8 comments/ 25516 views/ 17 favorites For Happy Endings It Takes Two By: Smokey125 October 9th, 9:01 p.m. The doorbell rang. Sara scrambled to the front door and wrenched it open. Her best friend Jake stood outside, bags in hand. "Dude, come on, get in here!" said Sara hurriedly. "It's already on!" She grabbed Jake's free hand, yanked him into the house, slammed the door shut and practically dragged him into the living room, almost detaching his arm in the process. It was one of their regular TV nights together. At least once or twice a week, Sara Kelton and Jake Davis met up to hang out and spend some quality time with each other and with the tube. They alternated who would have whom come over, Sara to Jake's place one time, Jake to Sara's the next, and so forth—in this case it was Jake to Sara's. Their ritual was that the host or hostess would make dinner, and the guest would bring the snacks. Hence, Jake holding the bags with the chips, corn nuts and cheese curls. In the middle of the living room floor sat their sacred blanket. For years they'd simulated having a picnic—inside; neither of them caring much for a visit from hungry ants. They kicked off their shoes and sat—or lay—on this large, plaid red and white tablecloth-looking blanket, remote control never more than three or four feet away. The blanket was an absolute must. Besides making things more comfortable and highly reducing occurrences of rug stains, the blanket held a great deal of sentimental value. Best friends since childhood, and now both at the age of 27, they'd actually been picnicking on this blanket for close to two decades, the tradition having started at Sara's old house by her parents. It was also in the midst of them engaging in other kids' activities, such as pillow fights and tickle fights—which they also still sometimes did as adults. The blanket was starting to get pretty faded, worn and frayed around the edges, but that only endeared it more to them. Sometimes they'd have something expressly planned for their viewing pleasure—like this evening—and other times they'd just channel-surf. They watched everything: movies, sitcoms, sitdrams, reality shows, news, music videos, documentaries, nature/pet shows, game shows, talk shows, talent shows, often just whatever randomly happened to be on. And usually, after a healthy amount of television viewing and a not-so-healthy amount of food, they would both if only for a short time fall asleep on their blanket, more often than not using each other's bodies as pillows. Tonight was a special event, to which Sara'd obviously been looking very forward. A live concert was being broadcast performed by her absolute favorite pop singer, Velette Voxe, who was on tour promoting her latest album. It was just getting underway when Jake'd arrived. Sara'd already laid out supper—some sandwiches and chicken nuggets—by the time he got there. "You're late, bro!" Sara said as they plopped themselves down. "What took you so long?" "Well, excuse the heck outta me very much," chuckled Jake. "They were doing some kind of event at the church, some kinda, I dunno, bake sale or something." "A bake sale at 9:00 at night?" "Well, that's what it looked like. Could've been just a Saturday evening service with food for all I know. Anyway, yeah, lot of people on their way there who aren't exactly our age, and, well, you know how fast a lot of 'em drive." He ripped open one of the bags. "Should've left earlier, I guess." "Ah," said Sara. "Yeah...when did it become a rule that your age and how fast you drive can't add up to more than a hundred?" They piped down as Velette pranced out on stage, illuminated by the spotlight, triggering a deafening collective scream from the first couple dozen rows in the amphitheater where she was performing. She shouted an energetic "GOOD EVENING! HOW THE HELL ARE YA?!!" into the mic to the crowd. Her band, already on stage, launched into the first number, a hit single called "Can't You Tell," from the new album. The audience responded with natural enthusiasm. Sara, who worshiped, idolized and was in utter love with Velette, knew all her songs backwards and forwards, even the demos, outtakes and other rare recordings that didn't appear on her records. Velette wrote a lot of songs, and while she was an extremely talented songstress, it was clear that only the best material available would make it onto the albums. She did let her fans hear some of her better song demos, making them available on the singles, and some of her songs Sara and other fans liked best were actually only early demos and nothing else. Well, future albums were always a possibility. Sara was such a dedicated fanatic of hers, she timed her bites around the music so she could sing along. "Damn, what I wouldn't give to feel those lips on me," gushed Sara during the instrumental break in the middle of the current song. "She is a hottie all right," agreed Jake. "Don't mind if I do myself." "Hey, hands off; she's mine," grinned Sara. "You already have a girl. Besides, Velette's gay." Velette was Sara's hero, on a number of levels. It was Velette who had made Sara realize her own sexuality. Her teen years were incredibly confusing, but once she entered her 20s and Velette Voxe entered the pop scene, there was no longer any question in Sara's mind. Velette also reminded her of some of the other great singers she knew. She had something of an amalgam of Amy Ray's hair, Emily Saliers' voice, Eva Dahlgren's cheekbones and Melissa Etheridge's charisma. And Sara fell for her, drop-dead head over heels. The way she masterfully strummed that lucky guitar, belting out those poetic lyrics, and in that angelic, super-hot voice...as well as the guitar, Sara was