Unexpectedly, our brief conversation over lunch soon led to me becoming even better friends with Chioma than I had been with Nneka. She was always a ton of fun, despite her ADHD, and nowhere near as intimidating. Unlike with Nneka, I never even considered making a move on Chioma.
Sure, I admired the way she looked in the microscopic clothes she always wore, but we got so comfortable with each other so quickly that thoughts of dating never even came up. Even when she finally broke things off with that loser Musa, we just stayed the course as friends.
The tighter I got with Chioma, the tighter I got with her friends. And what friends they were…
Kike was a naturally beautiful tomboy with a lithe, lean body. She was far more frank about her sexuality than anyone else I knew. The first time Chioma introduced me to Kike outside of school, she was wearing a t-shirt with “YES THESE ARE MY BREASTS” printed across the bust.
Kike was the biggest baddie I knew, but her real passion was dancing. She poured every bit of herself into her dancing, and all that effort had sculpted her body into a thing of beauty. I saw a few of her recitals, and she was incredible. There was a graceful, feline sensuality to her movements.
But one thing kept her dreams of dancing professionally in check. Well, two things, I guess. Apparently most professional dancers don’t have Kike’s breasts. She joked that nobody in the world would hire a C-cup dancer, “Unless it’s on a pole.” I promised her that, if I were ever to own a dancing company, I would ONLY hire dancers with C-cups or bigger.
Then there was Zainab, who embodied classical movie star glamour. Perfect soft, round face and big, piercing eyes. She was feisty and flirty, and a bit neurotic about her hair and makeup. Whenever we all went somewhere, she would, without fail, be the last one ready. Our school’s resident “drama club actress,” Zainab had played the lead role in every school play since she was a fresher, pissing off the older girls in drama club to no end.
Ever since kindergarten, Zainab had been best friends with Sandra. Like all great pairs, the two of them were different in almost every way. While Zainab was only a few inches shorter than I was, Sandra barely reached 5’2″. Zainab was dark in complexion, but Sandra had very fair skin. Zainab loved the spotlight, Sandra was shy as a mouse.
About the only thing they did have in common was their bra size, 34DD — a running joke that tended to make Sandra smile whenever it came up. While the taller Zainab rocked her curves in groovy proportion to the rest of her frame, on short little Sandra those boobs looked positively humongous. As a lifelong “breast man,” Sandra’s breasts made me practically drool, but she was really self-conscious about them, choosing to dress much more conservatively than her friends.
Despite being beautiful enough, Sandra’s quiet, good-girl nature caused her to often be overlooked by guys more interested in outgoing easy types like Chioma or Kike. This lack of attention gave Sandra the ridiculous notion that she was “the ugly one” in the group, something that drove me insane. Aside from being a regular feature in my sexual fantasies, she was the kindest, sweetest, most thoughtful person I knew, and she had no business being insecure.
Before that year, all of us had been in separate cliques, but when we started hanging out together, things just worked. We found that rare, perfect group dynamic. Our differences made every conversation more interesting. I always say that the longer a person spends with people exactly the same as they are, the dumber they become. It’s like inbreeding your personality.
To my great surprise, I learned that, of my beautiful new friends, only Kike and Chioma had any serious sexual experience. Even professional cock-tease Nneka had never gone further than letting a guy feel her up, and Sandra had never even done that. My adolescent assumptions about these gorgeous women with their wild, wanton sex lives evaporated when I got to know them all as a group of regular, cool people with the same frustrations and anxieties about sex as every teenager.
Pretty early into our friendship, Kike took it upon herself to get me into shape, and I must say she made the typically miserable task of exercising a lot of fun. Running laps around the park actually became a treat when I was running behind her, watching that impossibly fine ass stretching her tight little shorts. Over time, my body filled out with some nice, lean muscle definition.
I asked all five girls to take me shopping so I could replace my wardrobe. Instead of dropping the money from my holiday job on video games, I saved up for some decent clothes. After some female advice and a few trips to the mall, I started to look like a grown man.
As the only male in our group, the babes teased me incessantly. But it was always good-natured and no sane man would complain. Occasionally, however, the line between platonic friendship and sexual curiosity would blur ever so slightly.
