Consolation Prize (Part #1)

Artie tries to console his sister's best friend who is experiencing a tough time in her life. Then, to his surprise, it suddenly turns into a sexual encounter.

[Author's note: This is another story that had been posted on this website a few months ago, but it was later taken down because it violated the new rules established in mid-May. The necessary tweaks were made so it now meets the proper standards.]

My name is Arthur Harrison. Few people ever call me Arthur. Instead, I go by Artie. For years my sister’s best friend was Sally Davidson who lived just half a block down the street from us. Monica, my sister, first referred to her as “Down-the-Street Sally” before she knew what her last name was. Thus, that became Sally’s unshakable nickname within our family. She didn’t object to it, so we all used it sort of as a term of endearment. Within a short time, Sally’s mother (Jean) and my mother became very close friends, too.

Sally was an extremely shy girl. There was a good reason for that. She lived in a household with an extremely erratic and occasionally violent father who verbally—and sometimes physically—abused Jean. Our family knew this to be true because Jean confided the ongoing problem to my mother. Mom, of course, urged her to leave her husband (Shawn) as soon as possible for her own safety and for the well-being of her two children. In 1978, her children were 18-year-old Sally and 10-year-old Michael.

Unfortunately, Jean was very much a traditionalist in the idea that marriages were sacred and should be preserved no matter how bad things got between the two spouses. Sadly, one day the inevitable happened: Sally’s father snapped at some slight provocation and violently beat Jean so badly that paramedics needed to be called. Her injuries were severe enough for Jean to spend nearly a month recuperating in the hospital. Shawn did not stick around to be arrested for his horrible and brutal act. He left Jean a bloody mess, drove off to a remote location in the woods, and ended his own miserable existence. His body was not found for about three weeks. Of course, that left the two Davidson children fatherless and with a hospitalized mother.

It was a tough situation for the Davidson kids to be in. Jean was a first-generation immigrant from Great Britain who had no close relatives living in this country. My parents immediately stepped forward and offered to let Sally stay with us for as long as it was necessary. Another friend of Jean’s did the same for Michael as her son was Michael’s age and a classmate of his.

Sally was shy enough normally, but the latest turn of events in her household made her even more withdrawn—and understandably so. Monica was very happy to have Sally living with us despite the horrible circumstances that caused it to happen. They were both the same age and were in the same home room in high school. I didn’t object because I’d always liked my sister’s shy friend. Sally was a petite blonde with a cute smile whose shyness made her appealing. I was 19 years old when Sally became our long-term houseguest. Dad erected a portable bed in my sister’s bedroom for Sally. It was close quarters, but the girls liked sharing the room where they slept.

For a time, both Sally and Michael had difficulty getting into their home to retrieve their belongings as neither of them had a house key. Until that oversight was corrected, they only had the clothes on their back. My sister was considerably taller than Sally, so Monica lending her part of her wardrobe did not work very well. Oddly, I was the one who came to the rescue. I had enough old jeans and sports-related apparel stashed away for Sally to wear. As a kid I loved to acquire any clothing with sports teams’ logos—even if I had no rooting interest in that team at all. These weren’t expensive items. They were cheap knockoffs whose manufacturers today would be sued into oblivion for copyright infringement. Most of them were in very good shape. Thus, sports jerseys became Sally’s wardrobe for a time—which was quite unusual for a girl in 1978.

One day as she was heading off to school, I saw Sally wearing a New York Mets jersey that fit her rather tightly. It was the first time I had really noticed the womanly curves on my sister’s best friend. To be perfectly honest, Sally was far better built than Monica, who was slightly late to blossom and would never accurately be described as buxom. I gave Sally a compliment, saying that Tom Seaver never looked that good in a Mets jersey. I’m quite certain that Sally had no idea who Tom Seaver even was, but she still easily recognized my quip as being something positive.

Sally smiled demurely and said, “Thank you, Artie. You’ve been so generous in lending me these things to wear. I don’t know how to thank you.” She surprisingly gave me a kiss on the cheek. This was the first time that Sally had ever displayed any sort of affection toward me.

“Well,” I said, “I guess that’s a good start!”

