Girl Next Door Ch. 01

She looked at me confused and I tried to get my point across, "Flag's flying at half mast." Her look was still blank, so I gave a clearer statement through tightened lips, "I'm not all the way hard."

Her eyebrows shot towards her hairline and she let out a little "Oh." She shook her head then, smiled, and added, "That thing gets bigger?"

I smiled and answered, as always between the two of us, honestly. I glanced down at my member, which was sticking more out than up, as if trying to point the way towards where it wanted to be, "I don't know how much bigger, but it definitely gets harder." I back down on the towel-covered deck chair. She turned the chair next to mine to face me, giving her a profile view and, after throwing her towel over it, sat down as well. I couldn't help but notice that, with her knees just slightly spread, her sex was aimed invitingly at me. It definitely helped to ratchet things up a notch.

I gave the tiniest smile and said, "Ah, Trish, I'm going to have to do a little more than look to make it harder. I don't know if you'd rather look away...?" I trailed off, waiting for an answer.

It took her a moment to realize what I was trying to say, and she gave me a devilish grin that helped matters along all by itself. She shook her head and said, "No, just go on."

I wasn't entirely sure I could go on with her watching, but I tried. I lay back on the deck chair, and started to masturbate. I'm big enough that I sometimes use both hands, and since I was somewhat putting on a show, I decided that was the best way to go. I was nervous, which didn't help, and at first closed my eyes, trying to ignore that she was watching me.

With one hand, I cupped my balls and wrapped finger and thumb around the base of my shaft. The fingers didn't quite meet. As those fingers slid back and forth, the other hand went to work on the shaft, first milking up from the base towards the tip in long, slow strokes. My mind raced even as my hands moved slow. Trish was watching me jerk off. The thought at first almost made me go limp.

Then I continued to think. Trish was watching me jerk off. Trish had pretty much told me to jerk off in front of her. Trish wanted to watch me jerk off. That did it, at least as much as the slow manipulations of my hands.

I was able to open my eyes again, sure now that just the sight of her was not going to kill my hard on, just help it. I needn't have worried. She was sitting there watching in rapt attention. The man who could have looked at a naked girl that beautiful who was watching his cock with that expression on her face and gone soft is a man not interested in the attention of women. I, of course, was very interested in such attention, so the effect was immediate.

I felt the blood surge to fill my member, making me hard and ready for anything. I moved my hand up from shaft to head, but the motion was redundant at that point. I think I did it more for the pleasure and because at least part of me wanted Trish to know what I do to make myself feel good.

I kept one hand playing with the head of my cock, trying to keep myself at the peak of my erection, as I said to Trish, "Now I'm ready to measure." She didn't say a word, just handed me the tape. I put the tape in place again, but that was made somewhat more difficult by the fact that my shaft wasn't stationary this time, but bobbing slightly with my heartbeat. Holding the tape lightly in place, I asked her to read the measurement.

She leaned in to look, and I couldn't watch her move her face in towards it, an unwanted explosion was too likely if I did. I just heard her voice as she said, "Let's see. It's just a hair under 10", I think. Can you hold it still?" I opened my eyes then, and was almost undone by the sight of her, as I feared, but I kept control.

I shook my head, but I don't think she saw me. Words did not come easy at that moment. Finally, out of frustration, I think, and not really considering what she was measuring at the moment, she grabbed me in one hand to steady the bobbing. The result was almost a disaster. I let out a strangled cry just as she said, "There we go, 9 and a half... whoa!" She laughed as she took her hand away, "Um, make that 10 inches."

I think even she realized what had almost happened, and why there was that sudden last minute swell, and she looked a little sheepish, but impressed. She backed away and said, "I think maybe I should let you handle the girth measurement on your own."

I nodded and complied quickly, wanting to get the best possible measurement. I wrapped the tape, marked the relevant measure with my nail, which is what we should have been doing in the first place, I realized without regret at our alternative, and then pulled the tape away, holding it up to her so she could read it at the mark.

She sounded impressed as she read out, "Let's see, a little over 8 inches around." She did her look-up-while-doing-math thing again, and then looked down at me. "That's over 2 inches across. Well over."

She leaned back looking satisfied, fixing herself until she was comfortable on the lounge. She smiled, that perfect, heart-wrenching smile, though this one looked more mischievous than sisterly. She said, "Well, Chris. That settles it. You are, officially, the best hung guy I have ever seen, and probably ever will see."

Then, for no apparent reason, she started laughing. Not just laughing a little, but almost doubled over laughing. I looked at her strangely, and she laughed more. Finally, she calmed down enough to explain, sort of. All she said at first was, "I get it!" Since I think at that point I was looking at her like she had lost her mind, she clarified, "There's only one thing I ever asked you that you wouldn't give me a straight answer to. Underwear."

Then I understood her laughter. It had been a running joke between us for years, since junior high. She said she could always tell if I had gym on a given day by whether she could see the waistband of my boxers. She knew, actually she was one of only a handful of people who knew, that my preference was to go commando, but that I was scrupulous in making sure I never went commando on a day I had to change in the locker rooms. I think what struck her funny was that she was probably the first who ever realized, other than me, that the reason was the exact opposite of what she'd always assumed.

She had teased me, not seriously, but frequently, when she first found out about the underwear thing, that I was too nervous about someone seeing me with the assumption that I thought I was small. I knew I wasn't small, but I still didn't want rumors spreading.