unspeakably jealous of that microphone—though probably more envious of the guitar, actually, as it got to go with her everywhere and be played by her every night. And she wasn't just in fan-love with Velette's work as an artist. Any sane red-blooded chick-chaser could definitely fantasize about her, if nothing else. Sara kept a picture of her on the headboard of her bed, and every single night without fail she kissed it, stroked her fingertips over it and gazed at it longingly for a few minutes, unable to erase from her mind the dream of having Velette Voxe, the queen of her heart—preferably naked—in her bed...in her arms...in her mouth... A little voice in her mind whom she hated would repeatedly tell her, "Knock it off; you're being silly. Come on, she's a STAR. She must have THOUsands of chicks—AND dudes—who'd die just to kiss her feet. Forget about her, move on." "I don't WANT to move on," she would tell the voice. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I LIKE torturing myself wanting her so bad?" If she had one wish—other than being able to inhale Velette's tongue and ravage every inch of her idol's body with every inch of herself, of course—she couldn't describe how much she would love to hear Velette sing the old Starship song "Sara" to her. If anybody could sing it more beautifully than Mickey, it'd be Velette. But, she'd hardly ever seen or heard Velette sing a song that wasn't her own, and even if she did cover versions, there were millions upon millions of songs in existence, thousands of new ones created every day. Her chances of having that wish granted were one in a...well, there wasn't a number high enough. She had a better chance of winning the lottery—twice—and being struck by lightning—twice—on the way to cash in the ticket. As for Jake, he'd been dating and starting to get pretty serious with a blonde Danish woman a few years older than he and Sara, named Hanna, who was also very beautiful. In fact, the first time he showed Sara a picture of her, she whistled. Sara would sometimes joke with him, "Y'know, dude, if I didn't love you so much, I might just have to steal her from you." They both really liked their women just a little bit older—Hanna was relatively close to Velette's age. Jake would joke back, "If I didn't love myself so much, I might just have to let'cha." The girlfriend-stealing part was indeed the two of them just kidding with each other, but the love part wasn't. Since being kids together in school, their friendship had only solidified more and more in the last fifteen to twenty years. Like most best buddies, they'd had fights sometimes, but nothing strong enough to overcome their mutual fondness for each other. In fact, seven years ago, when Sara first discovered she was a lesbian, albeit one of the more daunting things she'd done in her life, her pal Jake was the first person she came out to. She was doing some mental nail-biting speculating at his reaction, but as soon as she announced, "Jake...I'm gay," he automatically hugged her and told her how much he loved her just the way she was, no difference, no matter what. She felt a happy smile lift her face. She asked him, just to be sure, "So you don't think that's...y'know, whatever?" Jake's precise answer to this question was, "Oh, babe, are you kidding? Trust me, the appeal of a hot girl's not lost on me!" She laughed. She couldn't believe she'd even been worried in the first place. She'd been a bit apprehensive their friendship might feel a little awkward after that point, but when she realized that Jake wouldn't ever stop being her friend, she became so elated so wanted to cry. She thought, Oh, how could I ever doubt Jake? How could I wonder if he wouldn't still love me? Jake had since held the proud distinction of being her "lesbro." One of the best things about their friendship was that both being gynephilic, they had very similar taste in women, so being out together or alone, they could both keep an eye out to possibly find a cute girl for Sara. As October progressed, though, it was Jake who found himself having something to be apprehensive about. Sara's birthday was coming up in a few weeks, on November 19th, and he was running out of options for something really nice to get her. Realistically, he knew she didn't "expect" anything, per se, as usually hanging out together proved sufficient, and realistically he knew that taking her out to eat or to a movie would be a lovely gift in and of itself. It was just that...well, he didn't know how she did it, but somehow, year after year, Sara always managed to find something to get Jake for his birthday that he never would have thought of, but ending up loving anyway. He wanted to be able to return the favor. And he had done so numerous times in the past, he just really wanted to keep up the pattern of having her open her gift and seeing that unduplicably joyful expression on her face. Even though deep down they both knew the only way he could disappoint her vis-à-vis her birthday was by completely forgetting it. And clearly that wasn't going to happen. Birthdays were a pretty big thing with Jake, as was gift-giving in general. He was very picky and exacting with himself when it came to finding something to give a friend or family member, and when he found something with which he was finally satisfied, it was a really rewarding feeling. All of which was why it was subsequently exasperating—of course not to a lethal extent or anything, just annoying—when he gave someone a gift and was "thanked" with the standard expression, "Oh, you didn't have to do that!" Or the recipient's simple variation thereof. Almost as if rejecting the present, it felt like to him. He understood they were simply trying