Sally just smiled, gave me a dismissive wave, said nothing at all, and walked out the front door.

Later that day, Sally finally got a key to her house to allow her to retrieve her possessions. She’d still be living with us until her mother was healthy enough to return home from the hospital, but at least she could now have access to her clothing and other items. Smartly, Sally decided to get a few things immediately. I volunteered to go with her in case she needed a second person to carry her things back to our house.

We did not say much to each other during the short walk there. However, it was the first time that Sally had been home since the night her father had badly beaten her mother. Sally was not prepared for the house still showing evidence of the beating and the obvious struggle her mother had put up that night. There were blood splatters in several places. Furniture was upended. Several items had been shattered and were lying in pieces on the floor. It was just too much too soon for Down-the-Street-Sally to bear. She slowly sat down on a couch and began to sob loudly. It had become an unexpected, emotional errand just to collect some clothing.

I didn’t know what to do. I stood there for a moment, gawking like a fool at my sister’s shaken best friend. I eventually sat down beside her. Sally’s hands were covering her face which meant she initially hadn’t realized I was there next to her. When she did notice me, she flung her arms around me and cried even louder. My natural reaction was to console her by embracing her. The longer she cried, the longer our embrace continued. I was silent for the most part, until I said a cliched phrase: “Everything will be okay, Sally. You’ll see.”

She continued to cry but managed to say, “I don’t know, Artie, I just don’t know...” The loud sobbing returned.

My only response was to hug Sally firmly and try to stop her tears from flowing. I finally told her she’d always have a place to go to at our house if things got tough, and I reminded her that everyone who lived there was a friend whom she could count on no matter what.

“You too, Artie?” she surprisingly asked me.

“Of course,” I replied. “You’re Monica’s best friend. Any friend of Monica’s is automatically a friend of mine, too.”

She stopped her crying—or at least reduced its level—for a moment and looked at me very lovingly. I was not expecting the long, passionate kiss that seemingly came out of nowhere. It startled me in a very pleasant way. I was no fool; I wasn’t going to stop whatever might come next.

What came next was an extended round of kisses. They were only interrupted by my occasionally wiping away Sally’s continuing river of tears with the box of tissues that was sitting on the bloodstained table next to us. Even when her crying stopped, Sally’s kisses did not.

I was becoming aroused like any 19-year-old male would who had a pretty 18-year-old blonde draped affectionately over his body and was plying him with long kisses. My hands began to go from consoling Sally to caressing her. Sally’s gentle coos told me she approved of what I was doing and wanted more. I finally got the courage to fondle her left breast with my right hand, all the while kissing her soft lips. Sally then showed she was totally okay with taking our unexpected embrace a step further. She pulled the Mets jersey over her head to expose the sexy, frilly brassiere she was wearing.

I was now extremely horny, but under the circumstances I had to be somewhat gentlemanly. “Sally,” I said, “you are emotionally distraught and very vulnerable right now. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Without hesitation she replied, “Absolutely!” She then lifted my shirt off my torso.

Sadly, I didn’t have very much experience handling women’s undergarments, but I quickly figured out how to undo the clasp of her lacy pink bra which I carefully placed on the floor beside her. Her breasts easily fit within my hands, but they were like gold to me. Sally’s precious treasures were both perky and perfect. Within seconds her nipples were firm. At first, I just planted my face between them and kissed the area of her chest that was surrounding them. Then I did the obvious thing: I was gentle, but I couldn’t help but suck on them passionately. Her little moans told me I was doing exactly what she wanted. “Sally, your sexy tits are magnificent!” I told her honestly.

My penis was at full alert, so I reluctantly pulled my lips from Sally’s breasts for a few seconds so I could disrobe. Sally did the same. My rod was stiff enough to be aiming skyward. I used the opportunity to give my sister’s best friend a titty fuck. I don’t think she knew what was coming when I positioned my hard dick between her lovely mounds. I coached her in a whispering voice, “Sally, squeeze your breasts together as I fuck them!” Sally caught on quickly and smiled as I indulged in a sexual fetish that I had only seen in explicit porn magazines to that point in my life.