Then, still laughing, she added, "And I get the fight with Marc." It was my turn to laugh then. It was the worst of the few fights I'd ever been in, especially if you went by the level of injury I had at the end. He had been her boyfriend. After the fight he was her ex-boyfriend, which suited me just fine. It had started because Marc was the jealous type, he didn't like any guy around Trish. He was also the jock type, and was a hundred times worse about the jealously around his football buddies.

One night Marc had started getting on my case about the time I spent with Trish. My, truthful, answer was that she was like a sister and she lived next door, how exactly was I supposed to not spend time with her. He wasn't happy, but wasn't quite dumb enough to test which of us had Trish's greater loyalty. The fight started because of his comment at what should have been the end of our verbal argument. He had looked at me, six inches taller and twice my weight, and said, "You know what, little boy? You're just not man enough for me to have to even worry." And I'd laughed in his face.

Yes, I know that was not a bright thing to do but I couldn't help it. The end result was the most thorough ass-kicking of my life, with me laughing uncontrollably through half of it because of the ridiculousness of the situation. Trish had only been able to stop the beating by threatening to call the cops. I would never tell her why I laughed at him.

Lying naked on the deck of her pool, laughing in the August heat, that day seemed very far away indeed, especially when I got that lip-biting look from Trish again. I could only imagine what was going to happen next.

She looked me over, her eyes settling on my still nearly fully erect member and she said, very matter-of-fact. "I think you need to take care of that. Because there's no where you're stuffing that monster, as is, back into your shorts."

The way she said "you need", I realized that, despite the one brief touch, she was not offering further assistance. I tried to hide my disappointment behind the veneer of our usual, easygoing relationship, and just nodded, with a smile.

When I answered verbally, "Yeah, I think you may be right about that one." I propped myself further up on the deck chair and said, "I can go inside to the bathroom..." But her expression topped me.

Her words were soft, "If you'd really rather do that." She was giving me an option this time. Go finish myself off in private, or right there, with her watching. I chose the gutsier option.

I laid back and started working my shaft again as I watched Trish. She surprised me, and I think it was the greatest shock of the day. Still watching me, she laid back on her chair, and her hands started roaming her body. She started at her thighs, fingers tracing lightly over bare skin, and then gliding up over that flat stomach to the curves of her perfect breasts.

Her fingers caught her nipples and twisted them, rolling them back and forth for a while as my hand slid up and down my own shaft. I could only imagine what it would be if my hands and hers could switch places. Her fingers spent a long time on her breasts, and I was keeping a slow rhythm as I watched her. I did not want to lose control, and end this prematurely. Her fingers glided down then, tracing lines across her stomach until they reached her sex.

With one hand, she spread herself open, giving me a view I had dreamed of, but never hoped for. With the other, she slipped two fingers deep inside herself, her thumb resting on her exposed clit. She started working herself with her fingers, slowly at first but building, ever building. She took a longer time with the build up than I expected, and I had to rein myself in repeatedly.

Eventually though, long after I would have finished myself, if I wasn't trying to coincide with her, she picked up the speed until her hand was almost a blur. She was not gentle with her own sex, her fingers flying as she built towards orgasm. I sped up too then, the sight was just too erotic for me not to. She made little noises as her breathing sped faster and faster. Nothing that could be called a word, but they had unmistakable meaning.

Every sound was like a lightning bolt to me, and the lightning rod was the piece of flesh my hand was rapidly working. Her breathing sped more, until the little noises she was making were nearly continues and then, suddenly, her body bowed, thrashing on the deck chair. Her eyes never left me though. I wasn't even sure if she blinked. She was watching me with the same intensity I was watching her, and the sight of her orgasm was more than enough to set my long delayed climax off.

I had just enough presence of mind to make sure I was pointed away from her so she wouldn't get splashed. To say my climax was strong is not enough. I know that with a rifle, the longer the barrel, the faster the shot travels when it exits. I don't think the same is true for the human body's nearest equivalent, but that day it just might have been. My first shot arced over my own shoulder, with successive shots diminishing until I had a line of sticky white goo from my shoulder down to my crotch.

I was totally spent, but my brain was still buzzing as my cock shrank down as much as it ever does. Trish looked at me with a little smile and, without another word between us; we both went to get cleaned up, her to her house, me to mine. I worried at the time what change this would mean between us, but it was not nearly as bad as I feared.

Some things did change, some did not. I was still was there to comfort her late that summer when her boyfriend of the moment broke it off so he'd be a "free agent" when he went off to college, she was still there when I needed to figure out what clothes did or did not get packed off to come to school with me, and we both cried the day that, for the first time in our lives, we were going to be apart for more than a two week family vacation, as we went off to two different colleges.

Other things did change. Though we stayed as close as we could in two different schools, and my roommate teased me that I spent more time on the phone with Trish than he did with his girlfriend back home, certain topics didn't come up between us after that. I think she finally realized that it had hurt like an open wound every time I heard the details of her failed relationships, and that there were certain things that, as a guy, I really can't sympathize with well.

Our day on the pool deck was not repeated. Oh, we used that pool, but somehow the rest of that summer it was rarely just her and me in the pool, there was always another friend there, and I don't think any of them ever realized they were playing chaperone between two people who'd always been like siblings.

But that day was not the end of our story. It can't be said to be the beginning, either, but it was a definite turning point. I thought, at the time, it would be the peak of our friendship, that from there on, it would always be there between us, and we'd never be as uninhibited around each other again. After all, she knew for the first time that I saw her as more than a sister, and I knew for the first time that I was, in her eyes, no longer just her friend, but a guy.

I was wrong about how things would turn between us, though at first it seemed I was right. Just how I was proven wrong is another story entirely. One that I will share, in time.