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My Friend Karen
I used to see Karen every couple of weeks on the weekend. Usually on Sunday. She lives in Shelbyville and I lived in Christiana at the time, about 20 miles away. She was very low income and barely making it so I would see her and take her out to eat. Afterward, I would take her home and we would talk for a while. When I got ready to leave I would ask her if she needed a few dollars and she would usually say no. I usually gave her a twenty dollar bill anyway. Then we would hug and I'd give her a friendly kiss and go. That was the extent of our relationship until one day after this had been going on for a few months.
One Sunday we had ended up talking about dirty movies. We had been discusing the merits of foreign movies over American. I told her that I prefered erotic over porn. Some of what we talked about included the way we hated to see a man making love to a woman, then finish by pulling out and jerking off in her face. We discussed my pet hatred of seeing a woman giving a great hand or blowjob and then spitting on his pecker. It just isn't lady like. Many would argue that giving a BJ or HJ isn't lady like either but I am not in that category. I admitted to how much I loved a HJ but there are too many ways to lubricate to be spitting on it. I guess it's just me. Anyway, the nature of the conversation along with the presence of a good looking woman was having a definate effect on me. And, as I don't wear underwear, it was becoming obvious. I told her that I'd better get going and made my usual offer of money and she gave the usual answer of "No." As we hugged, I tried not to press against her too much and she noticed. She told me that this is no hug and she pulled me against her. That's when she must have felt my reaction to the conversation. I was a little embarrassed but told her that I would see her later and started to the door. She said,"Wait." She took my hand and led me to the bedroom and told me to lay down. When I did, she took my shoes and socks off, unbuckled my belt and, slowly and carefully, unzipped my pants. Since I dont wear underwear, I really appreciated that slowly and carefully part. She then pulled my pants down. By this time, I am harder than an ex-wife's heart. As she pulled them down and my ten inches sprang out, her eyes got as big as saucers. OK, I'm exagerating here. Her eyes didn't get that big. Wait. I just remembered that I have pictures in here. OK, I am about average in the pecker package. But it did spring out. She pulled my pants off and layed them on a chair, layed on the bed beside me on her left side with her head about even with my waist and proceeded to give me a great hand job. Now some may say that a HJ is a HJ. WRONG. Some women can't or wont give a good HJ. They just grab it and start jerking like they are trying to yank it off. Some will just start rubbing methodically intil it shoots. Karen makes love to your penis. She will rub slowly and lightly, gently squeezing ever so often. She pays gentle attention to the balls at the same time and at some point moves my shirt up from my stomach as not to make a mess on it. She, alternately looks from the penis and into my eyes. She has a way of holding it with both hands like a coffee mug with her thumbs on the backside and at the point between the head and shaft and gently rubbing with her thumbs. That usually does it for me. I usually blow my load at that point. When I did, she told me to wait there and she went and got a warm damp cloth and cleaned me off. As she was cleaning me, I asked her if I could do anything for her. She said,"No. You have been a good friend to me. I know that you are alone and I could tell you needed this. You have done so much for me, this is the least I can do." I told her that it wasn't necessary but I did really appreciate it.
This pretty much became a routine every couple of weeks until I moved away. It never got passed the hand job. She probably felt that anything more would spoil the friendship. And maybe she was right. And anyway, I do love a hand job. Later on, she would take her shirt off and let me play with her boobs (Great nipples and I'm a nipplemaniac) and rub her butt inside her pants or shorts during the HJ but that was it.
One time, during another great hand job, I had something on my mind and she could tell and asked me what was wrong. I told her that I was afraid that she would get the idea that the only reason I see her was for the hand job. She said that she knew that wasn't the case. She said that if she thought that, I wouldn't be getting them.
I haven't seen her in about two years now. I moved away and I think she did too. We just lost contact.
I miss my friend Karen. And, yes. I miss her more than the hand jobs.
End of Story