I've always had to live in the shadow of my best friend. He's more popular with women than I could ever be. Females I couldn't dream of ever getting gravitate to him at first sight. He gets particular pleasure out of the fact that ex-girlfriends of mine--who want nothing to do with me and won't return my calls--still text him regularly, anxious to reconnect.
Recently I let him drag me to one of E-town's hottest nightspots, where I was to find myself outshone by him once again.
"THAT'S what you're wearing?" I exclaimed, as we queued up outside the club. My best friend was clad in his favourite black leather jacket, collar turned up. His hair was slicked back, and he was wearing his trademark Ray-Bans.
"You look like James Dean or something." I snorted.
"You're lucky you didn't say 'like something from Jimmy Dean', or I'd have punched your lights out." he retorted.
We had only been in the queue for a few moments when beautiful young women started recognizing my companion. Before long, they were all a giggles, snapping photos of themselves with him on their camera phones. The hubbub quickly attracted the attention of the bouncers at the door, who--recognizing my friend for the local quasi-celebrity that he is--ushered us in the VIP entrance.
Inside, it was more of the same. Gorgeous young women swept past our table, flirtatiously slipping their phone numbers between his fingers. He fanned the slips of paper in front of his face like a hand of cards, clearly enjoying the attention.
A beautiful brunette struck up a conversation with me. We were getting along famously, and I was working up the courage to ask her to dance. Instead, she blushed and begged me to introduce her to my tablemate.
"I'm sick of being your wingman." I complained, after my best friend had collected yet another phone number. "Why can't women treat me as a person, instead of just using me to get to you?"
My friend drained a martini sent over by a statuesque blonde who was now attempting to get his attention.
"There must be more meaningful relationships out there." I mused.
"There are." he replied. "Let's go."
We swept out of the parking lot in my best friend's Buick Roadmaster. The sedan was breathtakingly gargantuan, much like its owner. Our destination: Classix on 118 Avenue.
Parking the Buick in the small lot behind the east-end studio, my best friend prepared to go inside.
"I'll leave the keys in the ignition in case you want to listen to the radio." he offered.
"No." I replied. "Take me in with you!"
"I don't know." He looked doubtful. "Will you behave yourself?"
"Absolutely not." I replied.
"Fine, then." he grinned. "Come on in."
Inside the studio, we were met by a hostess neither of us had seen before. She introduced herself as Barbie, and my friend replied for both of us. She was fairly tall, with short blonde hair in a cute cut. She was clad in a pink babydoll dress with a black bikini top beneath.
"Let me do the communicating for both of us." my friend insisted, as the beauty led us into a room. She spent a moment discussing prices and options with us, and my friend chose a package on behalf of both of us. She then started us a warm shower.
As we lay on the bed after a relaxing scrub, Barbie returned. She began a powder massage, although both of us were disappointed that she didn't disrobe at that moment.
"Wake me when her top disappears." said my friend. "I'm going to catch a quick nap so I can be fresh for the main event."
Barbie and I engaged in a friendly conversation as I savoured one of the best massages I have received in recent memory. Her touch was vigorous and firm, and I felt deeply relaxed. She is truly skilled at what she does.
After a generous amount of time, Barbie asked my friend and I to roll over. He woke up just in time for the two of them to introduce themselves to each other.
"What did I miss?" he whispered to me.
"She just gave me the most unbelievable massage on my temples!" I exclaimed. "The stress just melted from my body. And she even massaged my hands and fingers!"
Barbie began teasing my friend, and you could tell he was enjoying every moment. To my surprise, I didn't feel the slightest bit of jealousy as the two new friends romped and played. Barbie was persuaded to doff her top, revealing two adorable little breasts behind the bikini.
To my friend's delight, Barbie buried him in her mouth. I could see he was going absolutely wild. Just when he was reaching the edge, she paused to tease and tantalize his two friends. Then she slipped him back past her tonsils. This was followed by more teasing and tantalizing.
Mount St. Helens had nothing on my friend when at last the big moment arrived. He let go with such force and fury even I got caught up in the excitement. Barbie appeared surprised and delighted that her efforts had met with such life-changing results.
All too soon, our session came to a conclusion. My best friend insisted on giving Barbie several wet, sloppy kisses in parting. When at last we were back in the Roadmaster, he was so overwhelmed he could barely grip the wheel.