to be polite and non-presumptuous, but—although he never would—he always wanted to say, "Well, y'know what, actually, I did. See, this is what's called your 'birthday' (or Christmas, or whenever it happened to be), and we've got something known as a 'tradition'..." and so on. Sometimes when the givee expressed this sentiment, he amused himself with the idea of shrugging, saying, "Okay" and yanking it back out of their hands, though he would never do that either. As many times as he kept reminding himself that Sara wouldn't be heartbroken if he couldn't find a monumentally blockbuster gift for her, this thought was followed every single time by, ...but how proud would I be of myself if I did? For this evening, though, he just settled in with her to enjoy the concert. This would be an exceptional evening—for Sara, anyway—in that no matter how much they chowed down, she was totally pumped watching her heroine knock the crowd's metaphorical socks off, and she was going to be unable to sleep for a good long while no matter what. Had the programming been of similarly high significance to Jake, it would natch be he who couldn't sleep for a few more hours. So when it was a little after 10:30 and the concert was winding down to a close, and Jake finally yawned and stretched out to lay down and catch a few 'z's, Sara got up and fetched a pillow to slip under his head, then she grabbed one of the afghan comforters on the back of her couch, draped it over his body and tucked him in, good and snug. She turned the TV volume down, waited for the next song to end, and went to get her headphones. For Happy Endings It Takes Two Usually, during the span of a decent masturbation session, she could achieve either two or three pretty good orgasms, or one big knockout killer orgasm. It all depended on her mood, how much she was willing to tease herself, and her level of concentration. She liked to cover herself up with the comforter up to her neck so that she could pretend someone else's—a specific someone else's—hand was down there setting her vagina on fire. Making believe it wasn't her own hand was palpably kinky and more fun. One day when the inspiration struck, she imagined Velette slipped into her room, took her wrists, pinned them down together over her head with one hand, and was forcefully rubbing and stroking her inside and out with the other hand, holding her down so she couldn't do anything about it, even if she'd wanted to. It proved to be such a spicy fantasy, she now used it virtually every time she wanted that big climactic release. As she built towards the apex, she eventually craved a slight change of...scenery, so to speak, so she found another spot on the disc with a few consecutive seconds of action that turned her on, and set her DVD player on its "A-B" mode here, so that it'd jump back to the beginning of those few seconds and play them over and over again. She loved how convenient technology was. Around the same time, her right hand, which was doing all the work, was beginning to get a little tired, so she reached up to her bed's headboard, behind the lamp, retrieved her vibrator and gave her fingers a little break. Once her vagina told her it was ready, she activated the clit stimulator. Her brain started to lose its grip on the rest of her body. It was a little harder to see the TV screen now that her eyes were pinching shut, then blinking open to blurriness. Her moans loudened as the electric tingle from her vagina started dancing all over the rest of her body in all directions. She slid down from her sitting up position and whapped her head down on the pillow, groaning in wild, giddy excitement. Her entire body itself was starting to pulsate uncontrollably, shaking her bed, making waves in the mattress. Once she could no longer see the TV at all, she did her best to hold a steady picture of Velette in her mind's eye and started desirously chanting her name. "Ve-...let-...fu-...me-...plea-..." she spastically wheezed out. Again, she imagined the vibrator was Velette's fingers. Or perhaps even better, mostly her fingers and also her tongue. The mattress was rising in temperature with her radiating body heat and generating sweat. A mini-wave of passion momentarily drenched her. "Yes!" she declared. "Yes...more...more..." she said to her vagina. "My...GODDESSSSSS..." she strained. "Ve-...lehhhhhtte..." A larger, more powerful wave hit her. "OHYES!" she shrieked. She knew it was upon her now. She saw the next wave coming. It picked her up and body-slammed her on the shore. Heaven's shore. The waves quickly doubled in Vel-ocity, tripled in frequency, and quintupled in intensity. Every forthcoming one next came like Vel-vet heat, drowning her deeper and deeper in marVel-ous splendor, one after another, making her body dance in Vel-lication. Such was the wonderful nature of her orgasm—it was so much for her to take that she couldn't bear it, and also didn't want it to ever end. "VEH-!...LETTE!...Veh-...lette!...V-..." The last of them, finally—the big knockout killer wavegasm—seized her like a hurricane, spun her in its dizzying swell, finally let her go thirty seconds later, and put her out like a light. She was down for the count. She fell dead asleep, the DVD player still replaying over and over. For Happy Endings It Takes Two Of course. And in her arms she was indeed desperately clutching on to...one of her pillows. She miserably shut her eyes, dropping her head on the other pillow with a groan of agony and disenchantment. She let the one in her clutches drop on the mattress, raised an arm and pounded it with her fist. "Damn it!" she grieved woefully as she struck the feather-filled pillowcase. It was too good to be true after all.