to tamp down my expectations in case Rachel was not receptive. I had concocted a small untruth as an excuse for being there, and to give both of us a way out of the situation if the vibes were not right. I had thought to dress in tennis gear with my racket in the car.

When I pulled in the driveway, she was outside working in her flower garden, looking very fit in a tight short skirt and halter top that complimented her ample bosom.

“Eli asked me to check if you needed anything while he was gone. How about a tennis game?” I asked innocently.

“I’m fine, and can’t keep up with you on the court, but as long as you’re here, I could use a hand with the gardening,” she said, smiling. “I was wondering how I was going to get that peat over here.” She indicated some large bales by the garage.

I stripped off my tennis shirt and hauled over the dusty bales, broke them up, and volunteered to dig and hoe at her direction. As I worked, Rachel knelt on the ground, putting in plants, affording me a nice view of her barely constrained boobs. When she changed position, standing and then stooping over to firm soil around a plant, there was another treat — a scenic view of her booty as it peered out from the short skirt. A couple of times I caught her glancing at me, male ego whispering that she was admiring my arm muscles and washboard middle, and maybe the slight prominence in my tight tennis shorts.

After an hour or so we had things wrapped up to her satisfaction. “Pfew, it is so hot — that’s enough for today,” she said, wiping sweat from her pretty brow and smoothing some damp wet blonde strands back into place. “Want a beer?”

“Won’t say no,” I replied. In fact, I was thinking how nice it would be to cool off. “How about we take a couple down to the river, and maybe dip in?”

She was receptive to that, and we set off with a six pack. Their house was across the road from a farm field that sloped down to the river. Eli and Rachel were on good terms with the property owner, who did not mind them using it. We followed a grass road winding through tall corn and were soon out of sight of the road. In a quarter-mile or so we came to the stream, where the bole of a large fallen tree at water’s edge provided an ideal seat. We kicked off our flip-flops, put our feet in the cool water, twisted the caps off a couple of bottles and made small talk.

“Eli always disappears when I need help in the garden, not to mention other needs,” she said, eyebrows arched, adding in a mock plaintive tone, “I’m sure he’s getting by fine at the university, buoyed by all the eager co-eds that need his help.”

I laughed, and mentioned one of Eli’s funny stories about giving “special instruction in various mathematical positions” on the fold-out couch in his office, his student crying out in ecstasy that he was “the best — the best instructor” she had ever had. Remembering the story, Rachel laughed too.

She asked how I was bearing up with Lila gone. I allowed as I was surely missing her, it being 10 days now. She smiled sympathetically. She looked absolutely sexy: Shoulder length blonde wavy hair, smooth tanned skin, luscious lips, pert little nose and scant garments. She was fully endowed, curving in all the right places, maybe a head shorter than me.

It didn’t take long to open another pair of brews. A nice buzz set in, I noted the day was still hot, and suggested we go in the river.

“I should have thought to put on a swim suit,” she said, frowning, but immediately flashed a coy smile, adding, “well, there’s no one here to see us. We can just strip down and go in butt naked.” She pulled her halter top off, her freed boobs bouncing agreeably, looking even better out of confinement than they did partly wrapped.

“Sure,” I agreed, trying not to show my eager appreciation of the enhanced view. My shirt was already off, and seeing no need for more modesty, I stood and started undoing the belt to my tennis shorts. We both sort of raced to see who could get naked and into the water first. Her skirt was off about the same time as my briefs hit the ground. We both had dark sunglasses on, so it was difficult to tell where the other person’s eyes were fixed, but although I held my head as if I was looking past her toward the river, and she held hers as if she was looking past me toward the woods, I was taking in her fine form and sculpted brown bush just as I was sure she was appraising my natural assets. She had an agreeable smile on her face.

I was managing to tamp down my excitement, but my maleness was still in what might be interpreted as a semi-swollen state. This might have been slightly embarrassing, but I rationalized that she had never seen me naked, so for all she knew this was my normal flaccid state and I had what would be a foot-long when it became fully engorged, in which case I was a man to be admired.

She held out her hand, and we helped balance each other as we stepped barefoot into the cobblestone river bottom. She leaned heavily against me, making little “oohs” and “ohs” at the feeling of the stones and cool water temperature, her left boob brushing my forearm. Soon we were fully immersed. “Oh, it’s getting deep, I’m falling,” she said with a playful shriek, grabbing onto my shoulders and encircling my waist with her legs. Her boobs pressed against my chest as I felt her snatch brushing against my belly. I put my arms around her back to better support her.

“Am I too heavy?” she asked.

“Course not,” I answered. “You’re a featherweight on land, and in the water you’re light as a sunbeam decorating a ripple.”

“Hey, that’s poetic,” she said.

“Occupational hazard of all journalists.”

We maintained the position for a while. My dick started to expand as her closeness heated the cool water, and soon was making its presence known against her submerged cheeks. I felt a tinge of embarrassment and tried to think of something light to say, but Rachel beat me to it. Feigning fright, she said, “I think I’m being touched by an eel down there, not a snapping turtle, I hope.” We both laughed as we looked into each others eyes. Our lips were just inches apart, and it seemed only natural that they should meet. The kiss started out slowly but quickly built, our tongues entwined.

Yet, even as I became more excited, “This is my best friend’s wife,” echoed in my brain. Perhaps that registered somewhere in a tongue synapse because, as if she could read my mind, she broke off the kiss and said, “This is where I lost you once before. You’re not going to fink out on me now too, are you?”

