That time the stud(lesbian) homie with the fat ass wanted to try dick. [MF]

You know how some nights just have a certain electricity to them?

Like the air itself is humming a tune. It was one of those nights years ago. Humid Ass southern summer, the kind of sticky that makes your shirt and balls cling to you and the Hennessy feel like holy water going down.

Me and Z were posted up on my couch, the worn-out leather groaning every time one of us shifted. The glow of the TV painted our faces in blues and oranges as Ken got his ass handed to him by Chun-Li for about the fifth time. Juri was my main but it wouldn't be fair to use my girl Juri on Z. She was lowkey trash.(if you're reading this and you play street fighter drop your main in the comments)

antway Z was my dawg. My ace. The kind of friend you could call at 3 a.m. to help you bury a body, no questions asked--well, maybe one question: "You bring the shovel or should I?"

She was a stud, through and through. temp fade haircut so clean it looked like it was drawn on with a protractor. Boosie wishes his fades we're as crisp as hers. She had a collection of tattoos snaking up her arms, and a swagger that could make straight girls question their whole life choices. I once saw her get a bitches number infont of her man. She had a silver tongue fr.

But under the baggy tee and the basketball shorts was a body that was just--a violation. A crime against nature. Her ass was so fat it had its own gravitational pull, a perfect, round masterpiece that the gods clearly spent a little extra time on. The only reason I wasn't hard around her half the time was because she was the homie. Things were strictly platonic. Like for like a 6th month stretch, all the pussy I got was because she was my wingman.

this night though we were high aa hell. We was laughing, shit-talking, passing the bottle back and forth. The air was thick with the smell of weed, my lavender-scented plug-in, and the faint, sweet scent of the cocoa butter she always used. It was just another Tuesday.

Until it wasn't.

She paused the game mid-combo, letting Ken just stand there looking stupid. The silence felt loud after the constant noise of digital kicks and punches.

"Yo," she said, her voice a little lower than usual. She wouldn't look at me, just stared at the screen. "Can I ask you something weird?"

I took a long pull from the bottle, the Henny warming my chest. "Z, you once asked me if I thought a Transformer could get a speeding ticket. There ain't no weird with us. What's up?"

She finally turned to me. Her dark brown eyes, usually so full of jokes and mischief, were serious. Vulnerable. It was a look I wasn't used to seeing on her, and it made me sit up straight.

"I ever tell you about ol' girl I was messing with? Jasmine?"

I nodded. "The one who cheated?"

"Yeah. Her." She sighed, running a hand over her fresh fade. "We was talking one night, and she said some shit. And idk man that shit fucking with your boy"

"Damn nigga what she say?"

"she Said I couldn't really know how to please a woman 'cause I ain't never been with a man. Said I didn't know what a dick felt like, so how could I really get it? She was talm bout how I know I'm gay fr if I never had no dick. "

I felt a surge of anger for her. "That's some bullshit, Z. She was just trying to hurt you. Nigga you been gay forever. She ain't the stud gatekeeper. "

"I know, I know." She waved it off, but her eyes told me it had landed. "But it got me thinking. Just... curiosity, you know? Like, what's the big deal? Is it really all that different?" She finally locked her gaze on mine, and the air in the room shifted. It went from comfortable and platonic to something sharp, electric, and dangerous. "I was just thinking... if I was ever gonna try it... I'd wanna do it with a homie. Someone I trust not to be on no fuck shit."

My heart hammered against my ribs. It felt like that moment on a rollercoaster when you're at the very top, just before the drop. A mix of fear and exhilaration. I looked at her--my friend, my family--and all I could see was the raw curiosity in her eyes. And yeah, I saw that ass too, and my dick, the traitorous bastard, gave a silent, respectful salute.

"Z," I said, my voice coming out hoarse. "You serious? This ain't the Henny talking?"

"Nah, man. I'm serious." She bit her lip, a nervous habit I knew well. "I just... I wanna know. And I trust you."

Those 3 words--"I trust you"--did me in. That wasn't about sex. I felt like i had a responsibility to make this good for her. I set the bottle down on the floor, the glass clinking softly. I reached out and put my hand on her knee. Her shorts were soft, and I could feel the solid muscle underneath.

"Okay," I whispered. "Okay. We can do that."

The space between us crackled. The friendship was still there, a solid foundation under our feet, but something new was being built on top of it, brick by terrifying, thrilling brick. I leaned in, slow, giving her every chance to back out. She didn't. She met me halfway, and our lips touched.