"Wow! What a way to spend an evening!" I exclaimed. "Is your life always this exciting?"
"Not like this." he conceded. "This was something special."
As the big Buick engine roared to life, I could only agree.
Recently I let him drag me to one of E-town's hottest nightspots, where I was to find myself outshone by him once again.
"THAT'S what you're wearing?" I exclaimed, as we queued up outside the club. My best friend was clad in his favourite black leather jacket, collar turned up. His hair was slicked back, and he was wearing his trademark Ray-Bans.
"You look like James Dean or something." I snorted.
"You're lucky you didn't say 'like something from Jimmy Dean', or I'd have punched your lights out." he retorted.
We had only been in the queue for a few moments when beautiful young women started recognizing my companion. Before long, they were all a giggles, snapping photos of themselves with him on their camera phones. The hubbub quickly attracted the attention of the bouncers at the door, who--recognizing my friend for the local quasi-celebrity that he is--ushered us in the VIP entrance.
Inside, it was more of the same. Gorgeous young women swept past our table, flirtatiously slipping their phone numbers between his fingers. He fanned the slips of paper in front of his face like a hand of cards, clearly enjoying the attention.
A beautiful brunette struck up a conversation with me. We were getting along famously, and I was working up the courage to ask her to dance. Instead, she blushed and begged me to introduce her to my tablemate.
"I'm sick of being your wingman." I complained, after my best friend had collected yet another phone number. "Why can't women treat me as a person, instead of just using me to get to you?"
My friend drained a martini sent over by a statuesque blonde who was now attempting to get his attention.
"There must be more meaningful relationships out there." I mused.
"There are." he replied. "Let's go."
We swept out of the parking lot in my best friend's Buick Roadmaster. The sedan was breathtakingly gargantuan, much like its owner. Our destination: Classix on 118 Avenue.
Parking the Buick in the small lot behind the east-end studio, my best friend prepared to go inside.
"I'll leave the keys in the ignition in case you want to listen to the radio." he offered.
"No." I replied. "Take me in with you!"
"I don't know." He looked doubtful. "Will you behave yourself?"
"Absolutely not." I replied.
"Fine, then." he grinned. "Come on in."
Inside the studio, we were met by a hostess neither of us had seen before. She introduced herself as Barbie, and my friend replied for both of us. She was fairly tall, with short blonde hair in a cute cut. She was clad in a pink babydoll dress with a black bikini top beneath.
"Let me do the communicating for both of us." my friend insisted, as the beauty led us into a room. She spent a moment discussing prices and options with us, and my friend chose a package on behalf of both of us. She then started us a warm shower.
As we lay on the bed after a relaxing scrub, Barbie returned. She began a powder massage, although both of us were disappointed that she didn't disrobe at that moment.
"Wake me when her top disappears." said my friend. "I'm going to catch a quick nap so I can be fresh for the main event."
Barbie and I engaged in a friendly conversation as I savoured one of the best massages I have received in recent memory. Her touch was vigorous and firm, and I felt deeply relaxed. She is truly skilled at what she does.
After a generous amount of time, Barbie asked my friend and I to roll over. He woke up just in time for the two of them to introduce themselves to each other.
"What did I miss?" he whispered to me.
"She just gave me the most unbelievable massage on my temples!" I exclaimed. "The stress just melted from my body. And she even massaged my hands and fingers!"
Barbie began teasing my friend, and you could tell he was enjoying every moment. To my surprise, I didn't feel the slightest bit of jealousy as the two new friends romped and played. Barbie was persuaded to doff her top, revealing two adorable little breasts behind the bikini.
To my friend's delight, Barbie buried him in her mouth. I could see he was going absolutely wild. Just when he was reaching the edge, she paused to tease and tantalize his two friends. Then she slipped him back past her tonsils. This was followed by more teasing and tantalizing.
Mount St. Helens had nothing on my friend when at last the big moment arrived. He let go with such force and fury even I got caught up in the excitement. Barbie appeared surprised and delighted that her efforts had met with such life-changing results.
All too soon, our session came to a conclusion. My best friend insisted on giving Barbie several wet, sloppy kisses in parting. When at last we were back in the Roadmaster, he was so overwhelmed he could barely grip the wheel.
"Wow! What a way to spend an evening!" I exclaimed. "Is your life always this exciting?"
"Not like this." he conceded. "This was something special."
As the big Buick engine roared to life, I could only agree.
