Linden’s Story

Sasha and I had been best friends since the fourth grade. We went to primary, junior high, and high school together, so I was more than a little sad when we were forced to separate and it came time for college. I ended up staying close to home, attending the University of Texas at Austin and she went all the way to Amherst College, out in western Massachusetts.

It was a Monday in mid-July when she called me. “I want you to come to the beach with me next weekend,” said Sasha. “We’ve got an amazing beach house, right on the water in Perdido Key. It’s perfect.”

“Who is we?” I asked tentatively.

“It’s just me but my parents might end up coming, too.” I could hear the smile in her voice. Sasha’s parents were the best. They were always so loving and kind and supportive to me, especially during high school when the tension in my own home became unbearable from my parents’ divorce during sophomore year.

“That sounds like fun,” I replied. It had been years since we last saw each other during spring break our senior year of college. Even though we kept in touch over email, texts, and the occasional phone call, it just wasn’t the same as being right down the street from each other like we had been for so long. “Count me in.”

On Wednesday, she texted me with: It’s a good thing you aren’t able to read my mind because you would blush right now.

Then, the day before my arrival, she texted me again: Wear a skirt, my hands are feeling restless.

I knew her well enough to know that was just Sasha; the consummate flirt.

I texted her back with a short phrase we’d said to each other for going on fifteen years: Sure thing, birdie wing.

I finally arrived around mid-afternoon on Friday. As I climbed out of the Uber, the breeze from the ocean teased loose strands of my dark brown hair into a frenzied dance around my face.

“You made it!” Sasha squealed as soon as I shut the car’s door. I had barely turned around before she wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug.

“Here, let me carry your bag inside.”

Without giving me time to protest, she was already halfway up the stairs of the secluded condo that faced the beach. It was magnificent in its splendor. The house was considerably larger than the real estate listing had made it seem, with a huge wrap-around porch and navy blue shiplap covering the walls. It also had a bright white chef’s kitchen and five bedrooms and bathrooms each themed a little differently.

“We have this whole place to ourselves this weekend?” I asked.

“That’s right. Well, until my parents get here on Sunday. We can do whatever we want. And right now, I know exactly what I’d like to do,” Sasha said as she walked over and kissed me.

I was taken by complete surprise. No, not surprise; I was in a stupor. My mind momentarily went blissfully blank. This was Sasha. My Sasha. My best friend. And she was kissing me.

It was a kiss that tasted of salt, of the coconut from her sunscreen, and of fifteen years of shared secrets. It was the same mouth that had whispered with me under blankets at sleepovers, that had laughed until we cried on graduation night, that had told me everything would be okay when my world fell apart. Now it was rewriting our entire history in the span of a single, heart-stopping moment.

Then, a thousand questions jumbled my brain and died in an instant. Is this a joke? A dream? But the pressure of her lips was real. The scent of her sunscreen and shampoo was real. The soft sound of her breath was real.

My entire world didn’t just unravel—it inverted. Every familiar touch, every shared laugh over the last decade, was suddenly recontextualized, glowing with a new, terrifying potential. I had always been attracted to her, a secret I’d tried to keep even from myself. I’d never dared to believe that this could happen.

A voice in my head, thin and panicked, whispered: This could ruin everything.

But a deeper, more visceral instinct screamed louder. It was the part of me that had loved her for years without a name. That part won. I felt my body soften, the rigid shock melting away as I kissed her back.

All I could see was the impossible green of Sasha’s eyes, now looking at me not as her friend, but as something new. Something more.

“I guess I didn’t realize it would be that kind of weekend,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I also didn’t know you were serious about the skirt,” I added.

Her smile was soft, her eyes holding mine with an intensity I’d never seen before. “I have never been more serious about anything in my life, Linden. This has been a lifetime in the making.”

What followed was a sudden, passionate encounter that consumed us completely. Sasha playfully pushed me down onto the couch and straddled me. She brought her hands up, cupped my face and kissed me tenderly. I was still in a state of shock but totally into it.

Then she stood up and grabbed my hand and led me to the first bedroom on the left. She started to undress me, pulling my t-shirt over my head and my shorts off until all I was left wearing was my blue lace bra and matching panties.

“Good lord, you’re so fucking pretty. I’ll bet you’ve got a beautiful pussy, too,” she said with a reverence in her voice that made my cunt ache.

She hooked her fingers into my underwear and slid them down my legs, before she dropped them unceremoniously on the floor. She sat me down on the edge of the mattress, and then spread my legs wide.