It wasn't a hungry kiss. Not at first. It was cautious. Curious. Her lips were soft, tasting of honey-flavored lip balm and Hennessy. I could tell she was used to leading.

Then, she made a soft noise in the back of her throat, a little hum of approval, and parted her lips. That was all the invitation I needed. My tongue swept into her mouth, and the kiss deepened, turning from curious to demanding in a heartbeat. Her hand came up to fist in my dreadlocks, pulling me closer, and I groaned. This wasn't Z the homie anymore. This was a woman exploring a new world, and she'd chosen me to be her guide.

I've had few moments in my life I've felt as happy being chosen.

I pulled back, breathless. "My room," I rasped.

She just nodded, her eyes dark and wide. She was panting like she ran over here.

My bedroom was a mess of clothes and books, but in the dim light from the hallway, it felt like a sanctuary. I watched as she peeled off her shirt, revealing a grey sports bra that did its best to contain her full breasts. Her skin was the color of rich coffee, a canvas of swirling tattoos that told stories I already knew.

The story of her twin didn't make it.

The story of her favorite anime character.

The story of all 3 of her deceased grandparents.

She was built solid, strong from playing ball all her life but with curves that were pure, unapologetic woman.

"You good?" I asked, my voice soft.

She gave me a shaky, cocky grin. "Never been better, nigga. Just... take it slow. Show me what it's all about."

"Bet."

I didn't rush to get her naked. I started with her hands, kissing her knuckles, her wrists, the inside of her elbow. I wanted to map her body with my mouth, to worship every inch of her. I worked my way up to her neck, nibbling and licking at the spot just below her ear, and was rewarded with a sharp gasp. Her head fell back, giving me better access. I could smell her--that cocoa butter and her own unique, musky scent, a smell that was pure Z. It was intoxicating.

I unhooked her bra and let her breasts spill free. They were heavy, full, with big dark areolas, perfect eraser nipples that were already hard. They looked like this was their default state. I took one in my mouth, suckling gently, and she whimpered, her fingers digging into my shoulders. Thank god she kept her nails short.

"Fuck," she breathed out. "Okay. Okay, I see."

I grinned against her skin and moved lower, kissing my way down her stomach, over the waistband of her shorts. I knelt before her, pulling them down over her hips, over that incredible ass, revealing a simple pair of black cotton panties. They were already damp. The sight, the smell of her arousal, sent a jolt straight to my groin. I was hard as a fucking rock.

"Z, you sure?" I asked one last time, my voice muffled against her stomach.

She didn't answer with words. She just reached down, threaded her fingers through my locs, and pulled my head down. Message received.

I peeled her panties off and tossed them aside. Her pussy was beautiful. Plump, neat, with a perfect, glistening clit peeking out. I didn't hesitate. My tongue went straight to work, lapping at her, tasting her. She tasted like honey and heat, pure and clean. She cried out, a sharp, surprised sound, and her hips bucked against my mouth.

"Oh, shit," she gasped. "Wait--what--oh, fuck."

I chuckled, pressing my tongue harder, circling that little nub of pleasure, flicking and teasing. I loved this part. Loved feeling a woman come undone under my tongue. Her stud persona melted away, replaced by pure, raw sensation. She wasn't Z the homie anymore; she was just a woman on the edge of pleasure, and I was the one taking her there. Her moans got louder, deeper. She was chanting my name, a broken prayer between gasps. I wondered how we would ever look at each other after this.

"Please," she begged, her voice thick. "I'm--I'm gonna--"

"Let go," I murmured against her. "I got you."

And she did. Her whole body tensed up, her inner walls clenching around nothing, and a wave of clear, sweet fluid coated my tongue. She screamed, a raw, uninhibited sound of pure release that probably woke my neighbors. I held her hips steady until the last tremor faded, then slowly licked her clean, savoring the taste of her.

She was panting, her chest rising and falling, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. She looked dazed, wrecked in the best possible way.

"Holy shit," she whispered, looking down at me with damn near blown-out pupils. "So that's what that's like."

"You ain't never got your pussy ate before", I teased.

"Not by a man. You the first nigga to ever touch me like that. It's different"

I grinned, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "That's part one. You ready for part two? I hope the rest will be just as...eludiating."

She rolled her eyes with a smile.