“I’m a bit of a moralist,” I conceded. “You told me last time Eli wouldn’t be pissed if we got into something, but I was too worried to listen. This time I’m inclined to believe all is cool,” adding after a short pause, “I sure want to believe it.”

We locked lips again, and stayed that way a while, tongues entwined, teeth mashing. What brought us out of it was voices calling from further out in the river. “Oooh, that looks like fun!” There were two guys in a canoe about 30 feet from us, just drifting with the current as they took in the spectacle. I smiled, as Rachel sank further down in the water, submerging her boobs.

“Aw, boo, you’re spoiling the best view we’ve seen all day,” one guy said, affecting disappointment. I laughed, and seeing that the guys were harmless, Rachel surfaced above boob level again to cheers and a whistle from the canoe. She put both hands above her head in a victory wave, which resulted in more accolades. The floaters lifted two beer bottles in a toast before drifting on down the river and disappearing around the bend, although not before cranking their heads around for a couple more appreciative looks.

“I’m starting to get chilly,” Rachel said. “Let’s get out.”

We made our way back to the shore. As she gradually emerged from the water, I had an unobstructed view of her fine figure, and this time did not try to disguise where I was looking. The pleasant vision did nothing to discourage my erection, allowing Rachel to continue her own appraisal. It now became evident that I was not a foot-long, but I have always felt I had little to be ashamed of in the size department, and she seemed to agree.

“Very impressive,” she murmured. “You’re right up there with Eli.” Affecting the deep voice of a well-known male actor of yesteryear, she added, “It’s a contender.”

I laughed, and sat down on the tree bole, slightly embarrassed. Instead of sitting, Rachel kneeled down in front of me, eyes still fixed on my equipment. She reached out and wrapped her hand around the shaft. I felt a surge of pleasure. She held it a moment, then leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the knob. “Yes,” I cried out silently inside my head. Soon she was licking up and down the shaft, before taking it fully in her mouth again, slurping up and down in a rapid rhythm. The pleasure and excitement washed over me like the river, and soon I was thrusting, trying to match her motion.

When the first indication came that I was building to a climax, I remembered that I was not here solely for my own enjoyment, but to service my friend’s wife. “Whoa, slow down,” I gasped, and she released my dick from the warm embrace of her mouth, looking up, puzzled.

“Lay down on the log and let me return the favor,” I suggested.

It had been a big tree. Its trunk was a broad one, most of the bark worn off, leaving a smooth surface. Rachel smiled at my suggestion, and eagerly complied, her back on the log, legs spread apart, feet on the sandy soil. I lowered my head to her pleasure dome, and massaged her clit and pussy lips with my tongue. “Oh, that’s good,” she moaned softly. After working her exterior a while, my tongue entered her moist snatch. I noted that not all the moisture there was river water. The salty taste was a turn-on. After a while tonguing her, Rachel gently pulled my head up by the hair.

“Sixty-nine is a nice number,” she said.

I lay on my back. She straddled the log, her pussy in my face, boobs on my belly, and I felt her lips close once more around my shaft, an immensely wonderful sensation. We continued to pleasure each other. Before long, she paused her sucking to moan and gasp, finally vocalizing in pleasure as her body convulsed. I could feel the contractions on my tongue, even as there was a greater flow of salty fluids.

As her orgasm subsided, she resumed her duties, and began working me even faster, as I did with her. In a while, I felt her body build to climax again, although this time she did not stop what she was doing. She convulsed, muffled groans escaping around the object filling her mouth, which brought me to the edge. I managed to gasp out a warning that an eruption was near, but she just moaned out a muffled “go for it,” as she continued her wonderful activity. I soon was pumping surge after surge of hot white cum into her mouth. She took it all in, continuing to massage me gently with her lips until there was nothing more. I was amazed at how well she performed, knowing just when to lighten up. Soon we were both just lying there together, her muff surrounding my still tongue, my softening dick in her mouth.

Finally she came up for air, disgorging my prick as she swung one leg over me and rolled off the log onto the sandy river bank. I became aware of a knot pressing into the small of my back and sat up. She was just lying on her back, staring skyward. Our eyes met, but we did not say anything for a while. Imperfect words only spoil a sublime experience. We simply smiled at one another. Finally, I stuck my hand out to help her up from the ground and back onto the log, where we sat close together. I put my arm around her and lightly brushed dry sand off her back as she leaned her head against my shoulder.

Finally, she spoke.

“You have earned yourself a good dinner.”

“I need one,” I replied. “For some reason my energy level has fallen.” We both laughed. “If those guys in the canoe wanted a good show, they were a few minutes too soon,” I added.

She laughed again. “For all I know there may have been a whole armada floating by. I was so busy I wouldn’t have noticed.”

We looked at one another and kissed briefly. I could taste a hint of salt this time, and wondered idly if she had swallowed or spit when she rolled off the log. It made me a little squeamish to think I was tasting my own cum.

We went back in the river to wash off the sand and sweat, sat on the log again to dry for a few minutes, then slipped on our bottoms, picked up the beer bottles and began making our way back through the field toward her house. Rachel did not bother to don her halter top, and her boobs jiggled agreeably. We meandered slowly, leaning into one another, hands joined. Even with passion exorcised, it felt great to be close to a woman again, I reflected, even while feeling a little guilty that it was not Lila I was enjoying the afterglow with.