“Looks like I was right,” she smirked. Then she lowered her head, and licked a swath of my pussy from my entrance to my clit.

“You taste like warm honey,” Sasha remarked, as a wicked grin crept across her face.

Then she went to town. The way she worked her tongue on me was masterful. It took everything in me not to get off within the first thirty seconds of her sucking on my sensitive nub. Sensing my hesitation, she stopped and looked up at me.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Oh my god, nothing!” I exclaimed as I propped myself up onto my elbows to watch. “I just didn’t want to get off yet.”

“Why the fuck not?” She looked incredulous.

I sighed, “Because it feels really fucking good and I don’t want this to end.”

She chuckled lightly. “You said that like it’s the only orgasm that you’re going to have this weekend.”

I couldn’t help but smile down at her. “Well then, proceed.”

So she did and I couldn’t help but moan loudly as I came. She stood before me, looking radiant; her lips and chin glistened with my arousal.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“I could definitely eat,” I responded.

“Good. Before we venture out, I’ve got a surprise for you. You can put your panties on but don’t get dressed just yet.”

She returned a few minutes later with a box. Inside was a hands free vibrator, designed to secure discreetly to underwear with a magnet. She handed it to me and I nestled it against my clit. She quickly grabbed the remote from my hand and turned it on. I felt a surge of exquisite anticipation sweep through me.

“Alright then. Now you can finish getting dressed. I’ll meet you outside. You’re driving.”

I hastily pulled my shirt and shorts back on, slipped into my sandals and walked outside.

The low, insistent hum of the vibrator was a secret symphony against my skin, a thrilling counterpoint to the crash of the waves and the cry of the gulls. Every step I took toward the car was a conscious effort not to let my knees buckle. Sasha was already in the passenger seat, a picture of casual elegance with her aviator sunglasses and a knowing, smug little smile playing on her lips.

“You look flushed,” she remarked as I slid into the driver’s seat, my grip tight on the steering wheel. “Is the heat getting to you already?” she mused.

“Something like that,” I managed, my voice a bit breathless.

She reached over, her fingers brushing my thigh as she adjusted the remote. The intensity spiked, and a sharp gasp escaped me. “There. That should keep you… engaged on the drive.”

The ten-minute trip to the little seafood shack she’d picked out was a special kind of torture. A delicious, mind-melting torture. I focused on the road, on the stop signs, on anything but the woman beside me who held my pleasure in the palm of her hand. Every time she casually increased the power to make a point about the scenery or a song on the radio, my knuckles went white. I was wound so tightly I thought I might shatter.

We found a table on the rustic patio overlooking the water. Sitting down was a new kind of agony, the pressure of the seat a perfect contrast to the vibrations. I tried to concentrate on the menu, but the words blurred.

“I’ll have the grilled shrimp po’boy and a sweet tea,” Sasha told the waiter, her voice perfectly normal. She looked at me, her eyes dancing behind her sunglasses. “And for my… very distracted friend?”

“The… uh… same,” I stammered, pushing the menu away.

When the waiter left, Sasha leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re doing so well. But I can see it. The way you keep biting your lip. The flush on your neck. No one else knows, but I do. And it’s really fucking hot.”

Her words, paired with another subtle adjustment of the remote, sent a fresh surge of heat through me. I gripped the edge of the table. “Sasha… I’m not going to last.”

“Who said anything about lasting?” she laughed. “Just let go. Get it over with. Right here. I want to watch you try to be quiet.”

It was a challenge and a permission slip all in one. The combination of her green gaze, the relentless stimulation, and the risk of being caught was too much. The climax hit me like a rogue wave, sudden and overwhelming.

I pressed my thighs together, my back arching slightly as I rode it out, silent but for a sharp, shuddering intake of breath. I squeezed my eyes shut, the world narrowing to the pulse between my legs and the sound of her soft, satisfied giggle.

When I opened my eyes, the world had come back into a sharper, more vivid focus. The waiter was placing our drinks on the table. Sasha took a sip of her tea, her expression one of pure, unadulterated innocence.

“Feeling better?” she asked, her toe brushing against my ankle under the table.

I finally smiled, a real, full-bodied smile for the first time since I’d arrived. The shock had worn off, replaced by a thrilling, intoxicating certainty. This wasn’t just a flirty game. This was Sasha. My Sasha. And she had been reading my mind for years.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice steady now, laced with a new confidence. “I’m feeling a lot of things. Mostly, I’m feeling like it’s your turn next.”

The smirk on her face faltered for just a second, replaced by genuine surprise and a flash of desire. The game had officially begun.