After about a dozen sensual thrusts I knew I’d better stop if I wanted to save my orgasm for Sally’s beckoning pussy. I pulled away and lifted Sally’s legs, so she was completely reclining on the couch. Next, I pulled her thighs apart to expose her delightful vaginal area. It had a covering of pubic hair. That was where I buried my face into Sally’s 18-year-old body for the second time. I licked it and tongued it, and sucked on it, and fingered it until Sally was squirming with ecstasy. I was hoping we’d enjoy a simultaneous orgasm, but Sally let loose before I could insert my hard penis into her small cunny. I licked her clean, which she must have found amusing because she giggled for a few seconds. “I just have to fuck that pussy of yours, Sally!” I announced. “I can’t wait any longer.”

I climbed aboard the couch and straddled her. This was going to be an example of Fucking 101: it would be nothing fancy—just a thorough penetration of an 18-year-old girl who completely desired what was about to happen, by a 19-year-old lad who was having the time of his life. The idea that this carnal act had sprung from a tender moment of consolation had completely left my mind.

When I slipped the head of my penis into her awaiting vagina, Sally gave me an encouraging “Aah!” Her replies became even more welcoming as I shoved it in further. When I began to move it in and out—and Sally got into the rhythm of our coitus—we were a true lovemaking team. My passion was only interrupted by Sally’s sensible instruction, “You better pull out before you come, Artie. The last thing I need right now in my life is to get pregnant.”

I knew she was completely on the mark. “You’re right, sweetheart,” I told her. “Trust me, I’ll know when it’s time to pull out.” That moment came about two minutes later when I felt that familiar tingling in my groin. I withdrew my throbbing rod from her sensuous bush with about 15 seconds to spare, giving me time to lay it between Sally’s perky breasts. Sally was even aware enough to squeeze them together again.
Then I let go. My first powerful blast of cum hit her under her chin. It was a surprise to her, which caused her to move her head slightly. This made my second shot mostly strike her left cheek. A weak third rope of jism lay mostly on her heaving tits. Strangely, that was the sexiest cum rope of the three. All in all, it was a magnificent ejaculation. I was quite satisfied with it!

We both were breathing heavily—especially me—but I just had to embrace Sally without hesitation. I didn’t care if I was wallowing in my own cum. I just had to kiss her and kiss her and kiss her some more. I was overjoyed with this session of lovemaking that had sprung out of nowhere.

I started to feel a few pangs of guilt about taking advantage of a crying girl who was almost part of the family. I confessed to Sally how I felt, but she would have none of it. “That was exactly what I needed today, Artie—a passionate fucking to wash my sorrows away. You were terrific, in case you didn’t know it.”

“Thanks, Sally!” I said. “My experience with this sort of thing is almost zero. I’ve only had sex with a girl just once before—and it was nothing like this. I think I came in about 30 seconds. This was awesomely good, my dear.”

“First time for me,” Sally candidly admitted. “I can’t imagine it gets too much better.”

“We can always try!” I suggested. Sally laughed at my eagerness for a return performance.

We held each other silently in our arms for a few minutes. Sally finally said, “It’s just occurring to me that I didn’t do much. Apart from squeezing my boobs against your dick, I just lied on my back!”

I replied to her with all seriousness. “Down-the-Street-Sally.” I said sweetly to her, “for a woman to be good at sex, all she really has to do is show up.”

“Yeah,” she giggled. “I suppose you’re right.” She paused for a moment and said, “Artie, when we come here for more of my belongings tomorrow, I’ll take a much more active role in our lovemaking. I promise. Hand job. Blowjob. I’ll ride you. Maybe I’ll let you come inside me, too. I bet that would feel wonderful!”

I was startled, but I was also thoroughly delighted by the prospect of another fantastic sexual romp with my sister’s best friend. I asked her, “Wow, Sally! What happened to the shy, demure, emotionally distraught girl who was falling apart about an hour ago?”

She grabbed my penis with her left hand and began to lovingly fondle it. It occurred to me that Sally was right: She hadn’t actually touched it before now. With her right hand she pointed to my scrotum accusingly and said enthusiastically, “This wonderful thing of yours is what happened to it!”