Somehow, the stars had aligned to make all five girls somehow single during those early months of our friendship, so when I would be hanging out alone with one of them there seemed no harm in us snuggling up on the sofa to watch a movie, our hands gently roaming each other’s bodies, always careful to avoid direct contact with the naughty bits. It was pleasantly arousing, but never overt enough that things felt weird between me and the girls afterwards.
One time, this innocent snuggling led to me giving Nneka a prolonged massage. I worked my hands up her back until she asked, “Could you undo my bra? It would feel better.”
I swallowed, throat tight. My hands were actually shaking a little bit as I blindly reached beneath her shirt and fumbled with the hooks. My awkward fumbling must have been pretty obvious, because Nneka sat up wearing a grin.
“Have you never taken a girl’s bra off before?” she asked. I shrugged, wishing it could be anyone else in the world having this conversation with me. Nneka turned away from me, helpfully lifting up the back of her tank top to reveal the heavy-duty strap beneath her shoulder blades.
“Here, let me show you.” She demonstrated the clasp for me a few times, then said, “Now you try.”
My mouth turned to cotton while I imitated what she had done, unclasping the garment from her back. Suddenly unsupported, her substantial breasts dropped to their natural slope, and my eyes dropped with them. Nneka cast aside the enormous bra and turned to me, breasts the size of melon swaying braless, hidden beneath her tank top. I wanted her so bad it hurt.
“There, now you’re an expert.”
My eyes were glued to the fabric tugging across her curves. Nneka glanced down at her breasts, cocking her head to the side. “Akin?” she asked coyly, “Why do you like my boobs so much?”
“I don’t know,” I sighed, raising my gaze to her eyes, “Why do you like teasing me so much?”
Nneka opened her mouth to say something smartass, but the seriousness in my tone of voice must have changed her mind. Instead, she lowered her voice to a whisper and answered, “I don’t know. I guess because I’m not really good at anything else. I’m not good at art, I’m not good at sports, and my CGPA’s such a joke I might not even graduate.”
Nneka was usually the most confident person I knew. Even that small show of vulnerability couldn’t have been easy for her. I brushed a hair from her eye and pulled her close for a hug, saying, “You’re good at tons of stuff. You’re funny, you’re friendly, and you’re really easy to get along with. And yeah, you’re excruciatingly sexy. Look, don’t worry about graduating! School is the one thing that I’m really good at, and I’m not gonna let you fail.”
Nneka hugged me back as tightly as she could, letting out a deep sigh. “Sorry, I got all serious like that.”
“Anytime, Nneka, you’re my friend.”
“Is it cool if I keep teasing you?”
“Yes, Nneka, it’s very cool.”
She grinned, wicked as ever. “Good, then you can finish my back rub!”
With that, she laid down on her stomach and hiked her shirt all the way up to her neck, revealing a slender back and a pair of magnificent breasts splashed out to the sides of her body.
I believe I actually groaned at the sight.
As the school year progressed, I made a real effort to prove myself wrong about my presumed zero per cent chance with the opposite sex. I asked other girls in my class out on dates, and a few of them even said yes. That’s when I started experiencing some of the downsides to hanging out with the hottest babes on campus.
My handful of relationships never lasted more than a couple of weeks. It was always the same story: no matter how much I liked a girl, she just couldn’t get over feeling intimidated by my bevvy of gorgeous friends. Girls always got weird about my social circle before I could even get past second base with them.
One truly awful girl broke things off with me on New Year’s Eve, leaving me dateless when midnight rolled around. It may sound silly, but I had never had a chance to ring in the New Year with a kiss, and I had been really looking forward to that milestone. My five beautiful friends all tried to cheer me up by kissing me after they had kissed their own dates, but it wasn’t the same.
I wanted to be somebody’s first choice, not a charity case.
The situation pissed me off, but deep down I could understand. On some level, that girl was right to be jealous. Even though I wasn’t romantically interested in any of my five friends, I hardly ever fantasised about anyone else.
It didn’t matter if I was dating another pretty girl, or if I had just bought pornography—whenever I was in the mood, I would inevitably picture myself with one or more of my friends, pounding away while they wrapped their supple legs around me—or better yet—squeezed their massive breasts around my cock and tit-fucked me into oblivion.
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