"You big word using, word of the day calendar, having an ass nigga"

I just grabbed my dick through my jeans with a cocky smirk. It had the intended effect.

Her eyes flickered down to the bulge in my jeans, and a new kind of curiosity lit her face. A hint of nervousness, but mostly determination.

"Yeah," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "I want to feel it. Inside me."

My heart hammered. I stood up and stripped out of my own clothes, letting her watch me. Her eyes traced my body, lingering on my cock, which was twitching with anticipation. I grabbed a condom from my nightstand drawer--always be prepared, that's what my pops taught me--and rolled it on.

I laid her down on the bed, her dark skin a beautiful contrast to my grey sheets. I settled between her legs, her thighs warm and strong on either side of my hips.

"Talk to me, Z," I said, my forehead resting against hers. "You tell me if you need to stop. Anything."

"I won't," she breathed, her hands coming up to cup my face. "Just... do it."

I positioned myself at her entrance, her pussy still slick and swollen from her orgasm. I pushed in, just the tip at first. She gasped, her eyes flying open wide.

"Whoa," she whispered. "That's... fuck. That's full."

I moved slowly, sinking into her inch by agonizing inch. She was so tight, so warm, gripping me like a velvet fist. It was the best feeling in the world. I watched her face, reading every flicker of emotion. There was surprise, a little discomfort, but overwhelming it all was a deep, consuming pleasure.

Once I was all the way inside her, I stayed still, letting her body adjust to the feeling of being completely filled.

"You good?" I whispered.

She let out a shaky breath and nodded. "Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Now move, nigga."

I laughed, a raw, guttural sound, and started to move. Slow at first. A deep, steady rhythm. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper. The bed started to creak a steady beat under us. Her moans started again, low and husky. They weren't the high-pitched cries from before; these were deeper, a sound that came from her core.

"Oh god," she panted, her head tossing on the pillow. "It's hitting something... deep inside..."

"That's your G-spot girl" I grunted, picking up the pace. Her pussy was so good I couldn't even talk my shit.

The energy in the room was primal. It was skin slapping against skin, the wet sound of our bodies meeting, the chorus of our groans and pants. I felt her muscles start to tighten around me again, her second orgasm building fast. The sight of her, completely undone, her tough exterior shattered by pleasure, was the hottest thing I'd ever seen. It pushed me right over the edge.

"I'm cuming, Z," I bit out, my thrusts becoming frantic, desperate.

Her back arched off the bed, her eyes rolling back as she screamed her release, and that was it for me. I exploded, a wave of pure fire flooding the base of my cock, my whole body shuddering as I poured myself into the condom, roaring her name into the crook of her neck.

We collapsed together in a heap of sweat, limbs, and exhaustion. For a long time, the only sound was our ragged breathing. I rolled off her, my body feeling like a live wire, and pulled her into my side. She rested her head on my chest, her hand tracing idle patterns on my stomach.

The silence wasn't awkward. It was comfortable. It was us.

Finally, she let out a little puff of laughter against my skin.

"Well," she said, her voice still husky. "My shit is officially rocked."

I chuckled, dropping a kiss on the top of her head, feeling the soft texture of her fade. "So... verdict?"

She was quiet for a moment, and I could feel her thinking.

"It was... a lot," she finally said. "It's different. Not better or worse than with a woman, just... different. More... invasive. But in a good way, tonight." She lifted her head and looked at me, a real, genuine smile on her face. "You did good, my nigga. Real good."

I grinned. "I aim to please."

She snuggled back down. "So... you think you're gonna turn me straight?" she teased.

I laughed, the sound rumbling in my chest. "Nigga, please. You're the gayest person I know. You could suck 100 dicks and you'd still be gay. "

"Damn right," she mumbled, her voice already getting sleepy. "Still... thanks for letting me borrow your dick for a bit. I don't wanna suck 100 but maybe I could suck yours sometime if you into that. "

" Yeah, for sure. But I'ma warn you now. If you use teeth, you gotta square up," I said, pulling the covers over us.

We both laughed a warm laugh. It was familiar. It said without words we're still us even if we fucked.

It was just us, Me and Z. Just a couple of homies, lying in a messy bed, smelling of sex and Hennessy and trust, with a new secret, a new story, tucked away between us.

The night was still humming, but now it was a softer tune, a lullaby of a dumb decision that turned out to be one of the best a nigga ever made.